Fandom: Heroes
Title: Ordinary Boy
Characters: Lyle, Claire, Nathan, Peter, Angela
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Season 1
Summary: Lyle Bennet, the world's most ordinary boy, has a ring-side seat for the Petrelli Family Circus.
A/N: Much thanks to![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
gatheringlight for the brainstorming and the beta. If I'm at all funny, it's because of her.
“What do we do now?” Lyle asks his sister as they sit in red plastic chairs in the ER waiting room.
“I don’t know,” Claire says.
“If we were in Odessa…”
“There still wouldn’t be anyone to call,” Claire snaps. “One of Mom’s friends maybe, but no one who…”
Unable to complete her sentence, they both lapse back into silence. Lyle bites at the end of one ragged fingernail. Dad’s gone. Mom is going. And they have no one to call.
Ten minutes later, Claire clenches her fist and stands, walking silently towards the payphone against the wall.
--
Claire introduces him as Nathan, which sounds strange to Lyle at first, but if she’d introduced him as Dad it would have been a hundred times weirder, so Lyle’s not sure what he expected. Nathan sleeps on the couch, sparing them from having to offer him their parents’ bedroom, and he answers the phone whenever Claire can’t face it anymore and he makes the arrangements with the funeral director with Claire at his side.
Lyle spends a lot of time watching the two of them. Claire doesn’t look anything like him, all fair and rounded where he’s dark and composed of harshly cut angles. There is something, though, an intensity to her expression when she’s hurt and determined like this, the hard set of her jaw, but without that he never would have guessed.
She must look like her mother, Lyle thinks and then realizes the thought makes him nauseous.
--
Claire is so strong, unwavering in the face of what has to be done, until the funeral. Then something inside of her gives way, and she crumples against him, sobbing into his shoulder. Lyle puts a dazed arm around her waist and realizes he has to be the grown-up one now, at least for this minute. For the first time he understands the burden Claire has been carrying since their mother was hit by that drunk driver.
He figures it’s probably kind of sick, thinking this as their mother’s casket is lowered into the ground, but he’s never loved his sister so much.
When he looks up, he catches Nathan watching the two of them, his face clouded and unreadable.
--
“I’m really sorry about this, Lyle,” Claire says when she slips into his room that night, stepping over his half-packed suitcase. “I know it’s really weird for you. It’s weird for me too.”
“It’s not your fault,” he says.
She laughs. “Well that’s new. Something that’s not my fault?”
“I’m as surprised as you are.” He pauses. She’s never told him what happened in New York last year, but he knows from the haunted look she carried with her for months afterward that it wasn’t good. “Is it… going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I can handle them,” she says, reaching out to ruffle his hair, trying to smile. “And you’ve still got me, baby brother.”
--
Claire had told him about the house, but his mouth still drops open like a cartoon character when the Town Car pulls up to the Upper East Side mansion. It’s like something out of a movie, graceful and sprawling and more than a little intimidating.
A little bit like the woman who stands on the stoop waiting for them. She’s watching silently as they climb out of the car, Claire struggling with Mr Muggles’ carrying case while Lyle tries to wrestle his suitcase from a driver who’s not used to having to fight someone to carry their bag.
Lyle finally relinquishes the bag and turns automatically to look at his sister, but she’s staring up at the woman waiting on the stoop with a hard expression on her face, sort of like the one she used to wear whenever their parents grounded her.
But when they reach the top step, Lyle lagging behind his sister, as always, the woman reaches out and puts a hand on Claire’s shoulder, her perfectly manicured fingernails digging into the material of Claire’s coat as she squeezes her arm reassuringly.
“Oh, Claire,” she says. “I’m so very sorry.”
“Thanks,” Claire says softly.
“You must be Lyle,” the woman says, turning to him. “I’m Angela, Nathan’s mother.”
She takes his hand, not quite shaking it, just holding it, and Lyle tries to smile.
“Hi,” he says awkwardly.
“And who is this?” Angela continues, bending down to look inside the dog’s carrying case. “Oh my, what a beautiful dog.”
“He’s, uh, Mr. Muggles,” Claire says, her eyes widening as Angela reaches two fingers through the grating of the case and makes kissing noises at their dog, who whines softly.
