Heroes Fic--Wrong
Title: Wrong
Summary: Peter tries to make things right, but they're so very wrong.
Pairing: Gen, pre-Sylar/Peter/Gabriel
Rating: Uhh...K+ I think
A/N: Kind of short, but this is just something to fill the gap before I post my “We Are All Sinners” sequel.
3rd Person POV
It wasn't going to way Peter had thought it would. He'd hoped, prayed, that Sylar would just fit back into society. Peter had hoped that things would just work out. They always had in the past, for better or worse, they had always worked out. Peter hoped that Sylar would either adjust or revert, something, anything to give him some clue.
A change hadn't been forthcoming. For the better part of two weeks Sylar sat in his apartment and stared out the window. He walked on eggshells in his own apartment waiting for Sylar to do something other than watch people through his window. His mother called him, every night. She checked on Sylar's progress and prodded Peter to bring him into the facility. But Peter had relented, saying that Sylar needed his time, his space.
The two of them settled into a routine, much like they had at the wall. They woke up. They ate. Peter went to work. Sylar stayed at home. Peter came back. They ate. They went to bed. Period. The end. It was somehow less than it had been in the nightmare because Sylar was changed, afraid. He wasn't in a prison anymore, he was in society and there were rules and expectations. Peter felt that, that need. He watched and watched and wanted something to happen. He wanted to see a flicker of what he'd seen inside the nightmare, a timid man, scared, alone, desperate about himself.
Finally, things changed. Sylar raged at him. Screamed and hollered and cried. He was frightened and angry and lost and more than anything he wanted to get better. When the screams and sobs settled to heavy breathing and silent tears Peter called his mother. He set up appointments. He talked about the flickers of something else he'd seen in Sylar, something more like Gabriel. Angela took his word and his assumption, something Peter wasn't use to. Then the testing began. Angela swore there would be nothing invasive and that she would ease up if Sylar was uncomfortable.
It wasn't long before Peter was called into Primatech with the promise of progress. Angela had told him that someone wanted to meet him. Gabriel. He had been floored by the explanation and the implications. He knew in his gut that there was something else in there, something else besides Sylar. And now there was proof.
Peter had hoped foolishly that this would make things easier. He thought that maybe Sylar and Gabriel would merge together and make a whole person. Make a working person. But Peter was a fool and wasn't long before he realized it.
- - - - - - - - - -
When Peter came home from work Sylar was home. He was almost always home, but Peter was pleasantly surprised all the same. He dropped his bag and toed off his shoes, then scanned the room for Sylar, or Gabriel. It was a still rather jarring to talk to his roommate and not really know who he was talking to. They were good actors and most of the time Gabriel wanted to be left alone. Telepathy helped but it was still fuzzy, out of tune like the rest of his abilities. The only things that Peter could really rely on these days were empathy and flight. Everything else was just luck of the draw, but he was getting better.
Peter sighed and turned his attention to the french doors, knowing that if Sylar wasn't in the living room he was holed up in the bedroom. He approached with caution, his steps light. He didn't want to startle whoever was lying on his bed. He knew that Sylar would lash out and thought that Gabriel would probably hide behind Sylar; then Sylar would lash out on principle. So Peter was careful and open. He opened the doors slowly and frowned.
Gabriel was curled into himself, in ratty sweats and a baggy shirt. His hair was a mess and the sheets were in disarray. And he was crying, quietly to himself. His face was buried in a pillow and he was crying. Peter approached with caution, his hands held in front of him even though Gabriel couldn't see them.
“Gabriel? Gabriel...are you alright?”
His question was answered with a louder sob. He saw Gabriel following him with his eyes, and made a show of sitting down on the bed. He kept a respectable distance, not wanting Gabriel to flee, but stuck close enough to reach out and comfort.
“What's the matter?”
There was another wave of defeated crying. Peter was tempted to try out telepathy again, but didn't want to betray his trust. So he waited quietly for Gabriel's crying to ease. He opened his mouth several times, but nothing seemed right, so he kept quiet. He reached out tentatively and rubbed a hand soothingly up and down Gabriel's back. He tactfully ignored the initial flinch and the subsequent leaning in. Gabriel curled his back subtly closer to Peter and quieted his tears.
