Fic: Just Like You
Title: Just Like You
Rating: PG
Words: 1500
Warnings: General creepiness (after all, Sylar is involved)
Spoilers: Nothing specific; set in a futureverse around 20 years after season 2.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not writing this for profit.
Author's Notes: Inspired by the Sekrit Cabal Ficlet Battle at
cerebel_fics , though it turned into an actual fic and strayed a bit (prompt: Peter/Sylar, revenge).
Summary: Peter's immortal. Peter's invincible. There's no way Sylar can attack him, no way he can hurt him and torment him. ...Right?
Another day, and another fight. At least this time he’s able to grab his jacket and leave without his dad holding the door shut with telekinesis. He doesn’t think of himself as the kind of boy - guy - who would hurt someone, but he’d come really close the day his dad pulled that stunt. It was even worse than the day Dad sat him down for The Talk and he’d realized that Dad really did read his mind. He’d been so embarrassed and screamed so many furious things that Dad had promised, with tears in his eyes, to never do it again. It didn’t really help, though. Just knowing he could do it, knowing he can do all kinds of stuff when Sam can’t do anything, is bad enough.
Sometimes the anger’s just too much. He deals with it the only way he knows how: slamming out the front door and walking as fast as his legs can carry him, till exhaustion drains his energy enough that he can go back and face them all without exploding.
Today, his feet carry him to Central Park. When he gets away from the traffic, though, it’s too quiet - nothing to drown out the fury in his head. He finally drops onto a bench and puts his face in his hands, trying to tell himself not to be bitter over something he’ll never be able to do anything about. A voice says, “Mind if I sit here?”
He glances up and shakes his head at the guy, who sits down with his paper and returns the look through thick-rimmed glasses.
“Normally I prefer to find a more secluded spot where I can read in peace and solitude. But you looked like you could use a friend to get your troubles off your chest.”
Warnings about the kinds of men who sometimes hang out in parks run through his head. But this guy is quiet and thin and isn’t trying to get into his personal space. And…and he doesn’t have anyone to talk to. Everyone he knows either treats him like he’s made of glass, or would roll their eyes and tell him that he’s got it easy. “Why not. Nice to meet you. I’m Sam Petrelli.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Samuel.” He perks up at hearing the full version of his name instead of the baby-ish Sammy that everyone in his family throws at him. Then the man says, “You’re Peter’s son?”
“How did you know?”
“I used to know your father, a long time ago. I thought you looked like him even before I heard your name. He’s a good man, but…I doubt he’d be happy to hear from me. We didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of subjects.”
Sam makes a face. “I know what that’s like.”
“I met your mother once. She wasn’t…like your father, was she?”
“How do you know about…oh. Sorry.” If this man knew his dad well, he knows what his dad can do. And no, his mom hadn’t been like his dad. Even worse, neither was he. And when she’d left, she’d told him it was better for him if he stayed behind. Safer for him. Where his family can protect him, because he’s useless on his own. He hunches over in frustration.
“It’s quite a family you’ve got. Your father is special. Your uncle, your grandmother. All your cousins. But not you. And they’re oh-so-careful around you, aren’t they? They coddle you. They’re always looking out for you, because they think not having an ability means that you can’t take care of yourself. But deep down, they pity you. Because they’ve decided that you’re a lesser being than they are. They’ve written you off.”
Sam looks up, wide-eyed. It’s like this guy sees exactly what runs through his head any more, whenever he’s around his family. “You’re like Dad, aren’t you?”
“Special, you mean? Sort of. But in a different way.”
“What can you do?”
“Oh…this and that.” He lifts a hand and the neatly-folded paper on the bench next to him floats into it. Sam’s even more amazed. And a little envious. “Are you reading my mind, too?”
