Title: The clouds shall be our building blocks
Characters: Nathan&Peter, Sylar, Ensemble (implied Matt/Mohinder)
Rating: PG-13 for theme, and some violence
Length: 10,600 words
Disclaimer: Anything recognisable belongs to Tim Kring and NBC
Spoilers: Through S2, no spoilers for S3.
Summary: June 17th, 2012: the walls of Nathan Petrelli's cell begin to shake, and all the alarms start ringing. / February 3rd, 2012: Peter Petrelli had finally got hold of the piece he needed to put the second-to-last step into action.

Nathan hears the explosions first. Dim, and far away from their cell, walls are being torn apart.

He leans his head against their own wall, solid earth which now shudders and twitches. The guard in their cell is young, maybe twenty-two, and his eyes widen before he runs out into the corridor. The door slams behind him, and its lock clicks automatically shut.

Across the room, Matt Parkman meets Nathan's gaze, and nods.

They don't move: there's nowhere they could go anyway. The alarm has started sounding angrily. It wails up and down, setting Nathan's nerves on edge. He grips his hands around his bare ankles.

Matt's voice is hoarse when he tries to use it. "Nathan."

"What is it?"

"I was kind of hoping you had a guess."

"You're the mind reader, Parkman."

Matt's hands rise to the back of his neck involuntarily. He touches the reddened place below the implant. "Not any more."

Nathan's hands are too well-trained to claw the scars open again. He scratches his short nails along the underside of his foot instead. "I don't know what it is. Another escape attempt maybe."

"Was there anyone new the last time you…?"

"No."

"No one you think might…?"

"No."

"It couldn't be…?"

"No, Matt. It's not him."

The explosions are getting closer. If it's an escape attempt, it's not an efficient one. They're getting deeper into the centre, not closer to the outside. Even if, by some miracle, an inhibitor had malfunctioned, unless the attempted escapee was able to dig tunnels through solid rock, he was trapped. No matter how you felt about their methods, you couldn't question the government's efficiency in this matter. Nathan smiles grimly – no coincidence that this particular aspect of homeland security was contracted out.

There was another crash, closer this time. Whoever it was, they really were lost. Or, more likely perhaps, on a suicide mission. Nathan sees Matt close his eyes at the sounds of screaming. Suicide by cop, they would call it in the outside world.

There's a long silence, save only for the sounders. If they've killed whoever it was, Nathan wishes they would turn off the alarm. They're normally quick about it, lest any of the prisoners get the idea that chaos still reigns outside their cells. But the alarm keeps rising and falling in computerised solemnity.

When it stops, finally, Nathan breathes. Matt, however, keeps his gaze fixed on the door, and holds his hand up for Nathan to be silent. He hadn't been going to speak anyway.

Matt says, "Can you hear that?"

"All I can hear is you, thankfully. Or, not-"

Matt cuts him off. "Wait. There's something… Like the alarm's still ringing somewhere."

"It's just echoes. You've been hearing it so long it's still-"

"No."

Nathan is very quiet, but he can still only hear Matt's breathing over his own, no trace of the alarm. Matt makes a face, and Nathan can tell he's about to defend his sanity. Then there is another round of screaming.

"Isn't that…?" Matt asks.

"Yeah."

"Now will you accept that maybe…?"

"No."

The fact that it's a guard down the hall screaming means nothing. Nathan is the least crazy person in here (and that's including the doctors and security personnel) because he doesn't indulge in denial. They're not here for the good of the country, or because they're dangerous, or because the law demands it. They're certainly not here to be readied for reintegration back into normal society. They're here to be mostly locked up and occasionally cut open, because the country is terrified of them. And no one is coming to let them out.

The screaming tapers into, "God, oh my God, please don't-".

There is a succession of popping sounds, like a hallway of doors being pulled easily off their hinges.

Their door is at the end of the hallway. The lock snaps when it flies open.

He sees Sylar first, in the shadow of the doorway, a thin figure all in black. Death is written all over his face. Nathan knows Matt is clenching his fists, and feels himself tense to move.

Sylar loses his expression, a twist of smiling rage that drops away. He doesn't break eye contact, but turns his head enough to call into the hallway. "Here."

The background noise drops away. Nathan hears the thudding of swift, sure footsteps. Sylar stands aside to make room for the flash of movement through the doorway.

Peter drops to his knees by the bed, and wraps his arms around Nathan's waist. His voice is all low murmuring: "Nathan, oh God, thank God, Nathan. Nathan."

&-&-&

Sylar didn't know where Peter lived, and neither did Peter know where Sylar laid his head (if he even slept anymore). It didn't matter. Peter could find him if he needed to. And when he did, they tore up the world. There was a stretch of twenty-nine days where Peter didn't remember either of them having hands clean of plaster or blood. Didn't remember them stopping to eat or sleep, and perhaps they hadn't. They were more than human now; better (Sylar's words).

Peter had just known they had to keep moving. The world was broken, and though Peter had often thought about winding back the timelines, he had never tried. Hiro had been sure there was no single point that would have stopped what had happened, and Peter deferred to Hiro's knowledge in that area. So instead of unbreaking, he tried to mend. When that didn't work, it only left rebuilding, rescuing what was there to be salvaged, and leaving the rest to burn. He starts with the compounds.

The first time he saw his photograph alongside Sylar's, it had been a shock. Peter had never meant to become an enemy of the state. Their names were tied together now: Peter Petrelli and Gabriel Gray. Except 'Gabriel' was always Sylar, which was the type of mask Peter hadn't realised he might need.

The first time he kills someone and wants to with all his heart, because the person is in his way, and holding a gun, he wishes he had another name. If he had, the blood on the floor would be someone else's doing, not Peter, always Peter (Pete), young man caught up in an old man's game.

But then that was the day he broke through the walls of Compound One, and flew out with Sylar dying in his arms. Very little he did now surprised him.

Sylar had blinked up at him slowly. "Peter."

Peter hadn't known what to say. The first time he saw Sylar he ran from him, and the last time they had spoken he had thrown Sylar from a building. They had always been more for taunting than small talk.

Sylar asked, "Did you kill him?"

"Who?"

"The one who stands and watches."

Peter had shivered, even mid-flight. "No."

Sylar's smile had been feral. "Good."

And then they had been terrorists together.

&-&-&

Peter stays there for a while, his fingers tracing tentative circles on Nathan's hip through the thin pants. Nathan looks up at Matt just to confirm that yes, his supposedly dead little brother is there in front of him, dirtying his knees on the floor. Matt's eyes are flicking back and forth to the doorway.