“What ever it is, I'm sure it'll be okay.”
Beneath his hand Gabriel stilled completely. Peter knew the instant that he said it, that it was the wrong thing to say. He watched in shock as Gabriel pulled away and faced him, looking him dead in the eyes with blatant, devastated, fury.
“Okay...you think...you think everything will be okay?”
Peter's mouth dropped open. He put his hands up again and tried to think of something to say. He watched new tears spring forth and heavy breathing rack Gabriel's chest.
“I...I felt wrong. My whole life. My whole life something was just wrong. Then someone comes along and offers to fix me. But he didn't. He quit. He left me, broken! And then...and then...there's this little voice that tells me he'll make it better. Sylar...he said he'd help me. Keep me safe, make me better. I go to sleep and when I wake up the whole world's on fire and the year is all wrong. My life isn't mine any more. It doesn't matter that I got it back. None of it matters. Sylar took my life and now I don't have anything. He ruined the world for me. All of it, because all of it belongs to him. Sylar's all over it and no one has any room for me. I still feel wrong. Drugs and sessions and gifts from your mom aren't going to make me right.”
Gabriel's voice rose with every statement until his voice was strangled and freakish. His words were wracked with sobs and angry slurs. When it was all over he collapsed into a heap, wailing, his body shaking like a leaf. Peter listened to every choked sob, every heart-wrenching wail, and every mumbled prayer. He listened to Gabriel pray for death then beg forgiveness for his weakness. He listened to Gabriel groan and shriek. He listened, he listened so, so closely that he thought he heard the whispers of the thoughts in his own head. And he cried. He was quiet in his grief, but it was there. He cried and shook with Gabriel, the full force of his grief hitting him like a train.
“Gabriel...Gabriel I...”
Peter put his hand on Gabriel's shoulder, only to have it shaken away. He pulled his hand to his chest, curling the fingers in, over his heart.
“I'll make you right. I will. You and Sylar, I'll make it right.”
“You can't...you can't...can't...”
“I will.”
Okay, so a little bit of some Petlar origin to tide you guys over until the “We Are All Sinners” sequel comes out.
Summary: Peter tries to make things right, but they're so very wrong.
Pairing: Gen, pre-Sylar/Peter/Gabriel
Rating: Uhh...K+ I think
A/N: Kind of short, but this is just something to fill the gap before I post my “We Are All Sinners” sequel.
3rd Person POV
It wasn't going to way Peter had thought it would. He'd hoped, prayed, that Sylar would just fit back into society. Peter had hoped that things would just work out. They always had in the past, for better or worse, they had always worked out. Peter hoped that Sylar would either adjust or revert, something, anything to give him some clue.
A change hadn't been forthcoming. For the better part of two weeks Sylar sat in his apartment and stared out the window. He walked on eggshells in his own apartment waiting for Sylar to do something other than watch people through his window. His mother called him, every night. She checked on Sylar's progress and prodded Peter to bring him into the facility. But Peter had relented, saying that Sylar needed his time, his space.
The two of them settled into a routine, much like they had at the wall. They woke up. They ate. Peter went to work. Sylar stayed at home. Peter came back. They ate. They went to bed. Period. The end. It was somehow less than it had been in the nightmare because Sylar was changed, afraid. He wasn't in a prison anymore, he was in society and there were rules and expectations. Peter felt that, that need. He watched and watched and wanted something to happen. He wanted to see a flicker of what he'd seen inside the nightmare, a timid man, scared, alone, desperate about himself.
Finally, things changed. Sylar raged at him. Screamed and hollered and cried. He was frightened and angry and lost and more than anything he wanted to get better. When the screams and sobs settled to heavy breathing and silent tears Peter called his mother. He set up appointments. He talked about the flickers of something else he'd seen in Sylar, something more like Gabriel. Angela took his word and his assumption, something Peter wasn't use to. Then the testing began. Angela swore there would be nothing invasive and that she would ease up if Sylar was uncomfortable.
It wasn't long before Peter was called into Primatech with the promise of progress. Angela had told him that someone wanted to meet him. Gabriel. He had been floored by the explanation and the implications. He knew in his gut that there was something else in there, something else besides Sylar. And now there was proof.
