Heal You, Heal Me
Dec. 3rd, 2007 01:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withimpunityTitle: Heal You, Heal Me
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC, and other folks who aren't me. This is for fun only, never profit.
A/n: Kind of darkish, au future Nathan and Peter. xposted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
darkpetrellis
“Fuck,” Nathan gasps, clutching the gaping, bloody hole in his chest as he slumps against a tall oak tree. “Fuck.”
“Stings a little, doesn’t it?” Peter smirks, setting the long handled blade he just pulled out of Nathan (like a hot knife through a stick of butter) on the ground next to him, staining the grass with bright crimson.
“Would you mind hurrying up with that?” Nathan arches an eyebrow, his forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat, each moment turning a paler shade than he was before.
“Oh quit being such a baby,” Peter smirks. “I’ve seen you worse off than this.” He chuckles as Nathan uses what bit of strength he has left to flip his middle finger up at him. Peter’s seen Nathan seconds away from death more times than he can count, and dead more times than he cares to remember; but every time still feels like the first time. Just as painful. Just as memorable. He fumbles inside his coat pocket for the syringe he keeps on him at all times, the slight shaking in Nathan’s hands beginning to bother him a little, thinking perhaps he does need to hurry it up a little.
Taking the syringe out of his pocket, Peter pushes the end of it until he’s sure there won't be any air bubbles and Nathan's eyes roll into the back of his head at the sight of the needle. “I hate this part.” He groans.
Peter can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of him. “Take on a gang of rapists, sure no problem. Go up against Sylar, whatever. But put a needle in front of him and he turns into a little girl.”
“Just do it, Peter,” Nathan growls, though his tone is slightly softened, and Peter doesn‘t tease him any further. There’s something else in Nathan’s shaky voice and it cuts straight through him. Fear. It’s not natural hearing fear in his big brother’s voice or knowing that the key to Nathan’s survival is nestled between his fingers (in his veins.) It’s not right. Nathan’s not afraid of anything. Nathan’s supposed to be the one taking care of him. The whole world feels off balance, warped. But, Peter supposes, the world’s been warped for a very long time. This isn’t new.
“Okay,” Peter replies softly, forgetting all about their playful sarcasm the moment he sees the desperation in Nathan’s eyes. Normally he’d tease Nathan about his fear of needles, but Peter can tell that’s not all it is this time. One look into his eyes and he knows. Nathan’s teetering on the edge of death; he can feel it tugging at him, cold and icy in his veins, and the syringe burns in his hand, reminding him of what has to be done.
“Okay,” Peter says again, meeting Nathan’s watery eyes and Nathan gives him an understanding nod. He closes his eyes as Peter straddles him, thighs tightening around his own to keep him still, holding the syringe between his teeth as he unbuttons Nathan’s shirt and pushes it open. Peter pauses, dazed for a moment at all the scars that decorate Nathan’s chest from wounds Nathan wouldn't allow him to heal. Peter wants to close his eyes and blindly trace his fingers over all of them, feel each raised line beneath his fingertips, memorize every scar, every wound, every memory from everything that Nathan has ever done for him. Peter’s breath hitches as his eyes move down Nathan’s chest and he gets a clear view of the hole in his chest where the bastard sliced him open, exposing muscle and tendons and deep crimson flesh.
“Do it,” Nathan whispers in a raspy, barely there voice, his dark eyes pleading and desperate. Peter’s eyes lock with Nathan’s and the sunlight behind them glint off the metal of the syringe. Nathan squeezes his eyes shut, fingers curling around Peter’s thigh as Peter aims and stabs him in the heart. Nathan lets out a hoarse, blood-curdling scream as Peter pushes the plunger in, filling Nathan’s heart with his blood, shocking his nervous system with his DNA. Tears leak out the corner of Peter’s eyes as the sun sets behind them, and Nathan stills.
Nathan nearly throws Peter off of him when the blood finally begins circulating through his system. It’s only been twenty seconds, maybe thirty, but Peter counted each of them as if they were hours. When Nathan’s eyes fly open and he gasps for air, clutching for Peter as if in those brief, quiet moments he’d been falling into a dark, endless void, Peter wraps his arms around his brother, pressing Nathan’s face into his chest, pressing his lips into Nathan’s hair, never wanting to let him go again, ever.
“Is it always going to be like this?” Nathan finally asks, pulling back to look up at Peter, kissing away the tears that roll down his cheeks, savoring the one thing that is still human about Peter on his lips.
“I don’t know,” Peter murmurs, pressing his lips to Nathan’s eyes, nose, jaw, and finally his lips, kissing him as if he thought he could kiss the life back into him. He presses his hand to Nathan’s chest where the wound had been, closing his eyes to feel his body as it heals. It’s all happening beneath his finger tips- new muscle, new skin, and finally just Nathan. Perfect. Just like new. He takes Nathan’s face between his hands and presses their foreheads together, smiling. “I hope so.”
