Fic- Whatever it takes 19
Title- Whatever it takes 19
Author- Faythbrady
Ship/Series- Heroes. Sylar/Claire
Rating- YA
Disclaimer- I do not own heroes, only villains :D
Summary- Exactly why were Sylar and Claire disturbed... and who is more disturbed than they are?
A/N- Sylar Claire lite. But someone requested action. I;m not sure they meant this type :)
BTW- I Totally Blame Spaceanjl for this one.
Chapter 19 (Did someone ask for action?)
>>>>
Two hours earlier.
Sam Wexham, known to a select few as a “The Dungeon Master”, faced off against his evil nemesis. The road to Melgravia had been long and paved with death and his innocence had long since been lost along the way. His companions had left him one by one through disease, death or desertion until he stood alone at the foot of the Great Citadel, knowing full well that hoards of the undead waited inside, desperate to devour him.
He would battle through them, though, and slay all who stood in his path, despite being exhausted and alone. His power was great.
But the Black Warlord defied all tradition and met him at the gates, hurling the bruised, battered and very scantily clad Princess down like a challenge.
He wrapped his dark cloak around himself and raised his thick black eyebrows at the Black Warlord; a man he'd once called brother.
The Warlord smirked. “Oh, sorry did you want her unharmed? You are a little late for that. But then you always were tardy brother.” He spat the appellation out, like it was a cancer on his tongue.
“And you were always destined for evil,” The Dungeon Master replied coolly. He did not let his eyes fall to the beautiful Princess, knowing that the sight of her injuries would enrage him and he would be emotionally compromised. He had to use all of his Vulcanian training to remain detached, even while his heart screamed at him to protect the girl.
“At least I had a goal,” the Warlord scoffed. “And now I have ultimate power.”
“Not quite,” the Dungeon Master reached deep inside himself and pulled at the reserve of power he had painstakingly learned and he reached out a hand glowing white hot.
The Warlord flinched. It was slight but The Dungeon Master saw it and reveled in the real fear he saw there.
“So, you learned the ways of the Old Ones?” he mocked. “Well done, but can you wield it, little brother?”
“We shall see.”
Without another word the Dungeon Master spun a golden fireball from the end of his fingers. It twisted and smashed into the rocks above the Warlord's head, showering him with shards of slate, each a jagged weapon in their own right.
The Warlord simply held up a hand and a blue ionic shield surrounded him, the shards bouncing off harmlessly.
“Is that all you've got?” he laughed.
“I'm just getting started,” the Dungeon Master said, gathering his power.
“God I hope not, because this looks like it could go on for a while.”
The strident sarcastic voice wrong footed the daring warrior for a moment but he pushed the distraction away.
He whipped a spell towards the dark wizard and it raised those shards, turning each one into a poisonous viper, with fangs sharper than a sword forged in the fires of Greyskull.
“Greyskull, seriously?”
The Dungeon Master gritted his teeth.
The vipers rose and hissed at the evil wizard. The Black Warlord backed up, his ionic shield faltering as the vipers gnawed through the magical boundary like it was paper. The Warlord gripped his staff firmly and pointed it at the creatures, muttering some words in the Old Language. Fire poured from his staff, enveloping the serpents in red hot flames. They screamed as they baked, their skin scorching and internal organs boiling inside their skins.
“A child's trick,” his nemesis glowered. “Here's something I've been working on.”
The Warlord flung out his hand and blue bolt slammed into his shoulder. A cold slither began to creep through him, dancing up his veins and into his heart.
“Like it?” the Warlord crowed. “It's a spell of my own devising. It literally turns your heart to ice. Pretty soon you won't care about the Princess, or your people or anything anymore. You'll become just like ice and then,” he smirked, “you'll shatter.”
“Seriously, that's his plan? He's gonna make you hard and unfeeling. Big deal. Here's what I don't understand. With your amazing powers, how come you don't have his underwear turn to snakes and, like, bite his ass. One fang to his john and he won't be doing jack.”
Sam glared over his shoulder. “Shut up.”
Luke smirked. “Sorry didn't mean to disrupt your mojo. Carry on, magic-boy.”
Sam turned back to his arch enemy. “Your powers will not work against me, no magic of darkness can overpower a force like love.”
