Brother's Keeper

Chapter 16

Later that same day, dinner was announced ready to be served. Peter felt the need to dress in somewhat formal attire for what he saw as a special occasion. Not only was this the first time in nearly two months that he could eat dinner - a REAL dinner - in his own home, but also the first time in so long that Nathan was joining them for a real everyday dinner as a family. He and Nathan, who was dressed as he always did, looked ready for a photograph, in their khaki slacks and buttoned shirts. Peter had thought to wear a tie, but his brother advised him that it was not necessary.

When they arrived at the dining room, Peter smiled upon seeing his father again and hurried over to hug him.

"Dad, I've missed you so much," Peter declared solemnly, arms wound tightly around Arthur's neck.

The family patriarch, however, did not return the hug or even accept it. With an awkward clearing of his throat, Arthur Petrelli unwound the arms from around his neck and proceeded to shove Peter away from himself.

"You're much too old for that kind of behaviour," he chastised Peter. "You can't cling on people like a baby."

Peter's large eyes were open wide from shock and disappointment. While his father had never been very generous with his proofs of affection, Peter had not expected this. Was Dad still mad at him for barging into his study without knocking?

"Dad," Nathan said with obvious disapproval. "You're wrong. You never get too old for hugs. Right, Peter?" As a demonstration, he wrapped an arm around his little brother's shoulders and drew him into an embrace, which their father had denied him.

Judging from the look of disbelief and surprise, Nathan hoped Peter would not begin to cry. He knew their father had been deeply affected by uncovering the secret to his youngest's sexual orientation, and if Peter realized the level of disappointment and disapproval felt by his own father, he would probably not recover.

Peter welcomed the hug, and carefully returned it, but the look in his eyes was still one of confused disbelief. Arthur, meanwhile, only frowned at his eldest son's actions.

"It's been a long day, for everyone," Angela spoke up, seeing the tempers about to flare from both sides of the table. "Why don't we sit down and eat?"

The meal passed mostly in silence, the sound of chewing dominating for several minutes. It was as if no one in the family could think of a topic of conversation that suited them all, and therefore felt it was better to remain quiet. Nathan noticed, however, that Peter did not eat much but simply poked at his food with little interest. The happy visage he had displayed up in his room had been blurred out and replaced by a look of gloom. Nathan suspected that their father was the main cause of it and felt a sudden wave of hatred toward the older man.

You were supposed to love your children unconditionally, regardless of their sexual preferences. The memory of Arthur suggesting that it was Peter's own fault for getting raped suddenly made him feel sick and lose his appetite along with his brother.

Giving a quiet sigh, he audibly put his fork and knife down.

"Are you not feeling well, Nathan?"

Nathan looked up at his mother and saw the way she looked at him, eyebrow raised. She knew he was perfectly fine, physically anyway.

Clearing his throat, the lawyer wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I'm fine. But Peter and I were talking, and we came up with a good idea."

Peter finally gave the smallest hint of a smile as he looked up at his brother. He hoped that Nathan's way of persuasion would be just enough to convince their parents of their wishes.

"And what is that, dear?" Angela inquired.

"I'd like to stay here for a couple of days," Nathan explained. "For Peter. He's been through something very traumatic and returning home is a big changeover. He's also not used to sleeping on his own since the... since the kidnapping, and he'll feel much safer knowing I'm next door if he needs me."

Arthur dropped his cutlery with a loud and angry clatter against the table. "That's out of question," he said immediately.

Nathan snorted. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," the older man said in a voice that left no room for argument. "You're done pampering your brother. He's almost an adult, and this way you'll just keep encouraging his unhealthy attachment to you. Do you understand, Nathan?"

"No, I don't understand," Nathan replied with a glare. "He's been through something terrible and all I see you doing is being unsympathetic."

"Allow it for at least a night, Arthur," Angela urged. "It would be nice to have Nathan back in the house for some time. He can use his old room."

"It's not a matter of how long he's been away or where he can sleep," Arthur grumbled, his eyes never leaving his plate as he ate, as though speaking of nothing more important than the gardening. "This is about Peter being able to be a man and not need his brother at any sign of trouble."

