Maybe it'll leave a mark 1/?
Maybe It'll Leave a Mark
Heroes | Future!Peter, Sylar
R | 1170 words
The air in the room shifted, fluorescent light bending around the sharp angles of a man as he took a deep sigh, opening his eyes to his surroundings. He found himself in a small cell block, heavy iron lining the walls with concrete fixtures, giving the cage a cold and solitary feel.
“What do you want?” a dark voice echoed behind him and he turned, his eyes focused on the cement slab in the center of the room. Sylar lay flat against the concrete, his gaze on the ceiling as his fingers were entwined and placed neatly across his chest.
He seemed comfortable for a prisoner, too comfortable… like an eerie calm had washed over the once savage man and at that moment he realized the offer had already been made.
Sylar wasn’t a prisoner. He was an agent.
The man took an involuntary step backwards as Sylar diverted his dark eyes, curious by the lengthy silence. His gaze swept over him, observing the leather jacket draped around his shoulders and the scar across his face, drawing an invisible line from his right eyebrow to left cheek. The indignant stare he received only confirmed the difference as he dropped his hands and pushed up from the cold concrete, “Now I’m curious.”
Peter glared, his lips a taut line as he turned away from him, glancing out the glass partition. “You screwed everything up,” He said, crossing his arms across his chest as he glanced back at the man now perched on the edge of the cot, “you’re not supposed to work for the Company.”
A thick eyebrow rose in response to his comment, his lips curving slightly into a grin, “I don’t work for the Company,” he replied, propping himself forward on the concrete, “I only stay to see how it all plays out… but if you so disapprove…”
His words were cut off by a lethal snarl from the Petrelli, followed by a sharp impact with the wall as a slew of expletives rung in his ears. The biting sarcasm returned, his eyes narrowing in mocked humor, “My, my… looks like someone grew up.”
“I’m sick of your fucking arrogance.” Peter spat, hands finding the front of Sylar’s shirt as he rammed him against the wall, a certain sadistic appreciation fleeting to his psyche at the sound of his head cracking against the metal.
Sylar groaned, his eyes rolling slightly as he glared at the man before him, “What do you want me to do then?” he paused, sending a small wave of telekinesis to push him away, “You want me to act civilized, Pete?” he asked, the tone manipulated as the Petrelli growled and shoved him against the wall again, his voice harsh, “I don’t want you to act civilized… I want you to be civilized.”
He watched him as he turned his head away and the glare deepened, his voice oddly restrained, “Or are you even capable?”
The words barely left his lips before he was thrown back, the force sending Peter’s body against the cold concrete and a reverberating snap to echo in the small room.
Sylar rounded the corner of the cement slab, dark eyes intense and jaw set as he observed Peter’s struggle to get up, a dislocated shoulder painfully visible. Another limb snapped into place as he rose to his knees, bracing himself for the pain that would soon follow.
It happened quicker than he thought and completely involuntary. His hand gripped Peter’s right shoulder, violently overextending it on purpose before letting it set itself, smiling as the scream he heard masked itself in a muffled whimper. “Feel better?” the voice mused, hot breath brushing against the back of his neck as Sylar retracted his hand and rose from his crouched position.
The method was unconventional, but Peter swiftly jerked back, his elbow connecting with the center of Sylar’s kneecap, causing the man to fall back. His head slammed against the edge of the cot, leaving a long gash sliced across his temple as the skin began to knit itself beneath the pooling of blood.
Another groan echoed in the room before being cut off by the eerie sound of a continuous buzzing. Sylar opened his eyes, skull lulled against the side of the cement block behind him as he glanced over at the other man.
“Go ahead Peter… you and I both know it won’t get us anywhere.” He said, dark eyes trained on the orange glow enveloping the other’s hands. The buzzing continued for a few minutes as Peter glared, finally sighing as he let the crackling heat dissipate, knowing that it would only put into place a chain of events that he himself had traveled back two years to prevent.