“Just to clarify, you know you are never getting laid, right?”
“Oh for Gorgon's sake!” Sam threw his hands up and turned around, his fantasy world completely vanishing. He put his hands on his hips and glared at his new room mate. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed that you stay in your room and I stay in mine?”
Luke smirked. “What, no bonding time?”
Sam clenched his teeth and counted backwards from ten in Klingon.
Ever since he'd gotten his powers he'd dreamed of somewhere to belong. He'd dreamed of a group who would accept him and, luck or fate or Karma, he'd met Peter and Sylar who had given him a purpose and were showing him how to control his abilities and use them for good. He was soaring ahead in the program and was due to go up a level-maybe even start Agent Training. All he'd wanted to do last night was come back and relax. Instead he'd been met by Peter and Sylar who had asked him to share his space with someone else; a new recruit.
Sam had thought that maybe it would be someone like him, another misfit teen who'd had trouble with school.
And girls.
And, you know, human interaction.
He'd imagined a friend, a kin; someone who knew their Thor from their Thundercats, someone who knew Bad Wolf from Bad Horse and would look up to him as a mentor- his very own Anakin.
Instead they'd shown up with Luke.
A tall, skinny, socially maladjusted delinquent with delusions of grandeur and a vicious streak that outmatched his intelligence. A thick bully, a Jerry Springer reject; the result of a unnatural union between a Valley girl and a leek.
Not what he was expecting but Peter had asked him to do this and so Sam took a deep breath, introduced himself and it all kinda went downhill from there.
Luke obviously resented being housed with him, if his attempt at an incendiary handshake was any indication. Sylar cuffed him around the back of the head and told Sam to put ice on his palm.
They'd forced polite conversation until Peter and Sylar left and then stared at each other in distaste.
“I use to beat kids like you up for their lunch money.” Luke drawled, eying Sam's slight frame.
“And, evidently, it's led to a fine lifestyle for you,” Sam muttered, his own eyes drifting over Luke's tattered clothes quickly before hurtling back to the game he was painstakingly writing.
“What was that?” Luke demanded and Sam felt himself twitch; a instinctive response for nerd everywhere. It was the 'duck and cover' response, useful for getting out of wedgies, noogies and being shoved into your own locker.
“Nothing,” he'd added. “I'm guessing you're tired. You can take the back bedroom and...uh...”
Luke just smirked and walked away from him, leaving Sam with gritted teeth and the inbuilt desire to turn tail and hide... or make the carpet eat Luke whole- he could do that.
The edge of the rug twitched before Sam got himself under control.
“With great power comes great responsibility” he sighed and went back to his room.
He hadn't even seen Luke this morning, which was kinda the way he liked it. He'd ignored the scuff marks on the kitchen table and the wet towels on the floor in the bathroom and the coffee rings on the glass surface. But it seemed Luke had decided to be extra annoying and enter his inner sanctum, the one place that Sam could be himself.
Plus he'd totally ruined the fantasy.
“Did you want something?” Other than the entire contents of my snack cupboard? Sam groused.
Luke shrugged, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded. “So what's your power, nerd?”
Sam took a deep breath. “It's... complicated.”
Luke scoffed, shifting slightly, he leaned one foot back against the frame and his body shifted like he was going to fall before he quickly righted himself. He tilted his head back and gave Sam what seemed like an amused glance.
It looked more...pained.
Sam frowned. “You know there are cereals with fiber in if you have a problem. My dad had IBS.”
Luke scowled.
“No seriously, every diet needs more than junk food if you're going to be regular.”
“What are you driveling about?”
Sam bit his lip. “Aren't you in pain?”
“No.”
“Then why are you standing like that?”
Luke dropped his foot to the floor, his face flushing. “Shut up.”
Sam just shrugged. This guy had some serious issues. “Whatever.”
“I don't know why Sy sent me to you anyway, its obvious that you're a loser,” Luke's eyes flickered around the room,. Taking in the posters and action figures and science fiction memorabilia. He walked over to the cabinet containing some of Sam's collectables. “I mean what the hell is a Serenity?”
“It's a collectible model ship from Firefly, a sadly truncated show by Joss- no, don't touch that!”
