InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "kiss me i'm a cannibal."

[ jessi ] (jessi_muses) wrote,
@ 2008-05-18 17:43:00

Entry tags:

*[h] nathan petrelli, rpg:rp:archive

[ARCHIVE] Log - Nathan Petrelli;
Originally posted: May 18, 2008 @ parabolical [link]

WHO: Nathan Petrelli, Peter Petrelli (future)
WHERE: The Hyperion
WHEN: after this and this
WHAT: Aftermath of Peter's rescue.
RATING: PG-13
STATUS: log; COMPLETED!

Peter's back.

Nathan wasn't certain how long the repetition of those words would occur, only that he found himself saying it over and over, half-afraid the next time he thought it, that would shatter the illusion and Peter would be gone where he couldn't reach him, couldn't see him, couldn't save him. He hadn't gone out of arms reach of his brother since he had brought him back and it was because of this reason. Things one could touch were realer somehow, and he refused to believe that (invisibility aside) Peter could disappear while he was still looking at him.

Peter's back.

The action of using every lock on the door was fully conscious, yet not satisfying enough by far. There would not be enough locks or walls between them and the outside world, not right now. He rested his head on the door a moment as he clicked the last lock into place, feeling as though he needed to catch his breath. His eyes slid closed, only to pop open again, as closing them invited the horror of recent sights right back and he just couldn't do that right now.

Peter's back.

After a deep breath, one that refused to ease any tension, he turned back to Peter and wordlessly pulled him close, having needed to do so and not let go since returning but the flurry associated with Peter's return keeping him from accomplishing the second part. It was the only thing that helped at all, the only thing that made Nathan feel at all in control. He could keep the world away and he could keep hold of Peter in the process.

Peter tensed at the initial touch, hating himself for it, hating Darla all the more for making it his response. He didn't want to shy away from Nathan, especially not Nathan, but with all the things that had been done to his body over the last... God, he didn't even know how long it was... He still hadn't stopped trembling. He knew Nathan could feel it, maybe even see it. But he tensed and flinched when Nathan's arms came around him, and even though he recovered quickly and leaned into his brother, his body was still locked with tension. The comfort of touch that he had craved all his life, and she had taken it away from him. She'd taken it away.

He wanted control back. He wanted his powers, he wanted his freedom. He wanted to feel safe again. She'd torn all that away from him, made him into an obedient pet.

He leaned into Nathan, but he couldn't return the embrace. His arms were wrapped tightly around himself, and he continued shaking, more intensely as the embrace continued. It was hard to speak, but he still couldn't get his mind clear enough to use his abilities. "Can... can we... s-s-sit?"

At the tensing, rather than any sign of the trembling lessening, Nathan's stomach turned in a slow, sick roll and he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting. Peter leaning into him was the only positive note, but even that was countered by how hard his brother was shaking. Any help or comfort to Nathan in the initial act of embracing Peter faded as they stood there and Nathan, normally so certain about his every act, was left completely at a loss. He didn't know what to do for something that concerned Peter and that shook his normal innate confidence.

She had hurt his brother, hurt Peter more than Nathan could even comprehend, even with the actual sight of his brother and that den of horror he had been in, and that was something he had never allowed to happen if he could help it (which, admittedly, he hadn't always been able to stop), let alone left unpunished before this with the opportunity right there. Here he had needed to do so in order to get Peter away and back where it was safe, despite every desire to make her stay dead permanently, the entire situation colored by a violence he hadn't known he truly possessed. Peter's every tremble was tearing at his heart, the gaps filling with a burning anger that he could do nothing with, because he couldn't afford to let it free. Peter needed him and he was incapable of letting even the worst reaction to this affection, something that had always been so natural for them, deter him from being there.

He nodded at Peter's question, unable to find his voice around the sizable lump in his throat that came from the unsteady words, and then led them to the end of one bed. His every action in handling Peter was surprisingly gentle as he guide him to the bed, sat himself and once more held Peter close. Though they were grown men, he was gripped with the need to pull Peter into his lap as he had countless times when Peter had been just a toddler. Fears and injuries had been so simple then and thus so much easier to fix, but this time he was flying totally blind.

