Scientific interest - Rp with fallen_empath

[beastlyinsides]

I crouch down next to Peter's prone body, stroking the hair away from his eyes, tracing the line across his forehead where I cut into him. There's nothing there now, just a bit of dried up blood, indicating the injury. I can't wait to see what's hidden in his brain, see what I can take and make mine

Comments

[beastlyinsides]

I don't know what time it is, if it's been hours or days since I passed out. My throat is dry, I know that and that's the motivator needed for me to get my shit together and try to move. I fall out of the couch face first at my first attempt, having to pull myself up using the couch and the wall behind it.

"Christ, never again..." I'm muttering it to myself, finding my way to the bathroom and very briefly throwing a look at the mirror. I look like death himself, pale and sweaty still. It's like the worst fucking hangovers I've ever had the misfortune of suffering, all rolled into one.

There's nothing I can take for it here, of course. Nothing in Gabriel's emergency stash of painkillers, nothing else to do than to shower, clean up, put on something that doesn't look like it's been in Zane's closet. I'm relieved that I don't have to play that pathetic little nobody anymore and I also have a new list to work on. Mohinder tried his hand at smashing the computer and I tried my hand at ripping his guts out. It's a slow way to go, all in all.

I feel a little better after the shower, if only by a fraction. I have some water and sit down at one of Gabriel's work tables, pouring over the new list.

Paint the future? Got it. Flight? Got it. Telepathy? Got that too.

Oh, there's a good one. Illusions? Fuck, that could be handy. Imagine the things I could do with that, all the people I could become. This Candice Wilmer could be the key to everything I've ever wanted, I just have to step over a mob boss to do it. When has a challenge like that ever stopped me though?

[fallen_empath]

The exhaustion of my fight with Sylar must have overtaken me, because the next thing I’m aware of is weak sunlight warming my face. Yeah, I fell asleep as I was. Except now I’m covered with my brother’s charcoal-gray suit jacket, and he’s sitting next to me, his hand resting on my knee, staring off into the horizon.

“Hi, Nathan. Jesus, how long have you been up here?” I ask sleepily. Nathan’s hair is sticking up every which way, and he looks tired. But he’d never tell me he’s been here with me all night.

“Just a couple hours. The mess downstairs...it’s being taken care of as we speak. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Pete. But this crazy shit has to stop. You can’t just call me anytime you need me to clean up after you.” His words are stern, but his tone is soft, and just by looking at his face I know he’s worried for me. My empathy, however, is still shut off. I can’t feel his emotional state. It’s as if I’m sitting here alone.

Nathan hands me a thermos of coffee, and I take a grateful swallow, partially because I’m parched, but also to buy some time. Just because my empathy is--broken?--gone?--doesn’t mean I wasn’t right about Nathan’s presence chasing away my own numbness. Anger rises in me, and I shove the thermos and his jacket at him.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about my ‘crazy shit’ anymore, Nathan,” I spit, showing him my blood-crusted, scraped palms. “It’s gone. Everything. Sylar took everything. I don’t know if it’ll come back.”

Nathan’s eyes narrow, and even without Parkman’s telepathy, I can almost see his thought process: Maybe now it’ll stop. Maybe now my life will go back to normal.

I stand up, and so does he. What, does he think he can stop me from going after Sylar? “Don’t you get it, Nathan? Sylar has Claire’s power. He’s fucking invincible. I have to stop him from killing everybody like us. I’m the only one who can.” If my abilities come back, that is.

“He’ll kill you, Peter. He cut your goddamned skull open! What makes you think he won’t do it again? You won’t come back this time,” Nathan says, not looking at me, but through me.

Selfish bastard. He doesn’t believe in me at all. He’s never done anything but hold me back. I’ve stood in his shadow my entire life. Now is no different, and it makes me sick. It makes me want to hurt him.

I’m shaking with anger right now, and I have to get away from him before I actually do. But I can’t control this overpowering urge in me for violence. “You’re not going to tell me what to do anymore, Nathan,” I say, my voice eerily calm. My hand twitches of its own volition--and Nathan stumbles backward, losing his balance and going off the edge of the roof.

He falls for about half a second, then hovers long enough to seethe, “You’ve lost your fucking mind, Peter.” Then he’s gone in a rush of wind. I almost jump from the roof to follow him, but I remember just in time that I can’t. But if I can’t...I look down at my hand in disbelief. What the hell was that, then?

[beastlyinsides]

I get myself some new clothes in a store, I can't stand to wear Gabriel's old clothes for long, much less see myself in the mirror with them on. It's a reminder of a time that's behind me, thank God. Invisibility comes in handy both for acquiring the clothes and for getting myself a meal at no expense at all. If I ever see Peter again, I'll have to thank him. This toolbox of abilities, even with how my head is still throbbing when I use them, is so handy.