But Luke had opened up the cabinet and lifted the model ship.
“Hate to tell you this, nerdlet, but someone's written on it.”
“It's signed,” Sam bit out, lurching over and dancing from foot to foot in nerves as Luke swept it through the air, “by Nathan Fillion and Jewel Stait and Joss Almigh-- I mean, Joss Whedon himself. Please be careful with it!”
The smirk on Luke's face grew nasty. “You freaking cuz I might break your toy?”
“That toy is a limited edition, signed piece of memorabilia and is probably worth more than this apartment.”
Luke was incredulous. “This piece of s-oops.”
“Oops, OOPS, what oops?” Sam's voice somehow managed to pitch even higher. “No oops, what did you do?”
Luke laughed and held up the model in his palms. “Chill out, it's not broken.”
Sam tore the ship out of his hands and replaced it gently back the cabinet, securing the lock and turning on his heel. He stomped into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of milk to calm his nerves.
Luke burnt stuff, he could have incinerated Serenity.
Gorram son of a--
Sam swallowed hard, bile coming into his throat. Why had they put him with someone who was a few lightsabers short of a full Jedi?
He sipped his milk and almost screamed as it burned his lip. He dropped the now frothing glass and it shattered on the floor, boiling milk spilling over the tiles in a lake.
His head whipped around to Luke who was still wearing that annoying smirk.
“What the hell, dude?”
“Warm milk is supposed to be more soothing, I was trying to help.”
Sam had known kids like Luke at his school, boys with a reputation of being insane who were into graffiti and vandalism, arson, tormenting animals and poking badgers with spoons.
Mostly he'd stayed away since being... educated made him more of a target but not since he had gained his powers had he actually been scared of them. Luke was no different, sure he could burn things, but deep down he was just another messed up kid looking for attention.
But maybe it wasn't arrogance, maybe it was fear. Fear of being different which was leading him to the dark side.
Sam bit his lip. “I know this situation must be weird for you and I know having abilities can be confusing-”
“Can it,” Luke laughed, “your touchy feely bullshit is making me sick. I'm not confused, my powers make me strong, stronger than you anyway, nerd. I can burn through metal, concrete. Hell, given enough time I'm sure I could burn through the earth.”
The delight in Luke's voice turned Sam's stomach. He wasn't lost or in pain, he was dangerous.
“You're a villain.” Sam said flatly. “You're the Emperor, Khan, Dr. Evil. Why have Peter and Sylar put you here if all you wanna do is hurt people and do bad things?”
“Maybe they don't like you.”
Sam's eyes narrowed. “Or maybe I'm to show you the error of your ways.”
“Try it, nerd.” Luke held up his hand and pointed it at Sam's feet. The tiles glowed and began to crack, heat rising in steam piles.
“Stop it,” Sam insisted. “Your wrecking the floor.”
“Loser.” Another tile began to crack and the paint on the edge of the table bubbled and blistered.
“Knock it off.”
The milk carton on the table shimmered and melted into a pile of goo, curdled milk exploding over the table and draining down to the floor, a sick parody of blood trickling over the hard wood.
“Stop it! What is wrong with you?”
“Attention deficit.”
“That's just another way of saying psychopath. Quit it!”
Luke's eyes were dark and angry and mean. “Make me.”
“You asked for it,” Sam shot a and towards the tiles at Luke's feet and it cracked in the middle.
Luke raised an eyebrow derisively. “Is that all you-”
The two sides of the cracked tile joined together, pushing up to create a pyramid which grew in size, the ceramic stretching and growing until it was the size of a large dog, the edges as sharp as glass. With a quick twist the tile whipped through the air, spouting legs and a tail and the nastiest set of jagged teeth. The Tile creature snarled silently at Luke.
He stumbled back. “Holy shi-”
The Tile scuffled forward, snapping its jaws with a clack like smashed crockery. Luke kicked out at it as it reached for his trousers.
He slammed his hand down and the Tile screeched as it began to burn, the edges of the ceramic bubbling away. In a red hot glaze it melted, becoming a puddle of red goo.
As the remnants smouldered, Luke fixed his gaze on Sam.
Sam swallowed hard as the boy grinned.
