More Between Us, Chapter 19. 2/? "Swordplay"
Title: More Between Us Than A Wall part 19.2/?
Characters: Peter Petrelli and Sylar/Gabriel Gray (Matt and Nathan if you squint?)
Rating: PG-13/T to eventual NC-17/M
Warnings: Language, mind fuckery (no pun intended), violence, angst (?), dirty language/thoughts/actions but nothing explicit.
Setting: Inside the Wall, S4.
Words: 5, 538
Summary: Peter has hacked into Sylar's mind on a rescue mission. Everything goes to Hell. Welcome to Sylar's mind!
Notes (Must Read): In collaboration with the wonderful Game_byrd (Gamebird- FFN) who writes for Peter (I write for Sylar). This is everything that goes on 'behind the scenes' of the episode. The story begins after Peter telepathically joins Sylar in his Matt-induced nightmare (The Wall) in the episode. Based on CANON with fanon and intellect, imagination and a thing called common sense filling in all those nasty plot-holes, but we won't point fingers.
One deviation from canon: In The Fifth Stage when Peter wipes Sylar's memory after the fight, he gained all of Sylar's memories via Rene/The Haitian's ability that allows the user to remember the person's memories in addition to erasing them from the person. AKA Peter has every single one of Sylar's memories stored in his subconscious. They appear from time to time when Peter sleeps or becomes distracted or experiences one of Sylar's deja vu's. Sylar has since recovered his memories with a combination of IA and regeneration. Sylar still has Nathan's memories from Matt Parkman's previous mind-fuck in Invisible Thread. The boys are powerless inside the Wall.
Things you'll need: // // denotes a Nathan Petrelli memory from Sylar's head. Sylar/Gabriel's memories are within singular lines / /. Peter's are \ \ and Peter’s recollection of a Sylar memory (via Rene/the Haitian's ability) is \\ \\. 'Posts' are separated between the boys by XXX (no, that's nothing naughty).
Day 8
Peter was following Sylar’s words, mind busying itself with them. He couldn’t? He couldn’t what? And yes, Peter could remember the complete lack of connection between the person he used to be, with sense and reason and compassion, and the person he was with Sylar’s ability. Why did it work that way? It was almost worth it to borrow the damn power to turn it on Sylar and figure it out, but Peter suspected that was just an echo of the Hunger still buried in his own psyche.
Sylar went on about not needing to explain himself. Peter grimaced slightly. It was an unpleasant memory and Sylar was right, there was- He flinched hard like he’d been slapped as Sylar’s next question broke over him: ‘Who did you kill while you had it?’ Peter tensed all over before dispelling it. It was just a question! He shot Sylar a quick angry glance, then looked away - again, much like he’d been hit and had elected to weather it rather than retaliate. Because the wrong-doing there wasn’t Sylar’s, not even in bringing it up, much as Peter didn’t like the subject. The blame was Peter’s, and even if it was a future reality that wouldn’t come to pass and so would never have any consequences, it had still been Peter’s hands that did it. He did not let himself off the hook any easier than he did Sylar.
XXX
Sylar thought, Oh, that just got interesting. Peter practically jerked away from that line of questioning which meant…it was someone close to him. Again, Sylar raised an eyebrow, mostly to be a dick, as he received a much-less-than-friendly look. Who could it be? A lover? A friend? Certainly not family, Sylar crossed that off the list immediately. Although, he had to wonder if Peter sliced into Claire’s skull…well, would the girl mind for a start, at least, would she be so hell-fire bent on hating the man? His main question was that if Peter had hurt one of his kin, would he still carry the weight? But everyone was accounted for, more or less.
Sylar asked, “What stopped you from killing me? Just take the radiator pipe and shank my head, easy enough. You didn’t want another brother, so what was there to lose?” He’d easily switched into interrogation mode himself.
XXX
Peter stared at the rough surface of the asphalt, trying not to see Nathan’s face, while Sylar asked his next questions, just as insightful as the last. Peter looked up at him with slightly narrowed eyes, his trademark brow furrow in place. His eyes slid a little out of focus at the rest of the man’s words, then he looked up at him again. “Radiator pipe? What do you mean?” He wasn’t placing it. All that came to mind was a car radiator and cars had never featured in their fights. Sylar had fallen on one after Mercy Heights, but surely he wasn’t implying Peter should have … what? Taken flight before he fell so he could fly down after him and …? Maybe there was a radiator in the construction area there and I should have immobilized him to deal with later?
XXX
“Pinehearst; the hallway? I tried to stop you from doing something stupid,” no comment from you, lost-conscience, “You, uh, found your way around me, to phrase it lightly. There was a radiator you could cut apart and used for a stake,” he put it simply. Peter wasn’t particularly violent, true, but the highly-motivated would be looking around for ways to end the all-evil Sylar once and for all. “I didn’t have shape shifting then,” Sylar clarified for the other man who still wasn’t following him well and he followed it up by making a jerking, shoving motion towards the back of his own head. “I couldn’t have moved the spot yet. I know you know about the spot.” He was making intentional and potentially dangerous use of Nathan’s memory to the medic-
//Remembering his baby brother’s death, seeing his face pale gray, sallow and blood streaked. The worst was the eyes. Sure Nathan had seen corpses before, but it was usually immediately after they’d died or been killed. This was hours after death and those beautiful, lively, sparking irises had filmed over as a cold, haunting display of death. All he could think was ‘God, not like this, not him, not like this…it wasn’t supposed to be like this…’ His baby brother snuffed out in the prime of his life doing God knew what…He was barely able to begin grieving at all, let alone properly with his iceberg of a mother present. The familiar form in his arms not hugging back, but limp and lacking human warmth. ‘He just can’t be gone, I should have…’ Nothing but a wave of numb horror filled him.// Sylar meanwhile swallowed down his reaction, still staring back at Peter.
XXX
Peter nodded, then gave Sylar a long, level look, blinking once as he began to speak, “I accepted you as my brother. What I wanted didn’t have anything to do with it, true or false.” He hadn’t believed it (the brother part), but he’d accepted it. Hell, he supposed people could be adopted at any age, as long as everyone was good with it. No one had ever asked his opinion.
XXX
“’Stop calling her that, you are not my family’,” Sylar parroted back Peter’s words from years ago, slightly smug to be proving him wrong. In mocking doubt this time, “If you say so.” Total acceptance. If that’s his idea of acceptance…He’s making Mercy look like a welcoming committee. Sylar chose to be…merciful himself by not including Peter’s own sneers at Sylar’s…’Gabriel’s’ concern for Angela’s comatose state; Peter choosing to ignore Sylar’s warnings and urges about the Hunger, about the things that were doubtlessly sounding oh-so-good in the medic’s head at the time… It wasn’t the subject at the moment.
