Peter Petrelli (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
spongetastic) wrote2010-01-23 11:27 am
spongetastic) wrote2010-01-23 11:27 am
Writers: The World in Pieces
“Sorry to be dragging you into this.”
Peter glanced over his shoulder to the young woman by his side. He shook his head in response to her words. He couldn’t believe that after all this time of fighting side by side, she would still take some responsibility.
“Don’t apologize, Echo,” he scolded her. “I choose to be here. I want to end this as much as you do.”
“Just want you to know I appreciate it,” she said.
“Anytime,” Peter responded. They exchanged small smiles, and then had to dart in opposite directions as the enemy attacked. Echo fired back while Peter telekinetically knocked their weapons out of their hands.
The world was not supposed to be this way. Peter and Nathan saved New York from destruction, Echo saved it from the technology of Rossum, yet somehow it still ended up badly. They kept fighting hoping they could make something good come out of the disaster. But after all these years, it was harder and harder for Peter to find hope.
He sat on the ground behind an abandoned car, resting his head in his hand. Peter felt so tired but there was no time for rest. He had to keep fighting. He had to protect everyone…
“Please look this over,” Adelle instructed. She slid a piece of paper across the table. Peter took it, frowning thoughtfully. Having both a father and brother in the legal business, he recognized a contract when he saw one. “This contract binds you to us for the next five years,” Adelle continued. “During which time you will be sent on engagements that our clients spend vast sums of money on.”
“And people will be safe from me?” Peter asked her. It was the whole reason he came here. He heard this place could fix problems, and there was no problem greater than almost taking out millions of people in an explosion.
“Yes, Mr. Petrelli,” Adelle assured him. “They’ll be perfectly safe.” Peter nodded and signed his life away.
The spatter of gunfire drew Peter out of his thoughts. He hoisted up the car with his mind and tossed it at the offending soldiers. They scattered just before the car hit the pavement. Moments later the car exploded and became engulfed in flames. That would buy Peter a few moments and he used it to turn invisible and dart off to another part of the street.
He passed Anthony and Priya huddled in the doorframe of a building. A soldier was coming their way but neither saw him. Peter rested a hand on each of their shoulders so they would disappear from sight. They turned at his touch, wide-eyed, and when they saw the soldier pass them by they gave Peter a grateful smile. He nodded in return and hurried on. Peter didn’t worry so much about either of them: they would take care of each other.
Peter took some complicated turns and disappeared a few times before he made it to their hiding place. He and the others struggled to keep the place safe from their enemies and Peter wasn’t about to let himself be followed. He found a man pacing the main room, muttering to himself.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked. Pacing and muttering was fairly normal behavior for the frazzled-looking man, but Peter was always good at picking up other people’s emotions. The other man turned at Peter’s voice and ran nervous fingers through his hair.
“Oh, hey, Peter. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Yeah,” Peter agreed. “I do that.” He drew closer, noticing with a sink of disappointment that his friend wasn’t making eye contact again. “I thought we were past this, Topher,” he sighed impatiently.
“I… no, no, it’s not-- I’m just really preoccupied,” Topher assured him hurriedly. Eventually Peter looked away and Topher muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “You’ve changed.”
Peter didn’t say anything. It was true, after all, and Topher knew that better than anyone…
Topher looked shell-shocked, his frame shaking slightly as he took in rapid breaths. Peter rested his back against the wall to keep himself steady.
“Peter… you’re bleeding,” Topher whispered.
“I’m fine,” Peter said dismissively. “I heal.”
“No.” Topher swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re not healing.” Peter knew from the blood trickling down his face that his friend was right but he said nothing. “Something’s wrong,” Topher murmured. He reached out to wipe the blood from Peter’s cheek but the empath quickly recoiled.
“Don’t!” he snapped. Topher pulled back like he’d been burned. Peter wanted to apologize, but didn’t. He felt it should go without explanation that he didn’t want any blood staining Topher’s hands.
Subconsciously Peter’s finger traced the scar cutting across his face. He didn’t realize he was doing it until he felt Topher’s eyes watching. Peter’s hand dropped away.
“I’m going back out,” he announced.
“To the Dollhouse?” Topher guessed. His question was met with silence but he didn’t really need an answer. Peter had been going to the Dollhouse at least once a day for a long time. “You can’t help her, you know,” Topher said with a heavy sigh.
