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mmm_brainz September 5 2007, 05:32:08 UTC
Even with the headphones, he could hear Sam coming. With the rap music, it wasn't as if everything was canceled out entirely, it was just... the beats. Something static. Something to concentrate on, that was regular. Not hundreds of heartbeats, inhales, murmurs deep within the castle that people were positive nobody could else was held privy to. Little did they know...

Footsteps were easiest to pick out, next to heartbeats. Especially Sam's, against the stone floors of the castle. Some form of boots, clearly audible over the Dr. Dre. Slow, almost careful steps, as if to not tread to heavily around the crazy man. Sylar was plucking out the ear buds as the other man sat, and the look in his eyes could only be described as cautious. Rap was still blaring out the headphones, just before he clicked off the iPod and flinched a bit. Even after months of having... this, switching from one extreme to the other so far as decibel levels went... Damn, he was never going to get used to this.

"Hi."

To say this was strange would be an understatement to rival gods.

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done_hunting September 5 2007, 06:17:05 UTC
Yeah, this was going great! Not awkward or weird or both of them checking for the door. Mentally face palming, Sam gave Sylar a kind of bland, hopeful smile and reached for a tea pot. If having Lily Evans as his tutor for the better part of four months had taught him anything, it was that tea was the ultimate conversational bridge.

"Do you like rap?"

Oh, brilliant, Sam. Great. Handing Sylar his cup of tea, Sam grimaced apologetically. "Sorry. I just thought the only person who listened to music that loud was my brother."

Wrapping long fingers around his mug, Sam considered it for a minute. "When did you know?" Brown eyes, far too eager, glanced up.

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mmm_brainz September 5 2007, 07:14:20 UTC
Tea being introduced as a conversational bridge was a subject of much more irony than Sam probably could have meant to go for, considering Sylar's previous experiences involving strangers and tea. Not that Sam sounded like he was going to be drugging a cup any time soon. ...Not that Mohinder had either. Betrayal had a knack for sneaking up behind somebody like that, taking them down for the count.

Right. The rap. Sylar gingerly took the cup, eying its innards for a few long seconds, as if expecting some sort of warning flag he was supposed to have noticed. Like there was some huge sign that the tea had shown him last time, and he'd overlooked it in light of somebody actually showing him some means of attention.

Erm. Anyway. "No. It's fine. I hate it," Sylar replied simply, in a flat sort of voice, gaze finally flickering upwards from the mug to Sam's own eyes. "Long story. Your brother's going to go deaf by the time he hits... approximately thirty-three."

He didn't sip the tea. Not yet. He was most decidedly waiting for Sam to take that honor first before he even touched the stuff. Besides, a fast dip in the conversation towards an entirely different topic, and he hadn't much thought for tea out of nowhere. It was just... strange. Genuine interest. In Sylar, in his powers, not directed towards him in a vaguely interrogatory form. There weren't too many people who could look past that whole creepy, sociopath thing he had going on, even people like him, with powers.

Didn't mean he liked Sam.

"When did I know?" About... what? Because that could most definitely vary. When did he know about his initial power? When did he know he could fix things, tell what was wrong with them, as if it was a tic in his own system that was going haywire? When did he know he wanted to smash Brian Davis' head open, in the name of advancing himself? ...It was probably best to go with the basics. "A long time now," he finally answered, straightening slightly, in some vague effort towards confidence, as he tilted his head and eyed the tea again. "For as long as I can remember, I've just... initially known how things work."

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done_hunting September 5 2007, 13:56:31 UTC
"You hate it and yet you're listening to it full volume?" Sam's eyebrows quirked up in amusement, grinning, "Now you sound like me, trapped in my brother's car listening to Metallica for hours on end."

Sam took a drink of his tea, noticing Sylar not drinking his own. Maybe he didn't like tea, either? Or maybe he was every bit as paranoid as Dean was, as Sam was becoming. The former just made Sam feel like a bad host. The latter...actually made him feel more comfortable. It was a sick, sick world he lived in.