XXX
Did I say that? Peter wondered. Christ, I think I did. Dammit. He changed the subject. “As for what stopped me from killing you …” Peter looked introspective, then frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I had more than one chance. When I got the ability in the first place was the other chance and I didn’t want it then either. Maybe it comes with an aversion to itself. Or,” he shrugged, not sure how to express himself on this, “or something like that.” Of course Noah had been there, the four year old, but Peter knew that wasn’t relevant. The hunger didn’t discriminate based on the presence of children, no more than it did for Nathan being his brother or Angela his mother. Though Peter had to admit even now, completely beyond the Hunger’s active influence, that both of them had sort of had it coming. He smirked. His attacks had been completely wrong, but he could see a glimmer of humor there, morbid and dark like some of the paramedic jokes.
XXX
Sylar’s face turned into a frown as he too thought on that. He hadn’t felt the need to exterminate someone else with a copy of his own ability. That was completely out of character, odd, and strange given his outlook on abilities, given the ability itself. Why was that? Other than the drive to be a good boy, a good brother, a good son of course. “I…didn’t feel the drive to kill you either,” Sylar mused aloud, only partly for the other man’s benefit.
XXX
Peter was calming down a little, feeling better for having let out a tiny fraction of what he carried around bottled up inside. Sylar hadn’t given him much in the way of answers or explanations, but at least Peter had gotten to vent.
XXX
It was Sylar’s turn to look around, glancing up towards the looming library building, now unsure how the rest of the day was going to play out. Looks like the honeymoon is over, he thought with some regret. Oh well. It’s not like the alternative is something new and strange. He then thought back to how Peter had been just as violent if not more so after Nathan’s death. “I don’t see why anyone would want it, really,” was what he finally said loudly enough about IA to be rejoined to the conversation. Peter had said ‘no ability talk’, but Sylar wasn’t really one to follow preferences like that. A little stuck now, between whether to stay or go from the library he remained in place, waffling about what he himself wanted in that regard.
XXX
“Your ability?” Peter asked. Sylar’s expression was affirmation enough and Peter nodded distantly, in agreement on the matter, but surprised that Sylar felt that way. A great deal of his life recently had been tied to that feature, but then again if Sylar was telling the truth about wanting to change, then maybe he’d also had a change of heart on his ability.
XXX
Sylar sighed, thinking, He’s the best of his fucked up family. I wonder if he knows. The Petrellis had their evil deeds, trick cards up their sleeves, but Peter did stand out and it had saved his life a dozen times now. He wondered at the man’s trick to being…well, less fucked.
Quietly Sylar spoke after a beat, “Do you want to see the library?” Shrugging a shoulder towards it, expecting a flat out ‘no’.
XXX
“No, not really,” Peter said, unknowingly giving Sylar about what he expected. “Maybe some other time. You go on though. I need some time alone.” Peter turned and walked away with little other explanation than that. His emotions were in tumult whenever he was around the other man. Maybe the answer was just to stay away. He doubted he’d manage it for long, nor did he intend to. He just wanted some alone time, even if he could already feel the oppressive nature of the place weighing on his shoulders. He adjusted the straps on his bags restlessly and glanced back after he’d walked for a minute or two.
XXX
Sylar rolled his eyes. Should have known better. He was fishing for something to do and wasn’t into it to begin with. He can’t handle boredom and he thinks you’re a date machine. Sylar realized he’d have more amusement, hell, more luck in stalking a lost Peter. Maybe the man would break down and ask for directions. Now wouldn’t that be something to see? He chuckled aloud, laughing into the open air from his own thoughts, something, he was aware, that always unsettled other people. Sylar began walking after the medic, a good distance separating them, but a loud voice would carry to each other’s ears, should they care to speak.
XXX
Peter was irritated, greatly so, to see that he was being followed. If Sylar had been closer, he would have turned on him and told him to fuck off, though probably not so directly. But he wasn’t going to yell back at him - that struck him as immature at best - and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop, inviting Sylar to get closer just so he could tell him to go away. For the moment, he decided to try to ignore the other man.
Peter pondered his situation. Argument aside, nothing had really changed except that, yeah, he had more of a feeling that he could provoke Sylar and survive it. The day’s conversation had shown him that his suspicions about Sylar’s psychopathy were probably (mostly) misplaced. He seemed normal enough, when the man didn’t have his ability eating away at him.
Peter still had his doubts. Had he known the true extent of Sylar’s acting ability, he would have had more. But beginning to believe in basic sanity for his companion was a good start. Of course, even if Sylar were completely normal, Peter wasn’t deluded enough to think this meant the man would go out of his way to save Emma and the others. Peter supposed it might be better if he offered Sylar something - appreciation, promises of putting the past aside, granting some sort of pardon or ‘sentence served’ and letting Sylar start from a blank slate. Peter snorted. He wouldn’t let himself start from a blank slate, nor his mother. As much as he loved her, as much as he understood the circumstances around his own actions, it didn’t excuse them. It only explained them.
Explanations. Everything Sylar had done seemed to boil down to his ability, according to what Sylar had said. It was as if, without that power urging him on, he would have been … what? a humble watchmaker? Peter’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the pavement he was walking over, head down and lost in thought about this. Had there ever been a moment of culpability, where Gabriel had reached out for power and become what he was now? Or was he always … blameless?
Maybe that’s what’s irritating the hell out of me. None of this is his fault. Or … he says it is, but that doesn’t seem to mean anything. It’s like coming upon a murderer standing there covered in blood, knife in their hand, saying blithely, ‘oh yeah, I stabbed him to death. Sorry. I knew it was wrong, but I had to. All forty-seven times.’ He’s too calm about it. But it’s been years. Maybe he’s just given up fighting it, gotten jaded and it isn’t something that upsets him anymore. Peter’s thoughts turned to veteran paramedics. Even the most unflappable and calloused of them were still moved, at times, but what they encountered. They were still human. Sylar’s attitude … something about it didn’t work for Peter and he couldn’t tell if it didn’t because he didn’t want it to, or because there was something off there.
He lifted his head to watch the buildings he was passing, noticing that he had no idea, off-hand, where he was. He’d been past these buildings before a few times, but he couldn’t recall how they fit in with the rest of the local geography. Oh well. I’ve got most of the day to find where I want to go.
XXX
Sylar thought back to their ‘argument’, rather, he was sure Peter would term it a ‘disagreement’ (while Sylar may have been a problem solver, Peter was always looking for a happy medium or some shit). The empath was surprisingly….right. At least, he’d brought up some interesting, if uncomfortable, contradictory points to Sylar’s own argument. Yes…of course it was true, it was human nature to manipulate; it was…socially expected even.
He now had to reevaluate his reasonings: why would you expect something more of people you don’t know, even if they admittedly knew you or knew of you? They were strangers to you; there was no relationship whatever. Are you just…taking their ‘hero’ status and including yourself under their supposed jurisdiction because you’ve been wronged? So Angela has a dream and Bennet carries things out so that I become their monster. So I saved Peter, but….things wouldn’t have gotten to that point if I was still a watchmaker in Queens! Hell, I might be dead in Odessa or Kirby. Surely I didn’t make that much of a difference that…the fold of reality rippled.
Being special either pays…or it fucking bites where it hurts.
