Seven Minutes in Heaven

by James Baelish

After his infamous confrontation with Peter Petrelli in Kirby Plaza, Sylar finds himself dislocated in a strange place where he meets a rather unusual challenge. HeroesDa Vinci Code crossover

Title: Seven Minutes in Heaven

Pairing: Sylar/Silas, Heroes/Da Vinci Code crossover

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Alas, although I have great imagination, neither Sylar nor Silas are my own creations.

Spoilers: The Da Vinci Code and let's say the first season of Heroes to make certain everything is covered.

Summary: After his infamous confrontation with Peter Petrelli in Kirby Plaza, Sylar finds himself rather dislocated in a strange place where he meets a rather unusual challenge.

Author's Note: Written as a birthday gift for my bestest LJ friend lj user"phoenixrising06" , who inspired the idea. This one's for you, hun, because you have no idea how much I value your loyalty and friendship in an otherwise hostile environment. You have earned my respect and loyalty and your Brooklynite Werewolf will always have your back! I have a strange aversion to crossovers but this one was unavoidable. I am merely a vessel for the tale to tell itself. Thank Phoenix for the inspiration! (By the way: if the Latin is incorrect, please let me know and I will correct.) Happy birthday, Phoenix!!!

"I am looking straight in the mirror of truth

I am not immortal, I've lost my youth

Maybe I see the hell, maybe the paradise

But one thing I surely know, that my spirit will be rised."

--"Angel"

Type O Negative

Seven Minutes in Heaven
by: Infected with Lupinus
for: Phoenixrising06

First, there was blackness. And numbness accompanied it. Death, so certain to everyone, had come in an instant for him, and it came in a moment when the only thing he had been certain of was victory.

Turns out you're the villain, Peter! I'm the hero!

After the darkness ebbed away, a blinding light ensued. Originally he believed that the light emanated from the stupid little nurse as he exploded, reducing most of Manhattan to cinder with him. But as that light eased away and he was able to open his eyes anew, he realised that it had nothing to do with his bleeding-heart adversary. This light was of a different variety.

So, too, did the lack of sensation lessen into a feeling of calm elation. The clarity was so overwhelming that he swooned as if inebriated by his favourite wine, a pastime he indulged in each Friday after his tedious work week. Yes, that was precisely the memory this particular moment recaptured for him: a pleasant, lighter state of being that carried him from the mechanics of time which incessantly ticked away in his ear for a living. It was akin to the happy hours which his handfull of employees held every Friday; happy hours of fellowship that he was never privy to. Whether it was because he was their employer or the shop outcast he did not know. He was thus ignored, leaving him to create his own private happy hours in his Queens apartment where he drank himself merry, his sole company a second bottle of the Marpat Liquor's best Merlot. This particular lightness of being was identical to those frequent and lonely Friday nights yet his initial reaction was to stand still, staring at his own hands in complete awe, not unlike that whimpering sieve Peter Petrelli had done when he was brought to his knees.

Little idiot! the watchmaker had vehemently thought as he squared off against the nurse. Stupid pretty Peter! Too pretty and too stupid to know just how dead he is!

So much power surged throughout his body that he believed his flesh had become invincible…untill that insignificant Japanese man who had continually pestered him popped into Kirby Plaza with his sword and ran it clean through him. All he could think as it was yanked back through his body was that he'd destroyed that cursed sword in Virginia's apartment. The flesh which had been previously considered omnipotent was diminished to a bleeding mess on the cold pavement of Kirby Plaza.

Life is unfair! he reflected as his sight dimmed. I've barely touched my potential! I never became the man I knew I could be…the man mom wanted me to be!

Peter Petrelli and the little Japanese man robbed him of that destiny, a destiny that exceeded his mundane life as compromised Gabriel Gray and transformed him into the mighty and fearsome Sylar.

Now both were perished: invisible watchmaker Gabriel Gray and invincible Sylar alike, and he rose up from the bleeding corpse that once housed him to gaze down upon it and Petrelli who still stood in place staring at his glowing, radioactive hands like a fool. He grinned wickedly at the other man's naivety and ignorance, positive that even in death he would score a victory because of it. It offered him peace and he found himself rising untill he reached that beckoning light.