The man chuckles and regards him closely. “No. I’m just good at figuring out how people work. Besides, you remind me of myself at fifteen. Smart, curious. And aware that I could be so much more than what I was. It’s funny. I never really considered having children. But looking at you makes me wonder what it would be like to have someone to carry on after I’m gone.” He pauses. “Your father’s remarrying, isn’t he?”
Sam crosses his arms. “Okay. How do you know that?”
The man shrugs and offers him the paper. “Your family has a certain status, and so does your soon-to-be stepmother. The society pages notice even if they try to keep things low-key.” Another short pause. “Is she like your father?”
Sam nods. “She can heat stuff up. Boil water. You know. Dad keeps making this dumb joke about how much we’ll save on the gas bill.” He slumps backwards.
“She’s special. Like your father. Unlike your mother. And…she’ll probably want children.” The man doesn’t add, and unlike you, those kids will be special too. They’ll be the ones to carry on your dad’s legacy…not you. They’re the ones he’ll care about. He doesn’t have to say it. Sam’s not stupid. He’s been thinking it ever since Dad told him that he’d asked Amy to marry him.
“Don’t ever let them tell you that you’re powerless, Sam. They tried to tell me that, tried to convince me that I was inferior. I found a way to prove them wrong. To show them that they couldn’t keep me down. You can do it, too.” The man’s voice is quiet but his words ring in Sam’s head.
“How?”
“Have you ever read the late Dr. Suresh’s book? Not Mohinder’s; the one by his father.”
Sam shakes his head. “I tried reading it a few years ago. But when I asked my dad some questions about it, he took it away. Said I didn’t need to be thinking about stuff like that. Especially since…well, Dr. Suresh tested me. He talked to Dad for a long time after that, but he told me that he couldn’t find any indication that I had any special abilities.” He imitates the doctor’s precise British voice on the last sentence, which earns him a chuckle.
“If you’re old enough to ask the questions, you’re old enough to deserve the answers,” the man says. “And the answers are in that book, Sam. I found them. I think you can too.”
Sam is dumbfounded by the possibility.
“I’d be happy to lend you my old copy. It’s been so long since I first read it that it would be refreshing to hear a new perspective on it. And you never know. It just might be the key that unlocks your full potential.” He looks at the sky, considering. “Do you know where Bergen’s is? The coffee shop? I’m usually there on Saturday afternoons, in the front window. People-watching. If you have time, stop in, I’ll lend you the book. But if you’d rather not waste your free time talking to some old relic from your father’s past…I’ll understand.”
“No - I’d love to read it! It’s just…” Sam deflates. “Look, my dad took me to Dr. Suresh’s lab several times. They both told me, I just don’t show any signs of any-”
The man leans forward and points at him. “Dr. Suresh once said that about me, too. Don’t listen to them, Sam. You’re just as good as your family members are. You deserve to be special as much as them - more, even. They’ve had it all handed to them, but you’ve suffered. You’ve earned the right to it. Don’t ever forget that.”
Sam stares at him, entranced, until the man’s wristwatch gleams in the late-afternoon sun and the spell is broken. “Oh, crap. I’m going to be late for dinner.” He stands, but then realizes something. “You never told me your name.”
“It’s Gabriel Gray.”
Sam holds out a hand like an adult and Mr. Gray shakes it, confidently, then quickly lets go. Not like his dad, who’s always hugging him like he’s still a kindergartner. Mr. Gray says, “You might not want to tell your father that you’ve spoken to me. I doubt that he’d react well - and I can only imagine what sort of tales he’ll try to tell you about me.”
Sam shrugs. “Dad sure doesn’t ask me if I’m OK with everything that he does. Don’t see why I should have to ask his approval for everything.”
Mr. Gray smiles lightly. “I wish I’d had enough courage to say that to my own parents.”
Sam grins back. He starts to walk away but then turns and asks, his voice cracking embarrassingly, “Do you really think I can be special?”
Mr. Gray’s eyes gleam. “I’m sure of it, Sam. Don’t forget...I was like you once. I know you can be like me. We’ll find a way to get you what you want. Together.”