“We never had pets when Nathan and Peter were growing up,” Angela says as she leads the two of them into the house. “My husband was terribly allergic.”
Lyle’s is barely listening, instead staring at the house around him. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen in real life, all gilding and glass and coffee tables worth more than all of his possessions put together.
Angela – that’s what she told him to call her, but he’s never really called grown-ups by their first name before and it feels weird – leads them both up the marble staircase to the guest bedroom on the second floor. It’s big and elegant, decorated in brown and cream with a window that overlooks the garden. And it’s his now.
The driver unobtrusively enters the room behind them, depositing Lyle’s suitcase on the thick carpeting, as Angela turns to his sister.
“Claire,” she says. “I thought you would stay—“
“In the attic?” Claire interjects. “I know where it is.”
Lyle’s not exactly sure what the bitter edge to his sister’s tone signifies or why she’s still staring daggers at the woman who seems nice enough to him, but then he’s used to not understanding his sister’s secret language.
--
The two of them leave him to unpack his things, but instead he pokes around the room, opening drawers and closets and trying to get his bearings. He sits down on the bed – queen size and massive to a boy who’s only ever slept in a twin – and tries to convince himself that this is really his life now. But he can’t.
A movement from the corner of his eyes catches his attention, and Lyle turns to see Claire stepping out into the garden through the French doors on the ground floor. She begins to pace, her arms wrapped around herself the way she does whenever she’s upset, as though she can fool herself into believing someone else is holding her.
They’ve been in this house for ten minutes, but already Lyle can see the change in her, the new edge emerging. It’s something she’s always had, although it was dulled by teddy bears and waffles and the gentle suburban love of their parents, but being with these Petrellis, who seemed to be entirely composed of edges, has brought it out in her.
Somewhere below him, Lyle hears the front door open and the sound of voices – one male and one female, the tones urgent but the words unintelligible – echo up to him, bouncing off of marble and shiny wooden floors. Moments later, Claire whirls around as a slight, dark-haired man steps out of the house and into the garden.
Claire throws herself at him with total abandon, and he catches her around the waist, holding her close, stroking one hand across her hair. They stay like that for a long time.
Alone up in his room, Lyle watches them with a crease in his brow.
--
Breakfast the next morning is the most surreal affair so far. At home, Lyle would stumble down in his pajamas and eat as much as he could before his mother shooed him upstairs to get dressed for school. But he doesn’t feel like he can leave this new bedroom in his pajamas, like it isn’t proper or something, so he takes a shower and combs his hair and puts on a button-down shirt before he dares to venture downstairs.
He’s glad he did, because when he gets to the dining room table, where a luxurious spread is laid out, everyone else is fully clothed too, Nathan in a suit, Angela in pearls.
Lyle slides into the open seat next to Claire, who’s toying with a piece of fruit on a plate. She glances up at him and gives him a crooked smile before going back to pushing the slice of melon around.
Angela and Nathan don’t seem to notice he’s entered the room; she continues to sip from a coffee cup as she watches something happening on the street outside the window, while Nathan has his head buried in the Wall Street Journal. Peter Petrelli, who he met last night after he and Claire finally came back into the house, is the only one who speaks, smiling over at him and saying good morning.
It takes Lyle a minute of fiddling with linen napkins and silverware - wincing as he knocks his fork against the plate, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness of the room - to realize that no one is eating.
He eyes the food in front of him, plates full of fruit and eggs and French toast, feeling his stomach rumble under his nicest shirt. But he doesn't dare reach for any of it.
“Goddamnit,” Nathan says, folding over his paper. “The President’s running the economy into the ground.”
The rest of the table looks over at Nathan’s outburst, and Lyle takes his opportunity, hand darting out towards the basket of pastries. But Nathan subsides into silence while Lyle's hand is still hovering over a Danish.
He drops it with a silent sigh, hoping no one noticed.
--
He’s upstairs, unpacking his stuff for want of something better to do, when he hears the light knock and turns to see Peter Petrelli leaning in his doorway. The man pulls a plate loaded with food from behind his back and sets it down on one of the priceless mahogany dressers. Then he grins and leaves.