Peter leaned against Nathan again, once they were sitting. He still couldn't stop shaking, but it was easier to lean into Nathan and let his brother touch him like this. There was a demand for safety, for comfort, countered by the fear of pain and punishment. He wanted to cling, to wrap his hands in Nathan's shirt, to just stay here and never leave the room again. He pulled closer, one hand reaching and finding Nathan's shirt just as he wanted, holding tightly. His eyes shut, jaw clenched, and Peter turned his head into Nathan's neck to hide.

Had Peter continued to simply lean, Nathan would have possibly last longer in denying his urge to haul Peter into his lap. However, when Peter reached out and took hold of his shirt, reached out to him instead of tensing and keeping still, all reasoning about being grown men was gone, no longer serving any point. He wanted it and he hoped, buried under whatever horrors were currently foremost in Peter's mind, that his brother wanted the closeness too.

Without another thought to it, he pulled Peter into his lap, wrapping his arms more firmly around his brother, one hand cradling on the back of Peter's head as he leaned his own head against his brother's. He couldn't speak at first, for the lump was still there, and he rocked slightly without realizing it, trying to make this enough somehow, willing this closeness to reach in and find Peter. Peter needed it and so did Nathan, and he wouldn't rest until it had happened, even if it took forever.

"I've got you, Pete," he muttered thickly when he finally found his voice. "I've got you and I'm not ever letting go."

Warm, safe, comforting, loving embrace. Gentle. Gentle touch. Warmth. Comfort. Safety, safety, safety. Peter's heart was pounding in his chest, his every breath burning in his throat and lungs. The hand curled in Nathan's shirt tightened, pulling hard enough to tremble with effort, and his other arm snaked slowly around Nathan's back.

"Nate..."

He couldn't explain. He didn't even know how to begin. How did one describe that level of viciousness? How did you express being burned alive? Stabbed in the heart? How did you communicate the level of torture mind and body had been put through?

"Nate..."

Though the hold was far more awkward given full-sized bodies, Nathan adjusted without thought until it was manageable, fully intending to stay like this as long as Peter needed it. It didn't matter how long that was.

He was filled with a helplessness he wasn't used to, not when it came to Peter. Where his brother was concerned, he might not always have done the right thing, but everything he had done had been backed by some sort of certainty, no matter how good or faulty. He could only rely on lifelong instinct and hope it would help. Peter was hurting still, far worse than just pain from injuries that healed themselves, and Nathan wanted to fix it. The idea was so simple, to fix it, to make it right, but the execution was something far different.

"I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, moving the hand on Peter's head downward over his trembling shoulders and back and then up to Peter's hair to begin again. It was a comforting touch without thought, but it was backed by a love for his brother that was felt even more fiercely than the anger eating away inside of him. He would wait indefinitely to understand, for he would not ask Peter to talk about what had happened when he had seen the torture devices in that room himself. Not yet. He could love Peter as he always had, perhaps better for what they had gone through recently, even without those details, and he would pray in the same breath that it was enough.

Peter clung harder to his brother, arms tensing to the point of pain. His chest began to heave, and his breathing rate spiked. For a minute, it was hard to exhale. He struggled to do so, straining, and the breath came in, in, in until he thought he might die and then the tension broke, and Peter collapsed against Nathan, burying his face in his brother's neck as sobs shook him. He didn't care how loud they might have been, or how desperate it might have seemed. Wave after wave of rage, pain, despair were coming out, and if he tried to contain it all, Peter was certain it would end him in a way that was worse than death.

He wasn't sure how long he wept. Nathan's shirt was wet, his hands red and strained from how tightly he'd been holding on. Peter didn't look up or around yet. He was too tired to cry any longer.

