Application for Claude Rains (Heroes)
((Done with permission from Peter- and Noah-muns. Claude is taken from after the end of the first chapter of Heroes (ie first season) and will have spoilers for that.))The Sorting Room appeared to be empty. For a few long moments the application and the quill poised, waiting, seemingly for no one. Then, with a flicker, a man appeared in the
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For a second Claude just stared at Peter. Though the man wouldn't admit this for all the tea in an east London housewife's kitchen, he'd come over to Scotland to find Peter. He'd heard rumors that the kid hadn't actually died, which was amazing enough, and despite everything Claude would profess to believe and feel, he'd been worried. So, a nice free transatlantic flight later (courtesy of walking, invisible, onto the plane and then plugging up one of the toilets after takeoff so he could have some privacy) and here he was, easy as soup.
Of course, now that he was here, he almost didn't know what to do. Rubbing his jaw, Claude's eyes scanned Peter. All in one piece, no chunks missing, so that was better than he'd expected. "Well, you're alive," he said finally, heaving himself to a sitting position and grinning a bit wildly. "So there's five bucks I've lost. And," he felt his face tenderly for a bruise, "all grown up with his own puppy pair of balls. So, you managed to not blow us all up, then? I'd say well done, but it was probably more like a nice bit of luck, am I right?"
Then he gave a short laugh and stood, brushing off his jacket. "And you look like shit, so I know you're not getting laid regularly. No hero statues, then? No parade for all the people you saved by not screwing up?"
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He had questions. Oh, he had many questions. Why Claude was here, how he'd gotten here, what did he think he was doing looking so casual about sneaking into a castle, whose watch was that, and which family did he rip off to steal food. If it was one thing that Peter had tried not to learn in his 'lessons' with Claude, it was his proclivity for stealing.
"I did screw up!" Peter shouted, flexing his fingers which were already healing from the punch. He ignored everything else Claude said in favor of the last sentence. "I exploded, alright? If Nathan hadn't been there, I would have taken out New York! I don't call that 'not screwing up'!"
Goddamn Claude, standing there and acting like everything was okay, when it so clearly wasn't. "Guess what? I could have stopped that," Peter continued, jabbing a finger into Claude's chest, "If you hadn't run away like a coward!"
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Jaw working for a second, he gave Peter a look of extreme disgust. "Oh, so, you nearly wiping us all out is my fault, now, is it? My fault you couldn't control yourself? Listen to me, friend, and listen well. Until you stop looking out at the world as something that you can change and then blaming it for your failures, you are going to wind up, again and again, face down in the mud. Do you not get it yet? Did I teach you nothing that got through your thick skull? Anyone dog can do tricks for treats, Peter. It takes a man to accept the fact that his tricks are his own. He has to stand on his own two bloody feet and accept who he is. Until you've done that, you're nothing more than a trained animal."
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"You think I don't have my own tricks?" Peter's expression split into a mockery of a grin, which promptly vanished underneath a furious scowl as he used Sylar's power to telekinetically shove Claude back against the wall.
He'd show Claude tricks, if that's what the man wanted to see. "I've learned! No thanks to you, but I've learned. I had to die a few times in the process - I bet you would have loved that." Even though, yes, Peter was still quite hopeless at doing most things. He abruptly changed tack. "How do you even justify running off like that? And don't give me that 'people suck' routine, you knew full well you were leaving me to blow up New York! I know you don't hate people enough to let all of them die."
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Going invisible, Claude headed across the room, quite ready to be done here. He'd satisfied his curiosity. Peter was alive. That was enough for one day. Turning his head, he caught sight of Peter out of the corner of his eye. Moving quickly, he caught the boy by the throat and slammed him against the nearest wall. Leaning in, teeth bared, Claude hissed, "If you were too stupid to be able to control yourself, then you deserved to explode. You have no idea--" He cut himself off, glowering, before abruptly releasing Peter and once more stalking away.
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Stubbornly, he dodged around and stood in front of Claude, arms folded across his chest. Despite how infuriated he was at Claude leaving before Peter felt he learned enough, that anger was beginning to fade. He couldn't blame Claude for his own stupid mistakes. "What did you mean, 'I have no idea'?"
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His anger had inevitably vanished, and now, Peter was looking at Claude with a mixture of hurt and betrayal in his expression. The kind of look that came when somebody wore their heart on their sleeve, and ended up putting major trust into everybody that gave him a kind word.
"Is that your great lesson, oh wise guru?" Peter frowned, his voice sharp. "I'm a mess, so you just left because I was hopeless? Even knowing that I was a ticking time bomb? Jesus, Claude," he sounded frustrated, "I know you're not exactly a humanitarian, but I didn't think you'd just run away!"
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Maybe strong wasn't the right word. Bullheadedly stupid. Yeah, that was better.