Intrigued, Sam leaned forward. "Known how things work?" he repeated, biting his lip in his eagerness to understand. Because if he could understand Sylar, if he could help him, then maybe he wasn't doomed. Maybe the demon had been wrong; he wouldn't go bad and kill everyone around him. Maybe there was hope.

Sam desperately wanted some hope.

"Like things? Or people?" Or both. And... "That's why you were thinking about ripping open Violet's brain. To see how she worked." God, that was wrong, so wrong, but at least it made sense. Sam wasn't sure if that made things better or worse. "Can you... You can fix yourself, then? Is that it? Change to be like what you see in other people?" This was definitely up there with the creepiest use of an ability ever.

"How many?" People had he killed. Abilities had he taken. One and the same, maybe? Probably not. There were always casualties in things like this. People who'd gotten in the way.

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mmm_brainz September 8 2007, 17:21:27 UTC
There was that strained sort of smile again. Less a smile, even, and more of a pained grimace. Rap music was painful, at the best of times. Lines about 'smacking that' and 'shaking tambourines' and what have you. All Sylar could think of was monkeys. Dozens of monkeys, and typewriters. Individuals who hadn't quite grasped the concepts of grammar, who just typed away lines and lines of so-called 'music' that didn't make sense. There was a reason he just listened to the actual music of the songs. "Like I said. Long story." And then, after a few beats, "Who's Metallica?"

This conversation, at least, was... interesting, for lack of a better word. As Sam spoke on, millions of questions, not really leaving much room for an answer... It didn't matter. He got it. He got what Sylar was doing, how this all worked, and... how often did that happen? He was written off as a sociopath and shoved to the side at the best of times, and this strange boy... The teacup was sliding subconsciously to the side, without anyone having touched it, and Sylar leaned forward, hands clasped on the table top as flashing eyes were trained onto the Winchester.

"Too many," was all he murmured in response to Sam's question. "Too many, and never enough." Brushing off the questions, turning his interest onto Sam. "How did you know? Is that something else you have? Telekinesis, visions, you said - you're like Peter, aren't you? Empathic mimicry. Picking up what..." He trailed off for a moment, eyes flickering towards... Sam's head, as if he could see straight through, to what was inside. "No." He paused, tilting his head at the man with a new sort of flash of intrigue. "No, this is different. Isn't it?"

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done_hunting September 8 2007, 17:37:21 UTC
"Rock band." Unimportant. What mattered was Sylar opening up. Letting Sam talk to him, and that was the first step to being able to help.

And he more people he helped, the more footholds he had to try and scramble around, to change whatever destiny the demon had set out for him.

But Sam, while idealistic, was far from stupid. Sylar's sudden attention, sudden focus, had Sam's fingers itching for the gun he wasn't carrying. His eyes narrowed slightly in warning. "Yeah," he agreed shortly. "It's different." Not mimicry. Sam, himself, wasn't even sure what all was rolling around in his head. Some days he wasn't sure if he wanted to know.

"You don't have to," he said after a moment. Earnest. Quietly confident. "Kill people. You don't, Sylar. That's not a place you have to keep going. There's another way, another choice. Just because you have these abilities, doesn't mean you're stuck on this path."

His eyes watched Sylar's cup. With a tiny furrow of his eyebrows and a gesture of his hand, the cup jerked forward slightly. Not smoothly, not with much control, but he'd done it. A faint glimmer of pride lit his eyes. "You can be something better," he said, raising his eyes back to Sylar.

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mmm_brainz September 8 2007, 22:55:02 UTC
As if Sylar would take what Sam had, right now, in front of several other people. Witnesses. Even in a magical school, not much law to speak of, where the worst thing he would receive would involve more points taken from his house and another detention, it was an incredibly dumb idea, and he was nowhere near that stupid. People in this place, of course, had ways of finding out things, even if you didn't do them right in front of their faces. They just... knew. Could make anybody paranoid.

