The Bogeyman
This is a tiny, miniscule, indecently short 'Heroes' fic. I have no excuse for how bad this is, nor how much I still like it.
Warning: Brief spoilers for pretty much all of the first season.
(-How long have you known?
-Known what?
-That you’re like me . . . )
Peter can remember each and every time a special has said that to him, or something remarkably similar. And in a way, he is like them, one and the same, kith and freakish kin.
But Peter’s also completely different than almost everything (and everyone) out there.
He can dream, and dream for others. He can fly. He can turn invisible. Peter can crash onto pavement, have his skull sliced and a piece of glass sever his brain stem, die . . . and still be as healthy and young-looking as a 26-year-old man can be. Peter can shift through time and space. He can move things by just thinking about doing so. He is so strong and fast. Peter can explode and emit so much burning power he’s the equal of a New York-leveling bomb. He is a bomb.
Peter’s also a disappointment to everyone with whom he comes in contact. Every girlfriend who finally found out what he was really like, all the specials who look at him in wonder and awe, and finally horror, but most especially in the eyes of his family, Peter is useless and weak. (I love Peter, but that poor kid can barely get out of his own way. He's ruled by insecurities. He's weak.). He’s not real. He’s not important, and never has been. (My brother Peter, the hospice nurse). Always the second son, the one who is lost and shoved aside in favor of Nathan’s overwhelming achievements and personality. (I never asked to be loved more than Peter, but that’s just . . . the reality). Oh, his mother said Peter was her favorite, but now he can’t help but think that was her way of making sure he’d stick around and go boom! If he’d really died when he jumped off that roof, way back when all this was first starting, who knows what would have happened to the world. Maybe it would have been better off.
As for being different-being special . . . Peter’s still not alone, still not unique. For there’s another who absorbs abilities, who has so many he’s truly terrible and a threat to everyone on the planet. Peter can’t help but see the similarities between him and Sylar. One and the same, kith and terrifying kin.
Peter is a mimic, and the more contact he had with Sylar, the more of his stolen powers Peter absorbed. Now, they’re even more alike. Both of them wanted to be special. (It’s my turn to be somebody now, Nathan!). Now, both of them are special, unique . . . two of a kind.
He can feel him out there . . . Sylar. If Peter can’t die, if Claire can’t die, if Nathan can’t die, what makes them think Sylar can anymore? Sylar’s the bogeyman. And if he’s so frightening because he has so many powers, no conscience, an endless amount of greed and a deep desire to be special . . . then what’s to stop Peter from becoming the same? The more powers he gets, the less he cares about non-specials. Regular people. And what really terrifies him, what he dreams of and what causes him to wake drenched in sweat, heart pounding, is the thought that while he has to protect those specials out there from Sylar, he’ll . . . forget about all the other people. Maybe even use them, if it’ll stop Sylar, for just a little while, just enough to catch his breath, gather his thoughts, regain his equilibrium.
Peter’s tired. And scared. All he can focus on is Sylar; all he can think about are the traits and powers they share. And in the back of his mind, he gets the feeling that someday he’ll be the bogeyman to . . . regulars. And he and Sylar will be like two halves of the same evil coin . . .
. . . if they aren’t already.
(-Known what?
-That you’re like me . . . )
Warning: Brief spoilers for pretty much all of the first season.
(-How long have you known?
-Known what?
-That you’re like me . . . )
Peter can remember each and every time a special has said that to him, or something remarkably similar. And in a way, he is like them, one and the same, kith and freakish kin.
But Peter’s also completely different than almost everything (and everyone) out there.
He can dream, and dream for others. He can fly. He can turn invisible. Peter can crash onto pavement, have his skull sliced and a piece of glass sever his brain stem, die . . . and still be as healthy and young-looking as a 26-year-old man can be. Peter can shift through time and space. He can move things by just thinking about doing so. He is so strong and fast. Peter can explode and emit so much burning power he’s the equal of a New York-leveling bomb. He is a bomb.
Peter’s also a disappointment to everyone with whom he comes in contact. Every girlfriend who finally found out what he was really like, all the specials who look at him in wonder and awe, and finally horror, but most especially in the eyes of his family, Peter is useless and weak. (I love Peter, but that poor kid can barely get out of his own way. He's ruled by insecurities. He's weak.). He’s not real. He’s not important, and never has been. (My brother Peter, the hospice nurse). Always the second son, the one who is lost and shoved aside in favor of Nathan’s overwhelming achievements and personality. (I never asked to be loved more than Peter, but that’s just . . . the reality). Oh, his mother said Peter was her favorite, but now he can’t help but think that was her way of making sure he’d stick around and go boom! If he’d really died when he jumped off that roof, way back when all this was first starting, who knows what would have happened to the world. Maybe it would have been better off.
As for being different-being special . . . Peter’s still not alone, still not unique. For there’s another who absorbs abilities, who has so many he’s truly terrible and a threat to everyone on the planet. Peter can’t help but see the similarities between him and Sylar. One and the same, kith and terrifying kin.
Peter is a mimic, and the more contact he had with Sylar, the more of his stolen powers Peter absorbed. Now, they’re even more alike. Both of them wanted to be special. (It’s my turn to be somebody now, Nathan!). Now, both of them are special, unique . . . two of a kind.
He can feel him out there . . . Sylar. If Peter can’t die, if Claire can’t die, if Nathan can’t die, what makes them think Sylar can anymore? Sylar’s the bogeyman. And if he’s so frightening because he has so many powers, no conscience, an endless amount of greed and a deep desire to be special . . . then what’s to stop Peter from becoming the same? The more powers he gets, the less he cares about non-specials. Regular people. And what really terrifies him, what he dreams of and what causes him to wake drenched in sweat, heart pounding, is the thought that while he has to protect those specials out there from Sylar, he’ll . . . forget about all the other people. Maybe even use them, if it’ll stop Sylar, for just a little while, just enough to catch his breath, gather his thoughts, regain his equilibrium.
Peter’s tired. And scared. All he can focus on is Sylar; all he can think about are the traits and powers they share. And in the back of his mind, he gets the feeling that someday he’ll be the bogeyman to . . . regulars. And he and Sylar will be like two halves of the same evil coin . . .
. . . if they aren’t already.
(-Known what?
-That you’re like me . . . )