“I have to try,” Peter argued. With that he was gone, out into the dangerous world again.
The Dollhouse was cold, dark and empty. Not the welcome warm place Peter stepped into so long ago. Even after all this time it unnerved him to be here. It felt familiar and strange, safe and insecure. His footsteps in the darkness echoed unnaturally. Peter knew where to go; thousands of times walking the same path made it easy to find, even without light.
She sat all alone in the room pruning a tree. Peter quietly approached her, sitting down on the mat by her side. She turned to look at him, her head tilting to the side thoughtfully. Gently her hand lifted and touched his scar.
“You’re broken,” she said.
“Yes,” Peter agreed. “Whiskey, I want you to come with me.”
“I want to finish my tree,” the Doll argued. Her hand dropped away as she turned her attention back to the tree. Peter felt a tug on his heart.
“Come with me,” he tried again. “We can help you.” Her eyes were on him again. Peter had no memories of other Dolls but he didn’t need them to know Whiskey was different. Something about her drew Peter here. Something about the weight in her eyes, the sad smile on her lips…
“Being broken is sad,” Whiskey concluded.
“Yes,” Peter sighed. “Very sad.”
He sat on the examining table, watching as the doctor placed a bandage over his arm. He fell down and she was helping him be better. Her short brown hair fell in her eyes when she bowed her head. She lifted it, and he saw scars cutting into her face.
“You’re broken,” he said, lifting his hand to touch the scar on her cheek.
“Yes,” the doctor agreed. Gently she pulled back away from his hand. “Your arm will be better soon. You may go.” She held out a lollipop for him. He took it, sliding off the table and unwrapping the plastic.
“Being broken is sad,” he concluded, sticking the candy in his mouth.
“Yes,” the doctor sighed. “Very sad.”
Peter sat with the Doll for a while longer. She continued pruning her tree without so much as a glance in his direction. Topher was right: Peter couldn’t help her. Peter knew that but he refused to give up on her. When he asked himself why, one thought came to mind: Doctor Saunders is nice.
A girl stronger than any echo. A frazzled genius. A beautiful, broken girl with a sad smile. All of these people needed him and he would keep fighting until they were saved.
Peter glanced over his shoulder to the young woman by his side. He shook his head in response to her words. He couldn’t believe that after all this time of fighting side by side, she would still take some responsibility.
“Don’t apologize, Echo,” he scolded her. “I choose to be here. I want to end this as much as you do.”
“Just want you to know I appreciate it,” she said.
“Anytime,” Peter responded. They exchanged small smiles, and then had to dart in opposite directions as the enemy attacked. Echo fired back while Peter telekinetically knocked their weapons out of their hands.
The world was not supposed to be this way. Peter and Nathan saved New York from destruction, Echo saved it from the technology of Rossum, yet somehow it still ended up badly. They kept fighting hoping they could make something good come out of the disaster. But after all these years, it was harder and harder for Peter to find hope.
He sat on the ground behind an abandoned car, resting his head in his hand. Peter felt so tired but there was no time for rest. He had to keep fighting. He had to protect everyone…
“Please look this over,” Adelle instructed. She slid a piece of paper across the table. Peter took it, frowning thoughtfully. Having both a father and brother in the legal business, he recognized a contract when he saw one. “This contract binds you to us for the next five years,” Adelle continued. “During which time you will be sent on engagements that our clients spend vast sums of money on.”
“And people will be safe from me?” Peter asked her. It was the whole reason he came here. He heard this place could fix problems, and there was no problem greater than almost taking out millions of people in an explosion.
“Yes, Mr. Petrelli,” Adelle assured him. “They’ll be perfectly safe.” Peter nodded and signed his life away.
The spatter of gunfire drew Peter out of his thoughts. He hoisted up the car with his mind and tossed it at the offending soldiers. They scattered just before the car hit the pavement. Moments later the car exploded and became engulfed in flames. That would buy Peter a few moments and he used it to turn invisible and dart off to another part of the street.
He passed Anthony and Priya huddled in the doorframe of a building. A soldier was coming their way but neither saw him. Peter rested a hand on each of their shoulders so they would disappear from sight. They turned at his touch, wide-eyed, and when they saw the soldier pass them by they gave Peter a grateful smile. He nodded in return and hurried on. Peter didn’t worry so much about either of them: they would take care of each other.