He shook his head, for the most part watching where he walked, not interested in watching Peter ‘walk away’. The other man had stunned him, flipped things over onto the intuitive and then blasted him with an obvious fact of life, one that he clearly already knew. Is that what people really think of me? Sylar literally shook off his own line of questioning. Of course they do. Easier on their consciences if I chose my path, which I did. I did. I know that. Does an addict ever really have a choice? I had the choice to show Elle my ability on hidden camera. I somehow don’t think that would have changed anything.
Sylar cleared his throat as an introduction. “Know where you’re going?” Oh, he knew for a fact Peter’s map-reading skills were crap. It was probably the reason he was in the passenger seat of the ambulance. As taunts went it was limp, but Peter might have counted that exchange as a win. If Peter glanced back, he would tilt his head and raise one of his broad eyebrows to make it extra mocking.
XXX
Okay, Peter thought. This is not going to work. Simply asking to be left alone and then giving the cold shoulder wasn’t enough. He glanced back. Sylar had closed up the distance a little bit, but not by much. He was still too far away to confront easily. Peter could stop; Sylar might stop. Even if Sylar didn’t and Peter let him come to him, there was a certain degree of acceptance and allowing an approach in that which Peter didn’t want to do.
He made another attempt at getting what he wanted verbally. Without turning, Peter said loudly, “Sylar, stop following me. Go the fuck on.”
XXX
Sylar just chuckled to himself. Peter didn’t even bother to turn around to deliver his….request. “But I’ve already seen the library.” He knew his words and actions would determine whatever outcome. “There’s new scenery to be had,” he smirked, pleased with himself as they walked. Maybe it was Peter’s figure or maybe it was the absolute thrill of having his wit sharpened against another human being, who knew? His adrenaline was beginning to perk up; it almost tingled through him, flushing through his veins.
XXX
Peter gritted his teeth and went on. After a handful more strides, he glanced back. Still there, and perhaps it was just Peter’s imagination, but it seemed Sylar was even closer. Of course he was longer-legged and Peter was not putting on a scorching pace. He refused to look like he was running away.
If I’m not going to run and he won’t back off if I ask him … He began to look around at his environment. Perhaps a more forceful display of threat was called for. Not a mere threat either - he fully intended to be willing to carry through. Something as simple as disregarding ‘leave me the fuck alone’ seemed like a small thing to have a fight over. Peter’s mind hesitated over just how far he was willing to go over something trivial. It didn’t seem trivial.
He was walking down a four lane street with sidewalks. Trees were spaced semi-regularly in planters along it. As usual, the place was scrupulously tidy. There was nothing here that might work as a weapon. Well, there were things - tree branches, parking meters, signs … he could probably kick a brick off a planter, but nothing showy and intimidating like Peter wanted.
Peter looked down the street at the next intersection at the new stores presented to him - King’s Products, SmartBuy Gifts, something with a small, difficult-to-read sign, For Lease, Hookahs!, Import/Export Emporium, and Auto Parts Accessories. He huffed. They were strangely generic and if anything reinforced the subconsciously surreal dreamscape of the place, that did. He supposed maybe the auto parts place would have … Wait. He looked back and to his left at the bong shop. He’d been in a few bong shops, having personal experience with a range of recreational drugs. The style of merchandise carried by that sort of place had a certain uniformity and it almost always included prop weaponry. He stopped, wheeled and headed back.
XXX
Sylar noticed the other man’s head beginning to turn, looking around, or so he assumed. Peter suddenly rubbernecked after almost passing an intersection before he turned back and went down it, turning left from where Sylar was walking currently. He frowned and watched, but didn’t hurry his pace. His goal was to annoy the hell out of the medic, not attack him. Not a moment later Sylar reached the intersection and looked down it before he turned onto the new road.
Peter had disappeared. Not into thin air or anything, no, no. Was Peter hiding? Sylar laughed aloud again, tilting his head as he began walking, slowly down the pavement. “Oh, Peter….” He said softly, as if the man could hear him, chuckling louder, highly amused at the chase, “Is this how you want to play it?”
Huh, his mind decided now to activate his safety net, the last time you said something like that you ended up getting crucified in a construction site. Oh, yeah. And that was after you got brained with a two-by-four. The sudden urge to look behind him was sated as he checked over his shoulder and let out a breath of relief. Hmm hmm, totally buying that no-violence policy, you see.
He knew his next bet was to determine which store Peter was barricading himself in and…a whole lot of nothing. If he had to guess he would check the auto store first, then maybe King’s Products. Hide-and-seek would be fun and amusing and all, but the idea of combing through an entire city for one rather small man was daunting even for him.
He replayed the image of Peter’s turn to try to predict his trajectory. It hadn’t been near the mouth of the intersection, it was in at least two or three buildings. He still refused to shout for the other man. C’mon, Peter…come out and play with me…
XXX
Peter walked further into the narrow shop, scanning the walls. He saw what he wanted almost immediately and walked past counters of carved meerschaum pipes, expensive scales and novelty water bongs to arrive under a display of gaudy, medieval-style weaponry. Most of them were replicas of weapons used in movies, large and intimidating. He wanted intimidating; large, not so much. He frowned. He had only his left hand to devote to this. His right might be useful for balance but that was it. Maybe this is a mistake. His mind flashed to Nathan repeating to him one of his father’s sayings: ‘Never point a gun at a man you aren’t interested in killing.’
It was funny how much embarrassment factored into his decision - more sad and disturbing than humorous, he would later think. He didn’t want to walk out empty handed and invite speculation from his all-too-sharp-witted companion, who would either arrive at the correct conclusion that Peter was seeking to endanger him, or conclude something humiliating about Peter and harass him about it until the real explanation came out. Or maybe such an expectation was just Peter’s insecurities coming to the fore.
In any case, he knew what he would pick as soon as he saw it. The unwieldy-looking highlander sword wasn’t useful, nor was the Lord of the Rings style dwarven axe or the collection of throwing daggers and ridiculously oversized shurikens. But the katana there in the middle … small-handled without a lot of ornamentation, light and yet still long. It was not too different from the bokken he’d sparred with briefly fifteen years before when he’d taken martial arts lessons as a teen. He grabbed it up off the stand and hefted it briefly. All he cared about was that it was real metal and looked basically serviceable. He recalled Hiro carrying a similar weapon, even running Sylar through with it at Kirby. Surely that would reinforce the impact of it.
He heard Sylar’s voice outside, and heckling laughter. That turned Peter’s mind back to the idea of reasserting his right to be alone and away from considering the consequences of his actions. He took off his messenger bag and the trauma bag, hanging them by their straps from his right forearm. Laying the blade over his left shoulder, handle in his left hand, he walked outside with a grim expression on his face. He dropped the bags immediately to free his arm.
XXX
Sylar turned and saw Peter dropping his bags with…is that a sword? His eyes widened before he raised them to stare at Peter’s eyes. Is this a joke? Sylar didn’t know Peter well, okay, at all, aside from the addition in his cranium: he doubted it was a joke, but he was beginning to doubt the validity of Peter’s actually existence here. It was like a nightmare, literally-being rejected and left alone, tortured by a dead man in his head….the beating he’d received felt real enough, they still felt very real. But the appearance of the katana Peter now held threw everything back to ‘I wanna wake up now’. This was not Peter’s brand of humor.