Rating: PG
Words: 1500
Warnings: General creepiness (after all, Sylar is involved)
Spoilers: Nothing specific; set in a futureverse around 20 years after season 2.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not writing this for profit.
Author's Notes: Inspired by the Sekrit Cabal Ficlet Battle at
cerebel_fics , though it turned into an actual fic and strayed a bit (prompt: Peter/Sylar, revenge).
Summary: Peter's immortal. Peter's invincible. There's no way Sylar can attack him, no way he can hurt him and torment him. ...Right?
Another day, and another fight. At least this time he’s able to grab his jacket and leave without his dad holding the door shut with telekinesis. He doesn’t think of himself as the kind of boy - guy - who would hurt someone, but he’d come really close the day his dad pulled that stunt. It was even worse than the day Dad sat him down for The Talk and he’d realized that Dad really did read his mind. He’d been so embarrassed and screamed so many furious things that Dad had promised, with tears in his eyes, to never do it again. It didn’t really help, though. Just knowing he could do it, knowing he can do all kinds of stuff when Sam can’t do anything, is bad enough.
Sometimes the anger’s just too much. He deals with it the only way he knows how: slamming out the front door and walking as fast as his legs can carry him, till exhaustion drains his energy enough that he can go back and face them all without exploding.
Today, his feet carry him to Central Park. When he gets away from the traffic, though, it’s too quiet - nothing to drown out the fury in his head. He finally drops onto a bench and puts his face in his hands, trying to tell himself not to be bitter over something he’ll never be able to do anything about. A voice says, “Mind if I sit here?”
He glances up and shakes his head at the guy, who sits down with his paper and returns the look through thick-rimmed glasses.
“Normally I prefer to find a more secluded spot where I can read in peace and solitude. But you looked like you could use a friend to get your troubles off your chest.”
Warnings about the kinds of men who sometimes hang out in parks run through his head. But this guy is quiet and thin and isn’t trying to get into his personal space. And…and he doesn’t have anyone to talk to. Everyone he knows either treats him like he’s made of glass, or would roll their eyes and tell him that he’s got it easy. “Why not. Nice to meet you. I’m Sam Petrelli.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Samuel.” He perks up at hearing the full version of his name instead of the baby-ish Sammy that everyone in his family throws at him. Then the man says, “You’re Peter’s son?”
“How did you know?”
“I used to know your father, a long time ago. I thought you looked like him even before I heard your name. He’s a good man, but…I doubt he’d be happy to hear from me. We didn’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of subjects.”
Sam makes a face. “I know what that’s like.”
“I met your mother once. She wasn’t…like your father, was she?”
“How do you know about…oh. Sorry.” If this man knew his dad well, he knows what his dad can do. And no, his mom hadn’t been like his dad. Even worse, neither was he. And when she’d left, she’d told him it was better for him if he stayed behind. Safer for him. Where his family can protect him, because he’s useless on his own. He hunches over in frustration.
“It’s quite a family you’ve got. Your father is special. Your uncle, your grandmother. All your cousins. But not you. And they’re oh-so-careful around you, aren’t they? They coddle you. They’re always looking out for you, because they think not having an ability means that you can’t take care of yourself. But deep down, they pity you. Because they’ve decided that you’re a lesser being than they are. They’ve written you off.”
Sam looks up, wide-eyed. It’s like this guy sees exactly what runs through his head any more, whenever he’s around his family. “You’re like Dad, aren’t you?”
“Special, you mean? Sort of. But in a different way.”
“What can you do?”
“Oh…this and that.” He lifts a hand and the neatly-folded paper on the bench next to him floats into it. Sam’s even more amazed. And a little envious. “Are you reading my mind, too?”
The man chuckles and regards him closely. “No. I’m just good at figuring out how people work. Besides, you remind me of myself at fifteen. Smart, curious. And aware that I could be so much more than what I was. It’s funny. I never really considered having children. But looking at you makes me wonder what it would be like to have someone to carry on after I’m gone.” He pauses. “Your father’s remarrying, isn’t he?”