Fearing Peter's uneven breathing was leading to hyperventilation, Nathan wasn't prepared for when Peter just broke in his arms. It was not the first time this had happened, as it had happened the night of his arrival, but this time the force behind it was so fierce, raw and unending, that it broke Nathan's heart as nothing else in this world or any other world could do. As a parent, he had learned the pain of his children was one he felt himself, amplified in a way that made it direct and even physical without ever really experiencing what ailed them, but he had known a connection like that long before, one that had opened him to just as much vicarious pain, and it had come at a young age from being a brother. Peter was the first person he had ever loved instantly and without constant expectations, happy to receive every bit of love he gained in return. Though he had been selfish in act during his life, that love had not been.

Right now, to Nathan, the remembered pain of two bullets was nothing compared to how deeply Peter's sobs dug into his heart itself, twisting and tearing. He would have determinedly taken the bullets again, suffered any pain on this earth, if it would have spared Peter this. Though he had no real idea of all his brother had suffered and knew that nothing he felt because of Peter's pain could even begin to compare in any way, he suffered just the same as he held Peter tightly, enduring his own personal hell of hearing and feeling all of this without a way to make it magically better.

When Peter's sobs finally ceased, he pressed his head to Peter's and then reached up to push his hair away from his face, giving him a little room to breath now that didn't mean slowly smothering against damp hair and clothing and skin. At some point, he knew he would need to coax Peter to do many things -- change, eat, sleep, rest -- but for now Nathan couldn't let him go. Nothing on this earth was more important than continuing to hold his brother.

"I love you, Peter," he murmured, for no reassurance or promise seemed half as useful right now as the words he had just spoken.

Breaks. For such different reasons. Peter had broken down briefly after finding Nathan, from the sheer relief of having found him again, having him alive, and in some manner or temperment where Nathan could look at him and see him as a brother, and not as a terrorist or a freak. The shock of finding him in such a state, finding him again only to nearly lose him in the same moment.

It wasn't as though Peter hadn't been hurt before. The scar torn across his features was a reminder of that. This was different. He'd never been so thoroughly tortured. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. She had made him completely and utterly supplicant to her will. Her pet. Her plaything. Not a human being, not a creature who could feel or think. It was the most dehumanizing experience of his life - which said a lot, considering the world he had come from. A world he had been trying to forget ever since ending up in this new one. For all this world's evils, and all its pain and suffering, he still preferred this world to that one.

At the voice, and the words behind it, Peter tightened his grip on his brother. "I love you too, Nate." His voice broke, sounding raw. "I just... She..." He tensed again, coughed, nearly gagging, before he gave up trying to speak and just clung to Nathan instead.

"Shh," Nathan said softly, closing his eyes as he continued to hold on, only to reopen them and focus on the opposite wall a moment later. It was still a bad idea, doing that even for a moment, as the image of Peter the way he had found him seemed to be burned to the back of his eyelids. He would not forget that, not ever. And that horror, he felt, wasn't even the beginning of what had happened. There was no wish that it had been the only thing to happen, as who could make a wish like that? The only wish was that Peter had never been taken, but he couldn't change the past, not even by sheer force of his own will.

"You're safe here," he said, knowing right now the only way to guarantee that was to keep Peter here and the world away. That Nathan could do, something definite. That would keep him physically safe, but Peter's sense of safety was another thing entirely. It was impossible to keep someone safe from their own mind and what it would recall of events lived, he knew that intimately, and hard to help not knowing how badly the damage to that personal security was.

"You don't have to talk about it now." He wouldn't pry, not right now, especially given Peter's inability to get out even those few words without tensing and trauma.

Peter was trembling again. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Nate, I was... so... so s-s-stupid to go out on my own." He shut his eyes again, cringing as memories poked at him, hearing her voice echo through his mind. Your family is going to pay for that!

He could still taste her blood in his mouth. It was horrible. He'd bitten her out of desperation, sheer desperation, determined to get a finger before her retaliation, never expecting that he would. He could still feel the places where she'd cut him, where she'd burned him. Pain faded, but it was also a memory, and Peter's memory had been perfect for years now. So many things he could remember, that he wished he could forget.

"So tired." He sighed, settling his head weakly on Nathan's shoulder. "I'm so... So tired, but I'm scared to sleep. I don't wanna wake up somewhere else."