"And I didn't think you'd be so gormless as to forget everything I'd taught you. I guess we both shot wrong on that one." He frowned. "And if you'll recall, I didn't leave because you're hopeless. I left because you brought down all kinds of shit and stones on our heads. I've lived a long time because I kept my nose clean and my face out of the papers, Peter. You'd do well to follow my example. Can't save the world if you're in a padded cell or worse."
Part of the truth. He'd left, yes. But he hadn't stayed away. Not that he had any intention at all of telling Peter that.
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Frowning faintly, Peter looked down at the ground and scuffed his shoe against the floor, feeling vaguely like he was being reprimanded by a school teacher. Maybe Claude was right. Maybe everybody would be safer if Peter disappeared. He just couldn't work up the want to leave everybody.
"Is there... anything else you could have taught me?" Peter looked up eventually, hope beginning to dawn in his expression. Now that Claude was here, maybe he could give some more tips (even though Peter still wasn't sure how Claude seemed to know these things. "I don't want to leave people, and... I'm not sure how beating me with sticks actually helped, but I want to be better," he said earnestly. "Since you apparently know this stuff."
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"Not a chance in hell, mate. I've told you once - there's no teaching it. No 12-step program to being special. I'm no fairy godmother, goin' to wave my wand and give you a brain."
He paused, studying Peter, rubbing his chin with one hand. "What have you been doin', then, in the land of make believe? Blown anyone up here? Saved any helpless maidens? Slain dragons or the like? Or you just been holed up in your room, cryin' into your pillow because you don't think you're good enough?"
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The refusal to teach him had Peter almost completely disheartened, and it showed. Rachel had shown him some good methods on how to deal, but if it ever came to it, Peter wouldn't be able to stop himself from exploding again. Not until he had more control.
"I tried to stop Sylar - he's here - and got five days of no sleep and a pole shoved through my head, if you must know," Peter replied, halfway between snapping and despondent. "I've picked up like eight new abilities, and one of them is like a nightmare come true." Wandering around, out of your head, wailing for something called Tubby Toast? Not fun. "What have you been doing? Living like a bum and stealing everything? That's hardly a difference."
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"Who's Sylar?" he asked around a mouthful but then immediately waved his hand. "Never mind, doesn't matter. The more pressing question is why you thought running around with no sleep would help with your control?" He laughed, shaking his head. "You're not a robot, Peter, you're an empath, and that means you've got to be more careful than most. And you can't just go 'round picking up abilities like they're hats in the spring, you know."
Claude studied Peter with a critical eye. "You look like half-warm piss, friend." He knew that Simone had died. Following Peter around, making sure he didn't kill half of New York, hadn't exactly been a pleasure cruise. But at least he knew things; losing someone you loved was never easy. Doubly so for people like Peter. "Have you got any people here? Or are you finally figuring out how to stand on your own two feet?" Empaths didn't do well separated from people, no matter how good an idea it was. With Simone dead and Peter half a world away, without people around him, Peter would start to all but wilt; he hadn't hardened enough of himself to survive alone. Not yet.
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But Claude was right. He couldn't afford to walk around and pick up abilities as often as he had been, it was hard for his system to deal with. But there were so many people around here with special abilities; it was pretty much like saying he'd never have to socialize again. Rachel had made the muffling amulet, but that would only ever work when Peter actually remembered to wear it. Which, so far, he was failing at.
And how was telling him he looked like shit helpful, in any way? Peter really didn't know.
As for people... Nathan was saying he was going to leave soon. Carla and Rachel; he liked them, he truly did, and trusted them. But Peter had been so bent on disconnecting himself from everybody that he didn't really feel like he'd made a true connection with them - or maybe that was just how he wanted to feel. Hoped that that was the case so that he could feel safer in knowing they wouldn't be in danger. He didn't know. Peter sighed audibly and leaned against the table. "Not... really," he replied hesitantly. "I shouldn't anyway. If they stick around me long enough I'll just put them in danger."
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He tossed the last piece of pretzel at Peter's forehead, wasting a good bit of food on trying to beat sense in via carbohydrates. "Self centered isn't bad enough, listen to him - he's now going to go into martyr complex." Swinging off the desk, Claude, slapped his hands together, brushing off the crumbs. "You're an idiot."
Having imparted those words of wisdom, Claude headed towards the other side of the room, still invisible and hoping that thus endeth the lesson.
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Bastard.
He knew everybody's lives wouldn't fine if he wasn't around, but at least they wouldn't be in danger of suddenly exploding. Fine, he could deal without Claude. Maybe Peter would find some way to somehow cancel out all of his absorbed abilities via magic. That would make people safer.
Giving once last glare at where he roughly judged Claude to be, Peter stuck his hands in his pockets and exited the Sorting Room, still frowning.
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