"It wasn't just “any” sign of trouble!" Nathan argued, his tone now low and dangerous. "Do you know what happened to Peter, Dad? To me? Do you even care?"

Arthur's face, which had gradually reddened as his anger grew, now turned scarlet.

"I will not tolerate that tone in my household, Nathan," he ground out, his small, grey eyes gleaming behind his glasses. "And this is not a suitable topic of discussion during dinner. You're not staying here overnight, Nathan. That is my decision, and you'll have to accept it whether you like it or not."

Nathan turned to stare at his mother, hoping almost desperately that she would, for once, speak her mind and stand up against her husband. No such thing happened, however. Angela proceeded to consume her meal without uttering a word and offered Nathan no help. Peter had given up eating altogether and simply sat slumped in his chair, head bent in defeat. Nathan feared that his tears were not far away.

Sniffling back the urge to cry, Peter spoke. "Dad... please...?"

"You're going to learn how to act your age, and that's final."

Nathan watched intently as Peter's face crumbled into the look of absolute weeping, a hand instantly covering the expression. He silently sat there hiding his face, and Nathan wanted to storm out of the room, but leaving his little brother by himself with his parents was not an option.

"Mmm..." Peter began, his voice too weak. "May I please... be excused?"

This time, Angela finally spoke. "Of course, dear."

Putting his napkin aside, Peter walked out of the room at hurried upstairs, clearly retreating to his room.

Nathan wanted to strangle his father. Instead, the older son stood up and left the table.

"Nathan, you're not joined with him at the hip," his father snapped. "Stop catering to his infantile impulses."

"Well, seeing as I'm no longer living here at this house, I guess it means I'm unwelcome at this table." Nathan glared at his father before leaving the room and proceeding upstairs to find his brother.

He placed a light knock on the door to his brother's room, which still had the sign "Beware - teenager in residence!" on the outside. There was no response, and Nathan called out the boy's name, asking if he was allowed to enter. The last thing Peter needed now was someone - even Nathan - intruding on his privacy. There was no negative response, and the older brother figured it was safe to enter.

In Peter's room the lights were off and the room's inhabitant lay curled up in his bed, covers pulled up to his eyes, making him look like a small, formless lump underneath the thick duvet.

Nathan carefully approached the quietly sobbing boy and took a seat on the edge of the bed.
"Sweetie...?" he whispered, placing a hand on what he thought was Peter's back.

His guess was slightly off, as the covers were pulled down and Peter was revealed to be facing him. Continuously falling tears were smeared about the boy's cheeks, and his runny nose prompted Nathan to grab a tissue for him from the nearby bedside table.

"You okay?"

Peter attempted to speak, but once again, his voice refused to break past sobs and sniffles.

"I'm sorry, bud," Nathan said sincerely, his hand traveling from chest to head, fingers entwined in hair. "How are you feeling?"

"I dunno," Peter replied, his face slightly shrinking back under the covers again. "Scared."

"Because of tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Petey, this is your home," Nathan tried. "There's nothing to be scared of here. No bad guys are gonna get you now, baby."

"I know it's silly..." Peter argued. "But at night when I try to sleep, and all the bad memories come back... I feel so awful. And I have such bad dreams, too. You being there helped, but if I'm by myself..."

"I'll come check on you tomorrow," the older brother said. "If your night was really unbearable, we'll think of something. Okay?"

"You promise, Nathan?" Peter's eyes were fixed intently on his big brother's sympathetic face.

"You have my word," Nathan replied. "It's getting late. Maybe I should leave soon so that you can turn in. It's been a long day."

Peter lower lip went into his mouth, held down by teeth. "Stay...?"

Nathan chuckled a bit. "Just for a few minutes. To help you sleep."

"Okay."

Satisfied with this answer, Peter lifted the duvet to allow his brother access to the mattress. The moment Nathan was in the bed, he felt skinny arms around him, and he returned the embrace. Stroking the boy's hair, he slowly felt the tense nature of his brother's form dissipate, and minutes later, Peter was drifting into sleep.