“If I had Sylar's power I'd rip open your head to take that.”
“And if I had Sylar's power, they'd be picking you up off the sidewalk right about now. Listen, Lex, this could get ugly fast so what say we just go back to our rooms and ignore each other? Trekkie to Warsian?”
“What did you call me?”
“Star Trek verses Star Wars, long standing feud... never mind,” Sam sighed. “Can we just ignore each other, please?”
“Why, you scared because I melted your little floor feature?”
“Hardly.”
“Well then,” Luke's hand began to glow. “Let's play.”
“I'm not doing this with you,” Sam decided. “Go play with yourself... except not like that, I've heard it can make you blind.”
“Pansy,” Luke unleashed his power and the dining room chair evaporated.
“Will you stop doing that?”
“Sure, maybe I'll go and play with some of your dolls, that tall blonde one with the cloak looked like it'd burn easy.”
Ice trickled down Sam's spine at the casual way the boy threatened to destroy his prized collection.
“You touch Jareth and I'll destroy you.”
“Promise?” Luke stepped towards the bedroom.
The Ironing board leaped off the wall, the metal plate whirring and clacking, it's spindly legs blocking the doorway. The striped cover peeled apart with each stripe whipping into the air, a tendril of steel ready to flay alive any who dared trespass.
Luke raised his hand but one tentacle hurtled through the air, slashing at his wrist. The thin stripe left a welt on Luke's hand and his eyes filled with rage.
He forced his power out, trying to dissolve the board but it was too quick, flicking another tentacle at him, this time slashing his cheek.
Luke screeched in anger and managed to knock the board aside, gaining scant seconds to harness his ability. But even as the ironing board began to sizzle, he was smacked around the head by a long black stick. A wooden block containing what used to be a creamer, spatula and flipper, started to drum on his head; the plastic cooking utensils slapping him silly.
He tore it off and threw it across the room. Three tin-like creatures, round and spilling sugar, coffee and tea-bags, snarled at him from the surface, snapping their lids and managing to look menacing even with their daisy pattern.
Luke turned in a slow circle as the kitchen drawers opened and creatures made from knives slunk ominously from their drawers, a monster sporting a tail made of cord and ending in a plug spouted steam at him and a vacuum started to growl menacingly from inside the cupboard. He turned to
Sam who was holding his hands in the air, every inch the sorcerer he had been playing at being moments ago.
“You picked a dangerous room to piss me off in, nemesis,” he said, his voice low and serious.
Luke smiled. “Bring it on.”
>>
“Just up here,” Sylar reached for the doorknob and half turned to Claire. “I'm glad you're here but you might wanna stay back a bit. If Luke is in a mind to burn you... I don't want you to go through that.”
“It won't hurt,” Claire said.
Sylar just stared at her for a long moment. “Doesn't matter.”
Claire looked away as he smiled slowly, sadly. “What are you gonna do with Luke?”
Sylar sighed. “I have no idea.”
Before she could say anything else he held up a hand and pushed the door open. He hunched slightly, as if expecting an attack and crept into the apartment, keeping close to the wall. Claire ducked in behind him, pulling the door to so they'd have a way to escape if needed. Sylar nodded his approval and edged forward, his feet making no sound on the carpet.
There was a faint sound from the kitchen and he moved forwards, keeping his hand raised.
The sight of it chilled Claire slightly, as she knew only too well what that hand was capable of. But she kept back as he motioned to the kitchen door.
He paused for a second bracing himself for what he had to do and pushed open the door quickly.
Standing behind him Claire couldn't see into the kitchen but saw his back freeze.
She immediately thought the worst and hastened around to his side.
She, too, stopped dead in her tracks at the sight in front of her.
It wasn't the state of the kitchen, with utensils and burn marks all around, nor was it the half-charred and melted household items that held her attention. She was caught by the sight of that annoying brat Luke Campbell hog-tied to chair by a long extension cord with a kettle on the other end hissing and spitting at him. A metal trashcan sat gnawing at his sneakers and a can opener kept hiccuping fire at his knees.
There was a long stream of kitchen towel in his mouth stopping him from cursing and spitting at the boy who sat opposite him, a bag of ice held against his cheek.