Sylar coughs. "Peter."

"Hmm? Sorry." He shuffles back, pulling up into a crouch. "Yeah."

Nathan can't help it – he runs his hand through Peter's short hair, curving his palm against Peter's cheek. He catches his finger on the stalk of the earpiece he hadn't noticed Peter was wearing.

Sylar has an earpiece too, and Nathan fights the urge to laugh, like Peter is playing at being a grown-up with his buddy; walkie-talkies and pointed fingers for weaponry. There is a long curving scar wrapped Frankenstein-like around Sylar's neck, and another pale line that points down from his throat. Peter doesn't have a mark on him. Peter has never slowed down long enough to be touched.

Sylar is still waiting. Peter stands up. "That's everyone on this floor?"

"Yes."

"You want to take the next one down? I'll herd the ones we've got."

"The main lab."

"Yeah. We need the space. All of the-"

"I know the plan, Peter."

Matt taps his foot, frustrated. "Well, do you feel like filling the rest of us in?"

Sylar laughs, which is an unnerving experience Nathan isn't keen on having repeated. Sylar looks at Matt. "Do you miss it?"

Matt folds his arms across his chest, and says nothing. Matt's had more personal contact with Sylar over the years, and he's talkative enough that Nathan knows about most of it. Matt's dealt with Molly's nightmares about bogeymen, and Mohinder's fears that Sylar would track them down again. Nathan has only really seen the effects: Peter pale and still and bloody, unable to be roused. He tugs Peter back to him when he stands to go with Sylar.

Peter looks at him. "Nathan, you know you haven't actually said anything yet, right?"

He coughs. "Yes."

"Okay. I'll explain, I promise. Just not right-"

There's a rattle of gunfire. The people in the hallway cry out, and Peter pulls away from him.

Sylar grunts, and nods at the door.

Peter turns to Nathan and Matt. "Stay here."

Of course, they don't. They poke their heads gingerly out of the door, and watch Peter with Sylar. Peter yells, "Down!", and the path clears between him and the guards. Sylar keeps pace with him down the corridor, ice in his hand to match the fire in Peter's. The guards go down screaming.

Something burns up on the walls, and smoke fills the corridor. Nathan can only see their silhouettes – a matching pair of shadows, black figures clothed in light. Eventually the noise stops.

Peter coughs nervously, and half-claps his hands. "Okay. If everyone would just follow me…" He nods Sylar off in the other direction, one more level down. He says, quiet so only Sylar will hear him, "Just get them out, and up here. We'll deal with the rest when-"

Sylar blinks impassively at him. "We both have an excellent memory. I know the plan. I have no intention of giving you an excuse to break our agreement."

"Good," Peter murmurs, "then make sure that I don't."

Sylar nods sharply – everything he does is sharp – and heads down the stairs.

Peter leads the rest of them along the main corridor. It's a familiar route to everyone but Peter, a long grey corridor that opens onto a huge circular room. They crowd in, forty or fifty of them, and still there is plenty of room to spare. The white walls of the lab are broken, about halfway up, by a band of reinforced glass for the viewing areas.

In the centre of the room there is a ring screwed into the floor. It can be removed, although Nathan has never seen it loose.

Peter is still outside the room, stopped dead in the outer equipment space. He reaches behind the desk, and comes up holding someone by the collar of their lab coat. If it hadn't been for the coat, Peter might not have looked twice, or maybe if the man didn't glance between the two of them with more guilt than terror.

Nathan blinks, and Peter is at the wall with one hand on the man's throat. Peter's voice is quiet - not cold but unhappy. "You hurt my brother." Like it's the one solid truth in the world, a gaping wound he doesn't know how to heal. Peter says, "I can see your thoughts."

Matt's never been clear on how accurate the telepathy is. Nathan always thought it was hearing conscious thoughts, not dragging through stray memory. But Peter's hand tightens as though he sees it all. The chain tethering Nathan's ankles to the centre of the floor. The electric jolts forcing him into involuntary take-off. The jab of drugs from the implant to bring him crashing down, testing how quickly they could make him fall. By the end it worked fast enough that he was barely off the ground, and they started letting him get farther anyway; he'd fractured his left ankle a month ago.

Peter looks like he sees it all. He repeats the words, "You hurt my brother." He thinks. "I could leave you for Sylar."

Nathan steps one pace forward. "Pete." He expects Peter to jump under his hand, but his brother only turns slowly around. Peter looks straight into his eyes, and Nathan doesn't know if he's using Parkman's ability or just doing what he has always done.

Peter nods, and slams the kid's head against the wall. He lets the unconscious body slide down, and then taps his earpiece. "Hiro? Where are we on-? Yeah? Okay, I'll see you guys in a bit. I think we'll need the back up sooner rather than later."

"Hiro's…?" Nathan asks.

"He's fine. He was dealing with the first parts. Come here."

"Yeah?"

Peter's fingers settle on the back of Nathan's neck, just below where the implant cuts into the skin. Peter says, "I can get this for you."

"I know you're a nurse, man, but this is a little more…"

"I can get it. Trust me."

Nathan closes his eyes, and lowers his chin to his chest. "All right."

Peter talks, not to Nathan, whispering to the voices that Nathan prays are in his ear and not in his head. He says, "Okay then, talk me through this bit. Well, you do it better, buddy." His fingers tense around the implant, holding it tightly as he mutters, "Okay. You want to let go of my brother. Just… unclick. Okay?"

There is a slow painful drag when the needle pulls itself out of his skin. Peter holds his hand out to Nathan, palm up, showing the small plastic box. He smiles. "Done."

Nathan takes the box, careful not to touch the needle, though the thing seems dead now. Peter's picked up all kinds of new skills.

&-&-&

Compound Two had been a bloody mess. Officially it was the medical research facility, where Claire had been headed if Bennet hadn't gone to ground long before anyone else had got suspicious.

Hiro and Ando had turned up with Monica in tow by then, and Peter should have known better than to bring the rookie along.

In the end, though, she had been the one rubbing his back afterwards, while he threw up violently outside the ruins.

It was the calculation he could never understand – layers of skin pulled back and pinned, just to see what would happen. By thirty-one, Peter had killed for survival, for revenge and rescue, and occasionally out of mercy. He had never killed someone just to record how interestingly they died.

It was perhaps for this reason that Sylar just watched impassively, as Peter tried to choke back his nausea.

For the last seven months of his search for Nathan and the others, Peter had expected to find him that way: a butterfly pinned to the bed, slowly dying.