He slumped to the ground, air sucking into his lungs at a rapid pace as the lingering heat flushed his face and he exhaled loudly. A smirk flitted across Sylar’s face, an almost playful question resting on his tongue, “Where’d the scar come from?” the smile widened as the question morphed into a jest, “here I thought you couldn’t keep a lasting mark.”
The silence was palpable in the small room sending Sylar laughing, the sound rumbling in his chest as he looked down. His lips broke into an unnerving grin, dark eyes evaluating the lethal glare across from him, “I can’t wait to see how I accomplished that.”
Peter pulled up quickly, pushing back against the large door as Sylar’s laugh quietly diminished. He took a step back, halted by the slight tilt of Sylar’s head and his brow furrowing, “Leaving?”
A warp of air enveloped Peter and he smirked, identical dark eyes narrowed as his body faded, the ability abruptly stopped as Sylar shot out a hand, telekinesis pulling him back to the present.
He got up surprisingly fast; deep chestnut eyes leveled with a pair of narrowed amber ones, as they stood within centimeters from each other. Sylar had expected the younger Petrelli to dart back or at the most flinch, but he kept eerily still, the lack of movement matched with a stoic sense of calm.
“You have changed.” He murmured, eyes observing his face before Peter lifted a hand, fingers grazing the dried blood caked against Sylar’s temple, before stiffing them and digging into the flesh of his cheek. The man gasped and jerked back, dropping the invisible hold as Peter stepped away, an abnormally wicked smile gracing the hero’s face, “Just wanted to say ‘thank you’,” he said, an unusual tilt of his head exaggerating a mocked brotherly gesture, “couldn’t have done it without you.”
With the last of his words registering in the man’s ears, Peter smiled, the calluses of his fingers patting Sylar’s cheek once again as they rested against his rough jaw line. The room shifted just as it did before, dissipating the man into thin air and leaving the other strangely caught off guard, his dark eyes vacant as he backed up and slid down the concrete wall.
Heroes | Future!Peter, Sylar
R | 1170 words
The air in the room shifted, fluorescent light bending around the sharp angles of a man as he took a deep sigh, opening his eyes to his surroundings. He found himself in a small cell block, heavy iron lining the walls with concrete fixtures, giving the cage a cold and solitary feel.
“What do you want?” a dark voice echoed behind him and he turned, his eyes focused on the cement slab in the center of the room. Sylar lay flat against the concrete, his gaze on the ceiling as his fingers were entwined and placed neatly across his chest.
He seemed comfortable for a prisoner, too comfortable… like an eerie calm had washed over the once savage man and at that moment he realized the offer had already been made.
Sylar wasn’t a prisoner. He was an agent.
The man took an involuntary step backwards as Sylar diverted his dark eyes, curious by the lengthy silence. His gaze swept over him, observing the leather jacket draped around his shoulders and the scar across his face, drawing an invisible line from his right eyebrow to left cheek. The indignant stare he received only confirmed the difference as he dropped his hands and pushed up from the cold concrete, “Now I’m curious.”
Peter glared, his lips a taut line as he turned away from him, glancing out the glass partition. “You screwed everything up,” He said, crossing his arms across his chest as he glanced back at the man now perched on the edge of the cot, “you’re not supposed to work for the Company.”
A thick eyebrow rose in response to his comment, his lips curving slightly into a grin, “I don’t work for the Company,” he replied, propping himself forward on the concrete, “I only stay to see how it all plays out… but if you so disapprove…”
His words were cut off by a lethal snarl from the Petrelli, followed by a sharp impact with the wall as a slew of expletives rung in his ears. The biting sarcasm returned, his eyes narrowing in mocked humor, “My, my… looks like someone grew up.”
“I’m sick of your fucking arrogance.” Peter spat, hands finding the front of Sylar’s shirt as he rammed him against the wall, a certain sadistic appreciation fleeting to his psyche at the sound of his head cracking against the metal.