"Relax," he replied in a soft sort of voice, almost amusedly, both eyebrows slowly raising upwards. "I'm not going to be tearing into your head." The 'yet', of course, remaining unsaid, in the course of this conversation. Eyes drifting suddenly to the side, all around, he frowned, clasping his hands together a bit more tightly. "Not that I'd suggest sleeping easily in this place."

Right. Didn't have to. Except for the part where people tended to not function all too well when certain organs were removed. Brains, for instance, controlling every last breath, heartbeat, lift of a finger in the human body. He didn't want to kill people. He had to. To be this 'something better' Sam was talking about. It was compulsion. A primal sort of need.

Consequentially, Sam's words only garnered him a slow, cold, knowing sort of smile, Sylar's head slowly tilting to the side as the Winchester went on. "Something better. I suppose that's a hero. Saving the world," one cheerleader at a time, "all before dinnertime. Have a home. Two point five kids. What kind of 'better', exactly, are we striving for, here?"

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done_hunting September 9 2007, 13:58:14 UTC
"You're right," Sam returned, just as softly, with just as much confidence. "You're not." And this wasn't an innocent protestation of the inherent goodness of Sylar. This was someone who had seen worse and sent it running, whose wariness was simply reflex rather than response to Sylar himself. Then Sam smiled, briefly, lips twitching up and then falling back down in a quick flash. "I never do." Sleep well? What was that?

Hah. House. Two point five...God, who even had stuff like that? Certainly not Winchesters. Certainly not Sam. Everything he touched turned to ash, soured and fell apart. Starting with mom.

Shaking his head to dispel those thoughts - focus, Sammy - he shrugged. "Not a hero. It's not all villains and heroes in the world, you know. But you can be better than a murderer." Eyebrows raised, expression one of pure earnestness, Sam leaned forward. "Whatever you're trying to accomplish, there's got to be another way." There had to be a choice.

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mmm_brainz September 9 2007, 17:18:42 UTC
And there was that confidence again. Everybody so set on the fact that Sylar wasn't getting their brain. Even that friend of Hiro's. Ando, wasn't it? No powers, and he was still so adamant about Sylar not taking what he had. Strange. Sylar was resisting an urge to roll his eyes, sitting back onto his seat and studying Sam for a few long seconds. Besides. He wasn't even entirely sure he could take this... Sam's powers. It was strange, it... He couldn't see it, not in Sam's mind. That one cog of the brain that was set off by someone's abilities. Different. It wasn't as if it was encoded into his DNA, some kind of alteration, it was... He didn't know what it was.

Sleeping well, at any rate. A concept far beyond the grasps of Sylar's abilities. When one could hear every last sound in each corner of the school? A mouse running across a third floor hallway, right now, as if it was a group of runners stampeding through instead. It didn't cause him pain anymore, it was just... there. Distracting, at times. Sam's breath, right now, for instance. Irregular, in light of his passion, with the conversation. "Same," he replied in turn, shortly, without explaining himself.

Without warning, he glanced out towards the door again, narrowing his eyes, with a kind of creepy precision that almost made it seem as if he could see through walls, for a moment. Better than a murderer. He smirked, shoulders shaking in a silent laugh, his head tilting towards the door. "They're all out there, you know. Waiting. For me to make a move, to kill the next person. They're looking for excuses. The first opportunity to take me down."

A flash, and his eyes were trained back onto Sam's, almost intrigue. He didn't know. What Sylar had done, what he was capable of. "Can I be better than that? Really? My own mother. She..." He frowned, and, no, some people didn't deserve the blessing of forgiveness. Virginia Grey was right. He was damned. He wasn't Gabriel anymore. ...May as well roll with what he'd been given. There were expectations, almost, in Sylar's being a monster. It was... his identity now. It was what he was.

"What else can you do?" he asked suddenly, in a curious sort of voice. "Your powers. What can you do?"

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done_hunting September 9 2007, 19:21:28 UTC
"My dad, too," Sam said, picking up where Sylar had left off. A brief smile that didn't hit his eyes and then Sam was looking down at his intertwined fingers.