Nathan started shaking his head the moment the first apology was voiced. "No, no, Pete," he said, unable to say more, both from the return of the lump in his throat and a worrisome lack of any other response than 'no'. Nathan didn't think he had been. Whatever had made Peter run off and meet up with those vampires with the tranquilizers guns, he doubted it had been 'stupid'.

Nathan's sigh echoed Peter's as he ruffled his brother's hair lightly. "You won't wake up anywhere but here," he said, forcing the statement to be as firm and certain as he could make it. "I'm gonna stay awake the whole time, you won't go anywhere, not with me here." Physically, at least -- mentally, Nathan couldn't control, but he would be here to comfort each and every single nightmare without fail. Finding Peter hadn't meant a reprieve for him and he wouldn't rest himself when there was the smallest chance Peter would reach out, asleep or awake. And closing his eyes wasn't at all an inviting thought.

Though the last thing he wanted to do was move right now, not even to actually get them both into bed, but he didn't want Peter to crash now and wake up still wearing what he was now.

"Come on, Pete, let's get changed," he said softly, holding Peter tightly a moment longer before carefully sliding him back to sit on the bed. If he had to dress his brother, so be it. He wouldn't think twice about doing anything that made this even the tiniest bit easier for Peter.

Peter nodded, sitting up. He pulled off Nathan's jacket, letting it fall to the floor for now. He didn't think Nate would want it back. The material had been badly stained. Then he reached for the jeans. He saw the blood, blood and gore that were saturated into the denim. The holes and knife-tears. His hands shook violently. Then his stomach heaved, and Peter lunged off the bed, dropping to his knees once he hit the linoleum tile in the bathroom, and made it to the toilet before he was ill.

At least it got the taste of blood from his mouth.

Nathan was only a few steps behind, but stayed in the doorway for a moment, his forearm on the door frame and his head resting on his arm. It was only for a moment, however, and then he moved in and crouched by Peter, rubbing his back as he waited it out. He still needed to comfort Peter, even like this, so he didn't feel alone even for a moment. Nathan didn't think it so unreasonable, especially if Peter was afraid of waking up somewhere far different from where he fell asleep.

Once he was certain, or nearly so, that it was over, he stood and reached for a washcloth. He soaked it, wrung it out, then filled the glass beside the sink with water. So equipped, he turned and crouched again beside his brother, both items held out to him.

Grateful, Peter took the glass of water. He took in a mouthful, swished it around his mouth, and then spit it out into the toilet and flushed. He took a second sip, a small sip, and tipped his head back, letting the liquid soothe his throat. He was still dehydrated and would need more fluids and nutrients to get back to normal, but those could wait. Right now, his stomach wasn't willing to accept anything.

He gave back the glass and took the washcloth, pressing the cool, damp cloth against the back of his neck, and his forehead before wiping off his face and setting it aside. Then he looked at the jeans again. With a sudden snarl, Peter waved his hand at them. The material split at his direction, peeling away from his skin and being deposited to the side of the room where Peter didn't have to see them.

Blood had saturated the jeans so thoroughly that there were stains upon Peter's legs. Peter made a face and flicked his hand at the shower, turning the taps to start the water flowing. He didn't realize how strong the desire for a shower was until just now. He wanted to feel clean, free of that place. He wanted the feeling of blood off of him. He wanted to rinse Darla's stink from his skin.

He just didn't know if he had the strength.

He looked back at Nathan, his eyes asking for the help his voice never would.

Nathan didn't even bat an eye when the jeans crossed the room, simply stood up to set the cup on the sink then reached down, picked up the jeans for the briefest length of time possible and stuffed them into the bathroom trash. He'd get rid of them later, but for now they were out of sight completely. When he turned back to Peter, he caught the look, the silent request hitting him hard. It wasn't easy to see Peter like this, to put it very lightly, and a look like that would have gotten Nathan to do anything in the world.