Then there he stood, gaping in wonder at the miraculous sights surrounding him. From the distance came a faint chanting similar to the Gregorian ones he used to ignore his employees' discussions referencing their Friday evening companionship that he was so carefully excluded from on Monday mornings. He tried to use his super hearing to fine tune the mantra but it was like this place would not allow it to function regardless of how hard he struggled to make it.

Where is that chanting coming from? he wondered, looking everywhere around himself.

Curiosity piqued, he slowly walked towards the chanting with unsure steps. If his powers were not working then he needed to be extra cautious of any threat. Mist kicked up from the ground at his heels and swirled about him, growing into a thicker fog. He stopped and peered at it with amazement that the occurrence was so sudden; then, just as unexpectedly, lifted away. An odd sort of peace enveloped him and he closed his eyes for a brief moment to savour it.

Gabriel! a French accented disembodied voice called.

Out of instinct to defend himself, Gabriel "Sylar" Gray spun around in search of who he imagined to be his foe. First he thought it was the whiny Peter Petrelli, caught up to him after a most igneous demise. Instead he found a colossal man as white as a marble statue kneelling before a cross not far into the distance.

"What the…"

Sylar could not complete the expletive. Some invisible force stayed his tongue from forming his words. Instead he thought that perhaps this man was an apparition; he knew he was dead because he certainly wouldn't be here in this ethereal place otherwise.

Gabriel, come forth! the pale man uttered without moving his lips.

So my powers are still functional! Sylar thought as he moved closer towards the man. I can hear what he's thinking!

Closer scrutiny of the man made Sylar consider that he'd been mistaken. This was no man for he was far too white, too still to be human. It must be some kind of sculpture. He sceptically strolled towards the figure, intending to do some form of malice yet the closer he came to the statuesque angel, the more he realised that his first instinct had been correct. It was a man after all, an albino of alabaster flesh and chatoyant hair. Donned in only a loincloth to keep his stark flesh modest, the man was the contrary of Sylar himself who was still clad in fully black clothing and looking very much like the mischievous demon to this man's untainted angel. Perhaps that was exactly what he was meant to be.

"You cannot use your powers in this place; they are stolen property and they are forbidden. Nor are you permitted to use profanity. You must suppress your wickedness while you are here."

"Are you an angel?" he inquired.

"Caelitus mihi vires; Christi crux est mea lux."

Strangely enough, even though the hulking man spoke in Latin, Sylar comprehended what he said without knowing a syllable of the language. My strength is from Heaven; the cross of Christ is my light.

"Then you're no angel," the watchmaker acknowledged. "You're only a man."

"I am the Messenger of God." The ersatz angel's accent was undeniably French. "My name is Silas."

Sylar maintained his calm disposition and even-toned voice as he ran through his thought process aloud: "Then I'm confused. Petrelli and that ridiculous little Japanese man actually stopped me? But I was the hero! How could it be?" Rather than being angry, he grew contemplative. "It happened all so quickly. Too quickly. I know that Japanese man ran his sword straight through me but I didn't think I would actually die. Just…get wounded. How is death possible for me? Timing, I suppose. Time tends to do bizarre things when you least expect it."

"Oui, Monsieur Gray. But there is no time here. Being a former watchmaker, I suspect that it will be a difficult transition for you."

"What is this place? Am I in Heaven? Or is this a trick and I'm in Hell?"

"The mind is its own place," Silas quoted Dante, "and in itself can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."

The serene albino at last opened his eyes and turned his head to gaze at the watchmaker. Sylar was slightly taken aback when he noticed that the man's eyes were the red of Hell's flame.

"You're a demon," he muttered under his breath with conviction but unafraid. Acquirement of so much power rendered him fearless, even in this place where he could not use his abilities.

The albino shut his eyes and bowed his head, replying, "I have been called much worse by others who were meant to be closer to me. But," he opened his eyes again, this time peering up into the skies and outstretching his arms, "I have found my peace at last."

Sylar's brow knitted in confused disdain. "Then if you've found peace and you're the Messenger of God, then I must be in Heaven. I was an innocent after all. I was right in my attempt to take the necessary steps to accelerate human evolution."

"You believed yourself to be a god."

Sylar smirked and responded in a thrasonical tone: "I could do things that most people can only ever dream of doing. I am a man who little boys spend nights hidden beneath their blankets reading about by flashlights after curfew. I am what they wanted but could never be."

