Everything Goes Dark 6/7
Title: Everything Goes Dark 6/7
Author: yaoi_anti_drug
Beta: Matt and Chris
Pairings: Elle/Claire, Sylar/Mohinder, Sylar/Peter, and nints at Nathan/Peter
Overall Pairings: Elle/Eden, Elle/Claire, Sylar/Mohinder, Peter/Sylar, Nathan/Peter, Elle/Adam, and Claire/Peter (unrequited)
Characters: Claire, Adam, Peter, Hiro, Mohinder, and Sylar
Genre: Drama, Angst, Dark Future Fic
Rating: NC-17
Summary: An AU fic based on the Five Years Gone Verse
Word Count: A little over 4,350
Spoilers: Light spoilers for Volumes 1 and 2
Overall Warnings: Violence, Character Death, Sex, Incest (Graphic Only In Chapter 2), Non-Con (Only In Chapter 6)
Notes: Dedicated to slavefaith. And a big thank you to ladywilde80 for helping me with the inspiration and to Matt and Chris for giving me the courage to post! Constructive criticism is always loved and comments, even if it’s to say you hate it, are always appreciated too. Title from "Everything Goes Dark" by The Hoosiers
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, if I did, well...wouldn't Heroes be interesting?
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Everything Goes Dark 6/7:
Chapter Six:
Words could not describe the fury running rampant in Peter Petrelli's veins. In a frenzy, his attempt to get to the other side evolved into unadulterated violence as he fiercely punched the wall. Blood filtered out of cuts on his knuckles, leaving stains on the plaster.
Elle had long since grown mute. Mohinder was quelled into obedience, just sitting there, shivering every once in a while, as if in a daze.
Sylar appeared on the far side of the glass, a twisted smirk giving him an air of jubilation. He knelt beside Mohinder, lifting up his chin with vermilion dipped fingertips.
“You sick bastard...” Mohinder uttered in a broken whisper, reflecting Peter's sentiments entirely.
Sylar kissed him just to make him shut up. That or to invite a fight, which he rapidly received. Mohinder kicked him backwards, but was unable to amplify his assault as per the telekinesis keeping him down.
Sylar laughed pleasantly, “Excellent. I was worried I might have broken you with my little fun.”
It suddenly dawned on Peter. His earlier puzzle had been solved by Sylar's endearing albeit vicious treatment of Mohinder. The killer had been so fascinated by him because he loved him in the only manner a monster could: through ruthless possession.
Peter felt his hero complex bubbling to the surface anew. He had to distract him from Mohinder, who had coped with quite enough. He stepped close to the glass, eyes tapering, “You killed her.”
Sylar glanced at him, nodding in agreement. “I did, yes. How very astute of you, Peter.”
“You're going to pay for that.”
Claire was going to rip him apart, Peter was sure. He could see her in his mind's eye... Her strong, resilient face; tears emerging from her eyes as she discovered yet another person in her life had been snatched away by Sylar. She'd found the happiness she had sincerely deserved with Elle. Her death would most certainly drive Claire over the edge.
And it was Peter's fault. He should have protected her better. He'd failed them all. In his heart, he bore exactly as much responsibility as Sylar.
In spite of it all, her assailant was right in front of him. He could take revenge right here, right now. Unfortunately, his good intentions meant nothing without the aid of his powers. He could not contend against Sylar while lacking them. Hell, he barely stood a chance with them.
Fully aware that Peter had been rendered harmless, his threat highly amused Sylar. “Oh, is that right?”
Peter gestured yes.
Sylar sighed, “What is it with you people? Ever defiant up to the end, never allowing even a tiny morsel of fear to be put on display. Until I am cutting through your skull, that is... Then you loosen up considerably well. Do I have to go that far to get you to show a bit of intimidation, Peter?”
In Sylar's opinion, Peter Petrelli frankly demanded to be humiliated. Objectified and hurt until he no longer carried around that confident, lop-sided smile. He was not a Hero. He was just like the rest of them, scurrying around like vermin, pining to be noticed.
Sylar had succeeded in that goal. Not Peter. Him.
And Peter needed to be shown his place.
Mohinder gritted his teeth. He couldn't just sit by this time, “No, wait. Sylar, haven't you done enough?”
Sylar refused to take his eyes off of Peter, who was likewise determined. “How considerate of you, Mohinder... Don't you worry, I'll still have time for you after I'm done with Peter here.”
Incensed, the scientist hurled a medley of disparagements his way. To warp his words...
Sylar glanced down at the infuriated, rueful Mohinder and knew what he was about to do would not help him in his conquest for the scientist's cooperation. On the other hand, if he had to, he still had the Haitian; although, fixing the situation in that fashion was so unsophisticated.
Nonetheless, he flung open Peter's door, stepping inside. He had plenty planned, but nothing he'd done to Elle. No. It was essential Peter stayed alive for at least a couple days.
Peter's eyes went from Sylar to Mohinder and back again. He was perplexed and wary. Surely, he would not kill him. Not so soon.
Right in front of his eyes, Sylar's transformed into Nathan Petrelli once more, gory hands instantly perceivably clean. A sadistic sneer overshadowed his face.
“I thought that you might like to see your brother again, Peter. Have you missed me?” It was Nathan's voice, whispering in a feigned dulcet tone.
Peter chuckled, shaking his head, “I'm not that weak, Sylar.”
“Fine then. I'll just have to try harder.”
Sylar edged closer to Peter, still not shedding his facade. “Do you remember when you first realized I wasn't Nathan? That look on your face... a memory I'll forever treasure. But I recall one that was even more entertaining."
Judging by Sylar's exuberant expression, Peter knew precisely what he was going to say. His hands curled into fists.