Moving the shower curtain aside as he shrugged out of his shirt to avoid wetting the stains on it, he bent and hooked his arms under his brother's. "All right, up we go," he said and lifted, managing easily with Peter's lighter weight. With his brother upright, he was able to make quick work of his boxers, just as bloody and just as torn as the jeans. They joined the jeans and his own shirt in the waste basket with a quick toss and then Nathan slipped his arm around Peter's waist to help him into the shower. Taking care of Peter was a natural thing that didn't require much thought, only heart, akin to acts that were similarly natural as a parent. Right now, Nathan was grateful for something he could do with ease.

It might have been easy for Nathan to do, but it was a bit harder for Peter to accept. The years had changed him. He'd learned not to look to others for help, not to wait for miracles. No, in the world after the bomb, he had to do things for himself. He had to watch out for himself. Because watching over everyone else was Peter and Hiro, and watching over Peter... well, it had been Hiro. Once. Until Peter had broken that careful trust with a few ill-placed words. Broken it because he'd lost hope. And because Hiro had been moving too close to the truth. The truth that Peter had never been able to tell him. Better to break away now, and let Hiro hate an enemy, rather than hate a friend.

The water was hot. Good. He needed it hot. Peter maneuvered himself into the stream, bracing one arm against the wall to help support him. He let the water pour over him, to rinse away the blood, the sweat, and the tears. Take away the stink of Darla, and wash away the scars left in his mind. Those would never go away, no more than the one across his face, but for the moment, he could pretend.

He stayed that way for as long as he could, but the water was still hot when his legs decided they'd had enough. Peter felt his knees shake and his hand clutched at Nathan's arm. Slowly, he lowered himself, to sit on the floor of the tub, still in the spray. He picked up the bar of soap, looking blanky at it for a moment, as though trying to remember how to use it.

At first, Nathan simply held on and let the water do all the work, watching Peter's face carefully for any sign that he needed more assistance, as he worried he would see Peter pass out twice in a relatively short period. Both happening was more than understandable given all he'd gone through, but it didn't mean Nathan wanted to see it twice. His only real assistance at first was making certain nothing remained tangled in Peter's hair but he was ready the moment Peter grabbed his arm, there to keep him from landing hard.

"Easy does it, Pete," he murmured as his brother lowered himself, crouching next to the tub when Peter was entirely sitting.

He carefully wrapped his fingers around Peter's, both of them holding the soap for now, and then moved the soap over his brother's arm, waiting for either a possible automatic response to take over or some other sign. He knew, from knowing Peter (even without knowing all details of the future events that had hardened his brother) and understanding the need to do for oneself, that as much as Nathan loved Peter, and was loved in return, this weakening still wasn't easy for Peter. He was trying this now, hoping that Peter would take over once he seemed to be able, but fully ready to do this himself if his brother continued to seem so lost about it, or let go of the soap entirely.

He started moving on his own after that, slowly continuing to move the soap over his skin. It started calmly, controlled, taking the time to ease back into a familiar routine, scrubbing at his arms, shoulders, neck and chest. He stopped again for a moment as he washed off his stomach, bringing his other hand up to trace along his belly, looking for a wound that wasn't there and held no trace. Then he continued, scrubbing at his skin with an intensity that was leaving his flesh red and raw. By the time he had moved to his legs, scrubbing at the dried blood stained onto his skin, Peter's nails were starting to scratch all new bloodied marks in.

This Nathan could understand, the motivation to try and literally scrub something away. He'd felt the same before in his life, even if those experiences were nothing compared to being tortured. Though he had to fight with himself to keep from interfering, he won for a brief time, as he had to let Peter do this. He could only do so much, though he wished it were more, and some steps had to be Peter's.

However, when new marks started to appear, Nathan set that fight aside.

"Hey, easy now," he said, reaching out to try and still Peter's hand a moment, or at least try to keep him from scratching himself further. Regenerative ability wasn't a reason to set aside the idea of not hurting oneself, and truly, he didn't care how many wounds Peter received, seeing his brother hurt in any way would still never sit well with him.

Peter let the stupid thing drop from his hand, shutting his eyes. "I can still see it," he said, voice shaking. "The burns. The burns, Nate!"