--
When he’s done unpacking, Lyle casts about for something else to do and decides to go in search of a television. A house this big, there must be at least a dozen.
He creeps downstairs, still feeling hesitant to disturb the eerie, museum-like quiet of the house and wonders vaguely to himself if there will ever be a time when he feels comfortable here. He kind of doubts it. His first stop is the den, and when he spots the large credenza on the wall opposite the sofa, he grins to himself and opens it, already thinking about an hour spent staring at Sports Center or MTV, free from any kind of Petrelli-related thoughts.
But inside the credenza is a stereo system and row after row of classical music CDs. He closes it again with a sigh.
He passes the formal living room, boggling at the fact that there’s a second living room somewhere which is apparently considered informal, on his way to the kitchen, but he stops dead in the doorway, staring at the scene taking place inside.
Mr Muggles is backed into a corner of the room, with Angela Petrelli on her hands and knees in her black Prada suit, inching towards him. She’s holding a piece of chicken in her fingers, trying to tempt the dog forward, but he barks and growls, fur standing up on his neck.
“Come on, lovely,” she says in a sweet, sing-songy voice. “Please, I just want us to be friends.”
Lyle slowly backs away from the door.
Forty-five minutes and sixteen rooms later, Lyle gives up the search and wonders, with real apprehension, what kind of people don’t own a single television.
--
He soon discovers how the Petrellis manage without a TV; they’re more than adept at making their own entertainment. Life in this house is like living in one’s own personal soap opera.
Episode 1, “Evil is as Evil Does”
“Claire, darling,” Angela says one night over dinner. “I managed to get you a spot in the Junior League’s Debutante Ball.”
Claire fork hits her plate with a loud clanging. “What?”
“For your coming out,” Angela says. “You’re a bit old, of course, but better late than never.”
Claire’s mouth drops open. “I’m not doing that.”
“You certainly are; I had to pull a lot of strings to get you in. This is how things are done here, darling.”
“I never asked to be brought here in the first place!” Claire says, and Lyle can see she’s building momentum for a real tantrum. “You only want me to do this because you know it’ll make me miserable. It’s not my fault your precious son knocked up a teenager and finally crawled out from under your skirts.”
“Hey,” Nathan protests, looking up from his lamb chop.
“For goodness sakes,” Angela says. “The evil Machiavell you all try to make me out to be…”
“Well, Ma, you did try to blow up—”
“That was different!”
“Even Mr Muggles sees you for what you really are!”
Lyle stabs a green bean with his fork as the fight rages around him.
Episode 14, “The Return of Derek”
One day Claire comes home in a panic. Lyle overhears her telling Nathan about someone she saw when she was walking home from school, and suddenly the house is exploding into action. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, and no one bothers to explain it to him, but half an hour later he’s in the car with Peter and Claire, headed to the Petrellis’ summer home on Martha’s Vineyard until the crisis is resolved.
Lyle keeps a mental list of things that only happen on TV or in the movies, and he checks them off each time they happen to him. Now that he can put a line through fleeing for your life, his list is almost complete.
“I don’t suppose we’re running from your secret, evil twin Derek, are we?” he asks Peter as they drive, watching the flat, gray landscape of I-95 sweep past his window.
Peter, not quite as stupid as his haircut makes him look, laughs.
“No evil twins. Although,” he says, turning his head to look at Claire for a moment, “secret family members have popped up before, so… Wow, that would sure complicate things.”
Lyle lets his head fall back against the seat and closes his eyes.
“Now all we need is a mysterious coma and a case of amnesia,” he mutters to himself.
“Wait, what about my amnesia?” Peter asks.
Lyle’s eyes fly open again.
Episode 31, “Flowers in the Attic”
Lyle creeps – it’s been weeks, but he’s still creeping – up to his sister’s room late one night. It’s their mother’s birthday, probably the first time he’s ever remembered, and he wants to make sure Claire’s okay.
But as he approaches, he hears Peter’s voice and realizes she’s not alone. Spying on his sister is like second nature to him, so he presses his eye up to the keyhole of her attic room.
The two of them are sitting on the bed, him sprawled out on his side, her cross-legged and facing him. He says something to her, something teasing, and she hits at him with one tiny fist. But he grabs her hand before it makes contact and a laughing scuffle breaks out between them, which only ends when he pins her to the bed beside him, both of her wrists held firmly in his hands.