&-&-&

Peter gets to work on the other devices, only pausing to consult with whoever's on the other end of his radio. He folds both hands around the little boxes, and when he opens them again he leaves only dust.

There is a list, somewhere, because Peter pauses to count off the names. It's hard to comprehend that this is the same kid who used to forget his own address after an all-nighter at the hospital, and would turn up on Nathan's doorstep instead.

A crease forms on Peter's forehead. "I've lost two."

"Excuse me?"

Peter tosses one of the implants from hand to hand. "I should have another two people with one of these."

"You sure you had them to begin with? People have di-"

"No, I checked the numbers this morning. And then again when we opened all the doors. I think it might be-"

But Nathan has already spotted the problem, on the other side of the room - two little boys hiding in the corner.

Nathan didn't know if they were scared of Peter, or just that Peter had been with Sylar. To a pair of frightened kids there probably wasn't much difference.

He held a hand up to get Peter to wait, and he and Matt crouched down in front of them.

The smaller one is about the age Monty had been the last time Nathan had seen him. The older one looks to be in the very new throes of adolescence. God knew how long they had been in here.

Matt takes the little one, kneeling down as low as he can get, to look into the kid's eyes. Nathan keeps a slight distance, so he barely needs to turn his head to look between the older boy and Peter.

Nathan says, "I was eighteen, and Peter was maybe six." He nods in Peter's direction. "He's my little brother, and I was being a jackass because he'd broken something in my room. I don't even remember what anymore."

Peter says quietly, "Your tape recorder. I broke your tape recorder and you were mad at me for three weeks. You only stopped because-"

"Because I scared the shit out of him, and he went missing for eight hours in our own house." Nathan stops, and looks at the boy. "What's your brother's name?"

"Michael."

"And yours?"

"Andy."

"Andy. So anyway, I was mad at him for being six and my brother, and because he kept throwing hissy fits about me going away to college. And I knew he was supposed to be going to the doctor soon for some shots. So I told him it was going to hurt."

"You told me your friend lost an arm!"

"So he ran off."

"I was six!"

"And when I found him, he had locked himself in a cupboard in one of the spare bedrooms, and pulled a curtain down over it. And he said-"

"I'll do it, but only if you do it too."

"So they jabbed saline into my arm. He even pushed down the syringe."

Peter took a hesitant step closer. "He was very brave."

"And now he's a nurse. So you see how it worked out." Nathan leant in towards Andy, so he couldn't see Peter out of the corner of his eye anymore. "The thing about having a little brother: sometimes you have to do things that hurt you first, just so they know not to be scared."

Andy nods slowly, and lets Nathan pull him to his feet. He pulls his hand away from Nathan, and takes his brother's small hand in his own. They walk to Peter, who kneels down, still looking troubled. He was always good with kids.

Peter says, "This is only going to hurt for a second, I promise." The boys say nothing, but their hold on each other's hands gets tighter.

&-&-&

Peter had known intellectually that their abilities should repeat. Even Mohinder's first extrapolation from his father's list had three pyrokinetics, five telekinetics, and two more who could fly. It was still a shock to see the twenty-something kid break the sound barrier, just like Nathan had done.

He and Sylar were still unique, no matter how much delving the government did. It made Sylar smile thinly – "we're special, you and I."

Peter was glad of it. He had just about enough energy to divide his resources between using Sylar to bring down the government (and save Nathan), and stopping Sylar stealing their brains while they slept. He liked to know that if Sylar was with him, then there was no brain-stealing going on in the genetically-superior world. He liked to believe that the only power duplicates were him and Sylar.

Which is why it was something of a surprise when, in the middle of a raid on government offices, Peter's abilities went dead. The Haitian had been killed sixteen months ago. Peter had turned to ask Sylar, which was the only thing that saved him from a bullet to the heart. Instead he took one to the shoulder and one to the thigh.

The pain was nothing new, but the inability to fix it was unnerving. He found himself being stared at by a blond thirty year-old in glasses, in rank behind the soldiers. Sylar threw Peter over his shoulder and ran, and if he lived to be a hundred Peter wouldn't understand how that had worked.

The next time, Peter was carrying a gun. He aimed right for the heart and kept firing until the spasms stopped. Afterwards, Sylar looked at him, wiping the blood spatter delicately from his face, and murmured, "That was a little excessive."

Peter laughed until he choked.

&-&-&

A young woman, dark haired and dark skinned, comes tumbling into the lab. Peter startles, before greeting her warmly. "Monica."

She gestures behind her. "I brought you some company."

"The more the merrier," he says, and then, "You got them all?"

"My count's twenty-four, but we'll get our girl to check it off when they're all inside."

Nathan has never seen any of the inmates that file into the lab after her, but he recognises the fugitives on the end.

Hiro bounces into the lab with Ando a step behind him. He beams at Nathan, and Nathan smiles back – Hiro and Ando together remind him of when this was all still something he could ignore. Nathan accepts the exuberant hug with as much grace as he can muster, only noticing at close range the tight little lines carved on Hiro's forehead and around his eyes. He clasps Hiro's shoulder. "Tough year?"

Hiro's English is better. "Yes, Nathan, very very tough." Not flying-man, and not Nathan-Petrelli, just Nathan.

"Me too," Nathan says.

"Your brother was very worried," Hiro says. "He's been looking for you since it happened."

Peter has pulled their new arrivals to one side of the room, to get rid of the implants. He's quieter now, moving among them swiftly.

Hiro says, "They've been changing tactics for months to keep us away from here. Ever since Peter killed their failsafe."

"How did you-?"

Hiro grins broadly. "Ando was our inside man." Ando shrugs, but looks pleased. He also looks supremely tired, his face drawn. Nathan wonders how long he's had to work down here, with no contact from the others. It strikes him again that this has been planned to the last detail: the lists, planting Ando inside, the detailed knowledge of layout and function. It's a culmination of months of intel-gathering, not an impulsive raid.

Nathan hears Sylar's voice calling, "Peter."

Peter grumbles, "We have comms, you know," but takes off down the corridor.

&-&-&

One of the first things Peter had learnt was that Sylar could be quiet. Not sinister quiet, except in the way that everything Sylar did was sinister, but simply quiet. He, unlike Peter, was perfectly capable of sitting in the passenger seat of the car for hours without saying a word. Sometimes he would read – he had one particularly dog-eared copy of Chandra Suresh's book, rescued from a burnt-out apartment in the first week after Peter had liberated him. Other times he would simply sit and look out of the window, with Peter's hand on his arm to extend the invisibility to them both.