“Before I killed Nathan, I had to learn about him. Mimicking someone perfectly is a difficult task. I followed him and in doing so, you as well. Do you know what I discovered, Peter?”
No, Peter couldn't handle hearing it in Nathan's voice. He lunged forward, fist cracking against Sylar's jaw.
Sylar simply grasped his wrists and tossed him over into the wall, following up promptly. "You two were fucking."
He shook his head in disapproval, "Not very brotherly of you, Pete."
He didn't hesitate, his - Nathan's - lips jaunted directly for Peter's neck, licking and kissing and biting. Telekinesis kept him secured to the wall as Sylar's thigh explored his, at length pushing up against his groin.
It was a tactic that Nathan had regularly exploited. Rough and unrelenting, and oh so undeniable. It jolted Peter to attention, a cry lodging itself in his throat.
“You like that? I can guarantee you do... You've missed it. These lips, these hands, this voice...” Further supporting his words, his fingers teased Peter's chest, traveling to his groin to grip tight, pulling that constrained tremor of greed from his mouth.
“Seeing you two together... such frivolous pleasure. And so wrong... I must say, the sense of danger and debauchery was thoroughly arousing. I can see why you loved it so.”
“Go to H-” Peter never got the opportunity to finish his sentence as a pained gasp was extracted from him; Sylar was holding him all the tighter.
“Shh... Just let me take care of you, alright?” He let one hand linger, cupping his cheek lovingly. Nathan's sweet voice triggered such nostalgia in Peter. Dreadful yet wondrous memories of immoral love flooded him. His eyes shut tight, combating the arising temptation.
His pants were pulled down and kicked away, the air not cold enough for him to relish any delusion of a chill. Peter's legs were elevated by telekinesis, caught by Sylar's arms, curling his knees into his chest. He was stretched and prepared by tiny invisible fingers, assisting in his suffering.
Sylar whispered endearments as he slid himself inside of Peter, slowly to begin with and then more unkindly, pure lust and aggression; blood slicking the way as he proceeded. It was excruciating, a total violation of not the body alone, but of the mind as well. Peter couldn't suppress a yelp as anguish seized every muscle and every nerve.
Sylar continued to kiss his neck, lips, nibbling on his earlobe so he could inject husky words into his wildly confused psyche. As much as he thirsted to hear Peter scream more, he went slower, more gently and fondly. After all, there was a point to all of this.
“Mine, aren't you? You can't ever go on without thoughts of me, of our love. No one will ever satisfy you like I can. Am I right, Peter?”
Amidst the overwhelming stimulation and the seduction only Nathan could provide and the addition of his voice imbued into his perception, Peter earnestly believed it to be him. Even when he opened his eyes, it was Nathan staring back at him. Those eyes, so rough around the edges, auspicious lips, and an aura of a weighed down conscience that only Peter could alleviate.
Peter groaned, a part injury and a part torturous bliss, as his groin was squeezed and tantalized in a way no hand ever could.
Involuntarily, he answered his brother's query, "Yes..." He could never forget him; always yearning and dreaming of him. He was rewarded with a tender kiss as he rubbed up against the erotic spot inside of him, titillating and delicious.
Peter moaned, hands gripping Nathan's back, clinging to this moment with all he had. Just like the old days, with swift glances and fucks in the bathroom when Angela was meeting with past acquaintances. Or stealing into moon-lit bedrooms to consummate their desires.
Realization subsequently struck him. This was all a finely orchestrated illusion. Nathan was dead. This was Sylar. Not his brother. As the induced fog dispersed, Peter felt his heart break all over again.
“No. You fucking son of a bitch...”
Sylar laughed with Nathan's deep timbre. “That's no way to talk to your brother, Peter.” His mouth engulfed Peter's as he thrust deeper, driving them both closer to the bitter end.
Mohinder's protests had gone unnoticed to both men and it was only recently, in the terrible silence of gratification and agony that he was heard; seeking to give Peter reinforcement and the will to go on.
The man of science was repulsed by this act of forced intimacy, wishing only to kill Sylar himself and end this cycle of misery. His words eventually watered down to unshed tears and hatred as he could do nothing to cease this display of dominance.
When it was over in the brilliance of impelled rapture, Sylar let the exhausted and sore Peter crash to the ground in a heap.
Peter was too appalled and ashamed to say a word, he couldn't even catch his rapist's eye. With a slaked countenance, Sylar exited, shutting the door with a resounding slam. He wrenched Mohinder to his feet, ignoring the barrage of swear words and defamations, leaving Peter with the dead body of Elle and an unimpressed Adam.
------------------------
The obnoxious beep of the door opening jarred Peter out of his inertia. After Sylar, he'd been sleeping for an obscure sum of hours. Having been awakened so abruptly, he was irrefutably drowsy and disorientated.
His whole body ached. Unconsciously, he reached for his powers to soothe him. He was elated to find there was a thrum of energy directly from his core to heal him. Access to his abilities had returned. He didn't pause to mull over how.
However, he was convinced even with the physical closure of his wounds, the damage done to his sanity and dignity would remain eternally vivid. Yet another scar to emphasize the visible one.
Mohinder was at his side, a dark blob in his vision until the haze cleared. He was shaking him, “Come on, this may be your last chance.” He handed Peter his clothes.
He was absolutely frantic, deliriously looking everywhere as if someone was going to attack at any minute. Peter quickly realized that his panic was substantially warranted. He hurriedly put his clothes on and pursued Mohinder out the door. Waiting for them was an inconspicuous blonde man.
The stranger gave him a small, melancholy nod. Pity. He had witnessed what had happened the night before. Peter flushed red, but he had no time to say a word; they had to run.
Being able to finally get a good look at Peter Petrelli, Adam understood why Sylar enjoyed playing with him so much. Even with that scar, he was endowed with the veneer of a pliable young dreamer.