Needless to say, Sylar stopped dead, otherwise unmoving except to tilt his head. Strange how exploding and being turned into a nuclear waste site, being turned into dust, shot/shanked and otherwise incapacitated in the head didn’t scare him. But that damn katana… He knew now that he’d been injected with the Shanti Virus, Mohinder had called it, so a needle was involved in screwing up his little vacay in Mexico. Collapsed lung, unhealing chest, eight surgeries to survive as nothing but a normal human, like everyone else. Yeah, the katana scared him a little. It took guts (no pun intended) to approach someone armed with a three foot razor with no protection and no weapon (hell, no abilities! His mind spoke up then).
He couldn’t stop his eyes from shifting between the blade and the man’s unreadable eyes. Now he had to consider how sharp the thing was. He was aware of a false-edge, which was usually sold in stores, but the question was…was this katana one of the few genuines? That was a difficult fifty-fifty shot. Without abilities there would be no stopping a real razor’s edge from cutting him in two (provided Peter could manage the force required for it); he could lose a limb in an instant and bleed out. If he took a chance and the blade was fake, he would only suffer flesh wounds or lose an eye at the worst.
XXX
“Sylar,” Peter said in a tight voice, feeling adrenalin starting to spiral through him.
XXX
Stranger still that Peter was now willingly picking up a weapon after having a gun in his hand and setting it aside, but Sylar hadn’t been riling him up then either. Clearly being stalked wasn’t on the medic’s wish-list. “Peter,” he replied, voice lowering slightly at the threat. Something else he had to take into account was whether or not Peter was even serious. He could still be bluffing, probably was, at least that’s what his gut told him. (Would Peter really kill him? He now knew what the world was like, would he truly risk being here alone, with no ‘help for Amanda’, here?)
XXX
Peter continued, “I told you I wanted to be left alone. Leave me alone.” He did not brandish the weapon, as of yet, and he stopped walking only a few strides beyond the store. “Just turn and walk away,” he directed. His skin tingled and nervousness ran through him. He did not want this fight and he was feeling that very clearly now that he was facing his opponent. They’d been talking just earlier - surely there was a more reasonable way to assert one’s rights than threatening a life-or-death conflict? Is this something I’m willing to die over? Whether I can walk down a street without him following me? Then he thought of that mocking laughter.
XXX
“It’s not like I suddenly turned into bad company,” Sylar pointed out. He knew who he was with the entire fucking time, this changes nothing! “Peter, one might think you’re upset about something. Now what might that be?” Sylar took a step forward, hands sliding from his pockets as his posture shifted.
XXX
Peter knew this was not going to turn out well when Sylar took that step forward. His thoughts immediately began to turn on themselves. Oh boy, this was a phenomenally bad idea. What the hell was I supposed to do? Keep walking? Run away? Go play hide and go seek through the buildings? At least this is honest. Claude’s taunting voice sounded in his head: ‘Here lies Peter Petrelli - he died honest.’ Great.
XXX
“Just turn and walk away, huh?” Sylar gave that a disbelieving tilt of his eyebrow that clearly delivered ‘yeah, right’. Sylar had enough (probably too much) pride and enough male ego not take up on the most-likely-generous offer. It was insulting that Peter thought he’d actually back down from something admittedly exciting and completely dangerous, something the younger man appeared to think Sylar couldn’t handle. Peter had no idea he was only tempting the intuitive, forcing Sylar to test the limits.
He took another step, waiting for any shifts of posture or signs of qualm, hesitation. Petrelli’s voice was forced, but that could mean a lot of things. “Do you think I’m your dog or something? ‘Sit, stay, heel’?” he asked, putting on more of an offended, jeering tone than he truly felt because it was an honest question to him, but that brought up if Peter was still manipulating him still, lying about their arrangement. Sure as hell doesn’t think you’re much of a human, so maybe he does.
Peter moved, taking the sword from its place on his shoulder to point it at Sylar, keeping the hilt low at his hips in a theatrically correct pose. Sylar took a few more steps, now rather committed. Strike me if you dare, he thought, but in the back of his mind he was screaming at himself, this is ridiculously stupid! You could lose your hands, your life over this ridiculous display of male dominance and possession!
XXX
“You’re sure following me home like some kind of stray.” Peter circled suddenly, unhappy with having the storefront so close at his back and his bags on the ground within a step or two, just waiting to trip him up if he tried to maneuver. He moved sideways and out, onto the street and if his motion increased the distance between them he told himself that was just wise and inadvertent.
XXX
Peter made a strategic move in starting to circle, mostly to gain more space, but Sylar stayed put in the middle of the road. Sylar grimaced at being called a stray, his expression caught between a snarl and a wince. “Some kind being…?” he prompted further, “I’m sure you have your own creative vocabulary to label me, Peter. Unless you stick to the accepted basics; what kind of stray?” Sylar was sneering, aiming to make the other man feel lower despite the fact that the empath wasn’t being called names. I knew it, and I’m sure he wants to say it aloud. Why is it he only swears at you? Never calls you a psychopath or a monster… Now wasn’t the time for that, so he put it aside.
XXX
He licked his lips, really very nervous about this whole thing. Peter had faced certain death with much less reservation than he had now, but that was precisely because he had less reservation in those circumstances. He was standing up for no one but himself here, and not even for anything tangible like life and limb. Plus, he was threatening his mission here. He wasn’t stupid enough (or good enough with such an unfamiliar weapon) to expect to be able to inflict some kind of superficial flesh wound and as a paramedic, he knew how unpredictable injuries were. This was not heroic. It was just … stupid.
“We have got to back down from this. Stop- Would you stop walking closer?!?” The end of the sword was wavering. This was going from bad to worse and he knew Sylar was going to get emboldened pretty quick and press him. And then what? How would Sylar react if Peter ran off? Peter was not one to generally stand on his honor, but he was not going to be stalked and hunted here. He’d rather stand his ground now. Which might entail killing the very man he’d come here to get. Shit.
XXX
“’We’ do? Says the man with the sword.” I’m just standing here, Sylar thought grim and smug. “It’s a free world; I can stand here.” Or walk at you, Sylar thought, Hopefully that implies that I’m not going to stop just because he’s holding a katana. He glanced down a few times at the blade, noticing it shaking around a bit-hard to hold one handed. Or…Peter was super nervous. Cha-ching. His gaze instantly went up to the other man’s, sensing weakness and opportunity, his own expression surely expressing his solidification of control and victory in and of the situation.
XXX
Peter looked at the wobbling end of the sword, then past it at Sylar’s oh-so-mocking face. Is that the expression he wore when he faced Nathan? The blade stopped shaking and Peter relaxed into his stance. He dropped the tip of the katana so it was pointed at Sylar again, as he had unconsciously raised it out of position before. It wouldn’t really be that much of a loss to kill him.