Peter, then, was the one who started the talking. He had begun with strategy, and speculation about the government's next move, about their changed status on the most wanted list. They had made a brief sojourn into popular culture, before Peter realised that although they must be of an age, they share no cultural references. In the end, they mostly talked about what they had in common.

"Flight or teleportation?"

Sylar's mouth twisted. "That's a stupid question."

"Not, like, time and space bending, just the regular teleportation."

"Why would anyone choose the short-term benefit of flight over the long-term benefits of teleportation? I would want to be out of range of the missiles."

"You have no sense of romance."

"That has been noted."

Peter waited, expectantly. Eventually, Sylar sighed. "Telepathy or telekinesis?"

"Telekinesis." Peter had no doubts over that one. "Mostly I don't want to know what people are thinking."

"I-"

"But of course, you disagree."

"I don't know." Sylar said, "I've only sampled one of them."

That time, Peter sighed. He tapped his fingers on Sylar's arm, but didn't remove them. After a moment he said, "Can you just trust me on this?" Sylar's answer was cut short by their target's car finally coming out of the gate. Peter grinned. "Hold on tight." Driving while invisible was a neat trick.

&-&-&

Nathan tracks the explosions, the way they only get louder when Peter makes it down to wherever Sylar needs assistance. Hiro flickers out of the room and back in, nodding to Nathan that the pair of them need no more help.

In the lab, the others huddle against the wall, and Nathan thinks about trying to calm them down. He touches the back of his neck. He flies straight up, high enough to finally touch the ceiling, before settling his feet back onto the ground.

Matt grins widely at him, a reaction to the smile which has crept, unbidden, onto his own face. Nathan hadn't known he would miss the freedom of flight so much until it was denied to him. He looks around the room, at the others who are trying out the full reach of their abilities once again. Matt closes his eyes, and whispers, "Mohinder."

"He's…"

"Yeah. He is."

"I'm glad."

Nathan can hear Peter and Sylar bickering on their way back up to the lab. It's not quite friendly, but it reminds him enough of friendship that it's strange. That it makes him want Parkman's ability, so he could reach into Peter's mind and pull out whatever it is that makes him laugh at Sylar's jokes.

Peter is protesting, "I wasn't going to kill Mohinder."

"You threw fire."

"I didn't hit him!"

"Because I pushed him down."

"I had it under control. I can choose where I send the fire."

"Not once it's left your hands."

"You know, when I said you had to get over your creepy Mohinder-obsession…"

"Yes?"

"This isn't what I meant."

And then Nathan can hear Mohinder's voice beneath theirs, soft and accented, familiar though it has been a solid eighteen months since he last heard it. Officially Mohinder had been drafted into service, not imprisoned, so they shouldn't have needed to be afraid. Mohinder, though, was burdened with more intelligence than sense, and they hadn't been convinced he would have played along. It would have been a balancing act between how important he was as a scientific expert, and how much of a fuss he caused at having to patch up the damage the guards caused. It could have gone either way. Nathan doesn't look at Matt.

Peter pushes three more scientists into the lab ahead of him, and Mohinder follows behind, caught between Peter and Sylar. Mohinder slips away from them, dark eyes searching the crowd.

Nathan puts his hand on Matt's shoulder and shoves.

Mohinder stops. "Matthew."

Matt says, "Hey."

"Hello."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"Yeah. Peter broke the…"

Mohinder ducks his head. "Then you know how glad I am to see you."

Matt slid his hands underneath Mohinder's lab coat, pulling them together in a rough embrace. "I got some idea, yeah." They're all thinner nowadays, and Mohinder was scrawny even before. He disappears into Matt's hold, just the shock of his dark hair a splash of colour against all the standard-issue white fabric.

Peter is pretending not to watch, but he's always been a terrible liar. Nathan walks to him. "I didn't say."

"Sorry?"

"That I was glad to see you," Nathan says. "I should have said that."

Peter shrugs. "I didn't really say either. We've been busy."

"Even so," Nathan says, "It's good to see you, Pete." It sounds trite, but Peter smiles at him anyway. Nathan lays his hand on Peter's shoulder. Peter moves the extra distance, and Nathan kisses his cheek and musses his hair, the way he's done a million times. Peter's breath is warm against the side of his face, slow and even. Nathan closes his eyes.

When Peter steps back again, his expression is determined. "Okay." He looks at Hiro. "Have you got everyone?"

"Checked and checked again."

"I have mine. We're ready then?"

Sylar coughs. "Peter."

"Yes." Peter touches his ear. "Okay, go." He listens intently for a moment, before pulling a many-folded map from his pocket. He flattens it against the wall, and Sylar leans over his shoulder. The tips of their fingers meet near the bottom left-hand corner. Peter says, "There."

Sylar looks at Peter. "Don't lie."

"I'm not. He's there. You need to go now."

Sylar nods. "Yes."

"So go."

Sylar tilts his head to look at Peter, and at Nathan who has walked close because he still doesn't trust Sylar anywhere near his brother. Sylar doesn't look quite human when he does that, as though there's something different twisting underneath his skin. Sylar asks, "What's next month's drop-point?"

"Georgetown," Peter says, without thinking. He pauses. "You knew that."

"I was just making sure that you did."

Peter smiles then, a little. "I have the same memory you have. Now go. And try not to make it so bloody they go back to the zombie theory?"

"If you insist."

Sylar heads out at a run, and this time there is no one to stop him as he makes for the surface. All Nathan can hear are his footsteps, getting more and more faint.

Peter's voice carries through the whole room, finally having learnt the deep bass that calls their father and grandfather to mind. "Everyone ready to leave this place?"

&-&-&

It had started innocently, or innocent looking anyway. Months after Nathan had been shot, bleeding out over Peter's hands, the Company had tracked down another teenage girl. She was a little redheaded sorority girl with a smile that could literally chase the storm clouds away. The Company hadn't done their research well enough, and when they approached her, she went straight to her mother's boyfriend. Her mother's boyfriend was the chief of staff for one of seven men who were at that time trying to become a candidate for the Presidency.

Sophie Garrity wasn't a threat, her step-father assured, and his boss agreed. But there were people out there who might be. They had been informed (no one knew by whom or for what purpose) that there were others. Others who might do more than making the sun shine. And the President was going to have a duty to look into the situation.

Sylar had disappeared the morning after the election results came in. Peter found out later, from Mohinder, that Maya had been found dead a few weeks later. No one had seen Adam, and Molly couldn't find him, but there were other explanations for that absence.

