Title: Pyre
Rating: T for grotesque imagery and horror
Summary: set during "An Invisible Thread" at the end of season 3. Peter's thoughts as he watches Sylar burn on his funeral pyre.
A/N: written for LJ Heroes_Contest drabble #28: "Fire" may 2011. Beta by Gamebird
Peter watched as the fire caught, flames flickering out from between the pieces of dry wood stacked under Sylar's currently dead body. Light and shadow played over his striking features, straight black hair framing his pale face and wide forehead adorned by long eyebrows, his high cheekbones... his mouth. Peter had studied that handsome face so many times. And this would be the last.
Peter's hand flexed against his leg. He shifted his weight from side to side.
He hadn't known his mother and Noah were planning this... execution when he had outsmarted the other man. The victory, once savored in the back of that limousine had been the sweetest ever, now tasted like something rotting in Peter's mouth.
The crackling fire was burning brightly now, just starting to reach Sylar's body. Orange and yellow flames licked along his dark clothing, flirting with its consumption and Sylar's final destruction.
"Sylar is a monster, a killer. This is justice." That had been their reasoning. Actually, sadly, no one had spoke much of reasons at all. This was the obvious outcome for everyone standing around the pyre this night.
Except for Peter.
"When I saw you in the future, you changed."
"I'm trying."
"Peter, you stayed?"
Peter twitched again. It wasn't too late. He could take Nathan's flight and have Sylar off that burning pile of wood in no time. Get that iron spike out of his head so he could heal. Alive and good as new.
And then he would go back to trying to kill all of them.
*Fuck*
Both of Peter's hands fisted at his sides as he continued to stare at the gruesome display. He was fairly vibrating with tension, every cell in his body was crying out for him to do something. To stop this. It was wrong. This wasn't an animal they were putting down. Sylar was a man. He was lost and confused and a murderer, but he was still a man. He deserved better than this. He had wanted to change.
Peter should never have left him at Pinehearst. Sylar trusted him. Had saved him. Peter knew he should have shouldered his way back into that building and gotten Sylar away from his father. Or followed Sylar after he... they killed Arthur. He should have...
The heat and ash in the air stung Peter's eyes, causing them to water.
*Dammit, Gabriel! I believed in you. Why did you have to go back to being Sylar? Why? Why?* Peter was screaming inside his mind, and he spared a thought as to what Matt might be hearing, but he didn't look over at the telepath. Didn't take his attention off the man lying in front of him. The man that would never answer. Never wake up. And was now being eaten by the fire.
The smell of roasting pork started to drift on the wind, making Peter nauseous. God, they were cooking him and it smelled like Peter's seventeenth birthday party luau. He pressed one clenched fist to his mouth but refused to look away, eyes frozen open in horror as Sylar's hair ignited and was consumed in seconds, his flawless skin gradually turning brown and crispy looking. Bubbling ooze flowed from beneath the lowered eye lids.
*Oh god, oh god, oh my god.*
Peter could feel adrenaline rushing through his veins. It wasn't too late. He could still save him. Maybe if he did... maybe...
Just as he shifted his weight again, preparing to do he-didn't-know-what, Nathan put his arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.
"Hey, it's okay. It's all over now. You did good, Pete. You saved us," his brother whispered in his ear, breath caressing his face. "I know you don't like the idea of him having to die, and I'm proud of you, Pete. Prouder than I ever have been. I love you, brother."
Peter felt Nathan's lips kissing his hair, nuzzling him a little and he relaxed into the old, familiar sensation, his body sagging into the broader one. He had done the right thing. Sylar was the villain here. The one who deserved to die. Right?
Peter, still held secure in his brother's embrace, stared at the fire eagerly disfiguring the body in its midst. As he stood in the semi-circle of friends and family, Peter prayed that these were the flames of God's judgment that he was witnessing, and not the flames of their own damnation.