He clung to Nathan's arm. "Why did she do this to me?" He was fighting to get control of his body again, before he could slip into the hysteria barely under his skin.

The burns? The blood and clothing tears had told a story, combined with the knives and spikes in the room, but Nathan hadn't seen anything that indicated burns, but now that the image was there, he couldn't shake it. That vampire bitch had burnt his brother. His jaw set, teeth grinding, and he had to force himself to breathe and not suddenly clutch Peter too tightly.

Despite the water, he rested his forehead against Peter's temple as he rubbed the back of his brother's neck with his free hand, a gentle and careful touch now as if afraid of hurting Peter. "I don't know," he whispered, wanting an answer but having none to give Peter, which was another stab of pain. He was Peter's big brother, he was supposed to have the answer. "She's sick and evil, but I do know she's never gonna get near you again, ever."

Empathy. The core of Peter's ability to connect to others. He could feel the burst of anger, and Nathan's efforts to suppress it. The pain and desperation. He was causing it. He was doing this.

He held on tighter for a breath. Then another. By the third, his grip began to loosen. By the fourth, the tension had loosened in his back and shoulders, and Peter opened his eyes, staring down at the drain.

"I just want to wash my hair," he said. His voice sounded flat. Bland. "And then I'll go to bed." He leaned, pressing his head against Nathan's for a moment before pushing his brother's head back from the stream and reaching for the bottle of shampoo.

Pushing back his own now-soaked hair, uncaring of the mess he was making in the process, Nathan nodded. "Good plan. I'll get your clothes," he said, rising to fetch not only something for Peter to sleep in, but towels too, as well as his own pajamas so he could clean up as well. Though he likely didn't realize he was doing so, for the brief moment he needed to be out of Peter's sight, his actions were noisy in order for Peter to hear him even if he couldn't see him.

He was still there only steps away if Peter needed him, a spoken request or not, but collecting everything and setting it out gave him something to do right now. while he wasn't thinking about Peter reading him, emotionally or otherwise at the moment, he still needed to be the steady one right now. The big brother. The guy who made things okay again. And even if he couldn't be all of those things, he still had to try.

The noises coming from the room helped. A lot. Peter leaned away from the spray and rubbed the shampoo into his hair, trying not to think about the places where his skull had been broken, where the blood was thickest. He tried not to think about the foam from the shampoo turning pink under his fingers.

He rinsed out his hair, shutting his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the blood-tinted mess washing down the drain. He waited a few minutes, and when he thought it was good, he counted silently to three hundred, and then opened his eyes. The water was clear. Peter turned off the tap slowly, so Nathan would know he was finished and give him time to return.

Having gathered everything he had gone to retrieve, as well as sparing a moment to get the beds ready, Nathan headed back to the bathroom, hearing the water pressure lessen as he did so. Putting the stack of clothing and towels down on the counter that surrounded the sink, he picked up a towel and then moved to the tub. Satisfied soap, shampoo and an excess of water had taken care of the outward signs of Peter's ordeal, he crouched and hooked his arms under Peter's once more. Peter was sitting in the tub because he could not longer stand, so this time Nathan didn't even pause in offering his assistance.

"Up you go, Pete," he said softly, using one arm more than the other this time so he had a hand free to help Peter get the towel around himself.

Peter's legs trembled, but he got to his feet with Nathan's support and got a towel around himself. His movements were slow, taking his time to consider, and to repress the shaking in his limbs. His thoughts kept trying to return to that place, that spot, that time. Every time he looked at his body he saw what had been done to that spot, or this one. As though his mind was playing a game. Fit the torture to the body. Finally, Peter shut his eyes and sat on the edge of the tub, starting to reach for another towel with which to dry his hair.

With Peter once more sitting, Nathan stepped back to lean against the sink, rolling his neck upward to stare at the ceiling instead of closing his own eyes. He still wouldn't sleep, but his muscles were in crazy knots, so even resting while still awake was becoming something he needed to do soon. If he could avoid sleep forever and still function, he would do that, but he knew eventually it would come and with it, the images he was trying to keep back.

