Just Another Brick - "The Show Must Go On"
Story: " Just Another Brick" (<--Click for Master List)
Chapter Title: "The Show Must Go On"
Author: illyriaz_shell
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Peter, Sylar (of the non-slashy variety)
Rating: T (ish?)
Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine. Neither Heroes nor the film that is discussed and quoted.
Warning: Spoilers up to 4.18. See Master List for all the authors notes.
Story Summary: A series of non-continuous ficlets showcasing missing scenes from the YEARS Sylar and Peter spent in their walled-in mind city.
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Chapter Summary: Sylar and Peter go to the movies! Takes place 2 weeks after the appearance of the wall.
--
--
Peter stared at the two posters. You have to be kidding, he sighed internally.
He looked out the window of the lobby; the sun was setting. He refused to sleep, because he didn’t need to sleep, since it had only been a few minutes of real time, even if it felt like weeks. He didn’t need to sleep because none of this was real, no matter how real it felt. However, he was feeling overexerted, and he couldn’t help give in to him mind’s perception of his physical exhaustion. After hammering against an immovable wall for a fortnight, Peter relented since taking a few hours off would only really cost him seconds.
But no matter how much he was aware that this...place...was just a sum of his and Sylar’s thoughts, Peter couldn’t escape how realistic this nightmare felt. He’d tried wishing for objects, people, anything; had tried willing certain things into existence, but alas, that only ever worked in the most obscure and unhelpful of ways. And it certainly wasn’t helping him at the moment he had tried to find something leisurely that wasn’t 9th Wonders comic books.
He could leave, but leave to what? Back to the wall? No, he was going to make a decision. He considered again; the two movies that were playing were almost cruel, but looking around the empty cineplex, double-checking to see that there was suddenly no third option, he hung his head, sighed, and walked into the theatre on the left. Surprisingly, but not really, the film began to play as soon as Peter took his seat.
“Interesting choice,” Sylar stated near the film’s climax, startling Peter slightly.
“Wha...when did you come in?” said Peter, exasperated, to the smug man sitting in the dimly lit row behind him. He had half hoped that Sylar wouldn’t find out about his little break, lest he think that Peter was giving up on the wall.
“What are you talking about, Peter? I’ve been here the whole time,” Sylar answered, looking sincere. He leaned back in his seat and with a smirk, held out the bucket in front of him. “Popcorn?”
Peter waved his hand in annoyed refusal, then crossed his arms and slumping further into his seat. “You haven’t been here the whole time, otherwise why would you say something now. And where did that popcorn come from anyway? There’s no one here, the concession stand was deserted...”
“Enough Peter, I get it, this is dream. You think I haven’t accepted that by now?” said Sylar, also annoyed, but the he started humming ‘Let’s All go to the Lobby’.
Peter turned around in his seat and gestured emphatically to the exit, “Then why aren’t you out there right now, trying to make progress on getting us out of here?”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I’m taking a break,” Peter huffed, and turned back towards the screen. “I have actually been doing something productive for the last two weeks,” Sylar scoffed audibly, “working to tear down your wall of self-loathing which, if the metaphor is accurate, is something YOU should be at least helping with. Forgive me if I need a few hours off.”
“So you come to watch THIS movie?” Sylar pointed to the screen and laughed. “The sequel? Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan for obvious reasons, but the first movie won Best Picture.”
Peter growled back, “I really wasn’t too keen on watching a film where a man goes around wearing the skin of people he’s killed.”
After a beat, Sylar half-chuckled, “But have you even seen ‘Hannibal’?”
“No, why...” Peter started as he tuned back into what was going on in the film, but as the words came out of his mouth, he watched as Anthony Hopkins removed the carefully-sliced skull-cap from Ray Liota’s head, exposing his brain.
“Oh, that’s great! That’s just fucking perfect!” Peter yelled. Without turning back to the killer behind him, he said “This is probably the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in a movie, and this is the thing YOU GET OFF ON. What, did you watch the movie a hundred times? Ever notice you channel Lecter a lot of the time? And, oh fantastic, they’re eating his brain.”
Throughout this verbal tirade, Sylar was quiet. Peter didn’t know, couldn’t see, but the empathy in him could tell that Sylar wasn’t amused anymore. After a moment of silence from the back row, Peter heard a muttering of “I never ate their brains...”