XXX
Continued...
Characters: Peter Petrelli and Sylar/Gabriel Gray (Matt and Nathan if you squint?)
Rating: PG-13/T to eventual NC-17/M
Warnings: Language, mind fuckery (no pun intended), violence, angst (?), dirty language/thoughts/actions but nothing explicit.
Setting: Inside the Wall, S4.
Words: 5, 538
Summary: Peter has hacked into Sylar's mind on a rescue mission. Everything goes to Hell. Welcome to Sylar's mind!
Notes (Must Read): In collaboration with the wonderful Game_byrd (Gamebird- FFN) who writes for Peter (I write for Sylar). This is everything that goes on 'behind the scenes' of the episode. The story begins after Peter telepathically joins Sylar in his Matt-induced nightmare (The Wall) in the episode. Based on CANON with fanon and intellect, imagination and a thing called common sense filling in all those nasty plot-holes, but we won't point fingers.
One deviation from canon: In The Fifth Stage when Peter wipes Sylar's memory after the fight, he gained all of Sylar's memories via Rene/The Haitian's ability that allows the user to remember the person's memories in addition to erasing them from the person. AKA Peter has every single one of Sylar's memories stored in his subconscious. They appear from time to time when Peter sleeps or becomes distracted or experiences one of Sylar's deja vu's. Sylar has since recovered his memories with a combination of IA and regeneration. Sylar still has Nathan's memories from Matt Parkman's previous mind-fuck in Invisible Thread. The boys are powerless inside the Wall.
Things you'll need: // // denotes a Nathan Petrelli memory from Sylar's head. Sylar/Gabriel's memories are within singular lines / /. Peter's are \ \ and Peter’s recollection of a Sylar memory (via Rene/the Haitian's ability) is \\ \\. 'Posts' are separated between the boys by XXX (no, that's nothing naughty).
Day 8
Peter was following Sylar’s words, mind busying itself with them. He couldn’t? He couldn’t what? And yes, Peter could remember the complete lack of connection between the person he used to be, with sense and reason and compassion, and the person he was with Sylar’s ability. Why did it work that way? It was almost worth it to borrow the damn power to turn it on Sylar and figure it out, but Peter suspected that was just an echo of the Hunger still buried in his own psyche.
Sylar went on about not needing to explain himself. Peter grimaced slightly. It was an unpleasant memory and Sylar was right, there was- He flinched hard like he’d been slapped as Sylar’s next question broke over him: ‘Who did you kill while you had it?’ Peter tensed all over before dispelling it. It was just a question! He shot Sylar a quick angry glance, then looked away - again, much like he’d been hit and had elected to weather it rather than retaliate. Because the wrong-doing there wasn’t Sylar’s, not even in bringing it up, much as Peter didn’t like the subject. The blame was Peter’s, and even if it was a future reality that wouldn’t come to pass and so would never have any consequences, it had still been Peter’s hands that did it. He did not let himself off the hook any easier than he did Sylar.
XXX
Sylar thought, Oh, that just got interesting. Peter practically jerked away from that line of questioning which meant…it was someone close to him. Again, Sylar raised an eyebrow, mostly to be a dick, as he received a much-less-than-friendly look. Who could it be? A lover? A friend? Certainly not family, Sylar crossed that off the list immediately. Although, he had to wonder if Peter sliced into Claire’s skull…well, would the girl mind for a start, at least, would she be so hell-fire bent on hating the man? His main question was that if Peter had hurt one of his kin, would he still carry the weight? But everyone was accounted for, more or less.
Sylar asked, “What stopped you from killing me? Just take the radiator pipe and shank my head, easy enough. You didn’t want another brother, so what was there to lose?” He’d easily switched into interrogation mode himself.
XXX
Peter stared at the rough surface of the asphalt, trying not to see Nathan’s face, while Sylar asked his next questions, just as insightful as the last. Peter looked up at him with slightly narrowed eyes, his trademark brow furrow in place. His eyes slid a little out of focus at the rest of the man’s words, then he looked up at him again. “Radiator pipe? What do you mean?” He wasn’t placing it. All that came to mind was a car radiator and cars had never featured in their fights. Sylar had fallen on one after Mercy Heights, but surely he wasn’t implying Peter should have … what? Taken flight before he fell so he could fly down after him and …? Maybe there was a radiator in the construction area there and I should have immobilized him to deal with later?
XXX
“Pinehearst; the hallway? I tried to stop you from doing something stupid,” no comment from you, lost-conscience, “You, uh, found your way around me, to phrase it lightly. There was a radiator you could cut apart and used for a stake,” he put it simply. Peter wasn’t particularly violent, true, but the highly-motivated would be looking around for ways to end the all-evil Sylar once and for all. “I didn’t have shape shifting then,” Sylar clarified for the other man who still wasn’t following him well and he followed it up by making a jerking, shoving motion towards the back of his own head. “I couldn’t have moved the spot yet. I know you know about the spot.” He was making intentional and potentially dangerous use of Nathan’s memory to the medic-
//Remembering his baby brother’s death, seeing his face pale gray, sallow and blood streaked. The worst was the eyes. Sure Nathan had seen corpses before, but it was usually immediately after they’d died or been killed. This was hours after death and those beautiful, lively, sparking irises had filmed over as a cold, haunting display of death. All he could think was ‘God, not like this, not him, not like this…it wasn’t supposed to be like this…’ His baby brother snuffed out in the prime of his life doing God knew what…He was barely able to begin grieving at all, let alone properly with his iceberg of a mother present. The familiar form in his arms not hugging back, but limp and lacking human warmth. ‘He just can’t be gone, I should have…’ Nothing but a wave of numb horror filled him.// Sylar meanwhile swallowed down his reaction, still staring back at Peter.
XXX
Peter nodded, then gave Sylar a long, level look, blinking once as he began to speak, “I accepted you as my brother. What I wanted didn’t have anything to do with it, true or false.” He hadn’t believed it (the brother part), but he’d accepted it. Hell, he supposed people could be adopted at any age, as long as everyone was good with it. No one had ever asked his opinion.
XXX
“’Stop calling her that, you are not my family’,” Sylar parroted back Peter’s words from years ago, slightly smug to be proving him wrong. In mocking doubt this time, “If you say so.” Total acceptance. If that’s his idea of acceptance…He’s making Mercy look like a welcoming committee. Sylar chose to be…merciful himself by not including Peter’s own sneers at Sylar’s…’Gabriel’s’ concern for Angela’s comatose state; Peter choosing to ignore Sylar’s warnings and urges about the Hunger, about the things that were doubtlessly sounding oh-so-good in the medic’s head at the time… It wasn’t the subject at the moment.