Lyle’s eyes go wide. This isn't on his list.
Claire stops struggling and at length Peter lets her go, settling back beside her as she puts one of her recently-freed hands on his chest, turning her head into his shoulder. She says something Lyle can’t quite make out, but he thinks it must be about their mom, because Peter puts his arms around her and she buries herself deeper against him.
At breakfast the next morning, Lyle catches them darting surreptitious glances at each other over the untouched food and later corners his sister upstairs.
“Are you in love with your uncle?” he asks.
Claire goes pale and then rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Lyle.”
Oh God, Lyle thinks. Gross.
--
Sometimes he dreams about the four of them having epic battles with their powers, all multi-colored and accented with whooshes! and bams! like the fights in the comics books he used to read. Flying amongst the antique future, dodging bolts of electricity and telekinetically-hurled objects as they exchange witty banter.
Part of him is afraid it’s only a matter of time before it actually happens.
--
Lyle’s at the dining room table, poster board and scissors and markers laid out in front of him as he works on the presentation for his science project, when Nathan comes in and sits down across from him with the paper and what must be his fourth cup of coffee that day. Lyle glances up at him briefly and goes back to his work.
“You don’t say much, do you, Lyle?” Nathan asks.
Lyle shrugs and doesn’t look up. “I guess not.”
“Why is that?”
“Hard to get a word in sometimes,” he says.
Nathan’s laugh is quiet and sharp. “Good point.”
Lyle doesn’t say anything.
“You know, my brother used to be a lot like you,” Nathan continues. “Quiet, observant. I think he always felt overlooked when I was around, but I really depended on him. And now, of course, he’s ten times the man I am.”
Lyle puts down his scissors and looks up at Nathan. For some reason, this metaphorical pep talk is the straw that breaks the camels back.
“You people are crazy,” he says. “All of you.”
“Well—”
“No, seriously. I think you’re all probably insane.”
“We have complex relationships,” Nathan says. “But we’d each die for each other.”
“Or of each other,” Lyle says.
Nathan smiles. “You may not talk much, but you sure can pick your words.” He leans forward. “Anyway, Lyle, all I wanted to say was that you’re one of us now, too. You may not be crazy, but you’re one of the family.”
Nathan gets up and drops one hand down onto Lyle’s shoulder for a moment before leaving. Lyle knows he’ll never be more than a spectator in the Petrelli Family Circus, but he feels a smile creep across his face anyway.
--
Claire sneaks into his bedroom that night, flopping down beside him on the bed and resting her head against his shoulder.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Sort of,” she says. “They’re driving me nuts.”
Lyle smiles.
“Can we just lie here and not talk for awhile?” she asks.
“I can,” he replies. “Not so sure about you.”
He hears her laugh even as she punches him swiftly in the arm. “Shut up, Lyle.”
--
Lyle used to be jealous of Claire. When he’d found the video of her jumping off of buildings and throwing herself under cars, he’d called her a freak and thought he’d meant it, but somewhere deep inside of himself, he knew he’d been more awed than frightened.
It makes sense, he’d thought to himself, a little bitterly, as he'd laid in bed staring at the ceiling that night. Claire had always been the star of the family: Daddy’s little girl, part of honor roll, head cheerleader, pretty and popular and sweet. So effortlessly perfect that Lyle had wanted to strangle her.
Not that it would have done any good, of course, since she’s a damn superhero on top of everything else.
But now Lyle sees that there’s a price to all of that specialness. Claire cries when she thinks no one’s around because she worries that she’s going to outlive them all. Angela’s sons live in her house so that they can keep tabs on her, because they’re afraid that if they turn their backs on her for one moment, she’ll try to destroy the world again. Peter is gone for days at a time – he’s never told anyone why, but they all know anyway – and comes back looking haunted and sad, like he hasn’t slept at all. And Nathan’s ex-wife doesn’t let him see their children anymore because of the secrets he keeps from her for her own good.
Normal isn’t an option for them; everything is the end of the world.
Lyle’s never been so glad to be so incredibly ordinary.
-the end.
