fic: untitled.
heroes
untitled.
season four (the wall). pg. sylar/claire, peter/sylar.
for the first year he tries everything but everything isn't good enough.
for the first couple of months, he tries everything. his powers don't work, so he searches for mohinder. but rats don't even line the streets and the nights are the worst when the wind blows trash cans and he swears he hears footsteps. this is matt parkman's fault, and he swears when he gets out he'll seek revenge like he never has before.
for the first year he tries everything but everything isn't good enough.
the city is barricaded so he can't run away. the wall is twelve feet high and he's tried jumping off rooftops but he always falls down on the wrong side. he tries escaping by the ocean on a monday, drowns and wakes up in his bedroom tuesday morning.
he drowns himself every day for three weeks, but still he never dies.
he hears her voice on a thursday and spends the rest of the year convincing himself he didn't make it up in his head. he begs for her forgiveness, stays up late on wednesdays in case she decides to visit. he punishes himself every friday.
when he hears peter's voice, of course he doesn't believe it. good things don't happen to him here.
--
he doesn't think about killing peter, and laughs softly when he realizes that's a first.
peter dreams about killing sylar, and he doesn't need to read minds to know this. the way he looks at him sometimes speaks volumes even though peter has taken an oath not to talk to him. he still blames him for his brother's murder, and really, who wouldn't? he should be blamed for a lot of things-- this, he knows, he deserves.
sylar would try to explain, but he knows peter wouldn't listen. he didn't have to live with the hunger for long; his father made sure to take that away.
he's jealous, sometimes, when he remembers his days as a petrelli. despite their downfalls, peter and nathan were still honorable men. they were gifted, praised, respected. they had a stable family that cared for them, loved them, taught them about the world and how to live in it. he never had that, not until he took it by force.
he thinks of claire.
the vision of blood makes him sick.
--
five months pass and sylar thinks about the future.
not this one, of course, but the one out there. he wonders who the new villain is, whether bennet will ever finally retire from hunting down and killing people with abilities, revenge for something he won't even admit to himself. peter tells him there is no future. when they get out of here, where ever here was, only a few hours would have passed. they're in a dream state, peter keeps reminding him, but sylar refuses to believe it. he's found truths along the way and really, if the world were to end, this is how it would look.
"what if i don't want to leave?" he asks one evening, after the sun had gone down.
"shut up," peter says coldly. "you're insane."
sylar snorts. "right."
--
peter lives in an apartment that looks identical to mohinder's, and he assumes its fitting because of their history and what took place there. it was a catalyst in the beginning, what perpetuated his future. it was the location of the first time he died. even though he's made peace with his past, sylar still refuses to enter. he says too many bad things took place there, too many things he'd rather not remember.
you'll have to come to terms with it eventually, peter tells him one night.
i have, sylar answered. i know the terrible things i've done. but i've changed. i know who i was and who i can be. i don't feel the need to torture myself over the past anymore. i've been doing that for three years.
peter disagrees. he wants to see him hurt.
he tosses in the night, anxious over memories and samuel sullivan. emma was still out there, innocent, dangerous. she needed to be saved. he needed to find a way out of this place, this hell. he wakes, and sits up, adjusting the white cotton sheets that stick to his legs in the humid night air. he breathes in and chokes, when his name is said aloud by a familiar voice.
"nathan?" peter questions, his voice cracking.
the figure stood in the shadows, eyes dark and lips taunt. but peter knew. he didn't know how, but he knew it was him. "forgive me," the ghost tells him. "forgive me, pete."
--
"i'd kill you right now," he says, "if i knew it would take."
sylar raises an eyebrow. "i've been trying to kill myself for four years, pete. you'll have to wait in line."
they're at the wall, again, and sylar stretches under the warm sun as his counterpart continues to make no progress at all. "don't call me that," he snarls, and imagines his enemy's face on the brick wall as he slams the hammer against it.
"what-- 'pete'? i've been calling you that for years, since we were kids..."
sylar's words trail off as he realizes his mistake, his confusion of memories. it happens to him more frequently then he'd like to admit and he's sure its because the part of him that is still nathan is grounded by the proximity of peter. he was the one person that allowed nathan to cling to his identity for so long. peter throws the hammer and it connects with sylar's face, his jaw breaking on impact, bones cracking and sending him reeling to the ground.
"ow," he emphasizes, more to let peter know that he hurt him than to acknowledge the pain he feels himself.
the bruises fade almost instantly after he fixes his jaw. "how'd you do it?" peter shouts at him. "did you take the haitian's power? is that it?"
"i have no idea what you're talking about."
