Fic: Mad World 2/8
Chapter 2.
There were fine lines bracketing Nathan’s eyes, furrowed there by time and weariness. Claire was twenty-one with a full, lush figure that pulled a red-faced stare from Ethan and a sharp glare from her hovering father Noah. Matt Parkman looked to have aged a decade rather than half that, while Mohinder was barely different. Only his eyes showed the reality of the world they live in.
They were the same people he left behind, yet the differences were stark and painful. Very few have improved over the past five years, only Claire and maybe Hiro seem to be more than they were in Peter’s time.
Ushered into the comfortable lounge that his father once used as an office, Peter was quickly pressed into a chair and on the receiving end of so many demanding looks that he closed his eyes against them.
Ethan had been ready to run from the confronting mass of people in the Petrelli mansion, but fortunately Sandra Bennet had stepped in. Taking one look at the emotional wreck of a sixteen year old boy, she had unleashed her substantial mothering instincts and taken the youth directly to the kitchen. A clear yell had stirred her own son Lyle and another sullen faced young man Peter didn’t know to go with her.
Relief at having Ethan’s trauma momentarily removed from his mind, Peter accepted the hot coffee Sandra sent in via the youth named Luke and sat back to organise his thoughts.
In the past three months he had never let himself hope that any of his loved-ones had survived the government purges. Every inmate in the compound had a story of a ‘special’ dying spectacularly in a hail of FedMarshal gunfire and Peter knew that his people would have been fighting in that war. Over four years since the last battles took place, rarely had new ‘specials’ appeared. Peter being the most recent before Ethan had been discovered.
And now this. An enclave of people with abilities run from his childhood home and led, apparently, by his mother and Noah Bennet.
“Peter?” Nathan’s voice. Peter heard the strain his brother was experiencing keeping his impatience in check.
Opening his eyes, the nurse found his gaze not on Nathan, but on Sylar. The killer rested easily in a large leather chair on the far side of the room, booted feet on a small end table. His midnight eyes fixed on Peter’s face. Sending him an angry disbelieving glare, Peter turned to Angela and took a deep breath.
“Last thing I remember from 2007 was the explosion at Pinehearst. I destroyed the formula and got Nathan to safety when Flint set the fire. He flew away, then…” Peter frowned and tried once again to catch the elusive memory. “…I heard something…someone…but I can’t…” Shaking his head to clear the fog, Peter jumped ahead. “I was suddenly somewhere in Arizona, at an old town I think,” Peter saw shock enter his mother’s eyes and wondered at it.
“You travelled in time?” Hiro asked keenly.
“Yeah, must have. But it didn’t feel the same as when you and I did it, more painful for one.” He grimaced. “I started to fly east, but some helicopters decided to chase me and I got shot down.” Looking over at Nathan, Peter shook his head, “Not something I would recommend. I was tranquilised and transported to the Northern Internment Station where they kept me for three months till Ethan arrived and we escaped. Then I came here.”
Looking at the assembled faces, Peter could see something hidden amongst them. “What?”
“Peter,” Angela took his hand and placed it on her knee, patting it compulsively as she spoke. “You vanished five years ago. Nathan looked everywhere but you were just gone. When the President announced our existence and the restrictions that we’d be placed under, some fought back and the wars began. We thought…” His mother’s eyes became suspiciously wet.
“We concluded you’d died in the wars Pete.” Nathan said grimly.
Peter nodded his understanding, but was distracted from answering by the derisive snort from the leather arm-chair. Sylar was looking at the ceiling now, but his jaw and throat exuded contempt at them all.
“You don’t have to be here Gabriel.” Nathan said with a hard familiarity.
An elegant wave of the hand. “Wouldn’t miss it Nathan.” An emphasis on his brother’s name that had little to do with manners and more with scorn.
Knowing that the multitude of questions he wanted answered would have to wait until they could talk at length, Peter looked to Hiro.
“What’s stopping you from going back and fixing all this Hiro? You’ve done it before.”
The small Japanese man stood quickly and made a neat, formal bow. “Peter Petrelli, I have made a vow never to tamper with the past. Nothing good can come of it.” Ando, sitting in the next chair rolled his eyes at the statement.
“Also, he can’t.” Sylar drawled.
Peter kept his eyes on Hiro. “Why not?”