Pairing: Nathan/Peter
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC, and other folks who aren't me. This is for fun only, never profit.
A/n: Kind of darkish, au future Nathan and Peter. xposted to
darkpetrellis “Fuck,” Nathan gasps, clutching the gaping, bloody hole in his chest as he slumps against a tall oak tree. “Fuck.”
“Stings a little, doesn’t it?” Peter smirks, setting the long handled blade he just pulled out of Nathan (like a hot knife through a stick of butter) on the ground next to him, staining the grass with bright crimson.
“Would you mind hurrying up with that?” Nathan arches an eyebrow, his forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat, each moment turning a paler shade than he was before.
“Oh quit being such a baby,” Peter smirks. “I’ve seen you worse off than this.” He chuckles as Nathan uses what bit of strength he has left to flip his middle finger up at him. Peter’s seen Nathan seconds away from death more times than he can count, and dead more times than he cares to remember; but every time still feels like the first time. Just as painful. Just as memorable. He fumbles inside his coat pocket for the syringe he keeps on him at all times, the slight shaking in Nathan’s hands beginning to bother him a little, thinking perhaps he does need to hurry it up a little.
Taking the syringe out of his pocket, Peter pushes the end of it until he’s sure there won't be any air bubbles and Nathan's eyes roll into the back of his head at the sight of the needle. “I hate this part.” He groans.
Peter can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of him. “Take on a gang of rapists, sure no problem. Go up against Sylar, whatever. But put a needle in front of him and he turns into a little girl.”
“Just do it, Peter,” Nathan growls, though his tone is slightly softened, and Peter doesn‘t tease him any further. There’s something else in Nathan’s shaky voice and it cuts straight through him. Fear. It’s not natural hearing fear in his big brother’s voice or knowing that the key to Nathan’s survival is nestled between his fingers (in his veins.) It’s not right. Nathan’s not afraid of anything. Nathan’s supposed to be the one taking care of him. The whole world feels off balance, warped. But, Peter supposes, the world’s been warped for a very long time. This isn’t new.
“Okay,” Peter replies softly, forgetting all about their playful sarcasm the moment he sees the desperation in Nathan’s eyes. Normally he’d tease Nathan about his fear of needles, but Peter can tell that’s not all it is this time. One look into his eyes and he knows. Nathan’s teetering on the edge of death; he can feel it tugging at him, cold and icy in his veins, and the syringe burns in his hand, reminding him of what has to be done.
“Okay,” Peter says again, meeting Nathan’s watery eyes and Nathan gives him an understanding nod. He closes his eyes as Peter straddles him, thighs tightening around his own to keep him still, holding the syringe between his teeth as he unbuttons Nathan’s shirt and pushes it open. Peter pauses, dazed for a moment at all the scars that decorate Nathan’s chest from wounds Nathan wouldn't allow him to heal. Peter wants to close his eyes and blindly trace his fingers over all of them, feel each raised line beneath his fingertips, memorize every scar, every wound, every memory from everything that Nathan has ever done for him. Peter’s breath hitches as his eyes move down Nathan’s chest and he gets a clear view of the hole in his chest where the bastard sliced him open, exposing muscle and tendons and deep crimson flesh.
“Do it,” Nathan whispers in a raspy, barely there voice, his dark eyes pleading and desperate. Peter’s eyes lock with Nathan’s and the sunlight behind them glint off the metal of the syringe. Nathan squeezes his eyes shut, fingers curling around Peter’s thigh as Peter aims and stabs him in the heart. Nathan lets out a hoarse, blood-curdling scream as Peter pushes the plunger in, filling Nathan’s heart with his blood, shocking his nervous system with his DNA. Tears leak out the corner of Peter’s eyes as the sun sets behind them, and Nathan stills.
Nathan nearly throws Peter off of him when the blood finally begins circulating through his system. It’s only been twenty seconds, maybe thirty, but Peter counted each of them as if they were hours. When Nathan’s eyes fly open and he gasps for air, clutching for Peter as if in those brief, quiet moments he’d been falling into a dark, endless void, Peter wraps his arms around his brother, pressing Nathan’s face into his chest, pressing his lips into Nathan’s hair, never wanting to let him go again, ever.
“Is it always going to be like this?” Nathan finally asks, pulling back to look up at Peter, kissing away the tears that roll down his cheeks, savoring the one thing that is still human about Peter on his lips.
“I don’t know,” Peter murmurs, pressing his lips to Nathan’s eyes, nose, jaw, and finally his lips, kissing him as if he thought he could kiss the life back into him. He presses his hand to Nathan’s chest where the wound had been, closing his eyes to feel his body as it heals. It’s all happening beneath his finger tips- new muscle, new skin, and finally just Nathan. Perfect. Just like new. He takes Nathan’s face between his hands and presses their foreheads together, smiling. “I hope so.”
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Date: 2007-12-03 06:34 pm (UTC)I'M SO GLAD YOU LIKED IT!