"Is there anything else you want before you go to sleep?" he asked quietly. He knew the answer was likely no, especially where anything to eat or drink was concerned, and he wasn't going to press it for now if Peter said no. He could get fluids into his brother after he'd slept some, even if it was just water, and Nathan wasn't ready to step foot outside this room again anytime soon unless necessary. Tomorrow and on, leaving would likely only be under the same must-do, must-have motivation, as he wouldn't leave Peter alone here, nor was he ready to leave him long at all even if there was another in the room he felt he could trust for that brief time. He simply didn't know that many people here, despite what many had done for Peter, and it was nearly impossible for him to delegate anything now that he had Peter back.

Peter tired quickly of drying his hair. He wanted to sleep, he felt so damn tired, but he was just as scared to. The images that floated behind his eyelids whenever they were shut were enough to make him want to stay awake forever. Food wasn't going to do anything for him right now, not even if he wanted to eat. He just couldn't stand the thought of putting something into his stomach right now. The medical professional within was telling him that liquids would be fine for now, and he could attempt soft foods in a day or two, to let his body readjust. Regeneration seemed like a picnic on the outside, but it only put the body together again. Even when the body needed time to recover from trauma. He might have been in one piece, but that didn't mean he was healthy.

Something to bother about at another time. His inner nurse was badgering him enough to have one excuse against sleep.

"Some water?" he asked. He wasn't sure how much he would be able to drink, but at least one full glass before he could sleep. He reached for his clean clothes, a light burst of pain in his mind telling him he was starting to push it as far as using his abilities. That he'd already pushed it too hard. He wouldn't be able to stand much more without rest.

Heartened by the request, Nathan nodded, smiling at Peter even though the smile no longer reached his eyes or higher, seeming incongruous with his brow wrinkled as it was with concern.

"You got it," he said quietly, turning back to wash out the glass and then fill it once more. When he had, he came and crouched in front of Peter again. With his brother doing things for himself, no matter how slowly, he did not want to intercede again until it seemed necessary. Instead, he kept himself in check and held out the glass of water.

Peter dressed himself, using Nathan for support only to stand and get his pants on. Each moment was draining, each movement a chore, but he needed to get himself together. He needed to do this much by himself. He needed to know he had that much of himself.

But the result of that was, after Peter had tugged on the light t-shirt to sleep in, and looked back out the door towards the bed, he knew there was no way he'd be able to make it. The bed could have been on Neptune for all the good it did. He wouldn't make it that far, not even with support.

His hand was shaking when he took the glass of water. He tried to steady it with telekinesis, but ended up nearly dropping it instead when the attempt backfired on him, making him cringe with the sudden spike of pain in his temple. A trickle of blood began to flow from his nostril.

Nathan had moved to steady the glass when Peter's hand shook and clutched at it outright when it seemed destined for the floor. He knew what Peter had done without really questioning it, and the nosebleed was the confirmation.

"No more tonight, Pete," he said, and rather than sound at all firm, the words were surprisingly like a plea. He stretched to reach one of the towels, wiping Peter's nose with a quickly motion, then tossed the towel to the other side of the bathroom. He wasn't certain he could deal with seeing any more of his brother's blood right now without also being ill. He normally had a strong stomach, but not for this, not for any of it.

"Just drink it slowly," he said, holding up the glass now, Peter's hand still beneath his own, but now it was Nathan entirely in control of the glass. He'd get it in Peter and then he'd get him in bed.

Eyes still shut, Peter felt the glass move against his lower lip, and took a sip. Small sip, swallow, breathe. Breathe. Small sip, swallow, breathe. His breaths were slow and measured, and about halfway through the glass, he finished the sip and turned his face away, scowling. "That's enough," he said, one hand going to his stomach as it churned against the liquid inside. "No more."

Then he opened his eyes and looked at Nathan. He wanted to hide what he was feeling, but he didn't even have the energy to pry up his shields. They were still too broken, too damaged by what Darla had done to him. So in that look shone all his shame and self-loathing, his plea for help, and the haunting fear that still lingered. "I think bed is a good idea now," he said, moving his eyes away once he realized he couldn't control what he was feeling.