Deflating his proud stance, Hiro sighed. “Despite my vow I tried to go back. To stop the President of America from telling the world about us. But my power does not work, something is stopping it. I cannot travel back in time.” Sitting down again he looked so dejected that Peter leaned forward in sympathy.
“It’s not your fault Hiro. Your power is very difficult to use…I remember.” Smiling to show he understood, Peter was pleased to see the other man brighten a little and accept the small comfort.
“Well, it’ll be useful to have everyone feel better about themselves. I can’t believe we went so long without that talent in our arsenal.” The sarcasm dripped viciously from every word Sylar spoke.
Peter slowly stood up. He’d dealt with any number of aggressive, murderous felons in the compound. Sylar couldn’t generate fear in him anymore, no matter the gleam in his dark eyes. Remaining seated the killer raised his eyes to Peter’s face and grinned.
“Gabriel, go away,” Claire ordered from the doorway.
Sylar didn’t move. “Oh no Darlin.” Faked Texas honey infused the velvet voice. “I’m all astir to see what the brat prince can do these days. Ain’t you curious too?”
“He’s only been home for an hour Gabriel. Give Peter a chance...” Claire didn’t bat an eyelid at the mockery.
“Its fine Claire,” Peter interrupted gently. “At first I thought I could only fly because Nathan was the last person I was near. But then I touched one of the other prisoners and copied her ability to decompose paper. I thought I’d lost the flight for a while till old techniques came back to me and I used it again.” Peter resolutely did not think about seventeen feet of chain. He walked right up to Sylar’s chair and leaned forward. “So your answer Sylar, is I can do anything you can do…” dropping his hand to the killer’s, Peter felt the warm rush of his ability manifesting before the brief contact was harshly ended by the other man. “…better.”
Looking into furious dark eyes, Peter called his coffee cup to hand with telekinesis and took a sip.
Sylar rose sharply and loomed over him with a thunderous expression on his face. Peter, his confidence faded somewhat, backed away as he remembered the nature of the man he had just baited.
“Then given how very gifted you are Petrelli, why don’t you take Nakamura’s power and go back to save us all from this terrible place.” The challenge was unmistakable.
Claire stepped between them with Nathan just behind her. “No!”
But Peter couldn’t give in now. He had no excuse, no reason to linger when he could do what Sylar suggested and make things right at long last. Avoiding Claire’s desperate grip he moved to Hiro and touched his hand. Feeling another ability curl into his being, Peter concentrated on the smell and sounds of the woods at night.
The power rose like wave and came crashing down like a battering ram.
Agony split Peter’s brain and stopped his heart, something wet on his lip and chaos all around. Shouting and fear and if they could all be quiet he might be able to…
Peter only just felt the strong arms that caught him before he tumbled head-first into darkness.
*****
The persistent throb of a headache was too painful to avoid anymore. Peter rolled to his side and contemplated being violently ill for several long minutes.
“There’s a basin on the floor if you think your innards are about to have a bit o’ song and dance.” The accent was English, the words a taunt.
Peter cracked open one eye.
“Of the nine most idiotic things you could have chosen to do Poodle, that was number three.”
Peter wondered if opening his other eye would put a beard back where it was supposed to be.
“Claude.” Well, that had been what Peter intended to say, instead the name had issued from his raw, strained throat as something closer to a wheeze. A raised eyebrow was all he received in response as his mentor and not-quite friend pointed at a glass of water on the nightstand.
“You’ve just learned the hard way why time travel is impossible, it’s being blocked but no-one knows why.” Claude’s lecturer tone hadn’t changed, even if his facial hair had. “Oh…and the Justice League is downstairs having lunch and a conversation about their prodigal son.” Standing from his position lounging on the side of Peter’s bed, Claude tugged his coat into place (a different one, it had to be, because no-one could have kept the remains of that other tattered garment together for five years) and disappeared.
Peter looked longingly at the glass and had almost mustered the energy to move when he felt gentle fingers riffle through his hair.
“Glad you showed your face at last, Pup.”
The door opened and closed.
Groaning, Peter rolled to a sitting position and inhaled the water. The throbbing in his head marginally reduced, he staggered to the bathroom and under the hottest water his skin could tolerate. In the compound they’d been allowed access to a shower three times a week. Due to his chain, Peter had been given sole admittance with a phalanx of guards after all the other inmates had bathed.
He hadn’t had a shower hotter than lukewarm in ninety-two, no...ninety-seven days. God what a luxury he once took for granted.