It was a little longer than two years after the election that Nathan was arrested. The 2010 midterms gave the President the majority he needed to pull in anyone with a 'socially harmful genetic abnormality', rather than just the murderers and sociopaths. Peter suspected that Nathan's harm to society was that he was a former politician who made sense when he spoke, rather than the way he sometimes flew without a jet.

Peter had wanted to run. He never tells anyone this, not after Nathan refused to leave with him. Nathan had believed in the law, right up until the day he was dragged from his home sedated and handcuffed. He had told Peter that they would be safe, but he had also told him to be ready to grab Monty and Simon and run. Peter had only listened to the second part.

&-&-&

Peter and Hiro move them in batches, ten at a time. Nathan's not sure if that's a real limit or if they're just being cautious.

Finally, it is just Peter, Nathan, Matt and Mohinder. Peter touches his radio. "I count four left, how about you?" He nods, and wraps his arm around Nathan's chest. Matt grips Nathan's elbow, and Mohinder's wrist.

They pop back into the world somewhere cool and dim. Underground, Nathan's brain fills in. His eyes adjust to the dark, and fill in the rustlings and whispers of other people.

Peter is greeted by men and women Nathan doesn't recognise, and a few kids who hug him round the legs in relief. Peter keeps looking around until he is hit at full tilt by a five foot nothing blonde whirlwind.

Matt freezes beside him. Nathan watches as Peter gently disentangles Molly's arms from his waist, and turns her around.

Nathan has to look away.

She screams, and he has been a father long enough that he knows the difference between this one and the other kind. The kind that kept him awake for months on end, that he knows will not go away even now Peter has assured him that his children are all safe.

When he looks up from the ground, Molly has slipped between Matt and Mohinder. She is crying and laughing; they are crying and trying to stop. It is an intimate moment they should be allowed the privacy of, and Nathan puts out his hand to walk away with Peter.

The arm he grasps is shaking, and his gaze tracks up to Peter's pale face, and the way the whites of his eyes are showing. Nathan barely gets out the first syllable of his alarm before Molly is shouting.

She stands in front of Peter. "Micah!"

Niki's kid. Nathan hears the polite apologies as Micah pushes through the crowds to get to them.

Molly pulls Peter to the ground. Nathan helps without knowing why, only that the fifteen year old is less afraid than he is.

She urges Peter to put his head between his knees, and breathe deep. When he does, she admonishes him, "See what happens when you do too much?"

Micah stands beside Nathan. "He does this sometimes," he says, with strangely mature fond exasperation. Their children have grown up while they weren't looking, into that middle period of adolescence that is supposed to come with gangly limbs and awkwardness. They seem to have bypassed at least the second one of those.

Nathan asks, "How often is sometimes?"

Peter coughs, and smiles at him. Nathan's seen that look too many times before. Peter says, "Sometimes."

Molly glares. "I told him to let Hiro do the teleporting."

"She did," Peter agrees.

"Every time you do too much switching around..."

"This happens."

"Yes!"

Peter tugs the end of her hair, which makes her wrinkle her nose and shake her head at him. Molly waves her finger in front of his nose and watches to make sure his pupils follow it. Nathan wants to tell her that Peter was never good at that test, even as a kid - he was always too easily distracted, or too lost in his own head. But she smiles brightly, as though satisfied, and pats his shoulder when she stands.

Niki walks over, nodding her head at Nathan. "He all right?"

"I'm fine," Peter says, but Niki ignores him.

"He's okay," Nathan says, and she nods again and walks off.

Peter shrugs philosophically, and surveys the chaos around him from his low vantage point. "Wow."

Nathan dropped beside him. "Yeah."

&-&-&

They finally tracked down Compound Three while doing something else entirely. Elle was supposed to be with Claire and Noah Bennet, but one night, when Molly is doing her usual check-up, Elle turns up on her own in Seattle.

Peter had teleported right into her hotel room. "I'm not sure about the wig."

She hadn't been surprised to see him. "Get this thing off me."

"The wig?"

"No, idiot, not the wig."

She had turned around, and there was a little box clamped onto the back of her neck. Peter pulled at it gingerly, and she yelped. He backed away. "This looks-"

"It has some kind of tracker in it or something, and I don't think I fried that part hard enough, so if you could just make with the mechanical mojo?"

"Which part did you fry?"

"Excuse me?"

"What else does it do?"

"It's got some…" Her breathing skittered up and down, and Peter smoothed his hands over her shoulders to settle her. She twisted and pulled away. Elle said, "It has some of that stuff in it. The ability-blocking stuff. And it jabs right in, so you can't just pull it out without… But you can get it, right?"

"Come back with me."

"No. Nuh-uh, no way. I said right at the start I wasn't getting pulled into all that. For such an old guy, Noah's way more fun to hang out with than you."

Peter shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you."

"And I don't want them to come after me and dissect me. I'll take my chances with you, if that's all right. Just wave your pretty fingers at it and get it to let go. I jolted its insides pretty hard before the potion hit my system anyway."

Elle had pulled the short dark wig off, and held her real hair up away from her neck. She turned her head to look at him. "Come on. I have places to be."

Peter still hadn't quite got a handle on Micah's power. It didn't help that Micah was a computer genius even before his abilities developed. Peter tended to prefer abilities with more of an instinctive component. He held the box in one hand, and Elle's shoulder in the other.

He talked it into letting go of its clutch on her neck, but only reluctantly. Elle's blood ran through his fingers from the messy hole that removing the thing had left.

She smiled at him, bright and crisp, all predator. "Thanks. Now, I've really gotta fly. 'Pretend-Dad' and 'pretend-sis' are waiting. Keep the box – it might help you find big brother. I hear he's hanging out over there."

He had grabbed at her shoulder. "What?"

"They were trying to take me through door number three. That's the big house, isn't it? Petrelli the elder, Parkman, cute little Doctor Suresh? Go get your tech boy to look at it."

Peter hadn't go of her just yet. "You want a lift somewhere?"

Elle's laughter was always a little ominous, showing up all her cracks. "Nope. Not with you, and not with that. They're not getting me again. You should take notes – undercover's the way to go."

"Not til I get the rest of them out."

She had shrugged, and waved casually over her shoulder, picking up the wig as she left. Peter had teleported in the opposite direction from home, dropped the box, and then dropped back in with Micah, Niki, and a few of their better pyros.

They hadn't needed them – Micah had pulled the exact coordinates out of the thing faster than Peter could explain the situation. Peter burnt the box up, and left the dust there to be blown away in the wind. When they got back, Molly confirmed that the spot identified was within the fuzzy region she had picked out when she looked for the ones still missing. It was enough confirmation – they were down there somewhere, even if neither Peter nor Molly could find them. Peter just needed to get someone inside and close enough to figure out the problem.