Adam had dealt with his kind. Empaths. Troublesome, but since Adam couldn't die, the only palpable risk was having his ulterior motives read like a book. In response to such a threat, he'd taught himself how to put guards up around his psyche so people like Peter could not make it to his deep and personal meditations. He would observe nothing out of sorts as Adam permitted him to hear various mundane thoughts.
After all, he was no inexperienced amateur. If he was, Adam never would have survived for four hundred years.
Outside of the hallway rested a few knocked out guards. Peter gazed appraisingly at Mohinder, who was oblivious to anything but what was straight in front of him. They had to be cautious, very cautious. One wrong move and it was over.
Mohinder was unmistakably sneaking them out of a back entrance, a strategy that was so foreseeable, Peter was a little angered by the lack of creativity. Withal, he maintained faith. They wouldn't attempt a maneuver that would fail so extensively.
They were at the dock where trucks arrived to load and unload. Being such a critical location, it was probably crawling with guards accompanied by cameras.
"Don't worry, the cameras are off and the guards have been taken out." Mohinder opened a door, letting the two out, revealing the otherworldly sunny and warm outdoors. Waiting for them was Hiro and Claire.
Peter noted that Hiro's nose featured a curved bandage. Must have happened during the battle.
“Peter, thank God,” Claire breathed out.
“How did you...” Peter began.
“My father and Hana,” Claire answered absently.
Mohinder shut the door behind him and the girl's eyes narrowed.
She glanced at Peter, “Where's Elle?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but Mohinder interrupted them. “No time for that. We've got to leave. Now.”
Peter recognized the compulsory urgency and grabbed onto Mohinder. Hiro took Claire and the unidentified man. They vanished, and in the blink of an eye, materialized back at the warehouse.
Not granted a juncture as brief as a second to relax, Peter was immediately assaulted by Claire.
“Where the fuck is Elle, Peter!”
Peter's eyes filled with disgrace, “Sylar... He got to her.”
“What?” Claire said, as if she didn't comprehend his words.
“She's gone,” Peter restated as calmly as was possible.
“What... No. She can't be dead. Sylar couldn't have... No...” Claire took a step away from Peter, eyes wide, tears flaring up.
The entire room was silent but for Claire's jerky breath and the constant replay of the word “no.”
Claire fell to the ground, pounding the cement with her fists. Peter could hear the crisp breakage of her knuckles again and again. He rushed forward and grabbed her arms, holding her back. He sat there with his chest to her back, arms embracing her as she heaved dry sobs into his shoulder.
------------------------
Claire had gone quiet, merely sitting on the cot she and Elle had shared, staring at the wall for nearly ten hours already. She refused to speak, eat, or even drink.
The absence of sound was beginning to grate on Peter's nerves. He attempted to talk to her, but it was like talking to a hardwood floor. No emotion. Nothing. Not even sorrow or choler. It was as if she'd been drained dry after her primary fit.
He did all he was capable of to make her feel more comfortable and less alone, staying there and holding her, thinking she might just need company. Her sole utterances during that full span of time had been “get out.” Eventually, he'd done as he was ordered.
Every single one of them, excluding Adam, was going through their own phase of guilt. They all felt as though, to a definite degree, what had occurred was their fault. They, of course, abstained from voicing this, keeping it inside and swearing things would be different in the future.
It was all they could do.
Rather than muse over his memories of Elle's beautiful cerulean-gray eyes and her gift of the few exhilarating hours he'd ever had in that dank cell of his, Adam was preoccupied by his own concerns. He was an outsider who had to conform and fit in, and then become the puppeteer of this misfit group.
To do so, he needed a way to create and ensure himself a sovereign rank from which he could charm and command. In their present vulnerability, the undertaking would be an uncomplicated one. He would simply utilize their lamenting period.
It was too easy once he noticed the sword that the Japanese boy had. His. Takezo Kensei's sword. What a coincidence.. He would have laughed had the irony not been to his advantage.
“You've got my sword, you know,” he stated nonchalantly.
Hiro glanced from his sword to Adam, “Your sword? No, you are mistaken. This is Takezo Kensei's Katana.” The boy said Adam's ancient name with such reverence, it practically made him sick. However, he didn't let it bother him. In this case, the hero-worship was an asset.
“I am - was - Takezo Kensei.”
And it was that simple admission which instigated a conversation that lasted for an hour. Initially, Hiro skeptical, but considering that he was telling the truth, it was child's play to persuade the Samurai idolizer otherwise.
During that time, Hiro's face got so ruddy with excitement that Adam swore he was going to faint. Using that as an icebreaker, he was able to begin speaking to each individual, minus the girl. Peter's first of surely countless annoying questions disrupted him straightaway.
“How do we know you're telling the truth? That you're not lying, gearing up to kill us when we turn our backs?”
Hiro appeared to be virtually distraught, “He is Takezo Kensei!” As if it solved all issues. All Peter could do was stare at him, positively stupefied by the sudden reversal of the stoic man he had been only an hour earlier.
Adam grinned, bypassing Hiro's admiration and endeavoring not to feel so proud of the praise that he fell prey to the man's opinion of him. The intrepid acts he affiliated with Takezo Kensei were incredible, and not to mention partially absurd.
“You don't. You just have to trust me. But believe me when I say that I want to get rid of Sylar as much as you do. I've been around for a very long time, I've met others like him, and he cannot be allowed to live."
Especially not as a result of his power. The knowledge that the arrogant asshole would live hundreds of years thanks to his ability stung. It was an offense that Adam wouldn't endure much longer. Sylar was more similar to him than he liked to admit, and perhaps that was why he hated him so much. He viewed him as competition who might soon exceed his own accomplishments.
If he had to use this quaint little troop to succeed in retrieving his pride, then so be it.