Scrubbing what felt like an epidermis of dust and sweat from his skin, Peter took in his surroundings and realised that nothing had changed. Nothing. In five years of war and oppression, his bedroom in the family mansion was exactly as he’d last seen it. Wondering at his mother’s mental state that she would keep everything so exact, Peter searched his wardrobe for clothing. Simple dark pants and a grey cotton Henley - that felt a little tight but at least fit - had Peter feeling about a million times more human.
The only thing left to find was food. Claude had said lunch, hadn’t he?
*****
Peter had seen the wreck that was left of North America when flying with Ethan. The ravaged countryside, devastated communities and broken lives. But if the lunch on the patio was any indication, Peter wouldn’t have believed his own eyes. After being greeted by his mother who almost wanted to envelope him in her tiny frame and his brother looking like he wanted to order Peter back to his room, he’d finally snagged a seat and a plate of food. While the ingredients were basic, the cooking was excellent and Peter made note to seek Sandra out and thank her for her mad cooking skills.
Finishing his meal, Peter sipped from a glass of ice tea while he watched the people scattered around the patio and wondered how they had all come to be here. He had so many questions.
Why were Matt’s eyes permanently like Isaac’s had been and was he as completely blind as he seemed? Who was the young woman sitting so attentively at his right hand and what did the presence of the blonde speed-woman mean?
Mohinder looked like his soul had been torn out even as his devastated gaze watched over several small children cavorting around the back garden. A beautiful dark-haired youth spoke gently with a woman who had to be Tracy Strauss but lacked her hard-edged expressions and sad mouth.
It was when Peter’s gaze came to rest on the lounge near the wall that his heart leapt into his throat. Claire had just sat down with a baby in her arms. Guessing the age at about sixth months from the way the boy was snarling her long hair in his chubby fist, Peter saw the instant resemblance to his parents. Sandy blond hair and green eyes under striking brows and a jaw that would be compelling when the softness gave way.
He’d seen this child before. In another future that smelled of fresh orange juice and contained the words ‘Uncle Peter’ and ‘my son Noah’.
Claire and Sylar?
Swallowing hard around the obstruction in his throat, Peter made the necessary mental leaps and came to the conclusion that he really, really didn’t want to think about it. He rested his aching forehead on the cool chill of the glass and took a deep breath.
Wrenching his mind from the wrongness of that situation, Peter asked quietly, “Who is the Spider?”
Conversation stuttered to a halt.
Nathan, the natural speaker, answered. “When the President declared a state of emergency and issued warrants of arrest for everyone with the ‘special’ genetic code, he placed a military assassin called Danko in charge of the Federal Marshals. He’s responsible for nearly fifty deaths during those first weeks.” A roughness coloured Nathan’s voice, but Peter couldn’t decipher its cause.
Noah Bennet stepped in, his hand stroking gently over his namesake’s forehead as the baby was freed to crawl across the rug. “Danko made a deal with one of the ‘specials’ and used that individual’s abilities to hunt down and recruit or murder anyone else on their list. Now that almost everyone is dead or in hiding, he and Danko run things in what’s left of Washington.” Bennet took off his glasses and began to polish them on a handkerchief. “The President rules the Americas in name only. The Spider is the true power now. We believe even Danko is his pawn and not the other way around.”
Peter gave that some thought. “You haven’t been able to stop him.” With that truth obvious he looked directly at Sylar for the first time since realising Noah’s parentage. “You haven’t killed him.”
“We’ve tried,” Nathan gritted out. “Every damn week Gabriel leads a team out to put an end to him or one of his followers…”
“But he’s never there when we arrive.” Sylar finished, anger scouring the deep voice in red fury.
A small hand to the killer’s arm and the rage subsided slightly, although it glittered in the brilliant eyes as they glared at Peter.
“Gabriel, Luke and Monica were imprisoned by the Spider for months before we could rescue anyone. All of them have tried to kill him, but we can’t ever get there in time. He must have a pre-cog in his group of toadies.” Claire’s eyes softened at they looked at her husband? Partner? “We don’t even know what he looks like or what his power is.”
From his silent seat at the far end of the table Claude made a ‘you are all stupid’ face.
Peter narrowed his eyes at his mentor. “Why haven’t you gone to find him Claude?”
All air in the garden was suddenly inhaled into astonished lungs.
Sylar was instantly on his feet, lightening curling around his hand as Peter heard the metallic slide of a katana being drawn to his left.