“Well,” Claire said finally, “that's one way of dealing with him.”
Author- Faythbrady
Ship/Series- Heroes. Sylar/Claire
Rating- YA
Disclaimer- I do not own heroes, only villains :D
Summary- Exactly why were Sylar and Claire disturbed... and who is more disturbed than they are?
A/N- Sylar Claire lite. But someone requested action. I;m not sure they meant this type :)
BTW- I Totally Blame Spaceanjl for this one.
Chapter 19 (Did someone ask for action?)
>>>>
Two hours earlier.
Sam Wexham, known to a select few as a “The Dungeon Master”, faced off against his evil nemesis. The road to Melgravia had been long and paved with death and his innocence had long since been lost along the way. His companions had left him one by one through disease, death or desertion until he stood alone at the foot of the Great Citadel, knowing full well that hoards of the undead waited inside, desperate to devour him.
He would battle through them, though, and slay all who stood in his path, despite being exhausted and alone. His power was great.
But the Black Warlord defied all tradition and met him at the gates, hurling the bruised, battered and very scantily clad Princess down like a challenge.
He wrapped his dark cloak around himself and raised his thick black eyebrows at the Black Warlord; a man he'd once called brother.
The Warlord smirked. “Oh, sorry did you want her unharmed? You are a little late for that. But then you always were tardy brother.” He spat the appellation out, like it was a cancer on his tongue.
“And you were always destined for evil,” The Dungeon Master replied coolly. He did not let his eyes fall to the beautiful Princess, knowing that the sight of her injuries would enrage him and he would be emotionally compromised. He had to use all of his Vulcanian training to remain detached, even while his heart screamed at him to protect the girl.
“At least I had a goal,” the Warlord scoffed. “And now I have ultimate power.”
“Not quite,” the Dungeon Master reached deep inside himself and pulled at the reserve of power he had painstakingly learned and he reached out a hand glowing white hot.
The Warlord flinched. It was slight but The Dungeon Master saw it and reveled in the real fear he saw there.
“So, you learned the ways of the Old Ones?” he mocked. “Well done, but can you wield it, little brother?”
“We shall see.”
Without another word the Dungeon Master spun a golden fireball from the end of his fingers. It twisted and smashed into the rocks above the Warlord's head, showering him with shards of slate, each a jagged weapon in their own right.
The Warlord simply held up a hand and a blue ionic shield surrounded him, the shards bouncing off harmlessly.
“Is that all you've got?” he laughed.
“I'm just getting started,” the Dungeon Master said, gathering his power.
“God I hope not, because this looks like it could go on for a while.”
The strident sarcastic voice wrong footed the daring warrior for a moment but he pushed the distraction away.
He whipped a spell towards the dark wizard and it raised those shards, turning each one into a poisonous viper, with fangs sharper than a sword forged in the fires of Greyskull.
“Greyskull, seriously?”
The Dungeon Master gritted his teeth.
The vipers rose and hissed at the evil wizard. The Black Warlord backed up, his ionic shield faltering as the vipers gnawed through the magical boundary like it was paper. The Warlord gripped his staff firmly and pointed it at the creatures, muttering some words in the Old Language. Fire poured from his staff, enveloping the serpents in red hot flames. They screamed as they baked, their skin scorching and internal organs boiling inside their skins.
“A child's trick,” his nemesis glowered. “Here's something I've been working on.”
The Warlord flung out his hand and blue bolt slammed into his shoulder. A cold slither began to creep through him, dancing up his veins and into his heart.
“Like it?” the Warlord crowed. “It's a spell of my own devising. It literally turns your heart to ice. Pretty soon you won't care about the Princess, or your people or anything anymore. You'll become just like ice and then,” he smirked, “you'll shatter.”
“Seriously, that's his plan? He's gonna make you hard and unfeeling. Big deal. Here's what I don't understand. With your amazing powers, how come you don't have his underwear turn to snakes and, like, bite his ass. One fang to his john and he won't be doing jack.”
Sam glared over his shoulder. “Shut up.”
Luke smirked. “Sorry didn't mean to disrupt your mojo. Carry on, magic-boy.”
Sam turned back to his arch enemy. “Your powers will not work against me, no magic of darkness can overpower a force like love.”