The door had been left open, and Angela could look inside and clearly see what Nathan had done. Gently calling his name, she waited for him to get out of the bed.

"Peter," he whispered, carefully rousing his little brother. "I'd better leave now. And you'd better get ready for bed."

Reaching out for another hug, Peter did not want to let go."Alright. And you'll call tomorrow?"

"You betcha."

Though not wanting to admit it, Peter was getting really sleepy. Preferably he would have liked to fall asleep in his big brother's arms, as he had become so used to that in the past couple of months. Nathan had always been there when Peter needed him; all he had to do was reach out.

After another long hug and a kiss pressed to his forehead, Nathan was gone. Peter chose to stay in his room while their mother walked Nathan to the front door. He slowly undressed in the meantime, haphazardly throwing his clothes on the floor. Somewhere in the back of his head he knew that that sort of behaviour drove his mother crazy, but all the rants he had endured seemed so far back in his life that he barely even remembered them.

When Peter had already crawled in underneath the covers, fully naked, it occurred to him that his feet were cold and Nathan was no longer around to warm them up for him.

Don't cry... he told himself. Don't fucking cry.

Eventually his level of exhaustion from the long flight caused Peter to fall asleep. He stayed the way for hours, and near midnight, his mother peeked through the door to find him peacefully snoozing underneath his comfortable blankets.

*

Over an hour later, Peter dreamt. The place his dreams took him was familiar by now, but nowhere near pleasant. He found himself crawling along the forest floor, bleeding profusely as he heard voices shouting and drawing nearer. Nathan was nowhere in sight, but faceless villains were closing in fast.

He tried to call out his brother's name, but all that came out was something between a croak and a gurgle. Had they cut his throat and his vocal cords, ridding him of the ability to speak or make any sounds at all? Peter did not know, but none of it mattered, since he was going to die soon, anyway. Rocks, sticks and fallen branches continued to scrape up the skin - and eventually soft tissues - of his knees and hands as he crawled. The voices drew nearer, and Peter knew it was a matter of minutes before they'd find him and hopefully put a merciful end to his miserable existence.

Suddenly there was a raw and rusty steel collar around his throat and his entire body was harshly yanked backwards. Upon opening his eyes, he was no longer in the forest but in the all too familiar living room of his abductors - a place Peter knew far too well. The steel collar around his neck tightened to the point of choking him, and he could move none of his four limbs.

A warped, grinning face appeared before him and spit in his eyes, and no matter how much he begged and cried, the horrible man pinned him down against the floor, covering him, holding him, crushing him...

Peter cried out and everything became dark. Disoriented and terrified, he wriggled under the weight which had suddenly become much lighter, pushing it away and realizing it was only his blanket. Shivering in cold sweat, he looked around and reassured himself that the dream had not been real, and that he was now safe in his room. But he did not feel safe. He felt terrible. And no one was there to tell him it had truly just been a nightmare. He was all alone and no one could comfort him.

In an instant, a name was on his lips; his brother's. "Nath... Nath..han..."

Though no steel collar was obstructing his flow of air, his throat still felt constricted, and his words came out in a hoarse whisper. Instinctively feeling for his brother, Peter nearly panicked when Nathan was nowhere to be felt. Remains of the nightmare still lingered in his sleep-muddled mind and continued to torment him even after the dream had ended.

The heavy curtains pulled over his bedroom window made the darkness seem threatening, further adding to the tricks played by his mind. Wasn't there a scraping sound coming from the closet? In no time at all, Peter's imagination ran wild and concocted a horrifying scenario: what if someone had broken in during the night and had gone to hide in his closet, waiting for him to pass by so that they could reach out and grab his arm, pull him in, and slice his throat open with a large bowie knife...

The boy's already racing heart sped up further and his lungs began to sound like a pair of bellows. He had to get out of the room. If he remained here a minute longer, he would either go mad or get a heart attack.

Still shivering, he pulled a blanket around him and wore it like a cloak, slipping out of bed and scampering to the door. For all he knew, someone could hide under his bed instead of the closet.