All for nought as Noah Bennet pulled the safety on a gun aimed directly at Claude’s invisible head.
Of course, up until that moment Peter hadn’t realised Claude was invisible to everyone but him.
“Thanks a bunch Poodle, now I’ll miss all the good gossip.” The soft gasp from Claire and the black-haired youth meant that his mentor must now be visible.
“How long have you been spying on us Raines?” Bennet looked ready to fire no matter what the answer.
Peter rose to his feet and slowly edged forward.
Claude looked totally unconcerned by the three certain deaths hovering around him.
“’Bout six months give or take a week. Since you found that girl with the nails and her demented mother.” Claude’s still strangely beardless face grinned recklessly up at his adversary. “You really should learn to close those lorry doors a bit quicker yeah? I taught you better than that Yank. Anyone coulda’ snuck aboard and you’d be none the wiser.”
Keeping the two power-houses at his back, Peter placed an extremely cautious hand on Bennet’s forearm. “I don’t think he means anyone harm Noah,” he said soothingly. A flicked glance from beneath the horn-rimmed glasses, then the blue gaze was back on target. “Claude stayed knowing I could see him. He isn’t hiding from you any more.” Calm and gentle voiced, Peter coaxed the dangerously lethal man to lower his gun.
The invisible asshat snorted in contempt. “Wasn’t hidin’ in the first place Pup, just loitering to get the skinny on where the next mission is.”
A strong arm suddenly encircled Peter’s waist as he was lifted bodily around and down next to Claire. Stunned, he looked at Sylar’s broad back.
“I don’t know you and Noah wants to shoot you, so…” Sylar flung a burst of electricity across the eight feet between them and narrowly missed as Claude threw himself from his soon-to-be smouldering rattan chair.
“Bloody hell, you psycho!” Raines moved to put Bennet between him and his attacker. ‘What the fuck…”
“Gabriel.” The name in that commanding voice was enough to prevent a second burst. Angela Petrelli walked slowly round the table to confront the intruder. “Matthew told me you visited on occasion. I allowed it because he says you were actually helping us. Is that true or should I ask Gabriel to continue what he started?”
He may have been an asshole and mostly a bastard, but Peter knew without a doubt Claude Raines wasn’t a fool. Straightening his coat, the tall man looked down at the indomitable woman before him for several long seconds. A glance at the still seated Parkman was decidedly pissed off.
“Daddy Long-Legs in Washington has sent Danko here to try and flush you out. I know the layout of the building he’s using as headquarters.” Something of the sarcasm slid back in.” That enough to keep me alive then?”
“No.” Angela turned on her heel.
“Mom!” Peter grabbed at Sylar’s arm, spinning the killer around and found himself engulfed in a heady pine-almond scent underlying a shiver of ozone. Looking up into burning dark eyes, Peter blamed the rush of blood through his system on fear of an impending fight.
A sudden wicked grin crossed the handsome features so close to his.
For a moment Peter was dazzled as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud and belted him in the eyes, but he was saved from further action by his mentor’s English-accented vowels.
“The drug!” Claude called, now sounding a fraction worried.
Angela stopped walking away. Sylar’s smile took on a lethal edge as he leaned fractionally closer to Peter, who held his ground.
Just.
“He’s at the lab.” This caught Mohinder’s attention, devastated eyes alight with interest, “The one where they’re making the drug that suppresses abilities.” The invisible man continued in a disgusted voice. “The brains think they’re ready to test a new batch. Think it’ll keep powers down for weeks rather than hours, gonna try it on some test subjects they’re keeping under lock and key.”
Sylar’s smile vanished. “Subjects?” He growled at Claude, although his proximity to Peter didn’t change one iota.
“You can stay.” Angela allowed in the same cool tone she had used during the entire confrontation. Peter remembered that voice; it was often used on various house-staff and some of his tutors when they didn’t achieve his mother’s impossibly high standards.
“I know the security codes,” Claude bargained. “Your ‘path can’t go with you if I understand those eyes of his. So…”
Angela didn’t pause in her journey back into the house. “That is Gabriel’s decision; he leads our people out there.” A negligent hand wave towards the devastation beyond her high walls. “To join a mission you talk to him.”
Claude looked like he’d rather garrotte himself with a shoe-lace.
Peter gazed up into midnight eyes and took a deep breath of that delicious scent.
“No.” Sylar ground out with absolute conviction.