XXX
Did I say that? Peter wondered. Christ, I think I did. Dammit. He changed the subject. “As for what stopped me from killing you …” Peter looked introspective, then frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I had more than one chance. When I got the ability in the first place was the other chance and I didn’t want it then either. Maybe it comes with an aversion to itself. Or,” he shrugged, not sure how to express himself on this, “or something like that.” Of course Noah had been there, the four year old, but Peter knew that wasn’t relevant. The hunger didn’t discriminate based on the presence of children, no more than it did for Nathan being his brother or Angela his mother. Though Peter had to admit even now, completely beyond the Hunger’s active influence, that both of them had sort of had it coming. He smirked. His attacks had been completely wrong, but he could see a glimmer of humor there, morbid and dark like some of the paramedic jokes.
XXX
Sylar’s face turned into a frown as he too thought on that. He hadn’t felt the need to exterminate someone else with a copy of his own ability. That was completely out of character, odd, and strange given his outlook on abilities, given the ability itself. Why was that? Other than the drive to be a good boy, a good brother, a good son of course. “I…didn’t feel the drive to kill you either,” Sylar mused aloud, only partly for the other man’s benefit.
XXX
Peter was calming down a little, feeling better for having let out a tiny fraction of what he carried around bottled up inside. Sylar hadn’t given him much in the way of answers or explanations, but at least Peter had gotten to vent.
XXX
It was Sylar’s turn to look around, glancing up towards the looming library building, now unsure how the rest of the day was going to play out. Looks like the honeymoon is over, he thought with some regret. Oh well. It’s not like the alternative is something new and strange. He then thought back to how Peter had been just as violent if not more so after Nathan’s death. “I don’t see why anyone would want it, really,” was what he finally said loudly enough about IA to be rejoined to the conversation. Peter had said ‘no ability talk’, but Sylar wasn’t really one to follow preferences like that. A little stuck now, between whether to stay or go from the library he remained in place, waffling about what he himself wanted in that regard.
XXX
“Your ability?” Peter asked. Sylar’s expression was affirmation enough and Peter nodded distantly, in agreement on the matter, but surprised that Sylar felt that way. A great deal of his life recently had been tied to that feature, but then again if Sylar was telling the truth about wanting to change, then maybe he’d also had a change of heart on his ability.
XXX
Sylar sighed, thinking, He’s the best of his fucked up family. I wonder if he knows. The Petrellis had their evil deeds, trick cards up their sleeves, but Peter did stand out and it had saved his life a dozen times now. He wondered at the man’s trick to being…well, less fucked.
Quietly Sylar spoke after a beat, “Do you want to see the library?” Shrugging a shoulder towards it, expecting a flat out ‘no’.
XXX
“No, not really,” Peter said, unknowingly giving Sylar about what he expected. “Maybe some other time. You go on though. I need some time alone.” Peter turned and walked away with little other explanation than that. His emotions were in tumult whenever he was around the other man. Maybe the answer was just to stay away. He doubted he’d manage it for long, nor did he intend to. He just wanted some alone time, even if he could already feel the oppressive nature of the place weighing on his shoulders. He adjusted the straps on his bags restlessly and glanced back after he’d walked for a minute or two.
XXX
Sylar rolled his eyes. Should have known better. He was fishing for something to do and wasn’t into it to begin with. He can’t handle boredom and he thinks you’re a date machine. Sylar realized he’d have more amusement, hell, more luck in stalking a lost Peter. Maybe the man would break down and ask for directions. Now wouldn’t that be something to see? He chuckled aloud, laughing into the open air from his own thoughts, something, he was aware, that always unsettled other people. Sylar began walking after the medic, a good distance separating them, but a loud voice would carry to each other’s ears, should they care to speak.
XXX
Peter was irritated, greatly so, to see that he was being followed. If Sylar had been closer, he would have turned on him and told him to fuck off, though probably not so directly. But he wasn’t going to yell back at him - that struck him as immature at best - and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stop, inviting Sylar to get closer just so he could tell him to go away. For the moment, he decided to try to ignore the other man.
Peter pondered his situation. Argument aside, nothing had really changed except that, yeah, he had more of a feeling that he could provoke Sylar and survive it. The day’s conversation had shown him that his suspicions about Sylar’s psychopathy were probably (mostly) misplaced. He seemed normal enough, when the man didn’t have his ability eating away at him.
Peter still had his doubts. Had he known the true extent of Sylar’s acting ability, he would have had more. But beginning to believe in basic sanity for his companion was a good start. Of course, even if Sylar were completely normal, Peter wasn’t deluded enough to think this meant the man would go out of his way to save Emma and the others. Peter supposed it might be better if he offered Sylar something - appreciation, promises of putting the past aside, granting some sort of pardon or ‘sentence served’ and letting Sylar start from a blank slate. Peter snorted. He wouldn’t let himself start from a blank slate, nor his mother. As much as he loved her, as much as he understood the circumstances around his own actions, it didn’t excuse them. It only explained them.
Explanations. Everything Sylar had done seemed to boil down to his ability, according to what Sylar had said. It was as if, without that power urging him on, he would have been … what? a humble watchmaker? Peter’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the pavement he was walking over, head down and lost in thought about this. Had there ever been a moment of culpability, where Gabriel had reached out for power and become what he was now? Or was he always … blameless?
Maybe that’s what’s irritating the hell out of me. None of this is his fault. Or … he says it is, but that doesn’t seem to mean anything. It’s like coming upon a murderer standing there covered in blood, knife in their hand, saying blithely, ‘oh yeah, I stabbed him to death. Sorry. I knew it was wrong, but I had to. All forty-seven times.’ He’s too calm about it. But it’s been years. Maybe he’s just given up fighting it, gotten jaded and it isn’t something that upsets him anymore. Peter’s thoughts turned to veteran paramedics. Even the most unflappable and calloused of them were still moved, at times, but what they encountered. They were still human. Sylar’s attitude … something about it didn’t work for Peter and he couldn’t tell if it didn’t because he didn’t want it to, or because there was something off there.
He lifted his head to watch the buildings he was passing, noticing that he had no idea, off-hand, where he was. He’d been past these buildings before a few times, but he couldn’t recall how they fit in with the rest of the local geography. Oh well. I’ve got most of the day to find where I want to go.
XXX
Sylar thought back to their ‘argument’, rather, he was sure Peter would term it a ‘disagreement’ (while Sylar may have been a problem solver, Peter was always looking for a happy medium or some shit). The empath was surprisingly….right. At least, he’d brought up some interesting, if uncomfortable, contradictory points to Sylar’s own argument. Yes…of course it was true, it was human nature to manipulate; it was…socially expected even.
He now had to reevaluate his reasonings: why would you expect something more of people you don’t know, even if they admittedly knew you or knew of you? They were strangers to you; there was no relationship whatever. Are you just…taking their ‘hero’ status and including yourself under their supposed jurisdiction because you’ve been wronged? So Angela has a dream and Bennet carries things out so that I become their monster. So I saved Peter, but….things wouldn’t have gotten to that point if I was still a watchmaker in Queens! Hell, I might be dead in Odessa or Kirby. Surely I didn’t make that much of a difference that…the fold of reality rippled.
Being special either pays…or it fucking bites where it hurts.