“Just to clarify, you know you are never getting laid, right?”
“Oh for Gorgon's sake!” Sam threw his hands up and turned around, his fantasy world completely vanishing. He put his hands on his hips and glared at his new room mate. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed that you stay in your room and I stay in mine?”
Luke smirked. “What, no bonding time?”
Sam clenched his teeth and counted backwards from ten in Klingon.
Ever since he'd gotten his powers he'd dreamed of somewhere to belong. He'd dreamed of a group who would accept him and, luck or fate or Karma, he'd met Peter and Sylar who had given him a purpose and were showing him how to control his abilities and use them for good. He was soaring ahead in the program and was due to go up a level-maybe even start Agent Training. All he'd wanted to do last night was come back and relax. Instead he'd been met by Peter and Sylar who had asked him to share his space with someone else; a new recruit.
Sam had thought that maybe it would be someone like him, another misfit teen who'd had trouble with school.
And girls.
And, you know, human interaction.
He'd imagined a friend, a kin; someone who knew their Thor from their Thundercats, someone who knew Bad Wolf from Bad Horse and would look up to him as a mentor- his very own Anakin.
Instead they'd shown up with Luke.
A tall, skinny, socially maladjusted delinquent with delusions of grandeur and a vicious streak that outmatched his intelligence. A thick bully, a Jerry Springer reject; the result of a unnatural union between a Valley girl and a leek.
Not what he was expecting but Peter had asked him to do this and so Sam took a deep breath, introduced himself and it all kinda went downhill from there.
Luke obviously resented being housed with him, if his attempt at an incendiary handshake was any indication. Sylar cuffed him around the back of the head and told Sam to put ice on his palm.
They'd forced polite conversation until Peter and Sylar left and then stared at each other in distaste.
“I use to beat kids like you up for their lunch money.” Luke drawled, eying Sam's slight frame.
“And, evidently, it's led to a fine lifestyle for you,” Sam muttered, his own eyes drifting over Luke's tattered clothes quickly before hurtling back to the game he was painstakingly writing.
“What was that?” Luke demanded and Sam felt himself twitch; a instinctive response for nerd everywhere. It was the 'duck and cover' response, useful for getting out of wedgies, noogies and being shoved into your own locker.
“Nothing,” he'd added. “I'm guessing you're tired. You can take the back bedroom and...uh...”
Luke just smirked and walked away from him, leaving Sam with gritted teeth and the inbuilt desire to turn tail and hide... or make the carpet eat Luke whole- he could do that.
The edge of the rug twitched before Sam got himself under control.
“With great power comes great responsibility” he sighed and went back to his room.
He hadn't even seen Luke this morning, which was kinda the way he liked it. He'd ignored the scuff marks on the kitchen table and the wet towels on the floor in the bathroom and the coffee rings on the glass surface. But it seemed Luke had decided to be extra annoying and enter his inner sanctum, the one place that Sam could be himself.
Plus he'd totally ruined the fantasy.
“Did you want something?” Other than the entire contents of my snack cupboard? Sam groused.
Luke shrugged, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded. “So what's your power, nerd?”
Sam took a deep breath. “It's... complicated.”
Luke scoffed, shifting slightly, he leaned one foot back against the frame and his body shifted like he was going to fall before he quickly righted himself. He tilted his head back and gave Sam what seemed like an amused glance.
It looked more...pained.
Sam frowned. “You know there are cereals with fiber in if you have a problem. My dad had IBS.”
Luke scowled.
“No seriously, every diet needs more than junk food if you're going to be regular.”
“What are you driveling about?”
Sam bit his lip. “Aren't you in pain?”
“No.”
“Then why are you standing like that?”
Luke dropped his foot to the floor, his face flushing. “Shut up.”
Sam just shrugged. This guy had some serious issues. “Whatever.”
“I don't know why Sy sent me to you anyway, its obvious that you're a loser,” Luke's eyes flickered around the room,. Taking in the posters and action figures and science fiction memorabilia. He walked over to the cabinet containing some of Sam's collectables. “I mean what the hell is a Serenity?”
“It's a collectible model ship from Firefly, a sadly truncated show by Joss- no, don't touch that!”
