I Came Here for Answers
Title: I Came Here for Answers
Characters: Sylar, Samson Gray, Luke
Rating: PG-13 for violent imagery
Warnings: Rabbit-killing
Spoiler Alert: Volume 4: “Shades of Gray”
Summary: AU where Sylar takes Luke with him to see his father.
Sylar arrived at his father's trailer with a sense of grim anticipation. Today he was going to make things right. He'd get revenge for his mother. He’d get answers. This weight he'd been carrying on his chest for god knew how long would finally lift.
Luke stood silently as Sylar made the obvious threats against his father. You killed my mother. I'm going to kill you. All that sort of thing. Straightforward, really. Through all that, Luke had the sense to keep quiet. He did have some brains, as much as he tried to keep them hidden.
But when Samson saw Luke, he ignored the death threats, the long lost son come back for vengeance. He looked at the boy with an expression of...what? Not affection, really, but something else. Recognition. As though they knew each other very well. As though they were two of a kind.
"Well, well," said Samson. "The two of you together. I can't say I would have expected that." His tone was a mixture of mild amusement and indifference.
That was odd, Sylar thought. He'd somehow gotten the impression that there was warmth between Samson Gray and Luke. It was possible Luke felt something like affection toward the old man, but Samson clearly didn't.
By now Sylar had seen the oxygen tanks. He knew his errand of revenge was meaningless. The realization took the wind right out of him. He'd been able to solve most of his previous problems through force, but not this time. There would be no satisfying catharsis of blood beneath his hands. He was confused and unsure of what to do next. And Luke, always assuming that he must have a plan, was waiting to see what his next move would be.
Finally Samson said, in his wry, indifferent tone, "Well, if you're not going to kill me, you might as well help me out with this." He went and retrieved a little cage and opened it. A fat rabbit darted out. He held out his hand and whistled, holding the rabbit still with invisible power. An ability. Luke took in a hiss of breath. He'd clearly had no idea the old man could do anything like that.
"You used to catch rattlesnakes," said Luke. "With your bare hands. I thought you were some kind of genius hunter or tracker or something."
Sylar watched his father, still uncertain about what to do. He felt helpless, and he hated that. He just hoped the other two wouldn't pick up on it.
"There's a lot I never told you. Think of it as a favor. People are essentially liars, Luke. The sooner you get accustomed to that idea, the better," Samson held up the rabbit by the back of the neck. "Actually, I'm glad you're here. The arthritis is acting up particularly bad today, and I could use you.” He looked at Sylar. "Or better yet, why don't you give it a try? Might as well get acquainted with the family business."
Not knowing what else to do, Sylar helped him gut the rabbit. He listened as his father explained how to knife the entrails out. He cleaned it of half its insides, leaving it an empty, dripping sack.
A few times during the process, Sylar glanced at Luke's face. Samson and Luke hand gone hunting together dozens of times, according to Luke. Certainly the boy must have seen it before. Done it before. But the expression on his face was one Sylar recognized. A curiosity about the inner workings of flesh and blood. And not a single scrap of sentimentality over spilling that blood.
As they worked, they talked.
"Why did you do it?" Sylar asked. "Why did you sell me? Why kill her?" It seemed desperately important to know. Like if he could understand how all this started, how his current self came into being, then maybe he could find a way to fix himself. The way he fixed watches. Or his own DNA. He wouldn't be this heap of damaged goods anymore, aching constantly from a thousand griefs and disappointments and failures. He could somehow be whole, the way he was meant to be.
"You know, I honestly don't even remember," said Samson. "I don't think it was anything specific. Just a decision I made out of the blue one day. It might seem like a horrible, monstrous act to you, but to me the memory was never particularly notable."
Sylar knew most people would be outraged by that statement. But he understood it. He'd often felt the same way when the family and friends of his victims had raged at him. Of course, on an intellectual level, he understood why they were reacting the way they did. Still, it had always been vaguely surprising, considering how little he’d felt while committing the murders.
"I always thought you felt kind of guilty about that," said Luke. "I thought that was why you confessed it to me."
