Bricks in the Wall, Chapter 27: Dreams
Title: Dreams
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Sylar
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Word count: ~700
Summary: Sylar asks Peter about the sort of things most people have nightmares about. Turns out that Peter’s reaction to one of those ‘nightmare’ situations isn’t quite normal.
Peter jerked as he woke, coming upright in the chair, reaching out into the air to grasp at it. “Whah?” He looked around Sylar’s apartment wildly. Sylar himself stood near the door of his refrigerator, juice bottle in hand. He looked back at Peter with an intent curiosity. He wasn’t what Peter was looking for, though, so he got ignored. Instead, Peter levered himself out of the chair and went to the window, pulling back the curtains and staring out.
It was the same familiar landscape as always - trapped in Sylar’s head. Peter felt a dying surge of desperation. “There wasn’t a siren?” He looked over to Sylar, who had come to the entrance of the kitchen to see what Peter was doing.
A small smile played about Sylar’s lips, recognizing Peter’s misplaced hope. There was no life in this place but the two of them. “No.”
Peter turned his back on the window, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “I was in the ambulance. Bad dream.”
Wanting to know more of what demons plagued Peter’s sleep, Sylar asked, “Were you driving?”
“No. I was in the back taking care of a patient, except I kept falling asleep.” Peter made an exasperated ‘what can you do’ gesture with his arms and shoulders, pushing off the windowsill and heading towards Sylar, who faded back into the kitchen.
Sylar laughed a little. He’d asked about driving because he’d had bad dreams where he was driving and the brakes were out, or he couldn’t steer. The dream would progress from one terrifying near-miss to the next. It was interesting that Peter’s fear was in failing his patients, whereas Sylar’s was in losing control. “You ever had one of those nightmares where you showed up somewhere naked?” he asked, slouching against the kitchen counter as Peter got out a glass and ‘borrowed’ the juice from him in a comfortable, familiar manner that made Sylar’s heart sing every time it happened. It seemed so normal and friendly. He smiled softly at Peter, almost dreamy-eyed enough to miss Peter’s lurch and bizarre reaction. But not too much. Sylar’s brows pulled in a twitch.
Peter’s reaction wasn’t the breezy, meaningless, ‘oh yeah, I’ve had that dream’ answer Sylar expected. It was … guilty. And furtive. “Uh, nn.” Peter poured his juice and handed back the container, which Sylar took with a title of his head at Peter’s sudden inarticulateness.
Sylar could have waited him out, but that would give Peter more time to come up with a cover. So he pressed, “Is it usually at school or at work?”
“Um.” Peter cleared his throat and took a sip and if Sylar didn’t miss his mark, Peter was blushing. “Um, you know,” Peter mumbled, “just social gatherings and stuff. Class. Yeah, sometimes class.” Peter looked pointedly away.
One thing Sylar greatly, vastly appreciated about this world was that Peter couldn’t (or at least didn’t) dodge him very much. Neither of them had any other obligations to rush off to. There was no excuse of ‘I need to go do X’ to use to cut short a conversation you didn’t want. Now being trapped with someone meant Sylar was having to learn all kinds of lessons on boundaries, but at the same time he gloried in getting to be with someone and not being ignored. Not as a general rule, at least.
“Tell me - what’s the most embarrassing thing that happens in those dreams?” Because the ‘naked in an inappropriate place’ dream was so standard as to be a repeated trope of popular media. It shouldn’t be triggering this reaction from Peter.
Very quietly, still looking away, Peter said, “That I’m, uh … that I’m usually turned on by it.”
Sylar’s brows shot up. “They’re not nightmares.”
Peter didn't answer, but that was answer enough.
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Sylar
Rating: R
Warnings: None
Word count: ~700
Summary: Sylar asks Peter about the sort of things most people have nightmares about. Turns out that Peter’s reaction to one of those ‘nightmare’ situations isn’t quite normal.
Peter jerked as he woke, coming upright in the chair, reaching out into the air to grasp at it. “Whah?” He looked around Sylar’s apartment wildly. Sylar himself stood near the door of his refrigerator, juice bottle in hand. He looked back at Peter with an intent curiosity. He wasn’t what Peter was looking for, though, so he got ignored. Instead, Peter levered himself out of the chair and went to the window, pulling back the curtains and staring out.
It was the same familiar landscape as always - trapped in Sylar’s head. Peter felt a dying surge of desperation. “There wasn’t a siren?” He looked over to Sylar, who had come to the entrance of the kitchen to see what Peter was doing.
A small smile played about Sylar’s lips, recognizing Peter’s misplaced hope. There was no life in this place but the two of them. “No.”
Peter turned his back on the window, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “I was in the ambulance. Bad dream.”
Wanting to know more of what demons plagued Peter’s sleep, Sylar asked, “Were you driving?”
“No. I was in the back taking care of a patient, except I kept falling asleep.” Peter made an exasperated ‘what can you do’ gesture with his arms and shoulders, pushing off the windowsill and heading towards Sylar, who faded back into the kitchen.
Sylar laughed a little. He’d asked about driving because he’d had bad dreams where he was driving and the brakes were out, or he couldn’t steer. The dream would progress from one terrifying near-miss to the next. It was interesting that Peter’s fear was in failing his patients, whereas Sylar’s was in losing control. “You ever had one of those nightmares where you showed up somewhere naked?” he asked, slouching against the kitchen counter as Peter got out a glass and ‘borrowed’ the juice from him in a comfortable, familiar manner that made Sylar’s heart sing every time it happened. It seemed so normal and friendly. He smiled softly at Peter, almost dreamy-eyed enough to miss Peter’s lurch and bizarre reaction. But not too much. Sylar’s brows pulled in a twitch.
Peter’s reaction wasn’t the breezy, meaningless, ‘oh yeah, I’ve had that dream’ answer Sylar expected. It was … guilty. And furtive. “Uh, nn.” Peter poured his juice and handed back the container, which Sylar took with a title of his head at Peter’s sudden inarticulateness.
Sylar could have waited him out, but that would give Peter more time to come up with a cover. So he pressed, “Is it usually at school or at work?”
“Um.” Peter cleared his throat and took a sip and if Sylar didn’t miss his mark, Peter was blushing. “Um, you know,” Peter mumbled, “just social gatherings and stuff. Class. Yeah, sometimes class.” Peter looked pointedly away.
One thing Sylar greatly, vastly appreciated about this world was that Peter couldn’t (or at least didn’t) dodge him very much. Neither of them had any other obligations to rush off to. There was no excuse of ‘I need to go do X’ to use to cut short a conversation you didn’t want. Now being trapped with someone meant Sylar was having to learn all kinds of lessons on boundaries, but at the same time he gloried in getting to be with someone and not being ignored. Not as a general rule, at least.
“Tell me - what’s the most embarrassing thing that happens in those dreams?” Because the ‘naked in an inappropriate place’ dream was so standard as to be a repeated trope of popular media. It shouldn’t be triggering this reaction from Peter.
Very quietly, still looking away, Peter said, “That I’m, uh … that I’m usually turned on by it.”
Sylar’s brows shot up. “They’re not nightmares.”
Peter didn't answer, but that was answer enough.