“Mohinder has been trying to create a cure using my blood for the past year. I kept my mouth shut because I did not want Sylar to discover it, but there is already a cure out there. It's in the hands of The Company. I'm sure you are all well informed about them by now, so there's no need to explain. We get that, we can kill Sylar.”
And along the way, he would ultimately implement the plan that had been plaguing his mind for over thirty years. He had the means of doing so; an expert scientist and the resolve to pull the strings of three very gifted individuals.
Too bad Elle had not made it out alive, he could have used her. She'd contained so much possibility...
The three men processed Adam's offer and it didn't take long for Hiro to decide that he was all for it. Mohinder was hesitant while Peter was outright argumentative. “If they have a cure, why haven't they used it before?”
Adam was not in the least bit alarmed to find that Peter would be hard to win over. After all, he was a Petrelli.
It was ingrained in his blood to be difficult as well as be layered to high heaven; which was why he had not been at all stunned to hear of Peter's affair with his brother. After having associated with the Petrelli family for so long, few concepts could rattle him. Although, the question of why the boy detested him without any inspiration made him a mite curious.
“Of course they've used it before!” Adam couldn't restrain his amusement of Peter's innocence. “They put it right back in their vault after they were finished. They were always somewhat skittish, frightened that someone would use it against them. Luckily for all of you, I can lead you to exactly where it's hidden.”
To be honest, that wasn't altogether accurate. He knew they'd moved locations, and where it was he couldn't be certain, but Adam wasn't going to let that trivial encumbrance upset his progress.
Peter didn't have anything else to say, particularly due to Adam's penchant for making all of his questions sound thoroughly foolish. Nevertheless, it was obvious he was tentative to invest his dedication into someone he wasn't acquainted with.
Even with his lack of collaboration, Adam had control over Hiro, and Mohinder was greatly intrigued. He had made leeway and it'd only been one night. All that was left was winning the remaining two immortals and he was golden.
He glanced at the bereaving girl's room. In her susceptible state, she'd be a cinch.
------------------------
Adam had been donated a set of clothes - a simple outfit that consisted of a button up black shirt and jeans - in conjunction with a recliner to sleep on and a sorry excuse for a blanket. As measly as it was, it was still more luxury than he'd been blessed with for three decades.
When everyone had fallen into a heavy slumber, Adam crept to the girl's room. She was awake, as he'd predicted. She didn't even spare him a glimpse as he sat down on the bed beside her.
“You're Claire, right?”
No response; Adam was not to be discouraged.
“My name is Adam Monroe.”
Claire blinked, glancing down. At long last, she looked him in the eye, “An immortal like me, right?”
“Yes, that's correct." He smiled wistfully, "I'm guessing Elle told you?”
She nodded. Adam could see the grief etched in each line created by the scowl on her young, beautiful face. Her eyes were strangely expressive, compelling Adam to sympathize. He would have been mourning was he not accustomed to losing people. Four hundred years of death would make anyone numb.
For the sake of his purposes here, he had to pretend otherwise.
“I remember her all too clearly," Adam said quietly.
“She told me you were a captive of The Company. But before, you were a founder." Claire seemed genuinely interested.
“That would be the condensed version, yes."
“What's the elaborate version?”
“Well, I'm four hundred years old. That'd take a fair amount of time.”
“We have it,” she answered hastily. It was clear she needed a distraction.
In an effort to gain her friendship, he caved. He told her all about his life as Takezo Kensei and the other alias he, at one era or another, had represented. About his many wives, his plentiful experiences, sharing wisdom along the way... Shortened a bit, of course; he didn't want to tell her every detail.
Though, he unexpectedly found himself getting lost in some of his own stories. Nostalgia could be quite the hassle.
“You didn't tell me why you were imprisoned by The Company. Why did they turn on you?” Claire amended after he had finished.
Adam glowered, “We didn't have the same... values. You know all about Linderman and Arthur's design for New York City. You also know that it came through without a hitch. Had they not locked me away, it would not have gone as smoothly as they'd hoped.”
That was true, so he wasn't lying. He just didn't include his own project. Not yet. But, Claire was more clever than he'd assumed.
“What was your idea then? You must have had one that conflicted with theirs.” Sharp little bitch. Adam liked her already.
“Well then, quick, aren't you?” Not even a smile. He continued, “The Company created a cure. It would take away the powers of those who were too dangerous to have them. Those like Sylar. But they didn't want me near it. They were afraid I'd use it on them.”
She nodded, apparently accepting that. “So, all we need to do is find this cure? Where is it?”
“Actually, I know where it is. So, we've got that covered. We just need to go there.”
“But where is it?” Claire insisted.
If only she wasn't so intelligent. He truly wasn't assured of its location, but why not, “Odessa, Texas.”
“The Company facility in Odessa?” Claire asked.
“Yes. How do you know about it?”
“My father used to work there.”
Adam arched a brow, “Really? What's his name?”
“I'd rather not say.” Who knew, he might recognize her father's name and be holding a grudge or something...
Adam grinned, “Smart decision.”
“The facility though, it has most likely moved,” Claire added, bemused, “Since Sylar took over, they would have relocated. How do we find out where it is now?”
“We dig. There's always a Head of the Company. We'll find out who that person is, hunt them down, and force them to tell us where they store it."
Claire nodded, “I'll make some calls.”
She wasn't scared like the Company was that Adam would use it on them, seeing as she'd steal it from him before he ever had the chance. She was certain of her aptitude. She had a fool-proof plan. She vowed she wouldn't even sleep until she attained her goal.
For Elle.
Not a hint of the ill-will that was in Adam's heart was imparted via his benevolent smile, “Outstanding.”
He had acquired his contact with the Company; the one crucial ingredient he'd been missing. Things could not have been going better had he escaped even earlier.