“Well that makes it ok, then, doesn’t it?” Peter huffed back sarcastically, tucking his bangs behind his ear.
Sylar leaned forward, folding his arms on the back of the seat in front of him so his head was beside Peter’s. “Look, like most of this hellhole, I’ve realized this theatre is just another facet of Parkman’s punishment, to show me the monster I was. Who I’m trying not to be. Any minute now...yep, there it goes...”
The film on the screen dissolved into black and white, and suddenly A-list celebrities dining on grey matter dissolved into scene after scene of people, immobilized, helpless, crying, as red lines inched across their foreheads, giant drops of blood falling down their faces. Peter lost track very quickly how many faces he watched the life drain out of, and eventually he had to look away.
“Not pretty, is it? Well, it’s hell for me too, believe it or not. But three years has given me some perspective. The person who enjoyed that, the monster who revelled in the killing, that’s not me anymore Peter. I’m not in tears over my body count, so clearly I’ve got miles to go before I’ve repented, but the killer you knew was constructed from many factors, and that person is breaking down.”
“That monster is you. It’s who you are, Sylar. It was your choice to be a killer.” Peter pointed to the screen, “Look, there’s you killing Elle, after discovering your empathic powers!”
“Don’t give me that! Look!” Sylar said, slamming his fist beside Peter’s seat, jolting him to look back at the screen. Images of Nathan and his mother having their heads sliced open flickered. “Those aren’t my memories, Peter. That’s you. You had your empathy under control for years, and five minutes with the hunger and you craved killing just as much as I did. I’m not excusing what I’ve done, I have to come to terms with that and make amends with the world...”
“You can never make amends...”
“...BUT,” Sylar continued, ignoring Peter’s snide remark, “you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that a lot of your immediate and extended family are responsible for Sylar.”
The two sat in silence for a few more minutes, as the images of deceased heroes faded and the movie began to play again. The only other sound was Sylar’s obnoxious crunching of the popcorn.
Julianne Moore’s ponytail slipped into the fridge door, and Anthony Hopkins broke off the handle, trapping her there. Looking indignant as the killer in front of her spoke to her,
"Tell me Clairice, would you ever say 'Stop. If you loved me, you'd stop.'?"
"Not in a thousand years."
"Not in a thousand years?" he said, as he leaned forward, jaws ready to bite, before pulling back and smiling. "That's my girl" he smiled before he leaned in again, this time for a forced kiss.
Peter cringed and looked away from the screen again, but the sound of cardboard crunching caught his attention and he looked back at Sylar, who was wearing a frightened look on his face as he held a scrunched up popcorn box in his hand. He looked at Peter, looked back at the screen, and with horror etched into his features, simply said, “Oh shit.”
Peter slowly turned his face back to the screen. Once again, the film had dissolved, and instead Peter was watching a black and white image that towered over the immobilized form of his pissed-off looking niece.
“If you’re not going to contribute” the disembodied voice of Sylar spoke over the sequence, “I’ll just have to take the answers from your head.”
Claire looked unimpressed, if a little scared, “You gonna slice my head open again?”
“I’ve evolved way beyond that,” the voice of Sylar echoed, “our friend Lydia gave me a much more precise instrument.” The image of Claire came into better view, now directly overtop of her face. “She could read someone....just by touching them. See into the very depths of their soul.”
Claire looked truly frightened now.
“Of course, her methods were a little hyper-erotic, but...aw, what the hell,” a large hand stroked the side of her face while she was trying and failing to will it to stop, before it disappeared behind her head and pulled her face even closer to the screen, “it is college, isn’t it?”
Claire struggled, closing her eyes, pursing her lips, clearly resisting the best she could , but as the screen zoomed in on her mouth and went black, the sound of lips smacking and heavy, unpleased female pants was enough to paint an excellent picture of what was occurring .
Sylar, caught up in the memory, did not see the first punch coming. Peter, who had jumped over the seats, pulled Sylar to his feet with his shirt and began to wail on him with his fists, relentlessly. Sylar didn’t fight back, merely tried to deflect oncoming attacks, but eventually Peter dropped him to the ground, a loud thud echoing through the empty room.
As he headed towards the exit the theatre, without looking back, Peter shouted to the bloodied man, “Don’t even think about coming to find me for at least a month. I’m not sure how this nightmare works, but I don’t want to risk dying in your mind because I’ve beat you to death.”