Title: Ordinary Boy
Characters: Lyle, Claire, Nathan, Peter, Angela
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Season 1
Summary: Lyle Bennet, the world's most ordinary boy, has a ring-side seat for the Petrelli Family Circus.
A/N: Much thanks to
gatheringlight for the brainstorming and the beta. If I'm at all funny, it's because of her.“What do we do now?” Lyle asks his sister as they sit in red plastic chairs in the ER waiting room.
“I don’t know,” Claire says.
“If we were in Odessa…”
“There still wouldn’t be anyone to call,” Claire snaps. “One of Mom’s friends maybe, but no one who…”
Unable to complete her sentence, they both lapse back into silence. Lyle bites at the end of one ragged fingernail. Dad’s gone. Mom is going. And they have no one to call.
Ten minutes later, Claire clenches her fist and stands, walking silently towards the payphone against the wall.
--
Claire introduces him as Nathan, which sounds strange to Lyle at first, but if she’d introduced him as Dad it would have been a hundred times weirder, so Lyle’s not sure what he expected. Nathan sleeps on the couch, sparing them from having to offer him their parents’ bedroom, and he answers the phone whenever Claire can’t face it anymore and he makes the arrangements with the funeral director with Claire at his side.
Lyle spends a lot of time watching the two of them. Claire doesn’t look anything like him, all fair and rounded where he’s dark and composed of harshly cut angles. There is something, though, an intensity to her expression when she’s hurt and determined like this, the hard set of her jaw, but without that he never would have guessed.
She must look like her mother, Lyle thinks and then realizes the thought makes him nauseous.
--
Claire is so strong, unwavering in the face of what has to be done, until the funeral. Then something inside of her gives way, and she crumples against him, sobbing into his shoulder. Lyle puts a dazed arm around her waist and realizes he has to be the grown-up one now, at least for this minute. For the first time he understands the burden Claire has been carrying since their mother was hit by that drunk driver.
He figures it’s probably kind of sick, thinking this as their mother’s casket is lowered into the ground, but he’s never loved his sister so much.
When he looks up, he catches Nathan watching the two of them, his face clouded and unreadable.
--
“I’m really sorry about this, Lyle,” Claire says when she slips into his room that night, stepping over his half-packed suitcase. “I know it’s really weird for you. It’s weird for me too.”
“It’s not your fault,” he says.
She laughs. “Well that’s new. Something that’s not my fault?”
“I’m as surprised as you are.” He pauses. She’s never told him what happened in New York last year, but he knows from the haunted look she carried with her for months afterward that it wasn’t good. “Is it… going to be okay?”
“Yeah, I can handle them,” she says, reaching out to ruffle his hair, trying to smile. “And you’ve still got me, baby brother.”
--
Claire had told him about the house, but his mouth still drops open like a cartoon character when the Town Car pulls up to the Upper East Side mansion. It’s like something out of a movie, graceful and sprawling and more than a little intimidating.
A little bit like the woman who stands on the stoop waiting for them. She’s watching silently as they climb out of the car, Claire struggling with Mr Muggles’ carrying case while Lyle tries to wrestle his suitcase from a driver who’s not used to having to fight someone to carry their bag.
Lyle finally relinquishes the bag and turns automatically to look at his sister, but she’s staring up at the woman waiting on the stoop with a hard expression on her face, sort of like the one she used to wear whenever their parents grounded her.
But when they reach the top step, Lyle lagging behind his sister, as always, the woman reaches out and puts a hand on Claire’s shoulder, her perfectly manicured fingernails digging into the material of Claire’s coat as she squeezes her arm reassuringly.
“Oh, Claire,” she says. “I’m so very sorry.”
“Thanks,” Claire says softly.
“You must be Lyle,” the woman says, turning to him. “I’m Angela, Nathan’s mother.”
She takes his hand, not quite shaking it, just holding it, and Lyle tries to smile.
“Hi,” he says awkwardly.
“And who is this?” Angela continues, bending down to look inside the dog’s carrying case. “Oh my, what a beautiful dog.”
“He’s, uh, Mr. Muggles,” Claire says, her eyes widening as Angela reaches two fingers through the grating of the case and makes kissing noises at their dog, who whines softly.