"i'm talking about you! you shape shifting and coming into my room last night!"
sylar steps closer, interested. "i haven't been in your apartment since the day you moved in," he says. "and our powers don't work here-- you know that." he presses further, "what did you see? who did you see, peter?"
peter becomes quiet, embarrassed. "nathan. i saw nathan."
sylar recognizes that face, but keeps his memories to himself. hes spent enough time with him to know that peter needed answers just as much as he did. he wanted reasons, truths, explanations. the world was supposed to work in certain ways; he just needed confirmation of this.
he swallows, and thinks of his first year in his solitude. "i saw claire when i was first trapped here. i heard her voice. i spent months searching for her, sure that i hadn't been dreaming. that's how i discovered i was utterly alone, that no one would ever get in, and i would never get out."
peter watches him, on guard, but sympathetic. "and then one night, she came to me. she told me not to give up. around that time, i was still searching for ways to kill myself. i thought she was punishing me, urging me to keep trying. but now... maybe she was talking about finding a way out."
peter opens his mouth to speak, but stops.
"what did nathan say to you?"
"he asked me to forgive him," peter says quietly.
sylar tilts his head. "for what?"
the shorter man turns and picks up the hammer. he takes his emotion and uncertainty out on the wall, pounding it harder and harder, over and over again. "for dying," in between strikes, he speaks. "i've hated him for so long. and you. he was so stupid, going after you without thinking, without trying. he died, and i hated him for it."
at the last strike, one of the bricks crumbles to pieces.
sylar stands, his blood pumping. "did you see that?" he grabs a second hammer, and the two men begin to work together, tearing the wall apart. "i'm sorry," he says, in between swings. "i know i've apologized before, but i am sorry."
peter doesn't speak. he just stares ahead, and nods.
--
his body is cold and tired when he wakes, and the sensation of his returned powers is oddly enticing. he's missed the feeling of blue sparks along his fingertips, missed the easiness of the ringing in his ears when someone lied. he relishes the joy of using his powers against someone, in defeating them. and its okay, he thinks, because its for the greater good.
he's doing this to help. to save people.
there's a moment, when he's in the kitchen, that he thinks about taking parkman's ability. he thinks about how special it would make him to be able to read people's thoughts, to control them. how easy it would be not to be cheated or manipulated, to make people stay. he could push a thought into everyone's minds, everyone who ever doubted him.
he doesn't like the sound of 'hero' as it rolls off his tongue, but for now, its all he has. he steps forward, the wheels turning, plans formulating. but sylar stops himself. the hunger is there, but he knows now he can control it. he has to, because the past isn't something he wants to return to.
in the end, he may not be perfect, but he's trying.
and with any luck, peter will be by his side to help.
fin.
a/n: i've had this sitting around since the finale in what, february? it's been a long time, so i decided to do something with it. it could be expanded, but i'm not a big fan of sincere, redemptive!sylar. enjoy.
untitled.
season four (the wall). pg. sylar/claire, peter/sylar.
for the first year he tries everything but everything isn't good enough.
for the first couple of months, he tries everything. his powers don't work, so he searches for mohinder. but rats don't even line the streets and the nights are the worst when the wind blows trash cans and he swears he hears footsteps. this is matt parkman's fault, and he swears when he gets out he'll seek revenge like he never has before.
for the first year he tries everything but everything isn't good enough.
the city is barricaded so he can't run away. the wall is twelve feet high and he's tried jumping off rooftops but he always falls down on the wrong side. he tries escaping by the ocean on a monday, drowns and wakes up in his bedroom tuesday morning.
he drowns himself every day for three weeks, but still he never dies.
he hears her voice on a thursday and spends the rest of the year convincing himself he didn't make it up in his head. he begs for her forgiveness, stays up late on wednesdays in case she decides to visit. he punishes himself every friday.
when he hears peter's voice, of course he doesn't believe it. good things don't happen to him here.
--
he doesn't think about killing peter, and laughs softly when he realizes that's a first.
peter dreams about killing sylar, and he doesn't need to read minds to know this. the way he looks at him sometimes speaks volumes even though peter has taken an oath not to talk to him. he still blames him for his brother's murder, and really, who wouldn't? he should be blamed for a lot of things-- this, he knows, he deserves.
sylar would try to explain, but he knows peter wouldn't listen. he didn't have to live with the hunger for long; his father made sure to take that away.
he's jealous, sometimes, when he remembers his days as a petrelli. despite their downfalls, peter and nathan were still honorable men. they were gifted, praised, respected. they had a stable family that cared for them, loved them, taught them about the world and how to live in it. he never had that, not until he took it by force.
he thinks of claire.
the vision of blood makes him sick.
--
five months pass and sylar thinks about the future.
not this one, of course, but the one out there. he wonders who the new villain is, whether bennet will ever finally retire from hunting down and killing people with abilities, revenge for something he won't even admit to himself. peter tells him there is no future. when they get out of here, where ever here was, only a few hours would have passed. they're in a dream state, peter keeps reminding him, but sylar refuses to believe it. he's found truths along the way and really, if the world were to end, this is how it would look.
"what if i don't want to leave?" he asks one evening, after the sun had gone down.
"shut up," peter says coldly. "you're insane."
sylar snorts. "right."