Peter had hoped foolishly that this would make things easier. He thought that maybe Sylar and Gabriel would merge together and make a whole person. Make a working person. But Peter was a fool and wasn't long before he realized it.
- - - - - - - - - -
When Peter came home from work Sylar was home. He was almost always home, but Peter was pleasantly surprised all the same. He dropped his bag and toed off his shoes, then scanned the room for Sylar, or Gabriel. It was a still rather jarring to talk to his roommate and not really know who he was talking to. They were good actors and most of the time Gabriel wanted to be left alone. Telepathy helped but it was still fuzzy, out of tune like the rest of his abilities. The only things that Peter could really rely on these days were empathy and flight. Everything else was just luck of the draw, but he was getting better.
Peter sighed and turned his attention to the french doors, knowing that if Sylar wasn't in the living room he was holed up in the bedroom. He approached with caution, his steps light. He didn't want to startle whoever was lying on his bed. He knew that Sylar would lash out and thought that Gabriel would probably hide behind Sylar; then Sylar would lash out on principle. So Peter was careful and open. He opened the doors slowly and frowned.
Gabriel was curled into himself, in ratty sweats and a baggy shirt. His hair was a mess and the sheets were in disarray. And he was crying, quietly to himself. His face was buried in a pillow and he was crying. Peter approached with caution, his hands held in front of him even though Gabriel couldn't see them.
“Gabriel? Gabriel...are you alright?”
His question was answered with a louder sob. He saw Gabriel following him with his eyes, and made a show of sitting down on the bed. He kept a respectable distance, not wanting Gabriel to flee, but stuck close enough to reach out and comfort.
“What's the matter?”
There was another wave of defeated crying. Peter was tempted to try out telepathy again, but didn't want to betray his trust. So he waited quietly for Gabriel's crying to ease. He opened his mouth several times, but nothing seemed right, so he kept quiet. He reached out tentatively and rubbed a hand soothingly up and down Gabriel's back. He tactfully ignored the initial flinch and the subsequent leaning in. Gabriel curled his back subtly closer to Peter and quieted his tears.
“What ever it is, I'm sure it'll be okay.”
Beneath his hand Gabriel stilled completely. Peter knew the instant that he said it, that it was the wrong thing to say. He watched in shock as Gabriel pulled away and faced him, looking him dead in the eyes with blatant, devastated, fury.
“Okay...you think...you think everything will be okay?”
Peter's mouth dropped open. He put his hands up again and tried to think of something to say. He watched new tears spring forth and heavy breathing rack Gabriel's chest.
“I...I felt wrong. My whole life. My whole life something was just wrong. Then someone comes along and offers to fix me. But he didn't. He quit. He left me, broken! And then...and then...there's this little voice that tells me he'll make it better. Sylar...he said he'd help me. Keep me safe, make me better. I go to sleep and when I wake up the whole world's on fire and the year is all wrong. My life isn't mine any more. It doesn't matter that I got it back. None of it matters. Sylar took my life and now I don't have anything. He ruined the world for me. All of it, because all of it belongs to him. Sylar's all over it and no one has any room for me. I still feel wrong. Drugs and sessions and gifts from your mom aren't going to make me right.”
Gabriel's voice rose with every statement until his voice was strangled and freakish. His words were wracked with sobs and angry slurs. When it was all over he collapsed into a heap, wailing, his body shaking like a leaf. Peter listened to every choked sob, every heart-wrenching wail, and every mumbled prayer. He listened to Gabriel pray for death then beg forgiveness for his weakness. He listened to Gabriel groan and shriek. He listened, he listened so, so closely that he thought he heard the whispers of the thoughts in his own head. And he cried. He was quiet in his grief, but it was there. He cried and shook with Gabriel, the full force of his grief hitting him like a train.
“Gabriel...Gabriel I...”
Peter put his hand on Gabriel's shoulder, only to have it shaken away. He pulled his hand to his chest, curling the fingers in, over his heart.
“I'll make you right. I will. You and Sylar, I'll make it right.”
“You can't...you can't...can't...”
“I will.”
Okay, so a little bit of some Petlar origin to tide you guys over until the “We Are All Sinners” sequel comes out.