Peter took some complicated turns and disappeared a few times before he made it to their hiding place. He and the others struggled to keep the place safe from their enemies and Peter wasn’t about to let himself be followed. He found a man pacing the main room, muttering to himself.
“What’s wrong?” Peter asked. Pacing and muttering was fairly normal behavior for the frazzled-looking man, but Peter was always good at picking up other people’s emotions. The other man turned at Peter’s voice and ran nervous fingers through his hair.
“Oh, hey, Peter. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Yeah,” Peter agreed. “I do that.” He drew closer, noticing with a sink of disappointment that his friend wasn’t making eye contact again. “I thought we were past this, Topher,” he sighed impatiently.
“I… no, no, it’s not-- I’m just really preoccupied,” Topher assured him hurriedly. Eventually Peter looked away and Topher muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “You’ve changed.”
Peter didn’t say anything. It was true, after all, and Topher knew that better than anyone…
Topher looked shell-shocked, his frame shaking slightly as he took in rapid breaths. Peter rested his back against the wall to keep himself steady.
“Peter… you’re bleeding,” Topher whispered.
“I’m fine,” Peter said dismissively. “I heal.”
“No.” Topher swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re not healing.” Peter knew from the blood trickling down his face that his friend was right but he said nothing. “Something’s wrong,” Topher murmured. He reached out to wipe the blood from Peter’s cheek but the empath quickly recoiled.
“Don’t!” he snapped. Topher pulled back like he’d been burned. Peter wanted to apologize, but didn’t. He felt it should go without explanation that he didn’t want any blood staining Topher’s hands.
Subconsciously Peter’s finger traced the scar cutting across his face. He didn’t realize he was doing it until he felt Topher’s eyes watching. Peter’s hand dropped away.
“I’m going back out,” he announced.
“To the Dollhouse?” Topher guessed. His question was met with silence but he didn’t really need an answer. Peter had been going to the Dollhouse at least once a day for a long time. “You can’t help her, you know,” Topher said with a heavy sigh.
“I have to try,” Peter argued. With that he was gone, out into the dangerous world again.
The Dollhouse was cold, dark and empty. Not the welcome warm place Peter stepped into so long ago. Even after all this time it unnerved him to be here. It felt familiar and strange, safe and insecure. His footsteps in the darkness echoed unnaturally. Peter knew where to go; thousands of times walking the same path made it easy to find, even without light.
She sat all alone in the room pruning a tree. Peter quietly approached her, sitting down on the mat by her side. She turned to look at him, her head tilting to the side thoughtfully. Gently her hand lifted and touched his scar.
“You’re broken,” she said.
“Yes,” Peter agreed. “Whiskey, I want you to come with me.”
“I want to finish my tree,” the Doll argued. Her hand dropped away as she turned her attention back to the tree. Peter felt a tug on his heart.
“Come with me,” he tried again. “We can help you.” Her eyes were on him again. Peter had no memories of other Dolls but he didn’t need them to know Whiskey was different. Something about her drew Peter here. Something about the weight in her eyes, the sad smile on her lips…
“Being broken is sad,” Whiskey concluded.
“Yes,” Peter sighed. “Very sad.”
He sat on the examining table, watching as the doctor placed a bandage over his arm. He fell down and she was helping him be better. Her short brown hair fell in her eyes when she bowed her head. She lifted it, and he saw scars cutting into her face.
“You’re broken,” he said, lifting his hand to touch the scar on her cheek.
“Yes,” the doctor agreed. Gently she pulled back away from his hand. “Your arm will be better soon. You may go.” She held out a lollipop for him. He took it, sliding off the table and unwrapping the plastic.
“Being broken is sad,” he concluded, sticking the candy in his mouth.
“Yes,” the doctor sighed. “Very sad.”
Peter sat with the Doll for a while longer. She continued pruning her tree without so much as a glance in his direction. Topher was right: Peter couldn’t help her. Peter knew that but he refused to give up on her. When he asked himself why, one thought came to mind: Doctor Saunders is nice.
A girl stronger than any echo. A frazzled genius. A beautiful, broken girl with a sad smile. All of these people needed him and he would keep fighting until they were saved.