Sam crosses his arms. “Okay. How do you know that?”
The man shrugs and offers him the paper. “Your family has a certain status, and so does your soon-to-be stepmother. The society pages notice even if they try to keep things low-key.” Another short pause. “Is she like your father?”
Sam nods. “She can heat stuff up. Boil water. You know. Dad keeps making this dumb joke about how much we’ll save on the gas bill.” He slumps backwards.
“She’s special. Like your father. Unlike your mother. And…she’ll probably want children.” The man doesn’t add, and unlike you, those kids will be special too. They’ll be the ones to carry on your dad’s legacy…not you. They’re the ones he’ll care about. He doesn’t have to say it. Sam’s not stupid. He’s been thinking it ever since Dad told him that he’d asked Amy to marry him.
“Don’t ever let them tell you that you’re powerless, Sam. They tried to tell me that, tried to convince me that I was inferior. I found a way to prove them wrong. To show them that they couldn’t keep me down. You can do it, too.” The man’s voice is quiet but his words ring in Sam’s head.
“How?”
“Have you ever read the late Dr. Suresh’s book? Not Mohinder’s; the one by his father.”
Sam shakes his head. “I tried reading it a few years ago. But when I asked my dad some questions about it, he took it away. Said I didn’t need to be thinking about stuff like that. Especially since…well, Dr. Suresh tested me. He talked to Dad for a long time after that, but he told me that he couldn’t find any indication that I had any special abilities.” He imitates the doctor’s precise British voice on the last sentence, which earns him a chuckle.
“If you’re old enough to ask the questions, you’re old enough to deserve the answers,” the man says. “And the answers are in that book, Sam. I found them. I think you can too.”
Sam is dumbfounded by the possibility.
“I’d be happy to lend you my old copy. It’s been so long since I first read it that it would be refreshing to hear a new perspective on it. And you never know. It just might be the key that unlocks your full potential.” He looks at the sky, considering. “Do you know where Bergen’s is? The coffee shop? I’m usually there on Saturday afternoons, in the front window. People-watching. If you have time, stop in, I’ll lend you the book. But if you’d rather not waste your free time talking to some old relic from your father’s past…I’ll understand.”
“No - I’d love to read it! It’s just…” Sam deflates. “Look, my dad took me to Dr. Suresh’s lab several times. They both told me, I just don’t show any signs of any-”
The man leans forward and points at him. “Dr. Suresh once said that about me, too. Don’t listen to them, Sam. You’re just as good as your family members are. You deserve to be special as much as them - more, even. They’ve had it all handed to them, but you’ve suffered. You’ve earned the right to it. Don’t ever forget that.”
Sam stares at him, entranced, until the man’s wristwatch gleams in the late-afternoon sun and the spell is broken. “Oh, crap. I’m going to be late for dinner.” He stands, but then realizes something. “You never told me your name.”
“It’s Gabriel Gray.”
Sam holds out a hand like an adult and Mr. Gray shakes it, confidently, then quickly lets go. Not like his dad, who’s always hugging him like he’s still a kindergartner. Mr. Gray says, “You might not want to tell your father that you’ve spoken to me. I doubt that he’d react well - and I can only imagine what sort of tales he’ll try to tell you about me.”
Sam shrugs. “Dad sure doesn’t ask me if I’m OK with everything that he does. Don’t see why I should have to ask his approval for everything.”
Mr. Gray smiles lightly. “I wish I’d had enough courage to say that to my own parents.”
Sam grins back. He starts to walk away but then turns and asks, his voice cracking embarrassingly, “Do you really think I can be special?”
Mr. Gray’s eyes gleam. “I’m sure of it, Sam. Don’t forget...I was like you once. I know you can be like me. We’ll find a way to get you what you want. Together.”