Peter had broken the rules he and Sylar had set for themselves, and teleported to his side, back in New York again. He had dodged out of the way of the flung furniture, and caught Sylar's hand before it tried to get his head open. "We've got it. Time to start moving on that plan."

"And then-"

"We get Nathan and the others out, without you killing anyone we're not trying to kill, and I get you his location."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't. But that goes both ways, doesn't it?"

"You lie to me, and I'll be flying after you when I kill you."

"You ever come flying after me, you better be prepared for me to blow you out of the sky."

"Done?"

Peter had considered. "That's about it, yeah. So we ready?"

"Let's go."

&-&-&

They end up surrounded by reuniting families, while he and Peter sit silently on the floor. Occasionally someone leans over Nathan to ask Peter a question, but mostly they seem unsurprised that their apparent leader doesn't get up and lead.

Peter is a warm weight against Nathan's side, so very definitely alive that Nathan doesn't know why the next words out of his mouth are, "They told us you were dead, you know. You and him. The glorious revolution."

Peter looks at him curiously, too-close and out of focus. "I'm kind of hard to kill. Permanently, anyway."

"Yes, but with the-".

"You thought I was dead?"

Nathan nods. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry." Peter must realise his words are inadequate, because he looks down at the floor, and busies himself with the papers Niki handed over.

"Parkman, for some reason, never believed them. Apparently he's an optimist. I think he just needed to believe someone was coming."

"Whereas you-?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry," Peter says again. "That it took so long. Nathan, I tried, I swear, but they were just-"

"Hey. Hey, stop it."

Peter's hand is caught in his still short hair; he looks at Nathan earnestly. "I didn't ever stop, I promise."

"I know."

"Yeah?"

"I thought you were dead, Pete, I didn't think you'd forgotten me."

"Did that already – not planning on trying the amnesia thing again anytime soon."

It's a poor attempt at a joke, but Nathan attempts to match the levity. "So there is a plan. I was beginning to wonder."

Peter coughs, and leans away. Before Nathan can point out that he was kidding, Peter stands up. "We plan," Peter says, "Now, do you want to give me a hand or not?"

Nathan extends his hand, and Peter pulls him easily to his feet. He doesn't quite let go of Nathan's hand, just slides his hand up to curl around the wrist instead. Nathan shrugs, and lets himself be lead.

&-&-&

Peter had never been quite sure about the fatherhood thing. He was kind of scared he'd end up like his Dad - not cruel but largely indifferent, at least to Peter. Then Nathan had kids, and Nathan was an amazing father, and Peter had thought: maybe, someday.When he had stopped feeling like a kid himself, when he didn't need Nathan to come save him every other day, when his first response to crisis wasn't to go ask his brother.

He was a good uncle though, and he was glad to have Claire to add to that short list. Glad later to have Molly, because she had no one else, and because she was the wisest teenager he'd ever met.

Molly didn't need a lot from him. She made him promise Sylar would never be allowed to come back with him, which was a promise Peter had no problem making. His détente with Sylar didn't mean he wanted him anywhere near Molly, with her bright smile and sad eyes. There was always someone in the base who could hold Sylar off long enough to call Peter – normally Niki, but they gradually built up a volunteer army. Hiding was still safer.

Before long, there wasn't just Molly to think of. There was an unspoken rule, not just among their own, but among parents of all stripes. Peter couldn't count the number of times he had been handed someone's flesh and blood and been told: take them first. And there were so many of them, and they all trusted him to keep them safe, and Peter was back to the beginning (Nathan would know what to do).

Because the really troubling thing was: he checked up on Sylar too. The world had divided up into the ordinary world, the government and anyone with abilities working for them, and everyone else with abilities. Sylar had been dropped into box number three earlier than any of them. So Peter ended up with Sylar lumped into the same category as Molly, and Micah, and little Jason who had x-ray vision, and Susannah who used her telekinesis to take care of the kids when Niki was out. Peter had always possessed a heightened sense of responsibility, but this was ridiculous.

"Maybe you're going mad," Sylar said.

"Excuse me?"

"You're talking to yourself."

"You talk to yourself."

"I have no one else to talk to. You're building yourself a colony. I refuse to believe that there's no one in your little band who would respond to you better than the coffee cup."

"Remember how I asked you not to talk about my people? It makes it harder to believe you're not plotting ways to kill me in my sleep."

"Now, where would be the fun in that?"

Peter had shrugged, and gone back to communing with the coffee mug. Mohinder might have understood what it was to be dealing with the bad to destroy the worst. Since he was still alive the last time Peter had checked, he probably understood now all too well. Work with the bad guys to keep your guys alive, and worry about the rest later. Peter had sighed. Nathan would have known what to do.

&-&-&

Nathan gets the impression that they've done this before, on a smaller scale. There is more room in the bunker than they ever would have needed with their thirty or forty people. Peter had always meant to fill this place.

Hiro seems to be directing traffic, standing in the middle of the room gesticulating enthusiastically. Ando is holding the clipboard and making sure things actually get done. People are moved from place to place, and slowly the room gets emptier.

Peter is leaning against the far wall, sending sleeping bags flying across to Molly and Micah, who are doling them out at the doors.

Nathan hasn't figured out what Monica's ability is yet, but right now she seems to be passing out plates of food. She juggles some empty glasses, to the delight of the small group of kids watching her. He's not sure how to reconcile that with the way she non-lethally incapacitated a corridor of guards hours before.

Soon, it is down to just a few of them, and the lights are dimmed to an artificial evening. There is a corner of the large room with some scattered cushions, and a pile of large books. Molly sits down there, cross-legged, and pulls one of the books onto her lap.

Peter is at the far door, conferring with Monica on room allocations, Niki on patrol rotas, and Micah on the security checks. Nathan still hasn't asked how they commandeered what looks to be an ex-military bunker, or what it means when Peter asks if all external systems are armed. He's not so sure he wants to know.

Spotting Molly across the room, Peter's expression changes. He walks over hurriedly, dropping to the floor beside her. "Molly. We don't need to do this tonight. Everybody's-"

"That's why I want to. Just once? Just to see it."

Peter crosses his legs and faces her. He takes one of her hands, laying the other on top of the book. "Okay, sweetheart. You want to go first?"

She closes her eyes. "Matthew Parkman." Her hand flies through the pages, landing on one near the end. She points. "There. Now you."