He shook his head, for the most part watching where he walked, not interested in watching Peter ‘walk away’. The other man had stunned him, flipped things over onto the intuitive and then blasted him with an obvious fact of life, one that he clearly already knew. Is that what people really think of me? Sylar literally shook off his own line of questioning. Of course they do. Easier on their consciences if I chose my path, which I did. I did. I know that. Does an addict ever really have a choice? I had the choice to show Elle my ability on hidden camera. I somehow don’t think that would have changed anything.
Sylar cleared his throat as an introduction. “Know where you’re going?” Oh, he knew for a fact Peter’s map-reading skills were crap. It was probably the reason he was in the passenger seat of the ambulance. As taunts went it was limp, but Peter might have counted that exchange as a win. If Peter glanced back, he would tilt his head and raise one of his broad eyebrows to make it extra mocking.
XXX
Okay, Peter thought. This is not going to work. Simply asking to be left alone and then giving the cold shoulder wasn’t enough. He glanced back. Sylar had closed up the distance a little bit, but not by much. He was still too far away to confront easily. Peter could stop; Sylar might stop. Even if Sylar didn’t and Peter let him come to him, there was a certain degree of acceptance and allowing an approach in that which Peter didn’t want to do.
He made another attempt at getting what he wanted verbally. Without turning, Peter said loudly, “Sylar, stop following me. Go the fuck on.”
XXX
Sylar just chuckled to himself. Peter didn’t even bother to turn around to deliver his….request. “But I’ve already seen the library.” He knew his words and actions would determine whatever outcome. “There’s new scenery to be had,” he smirked, pleased with himself as they walked. Maybe it was Peter’s figure or maybe it was the absolute thrill of having his wit sharpened against another human being, who knew? His adrenaline was beginning to perk up; it almost tingled through him, flushing through his veins.
XXX
Peter gritted his teeth and went on. After a handful more strides, he glanced back. Still there, and perhaps it was just Peter’s imagination, but it seemed Sylar was even closer. Of course he was longer-legged and Peter was not putting on a scorching pace. He refused to look like he was running away.
If I’m not going to run and he won’t back off if I ask him … He began to look around at his environment. Perhaps a more forceful display of threat was called for. Not a mere threat either - he fully intended to be willing to carry through. Something as simple as disregarding ‘leave me the fuck alone’ seemed like a small thing to have a fight over. Peter’s mind hesitated over just how far he was willing to go over something trivial. It didn’t seem trivial.
He was walking down a four lane street with sidewalks. Trees were spaced semi-regularly in planters along it. As usual, the place was scrupulously tidy. There was nothing here that might work as a weapon. Well, there were things - tree branches, parking meters, signs … he could probably kick a brick off a planter, but nothing showy and intimidating like Peter wanted.
Peter looked down the street at the next intersection at the new stores presented to him - King’s Products, SmartBuy Gifts, something with a small, difficult-to-read sign, For Lease, Hookahs!, Import/Export Emporium, and Auto Parts Accessories. He huffed. They were strangely generic and if anything reinforced the subconsciously surreal dreamscape of the place, that did. He supposed maybe the auto parts place would have … Wait. He looked back and to his left at the bong shop. He’d been in a few bong shops, having personal experience with a range of recreational drugs. The style of merchandise carried by that sort of place had a certain uniformity and it almost always included prop weaponry. He stopped, wheeled and headed back.
XXX
Sylar noticed the other man’s head beginning to turn, looking around, or so he assumed. Peter suddenly rubbernecked after almost passing an intersection before he turned back and went down it, turning left from where Sylar was walking currently. He frowned and watched, but didn’t hurry his pace. His goal was to annoy the hell out of the medic, not attack him. Not a moment later Sylar reached the intersection and looked down it before he turned onto the new road.
Peter had disappeared. Not into thin air or anything, no, no. Was Peter hiding? Sylar laughed aloud again, tilting his head as he began walking, slowly down the pavement. “Oh, Peter….” He said softly, as if the man could hear him, chuckling louder, highly amused at the chase, “Is this how you want to play it?”
Huh, his mind decided now to activate his safety net, the last time you said something like that you ended up getting crucified in a construction site. Oh, yeah. And that was after you got brained with a two-by-four. The sudden urge to look behind him was sated as he checked over his shoulder and let out a breath of relief. Hmm hmm, totally buying that no-violence policy, you see.
He knew his next bet was to determine which store Peter was barricading himself in and…a whole lot of nothing. If he had to guess he would check the auto store first, then maybe King’s Products. Hide-and-seek would be fun and amusing and all, but the idea of combing through an entire city for one rather small man was daunting even for him.
He replayed the image of Peter’s turn to try to predict his trajectory. It hadn’t been near the mouth of the intersection, it was in at least two or three buildings. He still refused to shout for the other man. C’mon, Peter…come out and play with me…
XXX
Peter walked further into the narrow shop, scanning the walls. He saw what he wanted almost immediately and walked past counters of carved meerschaum pipes, expensive scales and novelty water bongs to arrive under a display of gaudy, medieval-style weaponry. Most of them were replicas of weapons used in movies, large and intimidating. He wanted intimidating; large, not so much. He frowned. He had only his left hand to devote to this. His right might be useful for balance but that was it. Maybe this is a mistake. His mind flashed to Nathan repeating to him one of his father’s sayings: ‘Never point a gun at a man you aren’t interested in killing.’
It was funny how much embarrassment factored into his decision - more sad and disturbing than humorous, he would later think. He didn’t want to walk out empty handed and invite speculation from his all-too-sharp-witted companion, who would either arrive at the correct conclusion that Peter was seeking to endanger him, or conclude something humiliating about Peter and harass him about it until the real explanation came out. Or maybe such an expectation was just Peter’s insecurities coming to the fore.
In any case, he knew what he would pick as soon as he saw it. The unwieldy-looking highlander sword wasn’t useful, nor was the Lord of the Rings style dwarven axe or the collection of throwing daggers and ridiculously oversized shurikens. But the katana there in the middle … small-handled without a lot of ornamentation, light and yet still long. It was not too different from the bokken he’d sparred with briefly fifteen years before when he’d taken martial arts lessons as a teen. He grabbed it up off the stand and hefted it briefly. All he cared about was that it was real metal and looked basically serviceable. He recalled Hiro carrying a similar weapon, even running Sylar through with it at Kirby. Surely that would reinforce the impact of it.
He heard Sylar’s voice outside, and heckling laughter. That turned Peter’s mind back to the idea of reasserting his right to be alone and away from considering the consequences of his actions. He took off his messenger bag and the trauma bag, hanging them by their straps from his right forearm. Laying the blade over his left shoulder, handle in his left hand, he walked outside with a grim expression on his face. He dropped the bags immediately to free his arm.
XXX
Sylar turned and saw Peter dropping his bags with…is that a sword? His eyes widened before he raised them to stare at Peter’s eyes. Is this a joke? Sylar didn’t know Peter well, okay, at all, aside from the addition in his cranium: he doubted it was a joke, but he was beginning to doubt the validity of Peter’s actually existence here. It was like a nightmare, literally-being rejected and left alone, tortured by a dead man in his head….the beating he’d received felt real enough, they still felt very real. But the appearance of the katana Peter now held threw everything back to ‘I wanna wake up now’. This was not Peter’s brand of humor.
