Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 8: Stay
Title: Stay
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,200
Setting: The Wall
Warnings: None
Summary: Peter realizes he is unwilling to leave Sylar behind in the world of the Wall.
Peter looked out at the desolate landscape, which was shrouded from his view by darkness, rain and the grime thinly coating the cracked window. He shoved his hands further into his pockets, ignoring the damp and cold that seeped into his bones and covered his shoulders like an icy mantel. What he couldn't ignore were the faint shifting noises from the corner where Sylar sat, shivering as quietly and stoically as he could. The taller, somewhat thinner man seemed more susceptible to the chill and wet, but maybe that was just another feature of this crazy mental prison. Sylar didn't believe this was fake; Peter did and so perhaps it was easier for him to shrug off effects that Sylar found unshakable.
They'd walked for miles, driven on by Peter's insistence that he find a way out of here, a physical route that might be just over the horizon. And so they'd walked. Peter was determined; Sylar had followed. At first, Peter had thought Sylar went with him just to gloat when Peter turned out to be wrong. But as the day wore on, other possibilities began to filter into his thoughts. Maybe Sylar wanted to get out, too. Maybe he believed Peter and didn't want to risk being left behind in eternal solitary confinement. Maybe he just wanted to be with Peter, to stand by him, to go where he went. Faithful. And strangely, loyal. As evening drew on, those last reasons seemed truest, odd as it seemed.
Peter sighed as he strained his eyes against the night, dimly making out the jagged edges of abandoned buildings. They were vacant by necessity - nothing else lived in the nightmare world of Matt's creation - but the further Peter had walked, the less defined the structures had been. They showed increasing signs of decay and decrepitude, like there might indeed be an eventual end to the signs of civilization. The whole buildings, the furnished apartments, the diners and grocery stores well-stocked for their needs; the books, the baseballs, the hot showers and functioning electricity that Peter had taken for granted - all these were well behind him. Before him lay a bleak nothingness - a flat, empty landscape of hardship and privation.
And here was Sylar by his side, unflagging in his company. It was almost like … devotion. As the day had ended and light had left the land, Sylar had not faltered. He had suggested they seek shelter, but when Peter, ever foolhardy, had disregarded his warnings and pressed on, Sylar had fallen into step without quibble. Peter was beginning to think Sylar would follow him anywhere, even unto the end of the world.
It was an unasked for honor. Peter didn't know what to do with it now that he had it, but he felt guilty for not protecting someone who was putting such faith in him. He glanced back, side-eyeing the other man. Sylar sat on the floor, on a ratty blanket reminiscent of the ones movers used to wrap and protect furniture. There were scraps of cardboard littering the floor and although they were both grateful to have found a building intact enough to stave off the rain and the cutting, fitful wind, there were no other comforts to be found here. Sylar's legs were drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around them. His chin was tucked down atop his knees and his frame shuddered continually from the cold.
It was a little-known fact that people could get hypothermia at temperatures well above freezing. Neither of them had dressed for a long trek, nor brought supplies. They had only each other.
Peter frowned. The chance of getting out was slim. Sylar was already suffering from the journey. That was certain. Dying wasn't the 'way out' Peter wanted to explore, especially if it was Peter's own actions that sent Sylar to that undiscovered country ahead of him. He relaxed as a decision settled over him. In the morning, they would return to where Sylar was comfortable, where his things were, where his home was. And Peter would go with him.
That determined, he turned from the window and walked over to his companion, who looked up at him with dull, tired eyes. Peter gathered up some of the cardboard, making a stack of it at the edge of the blanket with the cleanest scrap on top. Sylar watched him silently. They'd already discussed that they had nothing to make a fire with, but that wasn't Peter's goal.
"Lie down. Use this as a pillow," Peter directed. Sylar looked at him blankly, still shivering jerkily, and obeyed. It was hardly the strangest thing Peter had asked him to do. No, probably the strangest was what was going to happen next. Peter knelt beside and behind Sylar, guiding him to turn onto his side.
"Wh-wh-what are you d-doing?" Sylar stammered out, letting Peter handle him anyway.
"I'm going to …" He wasn't willing to say what he was going to do. He felt embarrassed about it, but he had no other way to provide the warmth that Sylar obviously, desperately needed. They had no dry clothes (again, Peter's fault for not seeking shelter as soon as the sky had clouded and rain seemed immanent) and no way to get them. There was nothing else to do but what Peter planned. Instead of explaining, he just nudged Sylar into the position he wanted and laid down next to him, spooning up close as Sylar tensed all over, this time not from the cold. "Here," Peter said softly, wrapping himself against the other man's body, offering his body heat. "Maybe we can sleep like this. In the morning we'll go back home."
Throwing everything to the wind - caution, decorum and probably sense - Peter wormed his arm around Sylar's waist, holding him close with an intimacy they had never shared before, but Sylar had hinted a few times was desired. Peter had things he could offer besides just his body heat. Friendliness and affection were among them, along with actually caring about Sylar, and more importantly: showing it. Peter turned his head to the side and pressed his cheek against Sylar's back, between his shoulder blades. Moved by some empathetic instinct he hadn't even known he still had, Peter added, "I won't try to leave you again."
He meant it. They both felt it. Sylar's shudders faded. He gripped Peter's hand with icy fingers, holding fast to him and saying nothing. Peter wriggled a tiny bit closer, making sure there was no space whatsoever between them. Slowly, silently, the warmth grew and with the retreat of the chill came a peaceful sleep.