ficlets: Heroes and Glee
Title: You made him, now create his equal
Fandom: Heroes
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Gilgamesh.
Warnings: spoilers for season 3; AU for season 4
Pairings: none stated
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 910
Point of view: third
Notes: this is very old. I’m tired of it being on my computer, so I’m tossing it out into the interwebs.
On Nathan Petrelli’s inauguration day, he told the people to expect change. “A great day is upon us, my friends,” he said. “Be ready.”
The past few years could not be erased, but Petrelli said that a new day dawned. “We have let down our fellow citizens,” the president announced. “We must make amends.”
Dr. Mohinder Suresh stood by Petrelli’s side, as did his brother. His mother stood at his back, her smile seemingly pasted on and fake.
“Darling,” she said as they walked to the limousine. “Now what?”
He kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, Ma,” he assured her. “I know what I’m doing.”
o0o
“Nice speech,” Luke said as the president settled on the couch.
“Thanks, kiddo,” he replied, cracking his neck and shifting his skin. “I think the people enjoyed it.”
“What are you doing?” Mohinder demanded, looking over his shoulder. “Sylar!”
“Fine, fine.” Sylar sighed and shifted back to Nathan’s face. “You worry too much, Mohinder.” He turned to Molly. “Have you found him yet?”
Molly nodded, eyes going distant. “He’s in Miami.”
The president considered for a moment. “Luke,” he decided, glancing down at the boy. “Take my daughter and Molly; bring him home.”
Luke stood. “Yes, Mr. President,” he said. Molly followed him to the door.
“And Luke,” Petrelli called. “Don’t cause any permanent damage. We want him on our side.”
o0o
The first few months of his term, President Petrelli repealed many of the restrictions on the specials. He reached out, soothing fears and making allies. He was universally adored, by specials and normals alike.
Specials migrated from all over the world and the other nations began to worry. Some suggested that Petrelli was building an army, and all the president ever did was smile.
He listened to the Joint Chiefs and his other advisors. He shook hands with soldiers and cancer patients, kissed babies, and invited world leaders to the White House for brunch.
When he was up for reelection, he won by a landslide.
o0o
“Well?” Luke said, slouched against the wall, Molly on one side and Claire on the other.
The president looked at Micah and raised an eyebrow. “Can you do it?”
Micah nodded. “It’ll be difficult-but I think I can.” He opened his eyes and stepped back from the computer. “I don’t suppose you have some sort of power booster.”
“Actually,” Sylar said. “I do.” He walked to the door and called, “Mohinder! Bring Red to the War Room.”
o0o
Three weeks after Nathan Petrelli’s reelection, a worldwide virus took out computers. It traveled through the internet and shut them down. No matter how the people tried, or the failsafes they had in place, no computer came back on.
The only exception, though no one talked about it, was the White House.
o0o
Sylar sat in the Oval Office, the most powerful man in the world.
Peter stared at him, unable to think of a thing to say. He kept opening his mouth and closing it, discarding the words.
“Did-does Mom know?” he finally asked.
Sylar nodded, smiling. “She’s the one who put me in your brother’s skin, Pete. She told Parkman to give me his memories and make me believe I was Nathan Petrelli.” He stood and walked around the desk, stopping in front of Peter. “Your brother will be remembered as the greatest, most beloved president in history.”
“And what are you gonna do?” Peter asked, staring up at Sylar with wet eyes.
“Join me,” Sylar said. “And find out.”
o0o
The attack on the White House happened at dawn. President Petrelli was killed immediately. At least, that’s what all the records said.
He was remembered as the greatest, most beloved president in the short history of the United States.
o0o
Sylar took power with an army of specials, though everyone on his side-and soon enough, those who weren’t-knew he didn’t need an army. Anything one of his followers could do, he could do better. But he had one limitation: he couldn’t be in two places at once. Not yet.
Luke said, “What now?”
Sylar shrugged. “I never really thought beyond replacing myself with the right face.”
o0o
Four weeks after President Petrelli’s death, computers turned back on and nations tried bombing America, hoping to kill Sylar.
“Nice try,” Sylar laughed in worldwide broadcast. “As of now, this planet is mine.”
o0o
It wasn’t long before people realized that, in all honesty, nothing had changed. So long as no one threatened him or his generals, Sylar seemed to have a live-and-let-live policy.
“You know,” Sylar mused one night to Mohinder, “Sometimes, I wish I could thank Arthur Petrelli.”
“Why?” Mohinder asked.
Sylar smiled. “If he hadn’t shown me a way to harvest abilities without killing, I’d be completely alone.”
o0o
“So,” Micah said. He looked at Molly shyly. “Wanna go out sometime?”
She grinned, taking his hand. “I like seafood.”
“Oh, I’m gonna barf,” Luke grumbled. “Take the sickeningly sweet display somewhere else, kids.”
Claire chuckled. “I think they’re cute.”
Luke cut the deck in two, giving her half. “You would.”
o0o
“Mom,” Peter asked. “Did you… is this what you wanted?”
Angela looked down the row of tombstones, at the people who died because they wouldn’t compromise with Sylar, couldn’t see past what he’d once been.
“No,” she answered quietly. “But I learned a long time ago to make the best of things.”
And to wait, she didn’t say. She turned her face to the sky and savored the sunlight on her skin.
Title: what mirror to render
Fandom: Glee
Disclaimer: not my characters; title from Adrienne Rich
Warnings: AUish; dark
Pairings: pre-Kurt/Puck
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 290
Point of view: third
Prompt: intolerant
Blood drips into the sink. Kurt’s hands are trembling and he avoids looking in the mirror-he knows what he’d see. Adrenaline courses through him, and he’s sure that he should regret it, that he should feel bad about it…
But he doesn’t. He can’t. He’s tired of taking it and taking it and taking it, and he’s done being afraid.
His cell rings, the obnoxious tone that means Noah Puckerman is calling.
(He’d watched with wide eyes and sworn to clean up the evidence. Kurt decided to trust him. There was a new respect in Puck’s gaze, and Kurt met it straight-on.)
“On my way,” Puck says. “You and me need to have words.”
Kurt hangs up and goes back to washing his hands.
He killed a boy tonight. Dad’s on a date with Carole; they’ll be back late. Finn’s out with Quinn. He’ll be back later.
And Kurt will be talking to Puck about murder. He can’t believe this is happening.
He also can’t regret it.
Kurt meets his reflection’s gaze and dries his hands. A good host offers refreshments, so he goes downstairs to raid the pantry.
He’s done taking harassment and abuse. He’s done raising his chin and surviving it. Yeah, he’s getting out of this town someday, but he doesn’t have to hurt all the time.
Puck lets himself in and Kurt calls, “The kitchen!” He looks up with a smile; Puck’s scrubbed clean and he nods, so Kurt knows the scene is, too.
“I had fun tonight,” Puck says.
Kurt smiles again, setting a plate of fruit and crackers on the counter in front of Puck. “Me, too,” he says.
A heartbeat of silence, then Puck asks, “Any plans to do it again?”
Kurt’s still smiling.