Chapter Seven
Author: yaoi_anti_drug
Beta: Matt and Chris
Pairings: Elle/Claire, Sylar/Mohinder, Sylar/Peter, and nints at Nathan/Peter
Overall Pairings: Elle/Eden, Elle/Claire, Sylar/Mohinder, Peter/Sylar, Nathan/Peter, Elle/Adam, and Claire/Peter (unrequited)
Characters: Claire, Adam, Peter, Hiro, Mohinder, and Sylar
Genre: Drama, Angst, Dark Future Fic
Rating: NC-17
Summary: An AU fic based on the Five Years Gone Verse
Word Count: A little over 4,350
Spoilers: Light spoilers for Volumes 1 and 2
Overall Warnings: Violence, Character Death, Sex, Incest (Graphic Only In Chapter 2), Non-Con (Only In Chapter 6)
Notes: Dedicated to slavefaith. And a big thank you to ladywilde80 for helping me with the inspiration and to Matt and Chris for giving me the courage to post! Constructive criticism is always loved and comments, even if it’s to say you hate it, are always appreciated too. Title from "Everything Goes Dark" by The Hoosiers
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, if I did, well...wouldn't Heroes be interesting?
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Everything Goes Dark 6/7:
Chapter Six:
Words could not describe the fury running rampant in Peter Petrelli's veins. In a frenzy, his attempt to get to the other side evolved into unadulterated violence as he fiercely punched the wall. Blood filtered out of cuts on his knuckles, leaving stains on the plaster.
Elle had long since grown mute. Mohinder was quelled into obedience, just sitting there, shivering every once in a while, as if in a daze.
Sylar appeared on the far side of the glass, a twisted smirk giving him an air of jubilation. He knelt beside Mohinder, lifting up his chin with vermilion dipped fingertips.
“You sick bastard...” Mohinder uttered in a broken whisper, reflecting Peter's sentiments entirely.
Sylar kissed him just to make him shut up. That or to invite a fight, which he rapidly received. Mohinder kicked him backwards, but was unable to amplify his assault as per the telekinesis keeping him down.
Sylar laughed pleasantly, “Excellent. I was worried I might have broken you with my little fun.”
It suddenly dawned on Peter. His earlier puzzle had been solved by Sylar's endearing albeit vicious treatment of Mohinder. The killer had been so fascinated by him because he loved him in the only manner a monster could: through ruthless possession.
Peter felt his hero complex bubbling to the surface anew. He had to distract him from Mohinder, who had coped with quite enough. He stepped close to the glass, eyes tapering, “You killed her.”
Sylar glanced at him, nodding in agreement. “I did, yes. How very astute of you, Peter.”
“You're going to pay for that.”
Claire was going to rip him apart, Peter was sure. He could see her in his mind's eye... Her strong, resilient face; tears emerging from her eyes as she discovered yet another person in her life had been snatched away by Sylar. She'd found the happiness she had sincerely deserved with Elle. Her death would most certainly drive Claire over the edge.
And it was Peter's fault. He should have protected her better. He'd failed them all. In his heart, he bore exactly as much responsibility as Sylar.
In spite of it all, her assailant was right in front of him. He could take revenge right here, right now. Unfortunately, his good intentions meant nothing without the aid of his powers. He could not contend against Sylar while lacking them. Hell, he barely stood a chance with them.
Fully aware that Peter had been rendered harmless, his threat highly amused Sylar. “Oh, is that right?”
Peter gestured yes.
Sylar sighed, “What is it with you people? Ever defiant up to the end, never allowing even a tiny morsel of fear to be put on display. Until I am cutting through your skull, that is... Then you loosen up considerably well. Do I have to go that far to get you to show a bit of intimidation, Peter?”
In Sylar's opinion, Peter Petrelli frankly demanded to be humiliated. Objectified and hurt until he no longer carried around that confident, lop-sided smile. He was not a Hero. He was just like the rest of them, scurrying around like vermin, pining to be noticed.
Sylar had succeeded in that goal. Not Peter. Him.
And Peter needed to be shown his place.
Mohinder gritted his teeth. He couldn't just sit by this time, “No, wait. Sylar, haven't you done enough?”
Sylar refused to take his eyes off of Peter, who was likewise determined. “How considerate of you, Mohinder... Don't you worry, I'll still have time for you after I'm done with Peter here.”
Incensed, the scientist hurled a medley of disparagements his way. To warp his words...
Sylar glanced down at the infuriated, rueful Mohinder and knew what he was about to do would not help him in his conquest for the scientist's cooperation. On the other hand, if he had to, he still had the Haitian; although, fixing the situation in that fashion was so unsophisticated.
Nonetheless, he flung open Peter's door, stepping inside. He had plenty planned, but nothing he'd done to Elle. No. It was essential Peter stayed alive for at least a couple days.
Peter's eyes went from Sylar to Mohinder and back again. He was perplexed and wary. Surely, he would not kill him. Not so soon.
Right in front of his eyes, Sylar's transformed into Nathan Petrelli once more, gory hands instantly perceivably clean. A sadistic sneer overshadowed his face.
“I thought that you might like to see your brother again, Peter. Have you missed me?” It was Nathan's voice, whispering in a feigned dulcet tone.
Peter chuckled, shaking his head, “I'm not that weak, Sylar.”
“Fine then. I'll just have to try harder.”
Sylar edged closer to Peter, still not shedding his facade. “Do you remember when you first realized I wasn't Nathan? That look on your face... a memory I'll forever treasure. But I recall one that was even more entertaining."
Judging by Sylar's exuberant expression, Peter knew precisely what he was going to say. His hands curled into fists.
“Before I killed Nathan, I had to learn about him. Mimicking someone perfectly is a difficult task. I followed him and in doing so, you as well. Do you know what I discovered, Peter?”