Sylar groaned, his eyes rolling slightly as he glared at the man before him, “What do you want me to do then?” he paused, sending a small wave of telekinesis to push him away, “You want me to act civilized, Pete?” he asked, the tone manipulated as the Petrelli growled and shoved him against the wall again, his voice harsh, “I don’t want you to act civilized… I want you to be civilized.”
He watched him as he turned his head away and the glare deepened, his voice oddly restrained, “Or are you even capable?”
The words barely left his lips before he was thrown back, the force sending Peter’s body against the cold concrete and a reverberating snap to echo in the small room.
Sylar rounded the corner of the cement slab, dark eyes intense and jaw set as he observed Peter’s struggle to get up, a dislocated shoulder painfully visible. Another limb snapped into place as he rose to his knees, bracing himself for the pain that would soon follow.
It happened quicker than he thought and completely involuntary. His hand gripped Peter’s right shoulder, violently overextending it on purpose before letting it set itself, smiling as the scream he heard masked itself in a muffled whimper. “Feel better?” the voice mused, hot breath brushing against the back of his neck as Sylar retracted his hand and rose from his crouched position.
The method was unconventional, but Peter swiftly jerked back, his elbow connecting with the center of Sylar’s kneecap, causing the man to fall back. His head slammed against the edge of the cot, leaving a long gash sliced across his temple as the skin began to knit itself beneath the pooling of blood.
Another groan echoed in the room before being cut off by the eerie sound of a continuous buzzing. Sylar opened his eyes, skull lulled against the side of the cement block behind him as he glanced over at the other man.
“Go ahead Peter… you and I both know it won’t get us anywhere.” He said, dark eyes trained on the orange glow enveloping the other’s hands. The buzzing continued for a few minutes as Peter glared, finally sighing as he let the crackling heat dissipate, knowing that it would only put into place a chain of events that he himself had traveled back two years to prevent.
He slumped to the ground, air sucking into his lungs at a rapid pace as the lingering heat flushed his face and he exhaled loudly. A smirk flitted across Sylar’s face, an almost playful question resting on his tongue, “Where’d the scar come from?” the smile widened as the question morphed into a jest, “here I thought you couldn’t keep a lasting mark.”
The silence was palpable in the small room sending Sylar laughing, the sound rumbling in his chest as he looked down. His lips broke into an unnerving grin, dark eyes evaluating the lethal glare across from him, “I can’t wait to see how I accomplished that.”
Peter pulled up quickly, pushing back against the large door as Sylar’s laugh quietly diminished. He took a step back, halted by the slight tilt of Sylar’s head and his brow furrowing, “Leaving?”
A warp of air enveloped Peter and he smirked, identical dark eyes narrowed as his body faded, the ability abruptly stopped as Sylar shot out a hand, telekinesis pulling him back to the present.
He got up surprisingly fast; deep chestnut eyes leveled with a pair of narrowed amber ones, as they stood within centimeters from each other. Sylar had expected the younger Petrelli to dart back or at the most flinch, but he kept eerily still, the lack of movement matched with a stoic sense of calm.
“You have changed.” He murmured, eyes observing his face before Peter lifted a hand, fingers grazing the dried blood caked against Sylar’s temple, before stiffing them and digging into the flesh of his cheek. The man gasped and jerked back, dropping the invisible hold as Peter stepped away, an abnormally wicked smile gracing the hero’s face, “Just wanted to say ‘thank you’,” he said, an unusual tilt of his head exaggerating a mocked brotherly gesture, “couldn’t have done it without you.”
With the last of his words registering in the man’s ears, Peter smiled, the calluses of his fingers patting Sylar’s cheek once again as they rested against his rough jaw line. The room shifted just as it did before, dissipating the man into thin air and leaving the other strangely caught off guard, his dark eyes vacant as he backed up and slid down the concrete wall.