"Guilt," scoffed Samson. "If I felt guilt over every bad thing I did, I'd never have time to feel anything else. You know, the first few times you kill, it's difficult. Then it gets easier. Eventually you get to the point where you feel nothing at all." He gave Sylar a penetrating look. "But I'm guessing you know about that already, don't you?" He looked back at Luke, "And you, kid, you'll probably learn sooner or later. I’ll bet you're a quick study.”
Luke averted his gaze. To Sylar’s knowledge, the boy had only killed once, and that had been the operative in his house. He’d been violently sick afterward, but he’d gotten over it quickly. After a few more killings, he’d be perfectly fine. Sylar was sure of it.
But Sylar didn't want to direct the conversation toward the subject of Luke. Not just yet, anyway. "What kinds of abilities do you have? How do you take them?"
"I'm sure you've figured that out by now. Open them up, find out the big secret, take it for yourself. That's how I got so handy with a knife. The whole taxidermy thing was just a way to make a few bucks off it," said Samson.
Luke interjected, "Do you know anything about those soldier guys hunting us? Where they come from? How we can find them?"
"What soldier guys?' said Samson.
Sylar rolled his eyes. “Luke, shut up.” He looked at his father. “And you, don't bother lying. I know when people are and aren’t telling me the truth. I know you’re aware of the operatives who are after us. I can feel it. And besides, I found your cigarette still lit in the ashtray at your house. You realized they were coming just before they got there, didn't you?" said Sylar.
"An ability of mine. One of...I don't even know. Hundreds? They all sort of blend together. And as for those people, whoever they are, I’m profoundly uninterested in talking about them. If you two are going to plan out some kind of tedious attack strategy, do me a favor and kill me first. I’ve had more than enough of that sort of thing in my life.”
"I didn't come here just to kill you. I came for answers," said Sylar.
"Yeah, I know the kind of answers you're looking for. How all the ugliness inside you can be wiped away. How you can be fixed. Redeemed. How all the evil you’ve done in your life can somehow be made right. Well, I don't have those answers. There aren't any. You are what you are and nothing can change it." Samson looked up from the rabbit and met Sylar's eyes. "There. That’s your answer. Satisfied now?"
Sylar didn't say anything.
Samson told Luke to put the rabbit "in the usual place" to drain.
"Helpful boy there,” said Samson, after Luke had left the room. “Been a blessing since my hands started to go."
"Do you care about him?" said Sylar.
"Care about Luke? No. Everyone I ever cared about has been dead since I was about twenty or so. I haven't felt much of anything for anyone since then," said Samson.
“That makes me different from you, then. I’m still able to care about people,” said Sylar.
“Really? Who?”
Sylar was going to answer, but stopped. Who could he name? His adoptive mother? Elle? He’d killed them both. His devotion to the Petrelli family had been based on a lie. And his deceitful friendships with Chandra and Mohinder Suresh hardly counted as real connections. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’m capable of it.”
“Well, that makes it even worse for you, doesn’t it? Who would love a monster like you? You’d be better off if you didn’t need or want love, like me.” said Samson.
Luke came back into the room. He’d washed his hands after handling the rabbit and was wiping them on his jeans. “I can’t believe you keep filling your orders this far behind schedule, dude. I have no idea how you even stay in business.” No one answered him.
A heavy silence fell over the room. All three of them felt it.
"Luke, go and wait in the car," said Sylar.
"But..."
"Now, Luke!" Sylar snapped. Luke flinched. He hesitated a moment, then obeyed.
The door closed after him with a loud bang. Sylar looked at his father. The man he'd come all this way to see. The man he'd hoped could tell him who and what he was. What had Sylar learned from him? Absolutely nothing. He knew no more about himself than he had before he came. His father had nothing to teach or to offer him.
Except maybe one thing.
"I suppose you're going to kill me now?" said Samson indifferently.
Sylar was feeling a lot of things right now. Indeed, a whole swarm of emotions. But for once, the urge to kill wasn't one of them.
"Not necessarily. There's one more thing I want to know. If you tell me the truth, I'll let you live. And remember, I'll know if you lie," said Sylar.
