Disclaimer: I own NOTHING in this ENTIRE story. It's all NBC's, and Krings, and pretty much every head TV honcho. I'm not really sure, but I do know that it is not mine.

Also un beta'ed so any mistakes are totally mine and you are free to throw fruit.

Lastly: It's NONCESTY Paire. That will not be underage later. But still. Please don't whine about the pair, because I didn't invent this ship, so if you don't like it, it ain't my doing.

Without futher ado...

Prolouge

"Allyway Seer"

“I don’t have to cut her out, I have to remember her! I have to remember how she made me feel!”

With realization came consequence for Peter Petrelli. Emotions poured into his heart against his will; frustration, jealousy, and weariness. His hands were flickering in and out of visiblility before his eyes, trying to decide how he felt about Claude. Part of him wanted to beat the older man into a pulp, and the other half desperatly wanted mentoring. This indecisiveness set off a chain reaction in his body. Static screeched in Peter’s ears, the result of being around that mind-reading cop. Before long, his eyes had also become milky white with prophetic vision.

Claude stared on, perplexed. He’d taught his fair share of students, but this was one lad that surprised him. Peter screamed and clutched at his head, seeing flashes of the bomb in his brain’s projecting screen. Yet, like in his coma dreams, there were snippets that didn’t make sense. Things that seemed more real.

“Oh God!” Peter cried. “It’s happening!”

Two hours after he had woken up from his coma, and premonitions of Claude, Peter was introduced to the British man in person…in the spitting images from his dreams. Now, Peter was seeing similar flashes, but of something else. Someone in danger.

Simone was being held back…Nathan was walking ever so calmly towards him…his hands were a flaming orange…it was all the same-old-same-old. Peter had memorized the reel and could recite it backwards by now. He chose to ignore the bomb chatter and focused on the forewarnings in between. A bus….a bell tower…a café…a street sign. Peter concentrated on the signs and time, catching them and willing himself to remember them no matter what. A girl was there too, running, her mouth agape in fear and her blonde curls rippling behind her. Before Peter could decipher who she was, he felt a blow to his face and he slipped into blackness.

Claude leaned over the pupil that he had just knocked out, and sighed.

“Well,” he shrugged. “It’s a start.”