No, Peter couldn't handle hearing it in Nathan's voice. He lunged forward, fist cracking against Sylar's jaw.
Sylar simply grasped his wrists and tossed him over into the wall, following up promptly. "You two were fucking."
He shook his head in disapproval, "Not very brotherly of you, Pete."
He didn't hesitate, his - Nathan's - lips jaunted directly for Peter's neck, licking and kissing and biting. Telekinesis kept him secured to the wall as Sylar's thigh explored his, at length pushing up against his groin.
It was a tactic that Nathan had regularly exploited. Rough and unrelenting, and oh so undeniable. It jolted Peter to attention, a cry lodging itself in his throat.
“You like that? I can guarantee you do... You've missed it. These lips, these hands, this voice...” Further supporting his words, his fingers teased Peter's chest, traveling to his groin to grip tight, pulling that constrained tremor of greed from his mouth.
“Seeing you two together... such frivolous pleasure. And so wrong... I must say, the sense of danger and debauchery was thoroughly arousing. I can see why you loved it so.”
“Go to H-” Peter never got the opportunity to finish his sentence as a pained gasp was extracted from him; Sylar was holding him all the tighter.
“Shh... Just let me take care of you, alright?” He let one hand linger, cupping his cheek lovingly. Nathan's sweet voice triggered such nostalgia in Peter. Dreadful yet wondrous memories of immoral love flooded him. His eyes shut tight, combating the arising temptation.
His pants were pulled down and kicked away, the air not cold enough for him to relish any delusion of a chill. Peter's legs were elevated by telekinesis, caught by Sylar's arms, curling his knees into his chest. He was stretched and prepared by tiny invisible fingers, assisting in his suffering.
Sylar whispered endearments as he slid himself inside of Peter, slowly to begin with and then more unkindly, pure lust and aggression; blood slicking the way as he proceeded. It was excruciating, a total violation of not the body alone, but of the mind as well. Peter couldn't suppress a yelp as anguish seized every muscle and every nerve.
Sylar continued to kiss his neck, lips, nibbling on his earlobe so he could inject husky words into his wildly confused psyche. As much as he thirsted to hear Peter scream more, he went slower, more gently and fondly. After all, there was a point to all of this.
“Mine, aren't you? You can't ever go on without thoughts of me, of our love. No one will ever satisfy you like I can. Am I right, Peter?”
Amidst the overwhelming stimulation and the seduction only Nathan could provide and the addition of his voice imbued into his perception, Peter earnestly believed it to be him. Even when he opened his eyes, it was Nathan staring back at him. Those eyes, so rough around the edges, auspicious lips, and an aura of a weighed down conscience that only Peter could alleviate.
Peter groaned, a part injury and a part torturous bliss, as his groin was squeezed and tantalized in a way no hand ever could.
Involuntarily, he answered his brother's query, "Yes..." He could never forget him; always yearning and dreaming of him. He was rewarded with a tender kiss as he rubbed up against the erotic spot inside of him, titillating and delicious.
Peter moaned, hands gripping Nathan's back, clinging to this moment with all he had. Just like the old days, with swift glances and fucks in the bathroom when Angela was meeting with past acquaintances. Or stealing into moon-lit bedrooms to consummate their desires.
Realization subsequently struck him. This was all a finely orchestrated illusion. Nathan was dead. This was Sylar. Not his brother. As the induced fog dispersed, Peter felt his heart break all over again.
“No. You fucking son of a bitch...”
Sylar laughed with Nathan's deep timbre. “That's no way to talk to your brother, Peter.” His mouth engulfed Peter's as he thrust deeper, driving them both closer to the bitter end.
Mohinder's protests had gone unnoticed to both men and it was only recently, in the terrible silence of gratification and agony that he was heard; seeking to give Peter reinforcement and the will to go on.
The man of science was repulsed by this act of forced intimacy, wishing only to kill Sylar himself and end this cycle of misery. His words eventually watered down to unshed tears and hatred as he could do nothing to cease this display of dominance.
When it was over in the brilliance of impelled rapture, Sylar let the exhausted and sore Peter crash to the ground in a heap.
Peter was too appalled and ashamed to say a word, he couldn't even catch his rapist's eye. With a slaked countenance, Sylar exited, shutting the door with a resounding slam. He wrenched Mohinder to his feet, ignoring the barrage of swear words and defamations, leaving Peter with the dead body of Elle and an unimpressed Adam.
------------------------
The obnoxious beep of the door opening jarred Peter out of his inertia. After Sylar, he'd been sleeping for an obscure sum of hours. Having been awakened so abruptly, he was irrefutably drowsy and disorientated.
His whole body ached. Unconsciously, he reached for his powers to soothe him. He was elated to find there was a thrum of energy directly from his core to heal him. Access to his abilities had returned. He didn't pause to mull over how.
However, he was convinced even with the physical closure of his wounds, the damage done to his sanity and dignity would remain eternally vivid. Yet another scar to emphasize the visible one.
Mohinder was at his side, a dark blob in his vision until the haze cleared. He was shaking him, “Come on, this may be your last chance.” He handed Peter his clothes.
He was absolutely frantic, deliriously looking everywhere as if someone was going to attack at any minute. Peter quickly realized that his panic was substantially warranted. He hurriedly put his clothes on and pursued Mohinder out the door. Waiting for them was an inconspicuous blonde man.
The stranger gave him a small, melancholy nod. Pity. He had witnessed what had happened the night before. Peter flushed red, but he had no time to say a word; they had to run.
Being able to finally get a good look at Peter Petrelli, Adam understood why Sylar enjoyed playing with him so much. Even with that scar, he was endowed with the veneer of a pliable young dreamer.