Samson chuckled, and was immediately overcome by a coughing fit. He wheezed and hacked. Honestly, he sounded like he could die at any moment. When he could speak again, he said, "Yes, I remember."
"That boy lives down the street from you. You take him hunting. You feed his bruised adolescent ego. He's got an ability. Not as powerful as yours and mine, but a fairly impressive ability nonetheless," said Sylar.
"What's your point?" said Samson.
Sylar put his hand on the table, where the residue of rabbit blood still remained. He leaned in very close and looked his father dead in the eye.
"Is Luke my brother?" he said quietly.
Samson just stared at him. After a long time, he let out a slow breath. "Yes. I slept with his mother a few times, about seventeen or eighteen years ago. I wasn't sure at first, but when I found out about the boy's power, I knew. He's mine."
Sylar didn't say anything. Just looked at him.
"He doesn't know about it," said Samson.
Sylar nodded. "I figured." He turned to leave.
"You're not going to kill me?" Samson asked, mildy surprised.
Sylar spared him a glance over his shoulder. "I said I wouldn't, right?"
"Honor doesn't mean anything, Gabriel. I'm surprised you're still naive enough to think it does."
"It has nothing to do with honor. You're just not worth killing. You’re life is meaningless and your death would be meaningless, too. So what’s the point?”
Samson laughed at him. “What a family we are, eh? I wonder what they’d make of us at a group therapy session.”
Sylar couldn’t help but smile at that. "Goodbye, father. You won't see me again. Or Luke." He walked outside and let the door bang shut behind him. He paused a moment and looked over the wild, overgrown grass at the boy sitting in the car. For a long time his feet didn't want to move.
Somehow or other he forced himself to start walking. Luke watched him apprehensively as he got in the car. Neither one said anything for a while. Sylar paused and looked back at the trailer.
"Is he dead?" Luke finally asked.
"Yes. He's dead."
If Luke mourned Samson's supposed death, he didn’t show it.
Sylar started the car and pulled out, driving toward the road.
"Where are we going now?" said Luke.
Sylar had no idea.
Characters: Sylar, Samson Gray, Luke
Rating: PG-13 for violent imagery
Warnings: Rabbit-killing
Spoiler Alert: Volume 4: “Shades of Gray”
Summary: AU where Sylar takes Luke with him to see his father.
Sylar arrived at his father's trailer with a sense of grim anticipation. Today he was going to make things right. He'd get revenge for his mother. He’d get answers. This weight he'd been carrying on his chest for god knew how long would finally lift.
Luke stood silently as Sylar made the obvious threats against his father. You killed my mother. I'm going to kill you. All that sort of thing. Straightforward, really. Through all that, Luke had the sense to keep quiet. He did have some brains, as much as he tried to keep them hidden.
But when Samson saw Luke, he ignored the death threats, the long lost son come back for vengeance. He looked at the boy with an expression of...what? Not affection, really, but something else. Recognition. As though they knew each other very well. As though they were two of a kind.
"Well, well," said Samson. "The two of you together. I can't say I would have expected that." His tone was a mixture of mild amusement and indifference.
That was odd, Sylar thought. He'd somehow gotten the impression that there was warmth between Samson Gray and Luke. It was possible Luke felt something like affection toward the old man, but Samson clearly didn't.
By now Sylar had seen the oxygen tanks. He knew his errand of revenge was meaningless. The realization took the wind right out of him. He'd been able to solve most of his previous problems through force, but not this time. There would be no satisfying catharsis of blood beneath his hands. He was confused and unsure of what to do next. And Luke, always assuming that he must have a plan, was waiting to see what his next move would be.
Finally Samson said, in his wry, indifferent tone, "Well, if you're not going to kill me, you might as well help me out with this." He went and retrieved a little cage and opened it. A fat rabbit darted out. He held out his hand and whistled, holding the rabbit still with invisible power. An ability. Luke took in a hiss of breath. He'd clearly had no idea the old man could do anything like that.
"You used to catch rattlesnakes," said Luke. "With your bare hands. I thought you were some kind of genius hunter or tracker or something."