The hallway seemed much wider and longer at night, especially now that Peter was scared.
Nathan wasn't there anymore to protect him in the big old house. That's right. He didn't live there with the family anymore. But still... Peter was terrified and knew he would not be able to get back to sleep if he stayed in his room, all alone.

His parents... maybe he could spend the night with them.

As quietly as possible, he reached out for the door to their bedroom and opened it. In the dark, he could see they were still asleep, and he tiptoed over to their bed. Their room was not as dark and ominous as his; partly because their curtains were thinner and allowed light from the outside to enter, and also because they always kept a small night lamp lit throughout the night.

Peter padded over to his sleeping mother and let his hand hover an inch or so above her shoulder before letting it descend in order to wake her up. Her face, now free of make-up, was a strange contrast to her cool daytime self, always immaculate and proper.

Angela jerked awake at the feel of a hand touching her shoulder, and Peter instantly realized he had frightened his mother.

"Peter," she exclaimed as she sat up, waking Arthur in the commotion. "What on earth..."

"I had a nightmare," Peter timidly explained, hearing the muffled curses of his drowsy father. He suddenly realized this had been a very bad idea.

"I just... I was scared... and..."

"What the hell time is it?" Arthur demanded as Angela turned on the lights. Blinking in the sudden brightness of the lamps, Peter put his hands up in a gesture to attempt explanation.

"Oh, for the love of Christ!" his father exclaimed at the sight of his son standing there, draped by a blanket, and otherwise stark naked.

"Peter!" Angela admonished, quickly rising out of bed, her silk nightgown still bundled up around her hips and thighs. "It's three AM, and you know you mustn't enter without knocking first...!"

Peter, now recoiling from his parents, backed until his back thumped against the closet door. The blanket slid down from his left shoulder, leaving it hanging loosely over his right arm. Until now he had not really had time to think about his nakedness, but with four eyes giving him their undivided attention, he felt horribly exposed and wrapped both arms around himself in response.

Angela did not come any closer when she noticed Peter's reaction, but Arthur was not softened by the boy's weeping little face. As far as he was concerned, Peter had done something unforgivable and had to be punished for it, even if it meant resorting to physical abuse.

Grabbing Peter by the neck with his large, gnarled hand, Arthur Petrelli shoved his younger son out of the master bedroom and back out into the hallway.

"I'm sorry, dad," Peter managed to squeak out as he cowered under his father's grasp.

"Oh, you're sorry," Arthur echoed angrily. "’Sorry’ doesn't cut it, running around with your god damn genitals flopping around and trying to sleep with us!"

"I... I..."

"You, you, what? Act like a man instead of a fucking sissy!"

Peter began to cry, ashamed of how he had acted and afraid of his own father.

"I was scared," he sobbed, only to be slapped in the face and shoved further down the hallway.

The blow was not overtly hard, but it still knocked the air out of Peter and took out his legs from under him, causing him to fall into heap on the hallway carpet. Snot and mucus were running down his chin and upper lip, and his cheek stung viciously from the open-palmed blow.

"Don't you think I know what you are, you little faggot?" Arthur sneered, his face radiating pure hatred aimed at Peter. "I thought it was bad enough that you were a lazy and stupid little shit but then you turned out to be a goddamn pansy as well. You should be grateful I'm letting you stay in my house!"

Angela, having witnessed her husband's cruel treatment of her son, grabbed the big man's arm and pulled hard enough to rip a seam in Arthur's pajama top.

"You're not touching my SON!" she yelled, and neither male member of the Petrelli family could recall the previous time she had raised her voice.

"You animal! Get away from him or I'm calling the police! Do you hear me?!"

Arthur would have pointed out the damage of his fifty dollar pajamas if he had not been so shocked at his wife's behavior.

"You're joking, right?" he asked as he stepped forward again.

A light turned on downstairs and some of the hired help opened their doors at the raised voices.

"Now, you're against me?" the man asked, only to be interrupted again by his wife. Her eyes flashed a dangerous anger he had not seen before, not in decades. She was on her knees now and pulling the blanket snug over her terrified son's shaking frame.

"When have you ever thought I wasn't a person who was dead serious, you monster? Now LEAVE HIM ALONE."

