Characters: Arthur/Angela, Peter
Rating: G (PG?)
Disclaimer: Heroes belongs to NBC, Kring, and others who aren't I.
Author's note: Written for the mission_insane prompt, "Broody." This story is the prologue to the Moving series.
Summary: Peter fears for his family.
They were arguing again; soft, argumentative voices traveled out to the living room, and Peter turned off the TV, frustration and anxiety making the muscle in his jaw tic. He knew what his parents were “discussing” behind the closed door of his father’s study: the family’s deeper involvement with Linderman.
Angela’s voice was calm and rational, while Arthur’s was steadily rising, becoming increasingly agitated. It was when Peter heard his own name mentioned that he finally stood up and retreated to his room; they’d been talking about him a lot lately, and it worried him that he was most often brought up when his parents were on the subject of Linderman, and the conversations always ended with his mother coddling him, and his father barely able to look at him for days on end; at first, Peter had been furious, but then he’d seen that Arthur didn’t seem disappointed or angry—he seemed sad, and almost defeated. Now Peter was beginning to feel nervous, often studying both of his parents for clues to what they could possibly be thinking about him. But Arthur would only withdraw to his office, and Angela would say how much she loved Peter and tell him not to worry, then change the subject.
Peter finally couldn’t stand listening to his parents’ harsh whispers anymore and he stormed up to his bedroom, closing and locking the door, if only to add a sense of symbolic finality to shutting out the problems of the world. He stood in front of his window, not taking in any of the view before him as he wondered exactly how much trouble his family was in, and why he was already a part of it, even though he’d never officially met the infamous Linderman.
Feeling a little claustrophobic, Peter backed up and flopped down onto his bed, rubbing his temples as he tried to fight through the tidal wave of unidentifiable emotions that were threatening to suck him under. He sighed and opened his eyes in order to stare blankly up at the ceiling. “I’m afraid,” he whispered to the empty room, realizing his concern for the first time. He didn’t know specifically what had him so worried, but the fear was there, just below the surface, threatening to claw its way out in the form of a panic attack. Peter’s throat began to close up, and he inhaled deeply through his nose in order to calm himself.
He was drowning in this place, without anyone to talk to. Peter blinked back tears and picked up the cordless phone on the nightstand next to his clock, blindly dialing his brother’s number. When Nathan picked up, Peter changed his mind and hung up, knowing that the moment he opened his mouth, he’d start sobbing like a little kid. He pulled the phone’s cord out of the wall so that Nathan couldn’t call him back, then switched off the lights in his room, lying down on his back on the floor so he could stare up at the ceiling in total darkness, wondering whether he or his father would win the race toward a complete meltdown as he slipped away into a restless sleep.