"Good job," Nathan said softly, though he had been hoping Peter might drink it all. Still, it was progress and it was enough for the moment.

That look, however, forced Nathan to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting too much. Peter should never have to look that way, never, and the anger in the pit of his stomach churned. He set the glass aside and rested his head against Peter's, drew in a breath and then released it, the brief pause affording his shaky control some manner of support. Then, without making any sort of big deal about it, not even saying anything, Nathan scooped Peter up and got him to the bed. He'd seen how Peter looked out the bathroom door, as though the distance were miles rather than feet, even before he had witnessed everything in that one brief gaze.

The beds were up against each other, as Peter had done to them the night he had brought Nathan to the hotel, and though he couldn't speak to the intensity of Peter's need for security, only make his best guess, Nathan needed the reassuring closeness just as he needed air. But he needed a quick shower first.

Depositing Peter on the bed, he reached for the blankets as he looked down at him. "Give me five minutes to clean up?" he asked, but even as he did, he was fully prepared to wait and shower after Peter fell asleep if he said -- or didn't say, but looked -- otherwise. "If that."

Peter leaned back against Nathan, more grateful than words could express for his brother's presence. He wasn't certain what kind of state he would be in without Nathan, and he didn't want to know. Insane or dead, probably, and Peter knew that the latter would be the better. If he lost hold of his sanity, of his morality, there would be nothing and no one to stop him.

He might have dozed off already for a moment there, missing the transfer between the bathroom to the bed. It hadn't seemed as far as he'd thought. Peter nodded, curling up under the blankets as Nathan pulled them over him, pressing into the pillow. "Okay," he said, his voice soft and extremely weary. "Five minutes."

"If that," Nathan repeated in a whisper, bending down to rest his head against Peter's as he continued in that same whisper. "Love you." He wasn't certain Peter would even be awake by the time he stepped far from the bed and Nathan needed it to be something Peter heard before falling asleep, as though the words could ward off all the terrible things waiting behind closed eyes. After a moment, he rose and headed to the bathroom.

True to his word, he emerged less than five minutes later, a towel still in one hand as he dried his hair, the other hand yanking down his t-shirt. It was so he could check on Peter now, rather than in a minute when he was finished drying his hair. He didn't think much could happen in five minutes if Peter was sleeping, but then this fear Peter would disappear again wasn't exactly rational.

Peter was sleeping, though it was already clear that it was hardly restful. His limbs were tense, hands digging into the sheets around him, his face creased as his eyes were squeezed shut. His breathing was erratic, with light whimpers rising from his throat.

The towel hit the floor forgotten as Nathan moved forward, moving to Peter's side for a moment, as if to wake him, but then changed his mind in at least intent of direction as he simply got into bed. He didn't even take the time to do more than sit back against the headboard before he had pulled Peter to him, wrapping his arms around his brother fiercely.

"Shh, Pete, I've got you, you're safe," he said, the words repeated over and over softly as he adjusted them, trying to at least make Peter more comfortable. The adjustment allowed him to hold tighter still, freeing at least his hand to move, more anxious than steady and calming, over Peter's damp hair.

Peter shuddered, crying out softly when hands had seized him, but the sounds and tension had eased at the sound of Nathan's voice. He moved in against the body warmth, eyes still shut. Slowly, his breathing and his muscles began to relax. Before long, Peter was limp against his brother, sleeping soundly at last.

Staring at the wall, Nathan rested his head on Peter's long after he felt Peter slip off to a deeper sleep that wasn't touched my whimpers or trembling or anything by steady breathing. In. Out. Without realizing it, his own breathing synced to Peter's for a time, to be a steady influence to keep his brother in a better stretch of sleep, the gesture likely foolish but done just the same.

His grip did not slacken as time went on, Nathan more than motivated to keep his eyes open and stare at the wall or, when he readjusted them carefully, a sleeping Peter. As long as he remained awake, or conscious enough to hang on this tightly, he would not be letting go now for anything.