Sylar watched his father, still uncertain about what to do. He felt helpless, and he hated that. He just hoped the other two wouldn't pick up on it.
"There's a lot I never told you. Think of it as a favor. People are essentially liars, Luke. The sooner you get accustomed to that idea, the better," Samson held up the rabbit by the back of the neck. "Actually, I'm glad you're here. The arthritis is acting up particularly bad today, and I could use you.” He looked at Sylar. "Or better yet, why don't you give it a try? Might as well get acquainted with the family business."
Not knowing what else to do, Sylar helped him gut the rabbit. He listened as his father explained how to knife the entrails out. He cleaned it of half its insides, leaving it an empty, dripping sack.
A few times during the process, Sylar glanced at Luke's face. Samson and Luke hand gone hunting together dozens of times, according to Luke. Certainly the boy must have seen it before. Done it before. But the expression on his face was one Sylar recognized. A curiosity about the inner workings of flesh and blood. And not a single scrap of sentimentality over spilling that blood.
As they worked, they talked.
"Why did you do it?" Sylar asked. "Why did you sell me? Why kill her?" It seemed desperately important to know. Like if he could understand how all this started, how his current self came into being, then maybe he could find a way to fix himself. The way he fixed watches. Or his own DNA. He wouldn't be this heap of damaged goods anymore, aching constantly from a thousand griefs and disappointments and failures. He could somehow be whole, the way he was meant to be.
"You know, I honestly don't even remember," said Samson. "I don't think it was anything specific. Just a decision I made out of the blue one day. It might seem like a horrible, monstrous act to you, but to me the memory was never particularly notable."
Sylar knew most people would be outraged by that statement. But he understood it. He'd often felt the same way when the family and friends of his victims had raged at him. Of course, on an intellectual level, he understood why they were reacting the way they did. Still, it had always been vaguely surprising, considering how little he’d felt while committing the murders.
"I always thought you felt kind of guilty about that," said Luke. "I thought that was why you confessed it to me."
"Guilt," scoffed Samson. "If I felt guilt over every bad thing I did, I'd never have time to feel anything else. You know, the first few times you kill, it's difficult. Then it gets easier. Eventually you get to the point where you feel nothing at all." He gave Sylar a penetrating look. "But I'm guessing you know about that already, don't you?" He looked back at Luke, "And you, kid, you'll probably learn sooner or later. I’ll bet you're a quick study.”
Luke averted his gaze. To Sylar’s knowledge, the boy had only killed once, and that had been the operative in his house. He’d been violently sick afterward, but he’d gotten over it quickly. After a few more killings, he’d be perfectly fine. Sylar was sure of it.
But Sylar didn't want to direct the conversation toward the subject of Luke. Not just yet, anyway. "What kinds of abilities do you have? How do you take them?"
"I'm sure you've figured that out by now. Open them up, find out the big secret, take it for yourself. That's how I got so handy with a knife. The whole taxidermy thing was just a way to make a few bucks off it," said Samson.
Luke interjected, "Do you know anything about those soldier guys hunting us? Where they come from? How we can find them?"
"What soldier guys?' said Samson.
Sylar rolled his eyes. “Luke, shut up.” He looked at his father. “And you, don't bother lying. I know when people are and aren’t telling me the truth. I know you’re aware of the operatives who are after us. I can feel it. And besides, I found your cigarette still lit in the ashtray at your house. You realized they were coming just before they got there, didn't you?" said Sylar.
"An ability of mine. One of...I don't even know. Hundreds? They all sort of blend together. And as for those people, whoever they are, I’m profoundly uninterested in talking about them. If you two are going to plan out some kind of tedious attack strategy, do me a favor and kill me first. I’ve had more than enough of that sort of thing in my life.”
"I didn't come here just to kill you. I came for answers," said Sylar.
"Yeah, I know the kind of answers you're looking for. How all the ugliness inside you can be wiped away. How you can be fixed. Redeemed. How all the evil you’ve done in your life can somehow be made right. Well, I don't have those answers. There aren't any. You are what you are and nothing can change it." Samson looked up from the rabbit and met Sylar's eyes. "There. That’s your answer. Satisfied now?"