--
peter lives in an apartment that looks identical to mohinder's, and he assumes its fitting because of their history and what took place there. it was a catalyst in the beginning, what perpetuated his future. it was the location of the first time he died. even though he's made peace with his past, sylar still refuses to enter. he says too many bad things took place there, too many things he'd rather not remember.
you'll have to come to terms with it eventually, peter tells him one night.
i have, sylar answered. i know the terrible things i've done. but i've changed. i know who i was and who i can be. i don't feel the need to torture myself over the past anymore. i've been doing that for three years.
peter disagrees. he wants to see him hurt.
he tosses in the night, anxious over memories and samuel sullivan. emma was still out there, innocent, dangerous. she needed to be saved. he needed to find a way out of this place, this hell. he wakes, and sits up, adjusting the white cotton sheets that stick to his legs in the humid night air. he breathes in and chokes, when his name is said aloud by a familiar voice.
"nathan?" peter questions, his voice cracking.
the figure stood in the shadows, eyes dark and lips taunt. but peter knew. he didn't know how, but he knew it was him. "forgive me," the ghost tells him. "forgive me, pete."
--
"i'd kill you right now," he says, "if i knew it would take."
sylar raises an eyebrow. "i've been trying to kill myself for four years, pete. you'll have to wait in line."
they're at the wall, again, and sylar stretches under the warm sun as his counterpart continues to make no progress at all. "don't call me that," he snarls, and imagines his enemy's face on the brick wall as he slams the hammer against it.
"what-- 'pete'? i've been calling you that for years, since we were kids..."
sylar's words trail off as he realizes his mistake, his confusion of memories. it happens to him more frequently then he'd like to admit and he's sure its because the part of him that is still nathan is grounded by the proximity of peter. he was the one person that allowed nathan to cling to his identity for so long. peter throws the hammer and it connects with sylar's face, his jaw breaking on impact, bones cracking and sending him reeling to the ground.
"ow," he emphasizes, more to let peter know that he hurt him than to acknowledge the pain he feels himself.
the bruises fade almost instantly after he fixes his jaw. "how'd you do it?" peter shouts at him. "did you take the haitian's power? is that it?"
"i have no idea what you're talking about."
"i'm talking about you! you shape shifting and coming into my room last night!"
sylar steps closer, interested. "i haven't been in your apartment since the day you moved in," he says. "and our powers don't work here-- you know that." he presses further, "what did you see? who did you see, peter?"
peter becomes quiet, embarrassed. "nathan. i saw nathan."
sylar recognizes that face, but keeps his memories to himself. hes spent enough time with him to know that peter needed answers just as much as he did. he wanted reasons, truths, explanations. the world was supposed to work in certain ways; he just needed confirmation of this.
he swallows, and thinks of his first year in his solitude. "i saw claire when i was first trapped here. i heard her voice. i spent months searching for her, sure that i hadn't been dreaming. that's how i discovered i was utterly alone, that no one would ever get in, and i would never get out."
peter watches him, on guard, but sympathetic. "and then one night, she came to me. she told me not to give up. around that time, i was still searching for ways to kill myself. i thought she was punishing me, urging me to keep trying. but now... maybe she was talking about finding a way out."
peter opens his mouth to speak, but stops.
"what did nathan say to you?"
"he asked me to forgive him," peter says quietly.
sylar tilts his head. "for what?"
the shorter man turns and picks up the hammer. he takes his emotion and uncertainty out on the wall, pounding it harder and harder, over and over again. "for dying," in between strikes, he speaks. "i've hated him for so long. and you. he was so stupid, going after you without thinking, without trying. he died, and i hated him for it."
at the last strike, one of the bricks crumbles to pieces.
sylar stands, his blood pumping. "did you see that?" he grabs a second hammer, and the two men begin to work together, tearing the wall apart. "i'm sorry," he says, in between swings. "i know i've apologized before, but i am sorry."
peter doesn't speak. he just stares ahead, and nods.
--
his body is cold and tired when he wakes, and the sensation of his returned powers is oddly enticing. he's missed the feeling of blue sparks along his fingertips, missed the easiness of the ringing in his ears when someone lied. he relishes the joy of using his powers against someone, in defeating them. and its okay, he thinks, because its for the greater good.
he's doing this to help. to save people.
there's a moment, when he's in the kitchen, that he thinks about taking parkman's ability. he thinks about how special it would make him to be able to read people's thoughts, to control them. how easy it would be not to be cheated or manipulated, to make people stay. he could push a thought into everyone's minds, everyone who ever doubted him.
he doesn't like the sound of 'hero' as it rolls off his tongue, but for now, its all he has. he steps forward, the wheels turning, plans formulating. but sylar stops himself. the hunger is there, but he knows now he can control it. he has to, because the past isn't something he wants to return to.
in the end, he may not be perfect, but he's trying.
and with any luck, peter will be by his side to help.
fin.
a/n: i've had this sitting around since the finale in what, february? it's been a long time, so i decided to do something with it. it could be expanded, but i'm not a big fan of sincere, redemptive!sylar. enjoy.