Title- You're My Brother
Rating- PG/PG-13 at the most
Warnings (in theory)- Cursing, sexual innuendo (lol… love it.), minor child abuse (emotional, and a little physical, but nothing unreasonably shocking, or graphic.), and my favorite… Guy Love!! (But not of the slash variety.)
Pairings- Nathan/Heidi Angela/Arthur
POV- switches from Arthur, to Peter, to Nathan, to Angela, then repeats. Unless I see need to switch the order, which I may. Just to keep you on your toes, you see.
AN- New obsession, new story. Enjoy. Reviews make me smile, flames make me cry, but both keep writing!
AAN- don't be angry with me, those who read my HP fiction, I'm working on a new chapter for Glass Slippers right now. Only a few more pages until it's done!
AAAN- also, my computer doesn't recognize if 'Peter' is capitalized or not, so sorry if I miss any.
AAAAN- also, please enjoy my uber creative page breaks. Feel free to use them in any text or IM conversation you may find need of them.
"I'm telling you, Angela, something is not right with that boy! All he does is daydream, instead of doing something meaningful, like that huge pile of homework he swears he's already completed. Why, when Nathan—"
"Arthur, how many times must I stress this to you? Peter is not Nathan! Children like him, like I was, are not meant to sit cooped up in a classroom, studying boring textbooks day after day. That is strictly a Petrelli trait, and Peter gets his ways from my side of the family. You know this, Arthur. You already have your favorite. Don't go and corrupt mine." Arthur watched, frustrated, as his wife of nearly 30 years left the room. He winced as the unnecessarily loud bedroom door lock clicked. All because of Peter. Dreamy, childish, useless Peter. If Peter had been the girl they had all been expecting, things would be different. He had been so prepared for a little princess to dote upon, having already raised the perfect son, when the doctor came out of the delivery room holding a tiny blue blanket, he was more then a little upset. He had already done the obligatory 'model son' raising that was expected of the Petrelli line. What was he to do with a second son, one who wasn't even very son-ish to begin with? The first time he held Peter, he figured they simply switched the blanket, knowing that there was no way the tiny, pale pink lump of baby could be a boy. Too quiet, for one. Nathan had screamed for months on end, but little Peter stayed blissfully silent, even when hungry, or tired. It just wasn't right. For generations it had always been the same; raise the perfect son until adulthood, then dump any and all restrained paternal needs onto sweet baby girl. A simple, flawless script. Until Peter.
He heard a small cough, and turned, an exasperated look on his face.
"Go to bed, Peter. It's past midnight." A little boy of about 10 crept out from behind the couch, cheeks red with embarrassment. Arthur bit back a smile when peter tripped over the rug. Even someone as cold hearted as Arthur Petrelli was not immune to the general adorable-ness that was Peter. Born two months premature, Peter had always been, and probably always would be, small for his age. Yet another thing that annoyed Arthur. All Petrelli men were tall, well built, with dark brown eyes, and dark brown hair. But no, Peter just had to be different, even in that aspect. With his big hazel eyes, and soft black hair, he was the pride and joy of all Angela's childless friends.
"Why do you and Mommy fight all the time?" Peter's soft voice pulled Arthur out of his musings. The man frowned, itching to take that annoyingly sweet, concerned look off of his face. Why had Nathan never looked at him like that? Like he was the only person in the world who mattered?
"We were just discussing a matter of great annoyance, Peter. Now go to bed. I don't want to hear about you falling asleep in class. Again." He added. Peter had the grace to blush, before rushing at his father and wrapping his small, warm arms around the stony man's waist.
"Night, Daddy!" he chirped, before running up the stairs to his room. A dull thump, followed by a whispered "ouch!" signaled that Peter had made his way to his mess of a room, reasonably unscathed. With a sigh, Arthur made his way to the liquor cabinet, pulling out his newest friend, Whiskey.
#_0 (black eye)
"So Nathan, how's that girl of yours doing? Hearing wedding bells yet?" Arthur rolled his eye, mentally, as Angela asked about Nathan's newest girlfriend, a well bred girl by the name of Heidi, for the fourth time, all getting vague, bush avoiding answers from their oldest son. Nathan had arrived home at about four in the morning, from a two-month long school trip to Haiti. Nathan was studying psychology, in order to up his chances in the shark tank that was lawyer-hood, and there had been whisperings of a rare bout of memory loss over there. It made Arthur proud, how dedicated his oldest was to becoming a lawyer.
"For the last time, ma, we've only been dating a few weeks!! I swear, you're relentless. I'm surprised you haven't married Peter off already, the way you carry on!" Arthur felt his heart give a strange lurch at the mention of his youngest, currently asleep in bed. Passing it off as heartburn, he asked the morning housekeeper, Maisy, to see if Peter was awake yet.
"Of course, sir." Her voice seemed clipped, and short, for some reason. With a mental shrug, he forgot any and all thoughts about pissy house workers. She wasn't paid to be polite, after all.
A few minutes later, Maisy walked into the room, a drowsy Peter clinging to her skirt. Arthur frowned.
"Peter, please let go of the housekeeper. She is not some doll for you to cling to." Even he flinched at the unexplainable agitation in his voice. Peter's hand quickly released Maisy.
"Sorry, sir." He whispered. Maisy sent Arthur a bravely rebellious glare, and gave Peter a pat on the head before returning to her chores. Angela turned to him, stunned. Her husband has never shown that much emotion in front of their children.
"Arthur, what is going on? Why does all the house staff look as if they would take great pleasure in feeding you a particularly slow acting poison?"
"No idea, dear." He answered, opening the paper that sat by his plate of eggs.
"Pete, what happened to your face?" Nathan's voice was sharp as ever, but held that softer undertone reserved for Peter and Peter alone. The ten year old's eyes flicked over to Arthur for a second, before returning to Nathan, and now his mother.
"I-I fell. Off of my bed." Arthur sighed, put down his paper, and gave his youngest an appraising once over. No blood, no bones, no tears. The kid was fine. But wait. Was that a—a bruise on Peter's cheek? Nathan and Angela were both giving him looks that did not bode well for him. Peter's room had been baby-proofed each year, due to his uncontrollable need to be insanely clumsy, yet bruise like a peach. It had been years since Peter had had a bruise, let alone one of this caliber. Suddenly, Arthur felt nervous. He had been drinking last night. Quite a lot, in fact. Had he done something last night, something truly unforgivable? Was he the reason little Peter had that slightly hand shaped mark on his baby soft skin? What had he done?
AN- Argh! So very short, but I couldn't find anywhere else to end it. Keep checking for updates, because I plan on popping out a few more tonight!! Feedback fuels my finger!!