Testing flight is going to be impossible today, driving is right out, but I can afford waiting a day or two until the headache clears up and I feel better.

It's not like I'm in a rush and with the hunger so throughly sated, I take the time to go to the movies for free, lounging in the back and tossing popcorn at people in the front.

Not everything has to be about killing, not always. It's been a while since I've had the chance to be lazy like this, munch popcorn and snort at really bad movies. Everything is going my way, at least relatively speaking.

It's strange how relaxed you can be when you know that not a soul in the world can hurt you.

[fallen_empath]

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, letting go of my anger at Nathan just as quickly as it came. Thinking back on what he said, I should have known his intent was not to hurt me or undermine me. It’s because my abilities can’t protect me anymore, and he can’t either. He’s afraid he’ll lose me.

But I definitely just used telekinesis to throw my brother off the roof of this building. My hands are still scraped raw. My abilities aren’t working. So how was I able to do that? What the hell is wrong with me?

Nathan is right. He’s always right. I can’t go off half-cocked, trying to be the hero when I’m powerless. If I die, no one will be able to stop Sylar from hunting down every last special in the world…

That’s when it hits me. That’s the reason Sylar was here in the first place. Mohinder’s father had a comprehensive list of people with abilities. If Sylar got his filthy, murdering hands on it, then this situation is even worse than I could have imagined. He wouldn’t have left if he didn't get what he came for. I was just a fortunate happenstance, one-stop shopping for powers. At least because of that, anybody whose ability I once possessed is safe. Sylar won’t need to waste his time on them. Especially my mother, Claire, and Nathan. But who knows how many other people are in danger?

I need to get my hands on his files, see if I can find the list. See what Sylar’s next move is. I have to keep moving, keep busy. If I stop for one second to think about what Sylar did to me--

I descend the flights of stairs as fast as I can, and steal a glance inside Mohinder’s open door, but I’m too late. It’s completely empty, as if Mohinder just packed up and left. What did the cleanup crew do with his belongings? Nathan is too smart to have just had his people toss it all in a Dumpster. Damn it.

[beastlyinsides]

I've learned to be a light sleeper, it comes with the life of watching my back, always being a step ahead of the Company. But what's been going on seems to have taken its toll on me. My limbs feel heavy, the movie that's currently on the big screen is blurred in front of my eyes and pretty soon I'm asleep in the back row. Deeply asleep and dreaming.

I know it's a dream, but it feels real, more real than anything I've ever experienced. I'm in the middle of Times square, there's abandoned cars everywhere. Something happened to drive everyone out of the city, I get the distinct feeling of being the only person alive in New York. I walk and walk and can't find anyone anywhere, getting more and more frustrated. What the hell is going on around here? What happened? A bomb, a virus, a god damned zombie plague, what?

I don't want to be alone. The only one with abilities, that'd be fine, but not this shit.

I haven't even finished the thought before something casts a shadow over me. Turning, I see Peter, hovering in the air for a moment before landing right in front of me.

"You were right all along, Sylar. I thought you should know that before I snuff you out." The snarl on his face is impressive, so is the hard expression on his face. "Nothing feels better than gathering abilities, getting the blood on my hands, up to my elbows... Well, nothing other than using the abilities once I get them." His hands are glowing, his eyes are starting to gain a red glow as well and I know that I'm in deep shit. "I killed all of New York. I thought I should keep going, from city to city. So lucky to see your sorry ass here."

The world explodes in pain, fire and heat. And I scream and scream until I wake up, gasping and half stuck to the sticky floor over the movie theater, an usher shining a flashlight in my face.

I stumble out of there, getting sick in one of the potted plants lining the corridor.

Fuck. What fucking ability was that? Was that really the future? Or was it something else?

It doesn't matter. All I know is that I don't want to sleep ever again.

[fallen_empath]

For the hell of it, I attempt to use Claude’s invisibility as I go down the remaining flights of stairs, but it’s useless. Nothing. When I hit the street, I go into the alleyway across the street from Mohinder’s building, and after making sure no one’s around to see me, I test the telekinesis on a pile of old, rusted garbage cans. To my surprise, nothing happens.

Maybe I was just imagining things. Maybe I really didn’t throw my brother off the roof. But let’s try telling Nathan that, I think bitterly, dialing his cell again.

His answer is a long, drawn out sigh. “Yes, Peter?”

“Listen, I’m sorry--”

“Don’t, all right? I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through. Come meet me, we’ll grab some lunch. But when you see me, don’t push me in front of a car, all right?”