Chapter Title: "The Show Must Go On"
Author: illyriaz_shell
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Peter, Sylar (of the non-slashy variety)
Rating: T (ish?)
Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine. Neither Heroes nor the film that is discussed and quoted.
Warning: Spoilers up to 4.18. See Master List for all the authors notes.
Story Summary: A series of non-continuous ficlets showcasing missing scenes from the YEARS Sylar and Peter spent in their walled-in mind city.
--
Chapter Summary: Sylar and Peter go to the movies! Takes place 2 weeks after the appearance of the wall.
--
--
Peter stared at the two posters. You have to be kidding, he sighed internally.
He looked out the window of the lobby; the sun was setting. He refused to sleep, because he didn’t need to sleep, since it had only been a few minutes of real time, even if it felt like weeks. He didn’t need to sleep because none of this was real, no matter how real it felt. However, he was feeling overexerted, and he couldn’t help give in to him mind’s perception of his physical exhaustion. After hammering against an immovable wall for a fortnight, Peter relented since taking a few hours off would only really cost him seconds.
But no matter how much he was aware that this...place...was just a sum of his and Sylar’s thoughts, Peter couldn’t escape how realistic this nightmare felt. He’d tried wishing for objects, people, anything; had tried willing certain things into existence, but alas, that only ever worked in the most obscure and unhelpful of ways. And it certainly wasn’t helping him at the moment he had tried to find something leisurely that wasn’t 9th Wonders comic books.
He could leave, but leave to what? Back to the wall? No, he was going to make a decision. He considered again; the two movies that were playing were almost cruel, but looking around the empty cineplex, double-checking to see that there was suddenly no third option, he hung his head, sighed, and walked into the theatre on the left. Surprisingly, but not really, the film began to play as soon as Peter took his seat.
“Interesting choice,” Sylar stated near the film’s climax, startling Peter slightly.
“Wha...when did you come in?” said Peter, exasperated, to the smug man sitting in the dimly lit row behind him. He had half hoped that Sylar wouldn’t find out about his little break, lest he think that Peter was giving up on the wall.
“What are you talking about, Peter? I’ve been here the whole time,” Sylar answered, looking sincere. He leaned back in his seat and with a smirk, held out the bucket in front of him. “Popcorn?”
Peter waved his hand in annoyed refusal, then crossed his arms and slumping further into his seat. “You haven’t been here the whole time, otherwise why would you say something now. And where did that popcorn come from anyway? There’s no one here, the concession stand was deserted...”
“Enough Peter, I get it, this is dream. You think I haven’t accepted that by now?” said Sylar, also annoyed, but the he started humming ‘Let’s All go to the Lobby’.
Peter turned around in his seat and gestured emphatically to the exit, “Then why aren’t you out there right now, trying to make progress on getting us out of here?”
“Why aren’t you?”
“I’m taking a break,” Peter huffed, and turned back towards the screen. “I have actually been doing something productive for the last two weeks,” Sylar scoffed audibly, “working to tear down your wall of self-loathing which, if the metaphor is accurate, is something YOU should be at least helping with. Forgive me if I need a few hours off.”
“So you come to watch THIS movie?” Sylar pointed to the screen and laughed. “The sequel? Don’t get me wrong, I’m a fan for obvious reasons, but the first movie won Best Picture.”
Peter growled back, “I really wasn’t too keen on watching a film where a man goes around wearing the skin of people he’s killed.”
After a beat, Sylar half-chuckled, “But have you even seen ‘Hannibal’?”
“No, why...” Peter started as he tuned back into what was going on in the film, but as the words came out of his mouth, he watched as Anthony Hopkins removed the carefully-sliced skull-cap from Ray Liota’s head, exposing his brain.
“Oh, that’s great! That’s just fucking perfect!” Peter yelled. Without turning back to the killer behind him, he said “This is probably the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in a movie, and this is the thing YOU GET OFF ON. What, did you watch the movie a hundred times? Ever notice you channel Lecter a lot of the time? And, oh fantastic, they’re eating his brain.”
Throughout this verbal tirade, Sylar was quiet. Peter didn’t know, couldn’t see, but the empathy in him could tell that Sylar wasn’t amused anymore. After a moment of silence from the back row, Peter heard a muttering of “I never ate their brains...”
