Rating: gen

Spoilers: through 'Four Months Later...', aka 2.01.

Disclaimer: the Flying Petrellis are, alas, not mine. This makes me incredibly sad.

IMMOLATION by Jayne Leitch
2007

At first, it's just warmth, banked and breathing. It makes Nathan think of the boys, of carrying them up to bed after they'd passed out while watching a movie; little kids could put out so much heat when they dozed off, and it seeped comfortably into him from the little bodies sprawled in his arms.

"It's getting worse, Nathan."

Then it's like a fever--or a sunburn, a bad one. Peter's trembling all over, burning up, the skin of his temple hot and dry and radiating against Nathan's. The air gets colder the higher they fly, but everywhere Peter touches him Nathan is warm. He tightens his grip, holding him close. "Just a bit higher, Pete. Hold on."

"What--no!" Peter struggles, and the heat flares. Nathan imagines flames licking at his exposed skin; he doesn't slow down, or let go. "No, Nathan, what are you doing? You have to let me go. Let me go, and get away--"

"I'm not letting you go. We're almost there."

"You can get away!" The more Peter struggles, the more he burns; Nathan catches a glimpse of the skin charring black under Peter's eyes, and fixes his gaze on the stars straight ahead. His own eyes are watering, tears streaming in the freezing wind. They turn to steam as soon as they touch Peter's skin. "We're high enough--if you let go now, you can still--I can't stop this much longer--"

It's getting hard to breathe. He's never flown this fast, or this high; it's surprisingly peaceful. "Then don't."

"Nathan!"

Too peaceful: he isn't prepared when Peter stops being dead weight, when he plants his hands on Nathan's shoulders and *pushes*, breaks Nathan's grip and shears off in another direction. Nathan veers wildly, staggering in mid-air, his balance upset; "Peter!" he shouts, but before he can right himself, the bright hot glow speeding away from him falters, begins to fall, and explodes.

The light is blinding. The concussion slams his body like white-hot metal; Nathan tumbles through the air like a rag doll. He doesn't realise he's falling until it's almost too late to stop.

And then he almost doesn't care.

*

His hands are chapped red in places, burnt a blotchy white in others. And they won't stop shaking. He has to fold the stiff fingers of his left hand around the clumsy fingers of his right just to grip the key to Peter's apartment.

Once inside, he stands for a minute in the middle of the kitchen--there's an open cereal box on the table, a pile of dishes in the sink--and waits. The apartment is silent; Nathan tells himself that doesn't mean a thing.

He toes off his shoes as he walks to Peter's bedroom, stumbling just a little. His jacket--the singed remnants of it, anyway--falls to the floor, and then Nathan's stretching out on the bed, not caring about the soot he leaves on the blankets. Turning his head, he buries his nose in the pillow, tries to breathe in Peter's scent on the sheets--but before he has time to realise that all he can smell is ashes, he's asleep.

*

Nathan sleeps like the dead, and wakes up exhausted. There's light shining around the edges of the blind; on the nightstand, the phone is ringing. Nathan picks up the receiver just to make it stop, intending to drop it right back into the cradle; instead, after a moment, he brings it to his ear and says, "Yeah?"

"Nathan!" Heidi sounds relieved and furious and worried, all at once. "Oh, thank God. How long have you been there? I've been trying your cell all day, and Peter's--"

He hadn't thought of that. His hand goes to his pocket as she continues; he pulls out his phone and flips it open, but it's dead. Its casing is warped along one edge. "My cell phone's broken," he says, then belatedly wonders if she'd finished speaking.

She's silent for a moment. "What happened?" she says finally, warily. "You sound--are you all right?"

Nathan swallows against the flayed feeling in his throat. "I'm fine."

"Is Peter there with you?"

He stares at the ceiling. "Just let me know if you hear from him, okay, Heidi?"

"Nathan--"

"I love you." It's an automatic thing to say, to end the conversation; by the time the receiver's back in its cradle, he doesn't remember saying it at all.

*

He's back in the kitchen--washing dishes to pass the time--when the sound of a key turning the lock freezes him where he stands. When the door opens and it's Ma, he barely notices her look of disapproval before he's striding towards her, saying, "No."

The look changes to surprise, maybe even a little fear, but she stands her ground; she always does. "Nathan, what on earth--"

"No, Ma." Stopping right in front of her, blocking the threshold, he takes her by the arm; before she can react, he pulls her keys from her hand, releases her arm, and begins prying at the ring. His wet, soapy fingers slip on the coiled metal.

"Nathan Petrelli, stop this nonsense and let me in."

Peter's key comes free; Nathan closes his fist around it. When he looks back up at his mother, her cheeks flush red, vivid in her pale face. He tosses her key ring into the hallway behind her. "Don't come here again," he says, and closes the door.

*

It takes Nathan a minute to realise that the bottle of rye he finds collecting dust at the back of the pantry cupboard is from their father's wake. He argues with himself for a long moment--Peter doesn't really drink; what if he's keeping it for sentimental reasons?--before reaching down a glass and sitting heavily at the table.

He doesn't mean to get drunk, but each swallow burns from the inside, and Nathan can't help himself.

It's the closest he's felt to Pete in days.

End.

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