“All right,” I answer him, a small smile coming to my face. He tells me where to meet him, and I flag down a taxi. The driver is an Indian man, and the whole ride, I’m unable to think of anything but Mohinder’s dead eyes staring at me from the mess of bloody water in his bathtub. I can’t let more people die. I have to convince Nathan to give me access to Mohinder’s computer.

During lunch, I don’t speak much, eat even less as Nathan goes on about his campaign, his kids, Heidi’s progress with her physical rehabilitation. I keep trying to use the TK, on silverware, on the salt and pepper shakers. Nothing. It was just my imagination, then. We were thirty stories up, maybe a strong gust of wind just caused Nathan to lose his balance. Maybe I didn’t try to throw him off the roof. But somehow, I don’t really believe that.

I look up from my concentration, noticing that Nathan’s fallen silent, and he’s watching me twitch my fingers and nod my head at the different items on the table. He must think I’m really losing it now.

“Hey, Pete. Talk to me. You haven’t even touched your food. Something on your mind?”

“I need to see Mohinder’s files,” I blurt, knowing that there’s no way he’ll let me. He’s going to do anything in his power to keep me from going after Sylar. In Nathan’s eyes, I’m just Peter, his little brother, and he thinks I need his protection. He’s not going to stop me. I’ve already told him this.

“There’s something in his files that will help me stop Sylar without actually having to confront him, Nathan. I know I’m powerless, and if it’s permanent, I can’t sit back and do nothing. I have to do something.”

Nathan coughs on a swallow of his steak. “What is it?”

I study his face, his unconscious body movements. He’s tense and uneasy. It’s amazing how much you can tell about what a person is thinking just by their actions alone. Nathan knows exactly what it is, or he’s got an idea, at least. He’s probably got technicians going through Mohinder’s computer right now, and he’s checked his phone at least three times over the course of lunch. And he wasn’t going to tell me…

Nathan goes for his phone once more, and I twitch my hand, locking his wrist to the table. “Whatever you’ve found, Nathan, I want it.”

He attempts to get up, but he’s not going anywhere. Not until he gives me what I want.

I slide the PDA across the table towards me and flip through it, all while Nathan struggles against my invisible hold, going red in the face and starting to sweat. Here it is…the entire list.

“Thanks for lunch, Nathan,” I say calmly, releasing him and getting to my feet, tossing money down on the table.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Peter, I swear to God,” Nathan threatens, rubbing at his wrists.

[beastlyinsides]

I have more than enough coffee to keep me awake for weeks in the course of a couple of hours and I keep myself on the move, trudging through Central Park with my hands in my pocket. So much for taking it easy, huh? I kick after a couple of pigeons, cursing under my breath. I might as well head for Vegas now, take a bus as far as it will go and fly the rest of the way. It sounds like a plan I can get behind and at least it's doing something other than cursing my own damn abilities.

I head down to the bus station, get myself a ticket and take up the back seat of my chosen bus, glaring holes into anyone daring to try to sit back there with me. My seats. Mine. Fuck off strangers with odd body odors and annoying habits. Go away before I rip your spines out and beat you to death with them.

There's a distinct bubble of empty seats around me by the time the bus is ready to leave, people keeping their distance and choosing to be crowded up near the front instead. It suits me fine, I lounge in my seats, spending the trip reading and eating apples, ignoring the other passengers while they keep an weary eye on me.

The world is my god damn hostage and no bad dreams about Peter Petrelli are going to stop me from getting what I want, when I want it.

I'll be in Vegas by the morning and then Candice can say goodbye to her life as Linderman's go to girl and hello to a long dirtnap.

It's a far better destiny for her at any rate, she's far more useful dead than she could possibly be alive.

[fallen_empath]

I leave my brother at the table with the check, and I don’t miss the affronted expression on his face as I stride purposefully out the wide glass double doors out into the muggy city heat, shielding my eyes against the glare of the sun. God, it’s bright…it hurts. Can’t lose Nathan’s phone, I remind myself, shoving it into my pocket and hailing another taxi, back to my own apartment.

That’s the second time today I’ve used the only power left against my brother, and I feel the same way I did when I pushed him off the roof. Angry. Insulted. Confrontational.

Telekinesis is Sylar’s ability. Well, technically; it’s the first one he ever killed for. I’ve never liked using it, and now it’s my only weapon against him and his murderous intentions. So why is it that I’ve only been able to use it around Nathan?

I’m not going to pretend I know the answer, not yet. Maybe it would be better off if I stayed away from him for the time being, at least until I figure out what the hell Sylar actually did to me. Besides opening up my fucking head and taking everything inside it that made me who I am. I don’t have anything left. Just this damn list.

Concentrate, Peter, I tell myself. You’re their only chance. They’re in danger. Where would Sylar go first?

The sensitivity to light passes, and I rest my head back against the cool leather seat, scanning the list.