“Well that makes it ok, then, doesn’t it?” Peter huffed back sarcastically, tucking his bangs behind his ear.
Sylar leaned forward, folding his arms on the back of the seat in front of him so his head was beside Peter’s. “Look, like most of this hellhole, I’ve realized this theatre is just another facet of Parkman’s punishment, to show me the monster I was. Who I’m trying not to be. Any minute now...yep, there it goes...”
The film on the screen dissolved into black and white, and suddenly A-list celebrities dining on grey matter dissolved into scene after scene of people, immobilized, helpless, crying, as red lines inched across their foreheads, giant drops of blood falling down their faces. Peter lost track very quickly how many faces he watched the life drain out of, and eventually he had to look away.
“Not pretty, is it? Well, it’s hell for me too, believe it or not. But three years has given me some perspective. The person who enjoyed that, the monster who revelled in the killing, that’s not me anymore Peter. I’m not in tears over my body count, so clearly I’ve got miles to go before I’ve repented, but the killer you knew was constructed from many factors, and that person is breaking down.”
“That monster is you. It’s who you are, Sylar. It was your choice to be a killer.” Peter pointed to the screen, “Look, there’s you killing Elle, after discovering your empathic powers!”
“Don’t give me that! Look!” Sylar said, slamming his fist beside Peter’s seat, jolting him to look back at the screen. Images of Nathan and his mother having their heads sliced open flickered. “Those aren’t my memories, Peter. That’s you. You had your empathy under control for years, and five minutes with the hunger and you craved killing just as much as I did. I’m not excusing what I’ve done, I have to come to terms with that and make amends with the world...”
“You can never make amends...”
“...BUT,” Sylar continued, ignoring Peter’s snide remark, “you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that a lot of your immediate and extended family are responsible for Sylar.”
The two sat in silence for a few more minutes, as the images of deceased heroes faded and the movie began to play again. The only other sound was Sylar’s obnoxious crunching of the popcorn.
Julianne Moore’s ponytail slipped into the fridge door, and Anthony Hopkins broke off the handle, trapping her there. Looking indignant as the killer in front of her spoke to her,
"Tell me Clairice, would you ever say 'Stop. If you loved me, you'd stop.'?"
"Not in a thousand years."
"Not in a thousand years?" he said, as he leaned forward, jaws ready to bite, before pulling back and smiling. "That's my girl" he smiled before he leaned in again, this time for a forced kiss.
Peter cringed and looked away from the screen again, but the sound of cardboard crunching caught his attention and he looked back at Sylar, who was wearing a frightened look on his face as he held a scrunched up popcorn box in his hand. He looked at Peter, looked back at the screen, and with horror etched into his features, simply said, “Oh shit.”
Peter slowly turned his face back to the screen. Once again, the film had dissolved, and instead Peter was watching a black and white image that towered over the immobilized form of his pissed-off looking niece.
“If you’re not going to contribute” the disembodied voice of Sylar spoke over the sequence, “I’ll just have to take the answers from your head.”
Claire looked unimpressed, if a little scared, “You gonna slice my head open again?”
“I’ve evolved way beyond that,” the voice of Sylar echoed, “our friend Lydia gave me a much more precise instrument.” The image of Claire came into better view, now directly overtop of her face. “She could read someone....just by touching them. See into the very depths of their soul.”
Claire looked truly frightened now.
“Of course, her methods were a little hyper-erotic, but...aw, what the hell,” a large hand stroked the side of her face while she was trying and failing to will it to stop, before it disappeared behind her head and pulled her face even closer to the screen, “it is college, isn’t it?”
Claire struggled, closing her eyes, pursing her lips, clearly resisting the best she could , but as the screen zoomed in on her mouth and went black, the sound of lips smacking and heavy, unpleased female pants was enough to paint an excellent picture of what was occurring .
Sylar, caught up in the memory, did not see the first punch coming. Peter, who had jumped over the seats, pulled Sylar to his feet with his shirt and began to wail on him with his fists, relentlessly. Sylar didn’t fight back, merely tried to deflect oncoming attacks, but eventually Peter dropped him to the ground, a loud thud echoing through the empty room.
As he headed towards the exit the theatre, without looking back, Peter shouted to the bloodied man, “Don’t even think about coming to find me for at least a month. I’m not sure how this nightmare works, but I don’t want to risk dying in your mind because I’ve beat you to death.”