But Luke had opened up the cabinet and lifted the model ship.
“Hate to tell you this, nerdlet, but someone's written on it.”
“It's signed,” Sam bit out, lurching over and dancing from foot to foot in nerves as Luke swept it through the air, “by Nathan Fillion and Jewel Stait and Joss Almigh-- I mean, Joss Whedon himself. Please be careful with it!”
The smirk on Luke's face grew nasty. “You freaking cuz I might break your toy?”
“That toy is a limited edition, signed piece of memorabilia and is probably worth more than this apartment.”
Luke was incredulous. “This piece of s-oops.”
“Oops, OOPS, what oops?” Sam's voice somehow managed to pitch even higher. “No oops, what did you do?”
Luke laughed and held up the model in his palms. “Chill out, it's not broken.”
Sam tore the ship out of his hands and replaced it gently back the cabinet, securing the lock and turning on his heel. He stomped into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of milk to calm his nerves.
Luke burnt stuff, he could have incinerated Serenity.
Gorram son of a--
Sam swallowed hard, bile coming into his throat. Why had they put him with someone who was a few lightsabers short of a full Jedi?
He sipped his milk and almost screamed as it burned his lip. He dropped the now frothing glass and it shattered on the floor, boiling milk spilling over the tiles in a lake.
His head whipped around to Luke who was still wearing that annoying smirk.
“What the hell, dude?”
“Warm milk is supposed to be more soothing, I was trying to help.”
Sam had known kids like Luke at his school, boys with a reputation of being insane who were into graffiti and vandalism, arson, tormenting animals and poking badgers with spoons.
Mostly he'd stayed away since being... educated made him more of a target but not since he had gained his powers had he actually been scared of them. Luke was no different, sure he could burn things, but deep down he was just another messed up kid looking for attention.
But maybe it wasn't arrogance, maybe it was fear. Fear of being different which was leading him to the dark side.
Sam bit his lip. “I know this situation must be weird for you and I know having abilities can be confusing-”
“Can it,” Luke laughed, “your touchy feely bullshit is making me sick. I'm not confused, my powers make me strong, stronger than you anyway, nerd. I can burn through metal, concrete. Hell, given enough time I'm sure I could burn through the earth.”
The delight in Luke's voice turned Sam's stomach. He wasn't lost or in pain, he was dangerous.
“You're a villain.” Sam said flatly. “You're the Emperor, Khan, Dr. Evil. Why have Peter and Sylar put you here if all you wanna do is hurt people and do bad things?”
“Maybe they don't like you.”
Sam's eyes narrowed. “Or maybe I'm to show you the error of your ways.”
“Try it, nerd.” Luke held up his hand and pointed it at Sam's feet. The tiles glowed and began to crack, heat rising in steam piles.
“Stop it,” Sam insisted. “Your wrecking the floor.”
“Loser.” Another tile began to crack and the paint on the edge of the table bubbled and blistered.
“Knock it off.”
The milk carton on the table shimmered and melted into a pile of goo, curdled milk exploding over the table and draining down to the floor, a sick parody of blood trickling over the hard wood.
“Stop it! What is wrong with you?”
“Attention deficit.”
“That's just another way of saying psychopath. Quit it!”
Luke's eyes were dark and angry and mean. “Make me.”
“You asked for it,” Sam shot a and towards the tiles at Luke's feet and it cracked in the middle.
Luke raised an eyebrow derisively. “Is that all you-”
The two sides of the cracked tile joined together, pushing up to create a pyramid which grew in size, the ceramic stretching and growing until it was the size of a large dog, the edges as sharp as glass. With a quick twist the tile whipped through the air, spouting legs and a tail and the nastiest set of jagged teeth. The Tile creature snarled silently at Luke.
He stumbled back. “Holy shi-”
The Tile scuffled forward, snapping its jaws with a clack like smashed crockery. Luke kicked out at it as it reached for his trousers.
He slammed his hand down and the Tile screeched as it began to burn, the edges of the ceramic bubbling away. In a red hot glaze it melted, becoming a puddle of red goo.
As the remnants smouldered, Luke fixed his gaze on Sam.
Sam swallowed hard as the boy grinned.
“If I had Sylar's power I'd rip open your head to take that.”