Peter whispers, "Nathan Petrelli. There."

"Mohinder Suresh. There."

"Claire Bennet." Claire takes longer to find, flicking backwards through the continental United States, but Peter says, "There."

"Ando Masahashi."

"Elle Bishop."

Molly opens her eyes, and looks at Nathan over Peter's shoulder. "Heidi Petrelli. There."

Peter continues as though nothing had happened. "Simon Petrelli. There."

Nathan is standing beside Peter by the time Molly says, "Monty Petrelli. There." Europe.

They keep going, over a hundred names of the formerly missing, learnt off by heart.

&-&-&

Sometimes Peter wondered what would have happened if Nathan's press conference had gone the way it was meant to. If it would have made a difference for them to have controlled the press, instead of 'no comment's followed by grainy CCTV footage of ex-Congressman Nathan Petrelli blasting off.

He hadn't understood Nathan's reluctance. "It's not scary, Nathan. Flying's cool. It's like Sophie Garrity and the weather thing."

Nathan said, "Being able to change the weather's scarier than it sounds. Just ask Gore."

"But flying's… Look, it's not as if you've got much of an offensive capability. Unless you, like, pick someone up and drop them."

"Peter."

"The government… they did this thing. They took the choice out of our hands, so why can't we just…?"

"No."

That had been three weeks before Nathan had been named, and three weeks two hours before the inevitable question: what about the genetic component? Because Nathan had two little boys, and Nathan had a brother who had already got him in trouble in the press. Nathan had a brother whose abilities were scary. He was a living nuclear weapon and the only reason he wasn't in prison was because no one could catch him.

The next time they had the conversation, Peter had been ready to fight.

"No."

"They took the choice out of our hands," Peter said, opening his own hands to demonstrate. "The only thing they had over us was that we wanted to stay hidden. Dragging us out into the open was the biggest mistake they've ever made."

"We're only in the open if we-"

"They pulled your kids out of school to test them!"

"And they put them right back because they found nothing. My kids are fine."

"They-"

"And as far as I remember, back then you still wanted to make a run for it."

"That was before."

"Before what, Pete? Before Ma?"

"Yeah, Nathan, before Mom."

"No." Nathan took a distancing step back, keeping Peter away with his arms. "No fighting, no armies. We don't need that kind of attention."

"Well, we need something."

"Sure we do. When you think of it, come get me."

They had spoken a few times since then, but that was the conversation Peter remembered afterwards. He had wondered what he could have done differently, which words might have pulled Nathan with him, instead of making him back away, palms held up.

Nathan had disappeared, and Peter had his instructions, however long ago Nathan had given them, however oblique the language. Peter had teleported in and out of the boys' schools so quickly that their pens hadn't hit the desks before he had them safe with their mother.

At least they had a mother to be left with. Peter had always loved Heidi, never more so when she refused to let him take her and the boys with him. She had pulled Monty and Simon to her side, and ordered Peter to take them somewhere they would never be connected with him or Nathan. Peter tried not to track their movements too closely, and for months would not even confirm that they were alive. The best thing he could do for them was to stay away.

Matt was arrested four days after Mohinder was deputised for the 'scientific effort' in Compound Three. All Peter could do was grab Molly and bring her along. Then it had been Niki and Micah, and Peter couldn't dissuade Molly from her desire to use her abilities to find the others. After all, he generally tried not to be a hypocrite.

When Peter told the story later, he would always maintain they had been a refugee camp before an army.

&-&-&

Peter asks, "Who's first tonight?"

"Me," Hiro says, disappearing through the rear door after Micah comes back out of it. Micah nods sleepily at Peter, rubbing his eyes and not protesting when his mother pushes him out into the corridor ahead of her.

Peter yawns. "We're with them." He stops. "If that's okay. We're all kind of squashed up right now."

Molly giggles, taking one of Matt's hands, and one of Mohinder's. "But that's a good thing. Come on, we're all in the same room." She tugs on their hands, swinging herself between them. "Like a sleepover."

Matt bumps her shoulder. "In that case, Nathan and me have been in a sleepover for a really long time."

Molly's face falls, and Nathan pats her back carefully. "And he snores, so you can imagine how much fun that was for me." She laughs again.

Peter's hand ends up settled between Nathan's shoulder blades, as though he believes Nathan might get lost in the shadows on the way there.

Seven people in one room, and Nathan didn't know if that was standard or not. The room is about that size, and the one cot at the end of the room looks military. Niki stakes out her place on it, and no one is about to argue with her.

Peter lays out his sleeping bag nearest the door. He looks at Nathan, eyes bright in the darkness. "We're working on the sleeping arrangements, honest."

Nathan is lying close enough that he can reach out his hand and squeeze Peter's shoulder. "Just get some sleep, okay?"

Peter nods, and puts his head down. His eyes shut, but open again a few minutes later. "You're staring at me."

"Yeah."

"I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Nathan," Peter says. "I promise, okay? No one's gonna get in here without us knowing. We're as safe as the combined talents of a lot of very smart people can make us. Sleep."

Nathan fully agrees, but can't do anything about it. The noise and the light is different, and he had never made plans for what to do if they got out. It had been an impossible scenario (like waking up one day and being able to fly, like your brother throwing fire from his hands trying to save your life). Nathan's had his mind messed with before.

Peter sighs, and snakes his arm out from the sleeping bag. He covers Nathan's eyes with his hand. "Flying."

"Sorry?"

"Dream of flying."

He is about to protest that he can't control his dreams, but halfway through the thought, he is above New York. Matt never mentioned that his ability could do this. They are Nathan's memories, but Peter has put him there. Peter flies alongside him, between the skyscrapers, and that is all he remembers.

&-&-&

Peter's dreams of flying had always been Nathan's. He knew that now.

&-&-&

The next morning, Peter wants to do it for real. Nathan is less than enthused, but they're in the middle of nowhere and anyway he owes Peter for the rescue.

They don't go high, barely twenty feet over the snowdrifts. Peter darts down and flicks a handful of snow at Nathan's chest.

It has been years – decades – since they last did anything like this. But Nathan remembers it. The way Peter's cheeks flush pink from the cold and from breathing too hard. Snow clings to his hair and eyelashes. And he laughs. Sings out, "C'mon, Nathan, keep up. Catch me," before he jets off faster than Nathan can go.