Sylar didn't say anything.
Samson told Luke to put the rabbit "in the usual place" to drain.
"Helpful boy there,” said Samson, after Luke had left the room. “Been a blessing since my hands started to go."
"Do you care about him?" said Sylar.
"Care about Luke? No. Everyone I ever cared about has been dead since I was about twenty or so. I haven't felt much of anything for anyone since then," said Samson.
“That makes me different from you, then. I’m still able to care about people,” said Sylar.
“Really? Who?”
Sylar was going to answer, but stopped. Who could he name? His adoptive mother? Elle? He’d killed them both. His devotion to the Petrelli family had been based on a lie. And his deceitful friendships with Chandra and Mohinder Suresh hardly counted as real connections. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I’m capable of it.”
“Well, that makes it even worse for you, doesn’t it? Who would love a monster like you? You’d be better off if you didn’t need or want love, like me.” said Samson.
Luke came back into the room. He’d washed his hands after handling the rabbit and was wiping them on his jeans. “I can’t believe you keep filling your orders this far behind schedule, dude. I have no idea how you even stay in business.” No one answered him.
A heavy silence fell over the room. All three of them felt it.
"Luke, go and wait in the car," said Sylar.
"But..."
"Now, Luke!" Sylar snapped. Luke flinched. He hesitated a moment, then obeyed.
The door closed after him with a loud bang. Sylar looked at his father. The man he'd come all this way to see. The man he'd hoped could tell him who and what he was. What had Sylar learned from him? Absolutely nothing. He knew no more about himself than he had before he came. His father had nothing to teach or to offer him.
Except maybe one thing.
"I suppose you're going to kill me now?" said Samson indifferently.
Sylar was feeling a lot of things right now. Indeed, a whole swarm of emotions. But for once, the urge to kill wasn't one of them.
"Not necessarily. There's one more thing I want to know. If you tell me the truth, I'll let you live. And remember, I'll know if you lie," said Sylar.
Samson chuckled, and was immediately overcome by a coughing fit. He wheezed and hacked. Honestly, he sounded like he could die at any moment. When he could speak again, he said, "Yes, I remember."
"That boy lives down the street from you. You take him hunting. You feed his bruised adolescent ego. He's got an ability. Not as powerful as yours and mine, but a fairly impressive ability nonetheless," said Sylar.
"What's your point?" said Samson.
Sylar put his hand on the table, where the residue of rabbit blood still remained. He leaned in very close and looked his father dead in the eye.
"Is Luke my brother?" he said quietly.
Samson just stared at him. After a long time, he let out a slow breath. "Yes. I slept with his mother a few times, about seventeen or eighteen years ago. I wasn't sure at first, but when I found out about the boy's power, I knew. He's mine."
Sylar didn't say anything. Just looked at him.
"He doesn't know about it," said Samson.
Sylar nodded. "I figured." He turned to leave.
"You're not going to kill me?" Samson asked, mildy surprised.
Sylar spared him a glance over his shoulder. "I said I wouldn't, right?"
"Honor doesn't mean anything, Gabriel. I'm surprised you're still naive enough to think it does."
"It has nothing to do with honor. You're just not worth killing. You’re life is meaningless and your death would be meaningless, too. So what’s the point?”
Samson laughed at him. “What a family we are, eh? I wonder what they’d make of us at a group therapy session.”
Sylar couldn’t help but smile at that. "Goodbye, father. You won't see me again. Or Luke." He walked outside and let the door bang shut behind him. He paused a moment and looked over the wild, overgrown grass at the boy sitting in the car. For a long time his feet didn't want to move.
Somehow or other he forced himself to start walking. Luke watched him apprehensively as he got in the car. Neither one said anything for a while. Sylar paused and looked back at the trailer.
"Is he dead?" Luke finally asked.
"Yes. He's dead."
If Luke mourned Samson's supposed death, he didn’t show it.
Sylar started the car and pulled out, driving toward the road.
"Where are we going now?" said Luke.
Sylar had no idea.