If you had just shot the damn thing when you had the chance none of this would have happened.

In other words, it was his fault. Dean lying broken, dying? His fault. John having to give his life to a demon, being stuck in hell? His fault. Hell, let's go back further - Mary's death? Sure as hell wouldn't have happened over an empty crib.

All. His. Fault.

And John had known it. In that second, as he looked at Sam, it all became crystal clear. The distance that'd always been between them. The fact that he just couldn't seem to fit in like Dean had. It was because John knew. What Sam was. What he'd become. What he'd caused.

"That's the thousand dollar question," he laughed shortly. Bitterly. "I have no idea. Ah, there's the telekinesis. And the visions. And lately psychic bursts, like I'm reading people's minds." His eyes flicked up to Sylar with a humorless smile. "How I found out about you. But there could be more. And I have no idea..."

Sam. Stupid idea, letting the guy with a fetish for collecting abilities know you might be a treasure trove of them. Squeezing his hands more tightly together, he forced another smile. "I don't know. Maybe that's it."

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mmm_brainz September 12 2007, 02:20:39 UTC
What? Somehow, Sylar didn't think the same sort of thought process was going through their minds right about now. Him too? With his dad? He'd... killed his father. He'd taken the one opportunity to branch out to the one person that he'd been... pretty much the most nervous about revealing anything to. Been told he was damned, told to get out of the house, ended up stabbing them with the pair of sewing scissors being brandished in his face?

...Okay, maybe everything didn't have to match to the last exact detail.

But what was this? Had he actually...? Because there was a difference between murder and 'I wasn't in the car when the accident happened, ergo, my fault'. Whatever sob story this guy had to share. Not that Sylar was going around, shaking stories about how he'd killed his mother in everybody's face. It wasn't exactly something to be proud of. More the opposite, really, branching into the vicinity of horror, but... right.

They weren't talking about that. Sylar wasn't going there. Unless Sam wanted to leave this damn castle in a garbage bag. He might not be able to kill anybody on campus but he could sure as hell make sure the kid ended up in a lot more pieces than just the one. Some sick sort of fascination he had, or something, how simple it would be to end a life.

"You don't know," he repeated in a harsh sort of voice, straightening a little in his seat and tilting his head towards Sam. How could somebody not know what sort of abilities they had? Peter, at least, randomly soaking it all up like a damned sponge. He couldn't exactly keep track of anything.

But this guy was, what, born with them or something? ...How could he not know what he had? "You haven't... tried figuring it out or anything?" His voice was growing increasingly testier, and most definitely impatient. It was this kind of behavior, people not using their powers for all they could, that just bothered him. This guy didn't even know what he could do. And he sent freaking pieces of armor flying across the room, he was so untrained in his abilities. Why would somebody do that?

God, he just wanted to wring the guy's freaking neck and take him for all he had to offer there. Mind-reading. That was a trick he hadn't quite figured out yet.

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done_hunting September 15 2007, 21:21:31 UTC
Some kind of annoyance flashed in Sam's eyes, just for a second, and he leaned back in his chair. Fingers curled around his mug with a nearly shattering force and Sam forced himself to breathe. Sylar had no idea. No clue what Sam had been through, the things he'd done or see, the path these 'gifts' had forced him down.

"No," he responded shortly, eyes narrowed. "I've tried. But it's not exactly something you can learn out of a book."

He hesitated, then, for a second. Almost bringing up Robin, the potential to find out them all, the meeting he had the next day to let some puck thing rifle through his brain and help him order out everything he could do. But the words died in his mouth as Sam forced himself to remember that Sylar was not a potential ally. He was someone Sam wanted to help - needed to help - but he was not a confidant.

Shaking his head heavily, Sam shrugged, forcing a smile that was somehow cold. "Guess I don't have it as easy as you, huh? Getting to preview the merchandise before you buy?" Or rip it out of someone's head. Whatever.

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