"Dad got sick," the letter said, in painstaking, pencilled letters. "An ambulance came, and took him to the hospital. He is home now, but he doesn't feel very good. Mom told me not to tell you, but I was worried, and you said I could write to you.
"Sincerely, Peter Petrelli"
Nathan stared at the letter, which had arrived in one of the old envelopes, his eyes going over the line "Mom told me not to tell you," again and again. Then he folded up the letter, slipped it into his pocket, and went to buy a bus ticket.
***
"Nathan," Ma said. Her face hardly moved even when she spoke, and her eyes were hard, like she was made of glass. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Well, I'm here," he said, meeting her eyes, not even bothering to hide that he knew exactly what was going on. "Where's Pop?"
"He's resting. I don't think he wants to see anyone right now."
She hadn't moved aside to let him in the door. She's keeping me out of my own home, he thought. Is this what we've come to?
"What about Peter?"
"Upstairs, in the playroom," Ma said. "He's fine."
Still not moving.
"I want to see him," Nathan said.
"You'll just upset him. He's had enough disruption already. You showing up will just make things worse."
"He needs me," Nathan said, shifting impatiently. "Ma, for god's sake, he's just a kid. No matter what you told him, this has got to be scaring him. I just want to talk to him. Get him out of the house for a while." I came two hundred miles for this. Let me in.
Ma's lip twitched, just once, just slightly, then she stepped back. Before he'd even made it through the door, she'd retreated for parts unknown in the house. He shut the door behind him and headed up the stairs. At the top, he started to turn towards the playroom, then stopped, and looked the other direction down the hall. He could see the door to Pop's bedroom, standing cracked just slightly open.
Nathan glanced back down the stairs, saw no sign of Ma, then walked down the dim hallway to the partly-open door. He paused outside of it, knocked very gently on the frame and waited. No answer. It was dark in the room.
He pushed the door open just a bit and looked in. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room with all the heavy drapes closed. He could make out his father's shape in the bed, under a pile of blankets. He wasn't moving, but the covers rose and fell slightly and Nathan could hear his breathing.
Oh, Pop, he thought, feeling his chest clench. Why?
He stepped back, pulling the door back to its original position, then turned and retreated down the hall, fleeing to the brighter end where the playroom door was open and spilling sunlight across the floor.
He felt his pace quicken a bit, until he reached the door. Inside, he found Peter sitting on the window seat, looking out at the city that reared up beyond the backyard, skyscrapers pushing up into sun-lightened smog. Just sitting. He had his battered old eagle in his lap and there were a few toys scattered, untouched, on the floor.
"Pete," Nathan said, softly, from the door.
Peter spun around so fast he almost fell off the seat. "Nathan!" he yelled and Nathan barely had time to get his arms up to catch him as he flung himself at him.
"Hey," Nathan said, getting an arm under him to hold him up as Peter wrapped his arms around his neck in almost a strangle-hold. "Hey, hey. It's ok. I'm here."
"I wanna go somewhere," Peter said, pushing his face into Nathan's neck. "Can we go somewhere?"
"Yeah," Nathan said. "Yeah, let's go somewhere."
***
They ended up at the zoo. Nathan steered them away from the lions and tigers. When Peter was little, anything large and predatory had scared him. Nathan wasn't sure if it still did, but he figured under the circustances, it was much better to go with the safe and the familiar, so they wandered through the monkey house first and then went to the penguins.
Peter hadn't said much the whole time, and he was still quiet. He climbed up and stood on the bottom rung of the rail, leaning on the top rung and staring down at the penguins as though entranced. His face was still and serious, and for a moment, Nathan could see their mother in him strongly.
He stepped up to the rail, bracing his hands on it, right next to Peter.
"Hey, buddy," he said. "You doing okay?"
"Yeah, sure," Peter said, leaning his chin on his hands, just moving his eyes to follow one of the rock hoppers as it bobbled across the exhibit. It was unusual for Peter to be so tight-lipped. Usually the kid was babbling a mile a minute about anything that crossed his mind. Nathan worried.
He reached out and spread his hand across Peter's back.
"Pete..." he said, then paused, trying to find the right words. "Look, I know there's some upsetting stuff going on right now. But... I want you to know that... whatever happens, you're safe, ok? I'm not letting anything happen to you. Ever."
Peter turned his head to look up at him, eyes wide and somber and dark. He just looked. Silently. Like he was waiting for something.
Nathan wasn't sure what Peter wanted. Needed. He stroked his hand over Peter's hair, ducked his head a bit to look straight into his eyes, and said, "I love you, kid. You know that right?"
Peter nodded.
"Good."
"What about Dad?" Peter said.
"Dad'll be ok," Nathan said, though he wasn't sure if he believed it. "He'll be fine. Lots of people have heart attacks, and there's lots of good treatment for it. He just needs some rest."
"He was... sad. And... he was getting mad all the time. At me and Mom."
Nathan felt himself go cold. "Peter... he didn't--hurt you--"
"No!" Peter said, quickly. "Just yelling. And slamming doors."
Nathan let out the breath he'd caught. "Oh. Yeah. Uh."
"Why's he so mad?"
Nathan put his hand on Peter's back again, spreading it broad as though he could calm Peter just by supporting him. "I dunno, Pete. He... he gets that way sometimes. I don't think it's got anything to do with anything anybody does. But he'll get better. He does. He always does."
Peter sighed and tucked his chin on his hands again, his eyes seeking out the same penguin again. "Yeah. Okay."
***
On the subway home, Peter dozed in his lap. The train shuddered to a stop and Peter sat up slightly, then rolled over, sitting with his knees on either side of Nathan's lap and looking up at him with a strangely serious expression.
"I love you, Nathan," he said.
"I love you, too," Nathan said, quickly, reflexively. He searched Peter's eyes for a clue to what prompted this, but then, as the train pulled away from the station, Peter just settled down and slipped off to sleep again.