"Haud vir est a deus," the albino stated. "Not Gabriel Gray, not Sylar."

Rage coursed through the self-professed god-man and, out of habitual force, he tried to telekinetically choke the much larger albino in mimicry of some movie Sith lord. When his attempt failled, he stood menacingly close to the other man and snarled, "They reprobo quis they operor non agnosco!"

Silas remained unimpressed.

"Perhaps they understand you too well, Gabriel. Your name is not reflective of your nature. You are unfit to have it."

"Was it better when I was a wretched watchmaker sitting solitary in the shadows like a wallflower, tinkering with gears and glass?"

"You were a better person back then. A good man, yet unspoilled by power."

"I was a weakling!"

"All of the power you murdered for has murdered you in return, for it destroyed the innocent you once were. Even your own mother was witness to that fact. She feared you in the end and you murdered her for it."

"She attacked me! She tried to kill me! Her only son, who she gave birth to! How could a parent do that to a child? She was supposed to love me unconditionally."

"There is no doubt she loved her son Gabriel. It was the monster Sylar whom she wanted to murder."

"People change all the time. I am not the same man she knew. I have the right to change."

"You have changed into something she did not give birth to. Because of that, she grew to be the bane of Sylar's existence. She gave life to Gabriel Gray and he was killed by the power maddened Sylar and in turn Sylar took her life. You have become an empty husk of the decent man you once were. Now you are an abomination."

Sylar smirked sadistically then remarked, "And this is comes from a man as white as a ghost."

Silas' eyes solemnly closed for a moment once again.

"Yes," he concurred. "A ghost with the eyes of the devil. The man who was meant to be my father told me that many times."

"The man who was meant to be your father?" Sylar repeated. "Were you adopted? Maybe from hell-spawn and that was why he hated you?"

"I was his child in flesh but not in spirit. I belong to the Lord God and only Him."

"But on Earth your daddy put you through Hell, didn't he? That's how you earned your seat in Heaven."

"I earned my seat in Heaven by being the Hand of God. My faith was tested and I did what other men feared to do."

Sylar grinned wickedly.

"And your God rewarded you. But now what, Silas? The demon who won his way through the Pearly Gates. You're in your Heaven, a sanctuary from your Earthly nightmares. Only now when your God turned His back a demigod slipped in through the back door. Do you still feel safe? Or do you feel threatened, unsure that He's at your side to protect you?"

The huge albino was not completely impervious to the other man's words. His body quaked with a restraining effort that pleased Sylar.

"Your God didn't defend you against your own father, did He?" he purred with malice, stepping close enough to Silas that their bodies came into full frontal contact, pitch black clothing scandalously pressed against stark white bare flesh. Neither persona of Gabriel Gray nor Sylar had homosexual proclivities by nature but he knew precisely what troubled his victim and brandished it as a weapon against him simply for his own twisted amusement.

The albino's demeanour switched from tranquil to tense in a lightning flash. This crafty fallen angel wanted to push him off Heaven's precipice and see if he would crash or fly. He knew the Lord was testing his worthiness once more, to see if he remained fit for Heaven. Worse, Sylar detected the anxiety and doubt.

"Tell me, Silas," Sylar gibed, his voice like silk, his hands snaking gradually up the albino's naked and muscular outer thighs. "What did daddy do to you? Did he turn you over on his knee and spank you when mommy was asleep? Did you consider yourself blessed when he snuck into your bedroom every night? Did you like what he did to you? Do you call yourself the Hand of God because you still crave the hand of your father?"

The albino went rigid and released a sharp involuntary gasp when Sylar roughly cupped his bare bottom and squeezed. The watchmaker wickedly smiled and, kneading Silas' rear end, drew the scantily clad man towards his body. Pressing himself intimately against Silas, Sylar forced the man of God backwards untill his back touched the cross.

"You've spent the last several minutes denouncing me for who I am and backing me into a corner," he murmured hotly into the albino's ear, "now I've got your back pressed against something and you seem to take pleasure in it."

Silas flinched and groaned, trying to will Sylar away.

"I take no pleasure in the sins of the flesh!" insisted Silas in effort to ameliorate the predicament.

Sylar iniquitously smiled and lewdly rocked against the albino's hips.

"Seems like you're between a rock and a hard place, Silas," mocked Sylar, so close to the former monk that their lips barely touched. "What are you going to do about it? Don't like it when the tables are turned, do you?"