Arthur's lips were pulled back in a snarl that exposed his teeth; slightly yellow from decades of smoking, and he spun on his heel and retreated into the bedchamber without another word, slamming the door shut in the face of his wife and son.

Peter, however, could not have cared less. He was weeping almost hysterically, and violent tremors wracked his entire body despite the blanket and Angela's reassuring presence. The place of the blow was an angry shade of red, and Angela figured it would develop into a bruise within the next few days.

"M-mom...!" Peter hacked out between his wheezing gasps for breath. "I... I c-can't...!"

"Come on, now, Peter, let's get you back to your room," Angela cajoled, half pulling, half lifting her son to his feet. Her back protested with a sharp stab of pain; though Peter was small, he was not a child anymore.

Peter tried to stand, but his legs were weak. Whimpering, he hid his face behind his hands and slumped against the wall, sobbing his eyes out. "I can't... I'm sorry... I..."

"Darling..." his mother said softly, her voice clear and confident, "Darling, can you stand up for me? That's it..." Slowly, she guided him toward his bedroom door. "Yes, that's right, you're almost there."

By the time mother and son had returned to the room and reached the bed, Peter's tears were beginning to subside, and his sobs were quieter as he calmed down. The sight of his closet, however, made his heart race.

"I thought I heard something in there," he said. "I thought... it's stupid..."

"Shhh..." Angela said, leading Peter to his bed. She made sure the boy was sitting down and not in risk of collapsing before stepping away to retrieve something from Peter's chest of drawers. Said object was a large T-shirt.

Peter turned his large, tear-filled eyes questioningly to his mother.

"Dear, lift your arms. You're going to wear this," Angela instructed, briefly wondering if Nathan had had to dress his brother like a toddler every morning. It almost broke her heart.

Peter was too shaken up to do anything but comply, although his mother almost had to pry loose his fingers which were spasmodically grasping the blanket. Once safely tucked in underneath the thick comforter, Peter's tears, which had momentarily dried out, began running again. The realization of what his father had said and done and what had caused the explosive hatred made Peter think he would never stop crying.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, brushing fingers through his hair as a gesture of comfort. Peter only hid his face under the covers, completely humiliated.

"Don't be upset dear. Please tell me what's wrong."

Swallowing down his sobs, Peter could not bear to look his mother in the eye, but he would at least comply to her wishes and tell her what caused him such misery.

"He hates me," he said, the level of heartbreak he endured clear in his voice.

"Oh, darling," Angela replied. She wanted to argue that her young son was wrong, but from the response of her husband, she knew that she could not without lying.

In fact, Arthur had harbored these feelings for quite some time, longer than anyone suspected, and she also knew that discovering Peter's sexual orientation was not the sole or even biggest cause for the hatred. It was simply something her husband used as an excuse to reveal his true feelings. Angela, however, did not mention this to her son. She looked down at the boy's flushed, tear-streaked face, half-buried in the pillow, and continued to caress his hair.

"D-dad hates me..." Peter repeated hoarsely. "I know h-he does..."

Not knowing how to counter her son's very accurate claim, Angela said, "But Mama loves you, dear. And your brother does, too. Nothing can ever change that. You're my son, Peter. Nothing else matters."

Peter swallowed, his voice cracking. "How did he... dad... find out?" he asked.

Glancing aside for a brief moment, his mother hesitated, thinking over what to say as a reply. In the end, he determined that the truth would be the best, even if she neglected to include certain details.

"We were in a hurry to pack a suitcase for the two of you when Nathan called us about you being in the hospital. When we were racing to pack your things, a pile of magazines were knocked over and came to our attention."

Peter's large eyes widened at the notion of his hidden collection of magazines to be discovered, by his parents no less. He had kept them out of sight for so long, and feared what would happen if they were to be found.

"I... I didn't want you to know," he said, his voice small. "I'm sorry... they're awful... I shouldn't have even bought them, but..."

"Darling, calm down," the woman responded gently. "Don't you know you can tell me everything? And from the looks of it, you can tell Nathan everything too."

