[Closed RP: Sylar and Peter] Five Days Later
((OOC: Any and all details about Sylar have been cleared with the mun first!))
( In your own blaze of hate you've spawn a fear in many lives/ You've taken action thinking it was all said on the signs./ Now I have time to dwell on, self-awareness, dreadful crime./ I saw colors too bright, not knowing that I was blind./ To think you are right/ To make sure it won't fly/ Is a making of a hate crime. )
( In your own blaze of hate you've spawn a fear in many lives/ You've taken action thinking it was all said on the signs./ Now I have time to dwell on, self-awareness, dreadful crime./ I saw colors too bright, not knowing that I was blind./ To think you are right/ To make sure it won't fly/ Is a making of a hate crime. )
Comments 48
Or... at least, that would be a cool claim to make. That evil never slept or something like that. Even though Sylar wasn't trying to use 'evil' in a description of himself, other people did, and he'd been identifying with it lately because of them. Or something. Maybe he was just going insane from being trapped in the same room as Peter Petrelli for... God, he couldn't even tell how long now. His only indication was the rhythmic tick tick tick of Peter's watch, marking every second on the nose ( ... )
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A quick glance at the IV line determined that there were still a few hours to go before he had to change it - and Sylar wasn't looking too full of fight, either. That, at least, was reassuring. Not reassuring enough to convince Peter that falling asleep in the same room and the guy would be anything approaching a good idea.
Blearily, he checked his watch. And wondered how he was going to keep this up for any longer, if he was already in this state.
"Don't you ever sleep?" Peter asked, completely out of the blue. If Sylar slept then maybe Peter could too. Just half an hour, that's all he wanted. Otherwise he was just going to ruin this whole plan by passing out and letting Sylar walk free.
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"Should be asking you the same question," he griped back in a bit of a croaking voice - in which he meant that, no, he didn't, not without Dr. Dre blaring out the rest of the world - blinking once at the floor, a bit stupidly. Because, really. Five days and Peter hadn't slept either? Unfair. No opportunity for Sylar to just slip by. Unnoticed. It was all he needed, just that five minute window, Goddammit.
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Still laughing, Peter rested his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. In the five days, he'd never really looked at the ceiling, and it was fascinating, when he really took the time to study it. Slowly, the laughter trailed off, and Peter rubbed at his eyes again.
And he hadn't even had coffee in five days. No wonder he was going round the bend.
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After he'd gotten sorted to this Godforsaken place - at least the same house as Peter, according to the roster - he'd definitely started poking around. Getting a feel for Slytherin. Making careful note of the fact that half of this house was made up of dungeons. Taking a bit of advantage of the house elves. ...Seeing if Peter had really made do on that threat to attack Sylar, and if he was going to actually turn up somewhere around the school with something shoved inside of his skull.
Dungeons. He still couldn't believe this damn school had dungeons. He had to have spent at least two hours already searching through this labyrinth, tie and jacket abandoned back in the dormitory. His shirt was rumpled, undone at the color, even his hair wasn't its normally perfect coif right now. It wasn't often Nathan Petrelli could be found too disheveled, and... well, this was the closest he got to it, really. ...Pajama pants and lack of a shirt not counted in the equation ( ... )
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"Nathan, what...?" Peter blinked heavily, noting absently that such an action was a little harder when blood had partially dried over his face. Attempting to focus, he squinted.
Nathan was here? ...That didn't make sense, he'd just... been fighting with Sylar and now everything was different. Same room, though. God, his limbs felt entirely too heavy to move. Getting up to get a better idea of what had happened just wasn't an issue right now.
"When did you get here?" He asked blearily. He didn't often see that look on his brother's face, and it ( ... )
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Peter sputtering back into life, almost like an engine turning over or something, was like freaking music to Nathan's ears, and Peter barely had time to get out his sentence before Nathan was pulling him into a hug, both arms clasped around him so tightly he had to be nearly suffocating the poor kid. "Just a minute ago, yeah? And let's not make so much with the talking when you were just dead five seconds ago." And freaking the shit out of his older brother, thank you.
"What the HELL, Peter?"
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"How long have-" He started, only to be cut off by Nathan's rather crushing hug. Not that Peter minded, except he couldn't return it because his arms were being squished and his shoulder still kind of hurt. "I hear that whole breathing thing is kinda important," Peter wheezed, but otherwise didn't protest. After blowing up and coming here, spending a week listening to a serial killers thoughts and then dying, he really needed a hug.
Okay, maybe how long he'd been dead wasn't such an important issue. "Sorry," he said, probably muffled, but he really was sorry that Nathan had just had to pull a pole out of his head. It couldn't have been pleasant.
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