“We never had pets when Nathan and Peter were growing up,” Angela says as she leads the two of them into the house. “My husband was terribly allergic.”
Lyle’s is barely listening, instead staring at the house around him. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen in real life, all gilding and glass and coffee tables worth more than all of his possessions put together.
Angela – that’s what she told him to call her, but he’s never really called grown-ups by their first name before and it feels weird – leads them both up the marble staircase to the guest bedroom on the second floor. It’s big and elegant, decorated in brown and cream with a window that overlooks the garden. And it’s his now.
The driver unobtrusively enters the room behind them, depositing Lyle’s suitcase on the thick carpeting, as Angela turns to his sister.
“Claire,” she says. “I thought you would stay—“
“In the attic?” Claire interjects. “I know where it is.”
Lyle’s not exactly sure what the bitter edge to his sister’s tone signifies or why she’s still staring daggers at the woman who seems nice enough to him, but then he’s used to not understanding his sister’s secret language.
--
The two of them leave him to unpack his things, but instead he pokes around the room, opening drawers and closets and trying to get his bearings. He sits down on the bed – queen size and massive to a boy who’s only ever slept in a twin – and tries to convince himself that this is really his life now. But he can’t.
A movement from the corner of his eyes catches his attention, and Lyle turns to see Claire stepping out into the garden through the French doors on the ground floor. She begins to pace, her arms wrapped around herself the way she does whenever she’s upset, as though she can fool herself into believing someone else is holding her.
They’ve been in this house for ten minutes, but already Lyle can see the change in her, the new edge emerging. It’s something she’s always had, although it was dulled by teddy bears and waffles and the gentle suburban love of their parents, but being with these Petrellis, who seemed to be entirely composed of edges, has brought it out in her.
Somewhere below him, Lyle hears the front door open and the sound of voices – one male and one female, the tones urgent but the words unintelligible – echo up to him, bouncing off of marble and shiny wooden floors. Moments later, Claire whirls around as a slight, dark-haired man steps out of the house and into the garden.
Claire throws herself at him with total abandon, and he catches her around the waist, holding her close, stroking one hand across her hair. They stay like that for a long time.
Alone up in his room, Lyle watches them with a crease in his brow.
--
Breakfast the next morning is the most surreal affair so far. At home, Lyle would stumble down in his pajamas and eat as much as he could before his mother shooed him upstairs to get dressed for school. But he doesn’t feel like he can leave this new bedroom in his pajamas, like it isn’t proper or something, so he takes a shower and combs his hair and puts on a button-down shirt before he dares to venture downstairs.
He’s glad he did, because when he gets to the dining room table, where a luxurious spread is laid out, everyone else is fully clothed too, Nathan in a suit, Angela in pearls.
Lyle slides into the open seat next to Claire, who’s toying with a piece of fruit on a plate. She glances up at him and gives him a crooked smile before going back to pushing the slice of melon around.
Angela and Nathan don’t seem to notice he’s entered the room; she continues to sip from a coffee cup as she watches something happening on the street outside the window, while Nathan has his head buried in the Wall Street Journal. Peter Petrelli, who he met last night after he and Claire finally came back into the house, is the only one who speaks, smiling over at him and saying good morning.
It takes Lyle a minute of fiddling with linen napkins and silverware - wincing as he knocks his fork against the plate, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness of the room - to realize that no one is eating.
He eyes the food in front of him, plates full of fruit and eggs and French toast, feeling his stomach rumble under his nicest shirt. But he doesn't dare reach for any of it.
“Goddamnit,” Nathan says, folding over his paper. “The President’s running the economy into the ground.”
The rest of the table looks over at Nathan’s outburst, and Lyle takes his opportunity, hand darting out towards the basket of pastries. But Nathan subsides into silence while Lyle's hand is still hovering over a Danish.
He drops it with a silent sigh, hoping no one noticed.
--
He’s upstairs, unpacking his stuff for want of something better to do, when he hears the light knock and turns to see Peter Petrelli leaning in his doorway. The man pulls a plate loaded with food from behind his back and sets it down on one of the priceless mahogany dressers. Then he grins and leaves.
--
When he’s done unpacking, Lyle casts about for something else to do and decides to go in search of a television. A house this big, there must be at least a dozen.