Needless to say, Sylar stopped dead, otherwise unmoving except to tilt his head. Strange how exploding and being turned into a nuclear waste site, being turned into dust, shot/shanked and otherwise incapacitated in the head didn’t scare him. But that damn katana… He knew now that he’d been injected with the Shanti Virus, Mohinder had called it, so a needle was involved in screwing up his little vacay in Mexico. Collapsed lung, unhealing chest, eight surgeries to survive as nothing but a normal human, like everyone else. Yeah, the katana scared him a little. It took guts (no pun intended) to approach someone armed with a three foot razor with no protection and no weapon (hell, no abilities! His mind spoke up then).
He couldn’t stop his eyes from shifting between the blade and the man’s unreadable eyes. Now he had to consider how sharp the thing was. He was aware of a false-edge, which was usually sold in stores, but the question was…was this katana one of the few genuines? That was a difficult fifty-fifty shot. Without abilities there would be no stopping a real razor’s edge from cutting him in two (provided Peter could manage the force required for it); he could lose a limb in an instant and bleed out. If he took a chance and the blade was fake, he would only suffer flesh wounds or lose an eye at the worst.
XXX
“Sylar,” Peter said in a tight voice, feeling adrenalin starting to spiral through him.
XXX
Stranger still that Peter was now willingly picking up a weapon after having a gun in his hand and setting it aside, but Sylar hadn’t been riling him up then either. Clearly being stalked wasn’t on the medic’s wish-list. “Peter,” he replied, voice lowering slightly at the threat. Something else he had to take into account was whether or not Peter was even serious. He could still be bluffing, probably was, at least that’s what his gut told him. (Would Peter really kill him? He now knew what the world was like, would he truly risk being here alone, with no ‘help for Amanda’, here?)
XXX
Peter continued, “I told you I wanted to be left alone. Leave me alone.” He did not brandish the weapon, as of yet, and he stopped walking only a few strides beyond the store. “Just turn and walk away,” he directed. His skin tingled and nervousness ran through him. He did not want this fight and he was feeling that very clearly now that he was facing his opponent. They’d been talking just earlier - surely there was a more reasonable way to assert one’s rights than threatening a life-or-death conflict? Is this something I’m willing to die over? Whether I can walk down a street without him following me? Then he thought of that mocking laughter.
XXX
“It’s not like I suddenly turned into bad company,” Sylar pointed out. He knew who he was with the entire fucking time, this changes nothing! “Peter, one might think you’re upset about something. Now what might that be?” Sylar took a step forward, hands sliding from his pockets as his posture shifted.
XXX
Peter knew this was not going to turn out well when Sylar took that step forward. His thoughts immediately began to turn on themselves. Oh boy, this was a phenomenally bad idea. What the hell was I supposed to do? Keep walking? Run away? Go play hide and go seek through the buildings? At least this is honest. Claude’s taunting voice sounded in his head: ‘Here lies Peter Petrelli - he died honest.’ Great.
XXX
“Just turn and walk away, huh?” Sylar gave that a disbelieving tilt of his eyebrow that clearly delivered ‘yeah, right’. Sylar had enough (probably too much) pride and enough male ego not take up on the most-likely-generous offer. It was insulting that Peter thought he’d actually back down from something admittedly exciting and completely dangerous, something the younger man appeared to think Sylar couldn’t handle. Peter had no idea he was only tempting the intuitive, forcing Sylar to test the limits.
He took another step, waiting for any shifts of posture or signs of qualm, hesitation. Petrelli’s voice was forced, but that could mean a lot of things. “Do you think I’m your dog or something? ‘Sit, stay, heel’?” he asked, putting on more of an offended, jeering tone than he truly felt because it was an honest question to him, but that brought up if Peter was still manipulating him still, lying about their arrangement. Sure as hell doesn’t think you’re much of a human, so maybe he does.
Peter moved, taking the sword from its place on his shoulder to point it at Sylar, keeping the hilt low at his hips in a theatrically correct pose. Sylar took a few more steps, now rather committed. Strike me if you dare, he thought, but in the back of his mind he was screaming at himself, this is ridiculously stupid! You could lose your hands, your life over this ridiculous display of male dominance and possession!
XXX
“You’re sure following me home like some kind of stray.” Peter circled suddenly, unhappy with having the storefront so close at his back and his bags on the ground within a step or two, just waiting to trip him up if he tried to maneuver. He moved sideways and out, onto the street and if his motion increased the distance between them he told himself that was just wise and inadvertent.
XXX
Peter made a strategic move in starting to circle, mostly to gain more space, but Sylar stayed put in the middle of the road. Sylar grimaced at being called a stray, his expression caught between a snarl and a wince. “Some kind being…?” he prompted further, “I’m sure you have your own creative vocabulary to label me, Peter. Unless you stick to the accepted basics; what kind of stray?” Sylar was sneering, aiming to make the other man feel lower despite the fact that the empath wasn’t being called names. I knew it, and I’m sure he wants to say it aloud. Why is it he only swears at you? Never calls you a psychopath or a monster… Now wasn’t the time for that, so he put it aside.
XXX
He licked his lips, really very nervous about this whole thing. Peter had faced certain death with much less reservation than he had now, but that was precisely because he had less reservation in those circumstances. He was standing up for no one but himself here, and not even for anything tangible like life and limb. Plus, he was threatening his mission here. He wasn’t stupid enough (or good enough with such an unfamiliar weapon) to expect to be able to inflict some kind of superficial flesh wound and as a paramedic, he knew how unpredictable injuries were. This was not heroic. It was just … stupid.
“We have got to back down from this. Stop- Would you stop walking closer?!?” The end of the sword was wavering. This was going from bad to worse and he knew Sylar was going to get emboldened pretty quick and press him. And then what? How would Sylar react if Peter ran off? Peter was not one to generally stand on his honor, but he was not going to be stalked and hunted here. He’d rather stand his ground now. Which might entail killing the very man he’d come here to get. Shit.
XXX
“’We’ do? Says the man with the sword.” I’m just standing here, Sylar thought grim and smug. “It’s a free world; I can stand here.” Or walk at you, Sylar thought, Hopefully that implies that I’m not going to stop just because he’s holding a katana. He glanced down a few times at the blade, noticing it shaking around a bit-hard to hold one handed. Or…Peter was super nervous. Cha-ching. His gaze instantly went up to the other man’s, sensing weakness and opportunity, his own expression surely expressing his solidification of control and victory in and of the situation.
XXX
Peter looked at the wobbling end of the sword, then past it at Sylar’s oh-so-mocking face. Is that the expression he wore when he faced Nathan? The blade stopped shaking and Peter relaxed into his stance. He dropped the tip of the katana so it was pointed at Sylar again, as he had unconsciously raised it out of position before. It wouldn’t really be that much of a loss to kill him.
XXX
Continued...