Matt Parkman. Telepathy. He’s got that. Niki Sanders. Super-strength. I haven’t met her, so she’s a possibility…as is Molly Walker. Clairvoyance. The ability to locate any person just by thinking about them? He’ll definitely want that. But Sylar is one methodical, depraved bastard, and he’ll want something bigger than that to start. He’ll go for something that will insure nothing interferes with his murder spree, nothing slows it down.

My eyes frantically go over name after name. He already has Claude’s invisibility, thanks to me. But that’s only so effective. He’ll look for something that makes him entirely undetectable, at his own discretion…

Candice Wilmer. Illusions. That’s what he’ll want. Think of how he could torment his innocent victims with this? He could kill someone in a roomful of people, and no one would see or hear a thing.

Las Vegas, Nevada.

I tell the taxi driver I’ve changed my mind. “Take me to the Chase ATM down this block here. Yeah, make a right.” I need to dip into the trust fund for this trip.

Four hours later, I’m on a flight headed to Las Vegas, looking out at the rich colors of sunset when it hits me like that proverbial slap in the face.

This has all been a royal waste of time. Sylar has my brother’s power of flight. This plane isn’t a fucking Concord. Nathan flies faster than the speed of sound, and Sylar must have mastered it by now. I’ll probably just find Candice’s cooling corpse.

I just stare out the window, tears blurring the colors of the sky to an almost red hue. I’ll never be able to stop him. Nathan was right.

[beastlyinsides]

The bus stops in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and I get out, stretching in the cold evening air. The bus driver follows, going to have a smoke and a small break before heading back to New York, more than likely. He's a tough and strong guy, used to handle just about any kind of difficult passenger, I bet. It makes me smirk, weigh my options. It has been a long ride, obviously I can have some fun and at the same time make all of this a hell of a lot easier for myself.

"Busdriver..." I make a show of reading his name tag, noting how his lips tighten slightly. "Mark. Can I call you Marky?" He's about to say 'no' and 'fuck off', but I interrupt him. "I want to know the answer to one question and then I won't bug you."

"Fine, what?" He does want to get rid of me. He probably glanced in his little mirror and saw just how many seats I was occupying as well. Cause for annoyance right there. I show him my biggest smile with far too many teeth, playing at nice.

"I want to know what direction Vegas is in. Do you know, Marky?" I can see the little wheels tick around in his head and then he nods. I was waiting for that. "Excellent. You're going to be my live road map then." I grab a hold of him and fly straight up, being rewarded by a scream. "For shame, didn't think you'd scream like a girl. Here's the deal. You show me the directions and you'll live, I set you down in Vegas."

Translation: You'll be alive when I drop you from great heights down at Vegas. It'll wet my appetite for the main course.

I'm pleased at the immediate cooperation from the once so brave busdriver. I've got a damn good feeling we'll get along. For a while.

[fallen_empath]

When I wake up this time, it’s to the sound of the captain's voice over the loudspeaker.

"Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts, we’ll be landing at McCarran International Airport in the next few minutes."

I stretch my kinked-up limbs as well as I can; I never left my seat the entire five hour flight. I slept through the whole thing. I must have been out like a light, because there’s a slight puddle of drool on the sleeve of my shirt where I rested my head.

Somehow even after all of that, my eyelids fall closed again, like a kid who knows he needs to get up and get dressed for school, but begs his mom for five more minutes.

This time I’m immediately thrust into a dream--more like a nightmare, made up of disjointed, non-linear fragments of images.

I’m fighting yet again with Sylar, and this time feeling every hit because I’m not healing. A gash in my cheek. Bones in my arm and hand snapping as I hit the wall with tremendous force. Sylar laughing, Candice’s dead body splayed out before him, her skull sliced open, blood all over her plush cream-colored carpet. He’s gotten what he wanted from her, and now he’s going to finish me.

But then it all changes...now I’m the one kneeling over Candice as she twitches and moans, and it’s my hands covered in her blood when she screams.

I awake with a start, gasping, and the pretty blonde flight attendant is regarding me cautiously. “Sir, the rest of the passengers have disembarked. Are you all right? Do you need some help?”

I feel the warm trickle of blood issuing from my nose, and I swipe quickly at it, hoping I haven’t smeared it all over my face. My voice is weak as I answer, “No, I’m fine…I just hate flying.”

I try to give her a genuine smile, but I think I’m scaring her more, so I just get up and make for the exit quickly.

Well, it would seem that Mom’s ability is apparently still accessible, if somehow in the near future I become a cold-blooded killer like the man I’m attempting to stop.

Not likely, I reassure myself as I make my way to the car rental counter.

[beastlyinsides]

(bumped it over ----> http://beastlyinsides.livejournal.com/2705.html?view=38033#t38033 )