"I have spent most of my life in celibacy and have emerged triumphant from lust!"

"Without your instruments of self-mutilation you are weak."

His breath sizzled against the albino's neck but the Opus Dei member stood resilient toward this brackish, unorthodox behaviour. For a long moment the pair remained still, each testing the will of the other. Sylar believed the pallid rarity would push him away in disgust; Silas believed Sylar would step back if he abstained from giving him satisfaction. The intimate proximity ended up proving too much for the former monk to bear but rather than stepping sideways or moving Sylar from his path, he stepped forward, forcing his opponent backwards.

"Neither your actions nor your words matter to me," he persevered.

Sylar took pleasure in the discomfort of the other man and sneered, "An angel falls hard when he's only a man."

But Silas shook his head, his eyes briefly closed before they reopened to convey soft compassion rather than fiery vengeance back.

"You have been contorted so profoundly by power that you no longer see reality, Monsieur Gray. All that happens in life has purpose. Including your death tonight."

The mighty Sylar's expression faltered for a split second before he cracked a grin crammed with reservations.

"My destiny was thwarted by that little idiot Peter Petrelli…"

"And what does that tell you about how Fate works? You, the inviolable Sylar, defeated by a man you believed to be someone with no value, a gullible hospice nurse. He was inept at controlling his powers yet he brought you to your knees."

"I was alone," excused Sylar with a growl and a glare. "He had the help of others."

"So he did. What a motley crew they were. The mother who was a former stripper. The trivial office drone, the drug addict, the teenager. These are they who have defeated you. You must feel ashamed. Their victory brought you here to face me not as a reward for your homicidal efforts but as a test of my worthiness to pass through the gates of Heaven."

"You said we're already in Heaven."

"We are on the outskirts, not within the gates. I was not allowed to enter untill I was tested."

Once again a spitefull smile spread across his otherwise handsome face.

"You've been locked out of Heaven? You were a monk," he reiterated, "but God didn't consider you laudable enough to set foot in His kingdom?"

"I had fallen into the wrong hands and was misguided. My intentions were holy but theirs were not. I was tricked and thereby here outside the gates in a state of Limbo, waiting to be tested. My transgressions are absolved. I can now enter and live in eternal rapture with my Lord."

Sylar's arrogant indifference wavered.

"What are you saying?"

"Your purpose here is completed. You are not yet worthy to set foot in this place."

"Not yet worthy? It's too late for me. I'm dead."

The albino smiled empathetically.

"There is always hope in second chances."

The undiscerning light that had been aglow in the distance behind the albino now became brighter still and was increasingly so. Resplendent and potent, it was nearly unbearable to look upon and Sylar found that he soon needed to squint to see anything.

A jolting pain in his chest, in the area where his heart was located, occurred and it was enough to startle him into looking down at the spot in worry. When he tried to look back up at Silas the light was blinding so that the hulking figure of the lissom giant appeared much smaller in scale.

"What's happening to me?" he questioned, fearfull for the first time.

There was no reply but another acute pain brought his hand over his heart which, untill now, he'd realised hadn't been beating; why would it if he was dead, after all. Yet it beat now and he felt himself beginning to recede from this promised paradise.

"Clear!"

The shout was accompanied by another shocking pain which caused Sylar's body to spasm and his dark eyes to swiftly open before he sat up bolt-right with a gasp. He was alive, returned to Earth and apparently riding in the back of a racing ambulance. Disoriented, he gazed wide eyed at the anxious faces around him. An oxygen mask was shoved over his face and he was forced down on his back again.

"Are you alright, sir?" he was asked by the medic who still held the defibulator paddles ready in his hands.

Sylar rolled his eyes in the man's direction so he could obtain a better look at him. He was young and afire with hope and potential. It used to be that Sylar wished to crush such hope but rather than performing some act of terror to frighten the man, he answered with a nod. Something was different within him; he felt it beyond the marrow of his bones to the core of his soul.

Whether or not it had been his Heavenly visit with the pious albino or the shock from the defibulator that accomplished it, Sylar was aware of only one thing: that the sound of murder was absent from his heart.

Latin Translations:
Haud vir est a deus: No man is a god
They reprobo quis they operor non agnosco: They condemn what they do not understand