“And if I had Sylar's power, they'd be picking you up off the sidewalk right about now. Listen, Lex, this could get ugly fast so what say we just go back to our rooms and ignore each other? Trekkie to Warsian?”
“What did you call me?”
“Star Trek verses Star Wars, long standing feud... never mind,” Sam sighed. “Can we just ignore each other, please?”
“Why, you scared because I melted your little floor feature?”
“Hardly.”
“Well then,” Luke's hand began to glow. “Let's play.”
“I'm not doing this with you,” Sam decided. “Go play with yourself... except not like that, I've heard it can make you blind.”
“Pansy,” Luke unleashed his power and the dining room chair evaporated.
“Will you stop doing that?”
“Sure, maybe I'll go and play with some of your dolls, that tall blonde one with the cloak looked like it'd burn easy.”
Ice trickled down Sam's spine at the casual way the boy threatened to destroy his prized collection.
“You touch Jareth and I'll destroy you.”
“Promise?” Luke stepped towards the bedroom.
The Ironing board leaped off the wall, the metal plate whirring and clacking, it's spindly legs blocking the doorway. The striped cover peeled apart with each stripe whipping into the air, a tendril of steel ready to flay alive any who dared trespass.
Luke raised his hand but one tentacle hurtled through the air, slashing at his wrist. The thin stripe left a welt on Luke's hand and his eyes filled with rage.
He forced his power out, trying to dissolve the board but it was too quick, flicking another tentacle at him, this time slashing his cheek.
Luke screeched in anger and managed to knock the board aside, gaining scant seconds to harness his ability. But even as the ironing board began to sizzle, he was smacked around the head by a long black stick. A wooden block containing what used to be a creamer, spatula and flipper, started to drum on his head; the plastic cooking utensils slapping him silly.
He tore it off and threw it across the room. Three tin-like creatures, round and spilling sugar, coffee and tea-bags, snarled at him from the surface, snapping their lids and managing to look menacing even with their daisy pattern.
Luke turned in a slow circle as the kitchen drawers opened and creatures made from knives slunk ominously from their drawers, a monster sporting a tail made of cord and ending in a plug spouted steam at him and a vacuum started to growl menacingly from inside the cupboard. He turned to
Sam who was holding his hands in the air, every inch the sorcerer he had been playing at being moments ago.
“You picked a dangerous room to piss me off in, nemesis,” he said, his voice low and serious.
Luke smiled. “Bring it on.”
>>
“Just up here,” Sylar reached for the doorknob and half turned to Claire. “I'm glad you're here but you might wanna stay back a bit. If Luke is in a mind to burn you... I don't want you to go through that.”
“It won't hurt,” Claire said.
Sylar just stared at her for a long moment. “Doesn't matter.”
Claire looked away as he smiled slowly, sadly. “What are you gonna do with Luke?”
Sylar sighed. “I have no idea.”
Before she could say anything else he held up a hand and pushed the door open. He hunched slightly, as if expecting an attack and crept into the apartment, keeping close to the wall. Claire ducked in behind him, pulling the door to so they'd have a way to escape if needed. Sylar nodded his approval and edged forward, his feet making no sound on the carpet.
There was a faint sound from the kitchen and he moved forwards, keeping his hand raised.
The sight of it chilled Claire slightly, as she knew only too well what that hand was capable of. But she kept back as he motioned to the kitchen door.
He paused for a second bracing himself for what he had to do and pushed open the door quickly.
Standing behind him Claire couldn't see into the kitchen but saw his back freeze.
She immediately thought the worst and hastened around to his side.
She, too, stopped dead in her tracks at the sight in front of her.
It wasn't the state of the kitchen, with utensils and burn marks all around, nor was it the half-charred and melted household items that held her attention. She was caught by the sight of that annoying brat Luke Campbell hog-tied to chair by a long extension cord with a kettle on the other end hissing and spitting at him. A metal trashcan sat gnawing at his sneakers and a can opener kept hiccuping fire at his knees.
There was a long stream of kitchen towel in his mouth stopping him from cursing and spitting at the boy who sat opposite him, a bag of ice held against his cheek.
“Well,” Claire said finally, “that's one way of dealing with him.”