Peter bit his bottom lip. His mother had no idea how true her statement was. "Nathan knows..." he said, still in the same small voice. "He's known... for a while."

Angela nodded, not confirming she knew that Nathan knew, but slightly hinting at it. One other thing she did not want to tell Peter about was the horrific argument - which had almost gone beyond verbal and into physical - between Arthur and Nathan in the hospital lobby shortly after they had arrived to check on their sons.

"I figured he did. You two are so close. It would be difficult for you to keep any secrets from him."

Peter nodded in agreement. Despite this, he had managed to keep his attraction to his brother hidden for over half a decade. Thoughts of Nathan suddenly awoke a desperate longing inside Peter and his need for his brother manifested in a downright physical ache.

"I want Nathan..." he whispered, bundling fistfuls of the comforter in his hands.

"Nathan isn't here now, Peter. But Mama is," Angela tried. "And everything will be alright..."

Peter bent his head, staring at his clenched hands, and tried in vain to hold back tears. "I miss him already."

"I know, dear." Angela placed her hand against her son's cheek, stroking gently. "You're safe now. You're home, and in time everything will be alright."

Peter was not sure to believe the words, but somehow his mother always had a way of convincing him whatever she wanted to communicate. Sighing, the boy sank into bed and began to relax.

"Ma...?"

"Yes dear?"

"Will you stay...? Here?"

The answer Angela had on the tip of her tongue was an instinctive "no", but something made her hold it back. Peter was scared, vulnerable and frightened at the thought of being left alone. She, in her own way, was scared as well. Facing Arthur - sharing a bed with him - after what had just happened was not the least appealing, even to a woman as strong-willed and independent as Angela Petrelli. Besides, she loathed him for how he had treated Peter and could not trust herself not to aggravate an already bad situation.

"Do you really want me to?" she asked, buying herself another few seconds to think this over.

Peter nodded from the bed, his hands grasping hers. "Please...?"

The last of Angela's defenses crumbled, and she decided to comply with her little boy's wish.
"Alright, then. But just for tonight."

Peter's bed was not actually big enough for two people, but Angela ignored it and settled herself behind her son, taking the other pillow for herself.

The space was rather limited, and Angela was not certain if she could even turn over without the risk of falling out of the twin sized bed. Stretching and tensing her legs, she could only hope that she would stay in relatively one position for the remainder of the night. In addition, Angela felt strange about the current situation of sleeping here with her son. Even when he was small, Peter hardly ever asked to sleep in the same bed with his parents, even when he was afraid. Of course, Angela considered the vulnerability of her youngest son in the fact that she had often discovered her two boys sleeping in Nathan's bed. Peter had always preferred to go to his big brother. And now here he was, nearly nineteen years old, and unable to sleep without the safety of his mother's company.

Peter's body was warm against hers under the bedcovers, and the limited space made it impossible for their bare legs not to touch. The boy's feet, however, were cold. Angela guessed it was because Peter had left bed earlier without wearing either socks or slippers. She was glad that she had at least made him wear the T-shirt. Sharing a bed with her naked, nearly adult son would have been more than just a little uncomfortable, even though she knew that Peter preferred sleeping unclothed when he was by himself. Two or three years had passed since last time she caught him headed to the bathroom in his birthday suit, obviously trusting his parents to be asleep.

The very thought of how comfortable he had become then with his image was a stark contrast to how he behaved now. Even though he still preferred to sleep unclothed, there was something in the way he held the blankets around him, how he stood, even in the way he slept now. He was like a child again, beyond how he spoke and the frequent moments of resorting to tears.

She stared at his motionless face, thinking over the place where Arthur had struck him. Already it could be turning into a bruise. She knew if Nathan saw that, he would fly into a rage in an instant.

The last thing this family needed was another argument between Arthur and their elder son. And Angela was not sure that a verbal bandying of words would suffice this time. If Nathan saw what Arthur had done to his little brother, he would resort to physical violence. She was sure of that.

Angela's mind, sharp and awake despite the hour, began to browse through possible excuses to keep Nathan from the Petrelli estate for the upcoming few days.


TBC...