Adam had dealt with his kind. Empaths. Troublesome, but since Adam couldn't die, the only palpable risk was having his ulterior motives read like a book. In response to such a threat, he'd taught himself how to put guards up around his psyche so people like Peter could not make it to his deep and personal meditations. He would observe nothing out of sorts as Adam permitted him to hear various mundane thoughts.
After all, he was no inexperienced amateur. If he was, Adam never would have survived for four hundred years.
Outside of the hallway rested a few knocked out guards. Peter gazed appraisingly at Mohinder, who was oblivious to anything but what was straight in front of him. They had to be cautious, very cautious. One wrong move and it was over.
Mohinder was unmistakably sneaking them out of a back entrance, a strategy that was so foreseeable, Peter was a little angered by the lack of creativity. Withal, he maintained faith. They wouldn't attempt a maneuver that would fail so extensively.
They were at the dock where trucks arrived to load and unload. Being such a critical location, it was probably crawling with guards accompanied by cameras.
"Don't worry, the cameras are off and the guards have been taken out." Mohinder opened a door, letting the two out, revealing the otherworldly sunny and warm outdoors. Waiting for them was Hiro and Claire.
Peter noted that Hiro's nose featured a curved bandage. Must have happened during the battle.
“Peter, thank God,” Claire breathed out.
“How did you...” Peter began.
“My father and Hana,” Claire answered absently.
Mohinder shut the door behind him and the girl's eyes narrowed.
She glanced at Peter, “Where's Elle?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but Mohinder interrupted them. “No time for that. We've got to leave. Now.”
Peter recognized the compulsory urgency and grabbed onto Mohinder. Hiro took Claire and the unidentified man. They vanished, and in the blink of an eye, materialized back at the warehouse.
Not granted a juncture as brief as a second to relax, Peter was immediately assaulted by Claire.
“Where the fuck is Elle, Peter!”
Peter's eyes filled with disgrace, “Sylar... He got to her.”
“What?” Claire said, as if she didn't comprehend his words.
“She's gone,” Peter restated as calmly as was possible.
“What... No. She can't be dead. Sylar couldn't have... No...” Claire took a step away from Peter, eyes wide, tears flaring up.
The entire room was silent but for Claire's jerky breath and the constant replay of the word “no.”
Claire fell to the ground, pounding the cement with her fists. Peter could hear the crisp breakage of her knuckles again and again. He rushed forward and grabbed her arms, holding her back. He sat there with his chest to her back, arms embracing her as she heaved dry sobs into his shoulder.
------------------------
Claire had gone quiet, merely sitting on the cot she and Elle had shared, staring at the wall for nearly ten hours already. She refused to speak, eat, or even drink.
The absence of sound was beginning to grate on Peter's nerves. He attempted to talk to her, but it was like talking to a hardwood floor. No emotion. Nothing. Not even sorrow or choler. It was as if she'd been drained dry after her primary fit.
He did all he was capable of to make her feel more comfortable and less alone, staying there and holding her, thinking she might just need company. Her sole utterances during that full span of time had been “get out.” Eventually, he'd done as he was ordered.
Every single one of them, excluding Adam, was going through their own phase of guilt. They all felt as though, to a definite degree, what had occurred was their fault. They, of course, abstained from voicing this, keeping it inside and swearing things would be different in the future.
It was all they could do.
Rather than muse over his memories of Elle's beautiful cerulean-gray eyes and her gift of the few exhilarating hours he'd ever had in that dank cell of his, Adam was preoccupied by his own concerns. He was an outsider who had to conform and fit in, and then become the puppeteer of this misfit group.
To do so, he needed a way to create and ensure himself a sovereign rank from which he could charm and command. In their present vulnerability, the undertaking would be an uncomplicated one. He would simply utilize their lamenting period.
It was too easy once he noticed the sword that the Japanese boy had. His. Takezo Kensei's sword. What a coincidence.. He would have laughed had the irony not been to his advantage.
“You've got my sword, you know,” he stated nonchalantly.
Hiro glanced from his sword to Adam, “Your sword? No, you are mistaken. This is Takezo Kensei's Katana.” The boy said Adam's ancient name with such reverence, it practically made him sick. However, he didn't let it bother him. In this case, the hero-worship was an asset.
“I am - was - Takezo Kensei.”
And it was that simple admission which instigated a conversation that lasted for an hour. Initially, Hiro skeptical, but considering that he was telling the truth, it was child's play to persuade the Samurai idolizer otherwise.
During that time, Hiro's face got so ruddy with excitement that Adam swore he was going to faint. Using that as an icebreaker, he was able to begin speaking to each individual, minus the girl. Peter's first of surely countless annoying questions disrupted him straightaway.
“How do we know you're telling the truth? That you're not lying, gearing up to kill us when we turn our backs?”
Hiro appeared to be virtually distraught, “He is Takezo Kensei!” As if it solved all issues. All Peter could do was stare at him, positively stupefied by the sudden reversal of the stoic man he had been only an hour earlier.
Adam grinned, bypassing Hiro's admiration and endeavoring not to feel so proud of the praise that he fell prey to the man's opinion of him. The intrepid acts he affiliated with Takezo Kensei were incredible, and not to mention partially absurd.
“You don't. You just have to trust me. But believe me when I say that I want to get rid of Sylar as much as you do. I've been around for a very long time, I've met others like him, and he cannot be allowed to live."
Especially not as a result of his power. The knowledge that the arrogant asshole would live hundreds of years thanks to his ability stung. It was an offense that Adam wouldn't endure much longer. Sylar was more similar to him than he liked to admit, and perhaps that was why he hated him so much. He viewed him as competition who might soon exceed his own accomplishments.
If he had to use this quaint little troop to succeed in retrieving his pride, then so be it.