Or he was faster, once, sometime between Peter growing into his too-long legs, and Nathan's flight being forced into bursts of infrequent altitude before he was shot down. But Peter doesn't get to fly better than Nathan. Halfway back, Nathan catches up, grabbing Peter's arm, and they spin. Peter is too much for Nathan to pull back, and Nathan too much for Peter. They both know this. It only works if they pull in the same direction. They hit the ground rolling, the same direction after all, and Nathan has his arms tight around Peter's shoulders. Nathan's never dropped him, not when he was a fidgeting eight-month old trying to catch the butterflies, and not when he was twenty-six and just touching him made Nathan's flesh burn.

Peter ends up on top, and there are flakes of snow spiked on his eyelashes. He looks at Nathan. "Want to start a brave new world?"

&-&-&

As long as Peter could remember, Nathan was going to 'do something important, someday'. Now, he could hear his father in those words, but back then it had all been Nathan.

Peter was fourteen and Nathan was a very junior lawyer in the DA's office, already on his way to that someday. Peter was still asking the teacher to repeat the question every time she called on him.

Nathan came home one weekend, just after Peter had received another report card that emphasised his refusal to apply himself. Peter preferred to think of his application as selective rather than non-existent. His English teacher, for example, loved him, and Peter worshiped the ground he walked on. Still, it was a nice change of his pace to have his brother be the one Dad was unimpressed with.

The door of Peter's room had opened, and Peter didn't need to look up to know that it was Nathan. Peter could just see the top of Nathan's hair from his position lying on the bed, with Nathan sitting down beside it.

"Are you okay?" he tried, when Nathan said nothing.

Nathan exhaled noisily.

"Nathan?" Peter reached out and connected clumsily with Nathan's head, trying for reassurance.

"Yeah, Pete, I'm fine. Office things. Nothing to worry about."

"I'm pretty sure you're still Dad's favourite."

"Well, that's because you're failing history."

Peter collapsed back onto the bed. "Yeah."

"If you would just make a little-"

"Nathan."

"Sorry. You need anything?"

"Hmm?"

"Before I go back. What are big brothers for if not to buy you whatever it is Mom and Dad won't?"

"No. Thanks, I mean, but no."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. What were you and Dad fighting about?"

"Nothing. Office things, I told you. Grown up stuff."

Peter, of course, had known that Nathan was baiting him. He was the baby brother – Nathan teasing him about it was expected, especially when he was trying to avoid an awkward conversation. So Nathan probably hadn't expected Peter to take such violent offence that he tumbled off the bed in his attempts to protest. His fist caught Nathan in the shoulder and, trying not to land on his brother, Peter crashed headfirst onto the hardwood floor.

He had blinked, and Nathan was crouching over him, calling his name.

Peter frowned. "What were you and Dad fighting about?"

Nathan swiped his hand over his forehead. "Jesus. A case. Politics. My desire to run for office versus his desire for his clients to stay out of jail."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Nathan helped Peter into a sitting position, the two of them shoulder to shoulder leaning against the bed. Nathan said, "You okay? You know the date and who's President?"

"You'd be a good President."

Nathan's smile had been slow and surprised, like light creeping into a dark room. "You think?"

"Yeah."

"Well, thank you." Nathan grinned. "So what do you plan on doing when I'm President, since you can't pass freshman history?"

Peter leant his head against Nathan's shoulder. "I'll be the President's brother."

Nathan sighed. "Peter."

"Okay, okay, fine. You can make me, like, an envoy or whatever. To Bosnia or somewhere, where they have all that fighting, and they need… They need someone to help. You can send me there."

"Sometimes, Pete, I really do wonder where we got you."

"I'm your brother."

"Yeah, kid, I know."

&-&-&

Peter doesn't elaborate until they're back inside the bunker. Nathan hadn't seen this part before – banks of computer screens, with Micah in front of them in a chair so high his feet don't touch the ground. He grins at Peter. "I still think we should have codenames."

"I'll get right on that."

"Molly's could be GPS."

Molly, sitting across the room with an atlas and a Game Boy, sticks out her tongue.

Nathan walks with Peter down another corridor, and Peter stops at the end. He backs up against a heavy metal door, with his hands spread flat against it, and Nathan can see his fingers twitch. Peter starts the sentence three – four – five times.

Nathan asks, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Well. Yeah. I need a favour."

"Whatever you need."

"I'm… I mean, I've been doing this, and people listen because, well, they seem to think I know what I'm doing."

"You're doing fine."

"But I'm not though. We can't do this forever. Busting you out was pretty much my second-to-last step."

"Okay. So what's the last one?"

"That's kinda where you come in."

"All right. Try me."

"Sophie's pretty sure she can grow us an island."

"Excuse me?"

"Like, a volcano? But really well controlled. And sort of sped up. We've tried it out in miniature, and we think it'll work."

"You want to secede from the United States."

Peter spread his arms wide. "A lot of us aren't American anyway. And our government made it pretty clear what it thought of us when it built the compounds. I just don't think we want to be fugitives forever."

"You sound like you've already made your mind up."

"Nathan. I need you to be in charge."

"What do you mean by-?"

"I don't know what I'm doing. I never do. And you would."

"You're doing good," Nathan says. "You got these guys safe. You don't need-"

"Yeah, I really do. Always. I never wanted anything like this. You did. I would only be in charge because they're afraid of me. I could kill everyone, and they all know it. You're reassuring."

Nathan laughed. "Peter, the only person I ever reassured was you."

"You were a Congressman, Nathan. There was a future out there where you were President. Hiro saw it. You deserve better than this, and maybe if I hadn't… but I can give you this."

"A dictatorship, with you enforcing it for me. Thanks but no thanks."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Come with me."

Peter opens the door. It looks like a kid's room, books and building blocks and a dollhouse. There's a mural all along the back wall.

Peter says, "I woke up one night, and I painted this. The kids did some stuff after but I… this is what's supposed to happen. What we make happen."

The painting shows them both flying. Nathan smiles – Peter has always drawn him taller than he is. Nathan is shown hovering (harder than it looks) and Peter draws out a loop around him, curls of black paint depicting his motion. Underneath them, there is ocean, and sand and green hills, and people making buildings out of nothing. Underneath them a new world is coming into existence.

Peter stands behind Nathan, and leans his arm around him to point. "We can do this. I know it. But it needs to be both of us. It doesn't work without you. The others too, but you…" Peter's step forward pushes Nathan into one too. Peter points at the two of them in the painting: Nathan the one still point, Peter in his orbit. Peter says, "You hold it all together. Please."

It's not as if he really had to ask. Nathan turns around from the picture, staring into the eyes of the real Peter. He puts his hands on Peter's shoulders. "When do we start?"

FIN. Feedback is always welcome.