He creeps downstairs, still feeling hesitant to disturb the eerie, museum-like quiet of the house and wonders vaguely to himself if there will ever be a time when he feels comfortable here. He kind of doubts it. His first stop is the den, and when he spots the large credenza on the wall opposite the sofa, he grins to himself and opens it, already thinking about an hour spent staring at Sports Center or MTV, free from any kind of Petrelli-related thoughts.
But inside the credenza is a stereo system and row after row of classical music CDs. He closes it again with a sigh.
He passes the formal living room, boggling at the fact that there’s a second living room somewhere which is apparently considered informal, on his way to the kitchen, but he stops dead in the doorway, staring at the scene taking place inside.
Mr Muggles is backed into a corner of the room, with Angela Petrelli on her hands and knees in her black Prada suit, inching towards him. She’s holding a piece of chicken in her fingers, trying to tempt the dog forward, but he barks and growls, fur standing up on his neck.
“Come on, lovely,” she says in a sweet, sing-songy voice. “Please, I just want us to be friends.”
Lyle slowly backs away from the door.
Forty-five minutes and sixteen rooms later, Lyle gives up the search and wonders, with real apprehension, what kind of people don’t own a single television.
--
He soon discovers how the Petrellis manage without a TV; they’re more than adept at making their own entertainment. Life in this house is like living in one’s own personal soap opera.
Episode 1, “Evil is as Evil Does”
“Claire, darling,” Angela says one night over dinner. “I managed to get you a spot in the Junior League’s Debutante Ball.”
Claire fork hits her plate with a loud clanging. “What?”
“For your coming out,” Angela says. “You’re a bit old, of course, but better late than never.”
Claire’s mouth drops open. “I’m not doing that.”
“You certainly are; I had to pull a lot of strings to get you in. This is how things are done here, darling.”
“I never asked to be brought here in the first place!” Claire says, and Lyle can see she’s building momentum for a real tantrum. “You only want me to do this because you know it’ll make me miserable. It’s not my fault your precious son knocked up a teenager and finally crawled out from under your skirts.”
“Hey,” Nathan protests, looking up from his lamb chop.
“For goodness sakes,” Angela says. “The evil Machiavell you all try to make me out to be…”
“Well, Ma, you did try to blow up—”
“That was different!”
“Even Mr Muggles sees you for what you really are!”
Lyle stabs a green bean with his fork as the fight rages around him.
Episode 14, “The Return of Derek”
One day Claire comes home in a panic. Lyle overhears her telling Nathan about someone she saw when she was walking home from school, and suddenly the house is exploding into action. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, and no one bothers to explain it to him, but half an hour later he’s in the car with Peter and Claire, headed to the Petrellis’ summer home on Martha’s Vineyard until the crisis is resolved.
Lyle keeps a mental list of things that only happen on TV or in the movies, and he checks them off each time they happen to him. Now that he can put a line through fleeing for your life, his list is almost complete.
“I don’t suppose we’re running from your secret, evil twin Derek, are we?” he asks Peter as they drive, watching the flat, gray landscape of I-95 sweep past his window.
Peter, not quite as stupid as his haircut makes him look, laughs.
“No evil twins. Although,” he says, turning his head to look at Claire for a moment, “secret family members have popped up before, so… Wow, that would sure complicate things.”
Lyle lets his head fall back against the seat and closes his eyes.
“Now all we need is a mysterious coma and a case of amnesia,” he mutters to himself.
“Wait, what about my amnesia?” Peter asks.
Lyle’s eyes fly open again.
Episode 31, “Flowers in the Attic”
Lyle creeps – it’s been weeks, but he’s still creeping – up to his sister’s room late one night. It’s their mother’s birthday, probably the first time he’s ever remembered, and he wants to make sure Claire’s okay.
But as he approaches, he hears Peter’s voice and realizes she’s not alone. Spying on his sister is like second nature to him, so he presses his eye up to the keyhole of her attic room.
The two of them are sitting on the bed, him sprawled out on his side, her cross-legged and facing him. He says something to her, something teasing, and she hits at him with one tiny fist. But he grabs her hand before it makes contact and a laughing scuffle breaks out between them, which only ends when he pins her to the bed beside him, both of her wrists held firmly in his hands.