“Mohinder has been trying to create a cure using my blood for the past year. I kept my mouth shut because I did not want Sylar to discover it, but there is already a cure out there. It's in the hands of The Company. I'm sure you are all well informed about them by now, so there's no need to explain. We get that, we can kill Sylar.”
And along the way, he would ultimately implement the plan that had been plaguing his mind for over thirty years. He had the means of doing so; an expert scientist and the resolve to pull the strings of three very gifted individuals.
Too bad Elle had not made it out alive, he could have used her. She'd contained so much possibility...
The three men processed Adam's offer and it didn't take long for Hiro to decide that he was all for it. Mohinder was hesitant while Peter was outright argumentative. “If they have a cure, why haven't they used it before?”
Adam was not in the least bit alarmed to find that Peter would be hard to win over. After all, he was a Petrelli.
It was ingrained in his blood to be difficult as well as be layered to high heaven; which was why he had not been at all stunned to hear of Peter's affair with his brother. After having associated with the Petrelli family for so long, few concepts could rattle him. Although, the question of why the boy detested him without any inspiration made him a mite curious.
“Of course they've used it before!” Adam couldn't restrain his amusement of Peter's innocence. “They put it right back in their vault after they were finished. They were always somewhat skittish, frightened that someone would use it against them. Luckily for all of you, I can lead you to exactly where it's hidden.”
To be honest, that wasn't altogether accurate. He knew they'd moved locations, and where it was he couldn't be certain, but Adam wasn't going to let that trivial encumbrance upset his progress.
Peter didn't have anything else to say, particularly due to Adam's penchant for making all of his questions sound thoroughly foolish. Nevertheless, it was obvious he was tentative to invest his dedication into someone he wasn't acquainted with.
Even with his lack of collaboration, Adam had control over Hiro, and Mohinder was greatly intrigued. He had made leeway and it'd only been one night. All that was left was winning the remaining two immortals and he was golden.
He glanced at the bereaving girl's room. In her susceptible state, she'd be a cinch.
------------------------
Adam had been donated a set of clothes - a simple outfit that consisted of a button up black shirt and jeans - in conjunction with a recliner to sleep on and a sorry excuse for a blanket. As measly as it was, it was still more luxury than he'd been blessed with for three decades.
When everyone had fallen into a heavy slumber, Adam crept to the girl's room. She was awake, as he'd predicted. She didn't even spare him a glimpse as he sat down on the bed beside her.
“You're Claire, right?”
No response; Adam was not to be discouraged.
“My name is Adam Monroe.”
Claire blinked, glancing down. At long last, she looked him in the eye, “An immortal like me, right?”
“Yes, that's correct." He smiled wistfully, "I'm guessing Elle told you?”
She nodded. Adam could see the grief etched in each line created by the scowl on her young, beautiful face. Her eyes were strangely expressive, compelling Adam to sympathize. He would have been mourning was he not accustomed to losing people. Four hundred years of death would make anyone numb.
For the sake of his purposes here, he had to pretend otherwise.
“I remember her all too clearly," Adam said quietly.
“She told me you were a captive of The Company. But before, you were a founder." Claire seemed genuinely interested.
“That would be the condensed version, yes."
“What's the elaborate version?”
“Well, I'm four hundred years old. That'd take a fair amount of time.”
“We have it,” she answered hastily. It was clear she needed a distraction.
In an effort to gain her friendship, he caved. He told her all about his life as Takezo Kensei and the other alias he, at one era or another, had represented. About his many wives, his plentiful experiences, sharing wisdom along the way... Shortened a bit, of course; he didn't want to tell her every detail.
Though, he unexpectedly found himself getting lost in some of his own stories. Nostalgia could be quite the hassle.
“You didn't tell me why you were imprisoned by The Company. Why did they turn on you?” Claire amended after he had finished.
Adam glowered, “We didn't have the same... values. You know all about Linderman and Arthur's design for New York City. You also know that it came through without a hitch. Had they not locked me away, it would not have gone as smoothly as they'd hoped.”
That was true, so he wasn't lying. He just didn't include his own project. Not yet. But, Claire was more clever than he'd assumed.
“What was your idea then? You must have had one that conflicted with theirs.” Sharp little bitch. Adam liked her already.
“Well then, quick, aren't you?” Not even a smile. He continued, “The Company created a cure. It would take away the powers of those who were too dangerous to have them. Those like Sylar. But they didn't want me near it. They were afraid I'd use it on them.”
She nodded, apparently accepting that. “So, all we need to do is find this cure? Where is it?”
“Actually, I know where it is. So, we've got that covered. We just need to go there.”
“But where is it?” Claire insisted.
If only she wasn't so intelligent. He truly wasn't assured of its location, but why not, “Odessa, Texas.”
“The Company facility in Odessa?” Claire asked.
“Yes. How do you know about it?”
“My father used to work there.”
Adam arched a brow, “Really? What's his name?”
“I'd rather not say.” Who knew, he might recognize her father's name and be holding a grudge or something...
Adam grinned, “Smart decision.”
“The facility though, it has most likely moved,” Claire added, bemused, “Since Sylar took over, they would have relocated. How do we find out where it is now?”
“We dig. There's always a Head of the Company. We'll find out who that person is, hunt them down, and force them to tell us where they store it."
Claire nodded, “I'll make some calls.”
She wasn't scared like the Company was that Adam would use it on them, seeing as she'd steal it from him before he ever had the chance. She was certain of her aptitude. She had a fool-proof plan. She vowed she wouldn't even sleep until she attained her goal.
For Elle.
Not a hint of the ill-will that was in Adam's heart was imparted via his benevolent smile, “Outstanding.”
He had acquired his contact with the Company; the one crucial ingredient he'd been missing. Things could not have been going better had he escaped even earlier.
Chapter Seven