Lyle’s eyes go wide. This isn't on his list.
Claire stops struggling and at length Peter lets her go, settling back beside her as she puts one of her recently-freed hands on his chest, turning her head into his shoulder. She says something Lyle can’t quite make out, but he thinks it must be about their mom, because Peter puts his arms around her and she buries herself deeper against him.
At breakfast the next morning, Lyle catches them darting surreptitious glances at each other over the untouched food and later corners his sister upstairs.
“Are you in love with your uncle?” he asks.
Claire goes pale and then rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Lyle.”
Oh God, Lyle thinks. Gross.
--
Sometimes he dreams about the four of them having epic battles with their powers, all multi-colored and accented with whooshes! and bams! like the fights in the comics books he used to read. Flying amongst the antique future, dodging bolts of electricity and telekinetically-hurled objects as they exchange witty banter.
Part of him is afraid it’s only a matter of time before it actually happens.
--
Lyle’s at the dining room table, poster board and scissors and markers laid out in front of him as he works on the presentation for his science project, when Nathan comes in and sits down across from him with the paper and what must be his fourth cup of coffee that day. Lyle glances up at him briefly and goes back to his work.
“You don’t say much, do you, Lyle?” Nathan asks.
Lyle shrugs and doesn’t look up. “I guess not.”
“Why is that?”
“Hard to get a word in sometimes,” he says.
Nathan’s laugh is quiet and sharp. “Good point.”
Lyle doesn’t say anything.
“You know, my brother used to be a lot like you,” Nathan continues. “Quiet, observant. I think he always felt overlooked when I was around, but I really depended on him. And now, of course, he’s ten times the man I am.”
Lyle puts down his scissors and looks up at Nathan. For some reason, this metaphorical pep talk is the straw that breaks the camels back.
“You people are crazy,” he says. “All of you.”
“Well—”
“No, seriously. I think you’re all probably insane.”
“We have complex relationships,” Nathan says. “But we’d each die for each other.”
“Or of each other,” Lyle says.
Nathan smiles. “You may not talk much, but you sure can pick your words.” He leans forward. “Anyway, Lyle, all I wanted to say was that you’re one of us now, too. You may not be crazy, but you’re one of the family.”
Nathan gets up and drops one hand down onto Lyle’s shoulder for a moment before leaving. Lyle knows he’ll never be more than a spectator in the Petrelli Family Circus, but he feels a smile creep across his face anyway.
--
Claire sneaks into his bedroom that night, flopping down beside him on the bed and resting her head against his shoulder.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Sort of,” she says. “They’re driving me nuts.”
Lyle smiles.
“Can we just lie here and not talk for awhile?” she asks.
“I can,” he replies. “Not so sure about you.”
He hears her laugh even as she punches him swiftly in the arm. “Shut up, Lyle.”
--
Lyle used to be jealous of Claire. When he’d found the video of her jumping off of buildings and throwing herself under cars, he’d called her a freak and thought he’d meant it, but somewhere deep inside of himself, he knew he’d been more awed than frightened.
It makes sense, he’d thought to himself, a little bitterly, as he'd laid in bed staring at the ceiling that night. Claire had always been the star of the family: Daddy’s little girl, part of honor roll, head cheerleader, pretty and popular and sweet. So effortlessly perfect that Lyle had wanted to strangle her.
Not that it would have done any good, of course, since she’s a damn superhero on top of everything else.
But now Lyle sees that there’s a price to all of that specialness. Claire cries when she thinks no one’s around because she worries that she’s going to outlive them all. Angela’s sons live in her house so that they can keep tabs on her, because they’re afraid that if they turn their backs on her for one moment, she’ll try to destroy the world again. Peter is gone for days at a time – he’s never told anyone why, but they all know anyway – and comes back looking haunted and sad, like he hasn’t slept at all. And Nathan’s ex-wife doesn’t let him see their children anymore because of the secrets he keeps from her for her own good.
Normal isn’t an option for them; everything is the end of the world.
Lyle’s never been so glad to be so incredibly ordinary.
-the end.
Current Location: Doughty Street
Current Mood: 
stressed
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