A/N: uuuuum...i don't really know how to explain this other than that the prompt was "A dog leash, whipped cream, and a rubber chicken." most random prompt ever, i swear...

but anyway, review please!

Sylar awoke to the sound of his alarm clock being shot.

"What the-" he mumbled sleepily, opening his eyes to find his tiny motel room crowded with people.

"Good morning," Noah said cheerfully, lowering his gun.

"Was that really necessary?" Sylar looked at his poor smoking alarm clock. He hated to see a timepiece in pain.

"Well you wouldn't wake up!" Mohinder cried, throwing his hands into the air.

"And it was about time too," Claire remarked, rolling her eyes. "I've heard just about enough of your snoring."

"I don't snore," Sylar replied defensively, pulling the covers up to his chin at the sight of Claire. If he'd known he would wake up to a crowd, maybe he wouldn't have slept in only his boxers.

"Sure, sure," Peter grinned, sitting on the end of his bed. "Come on! Time to get up, buddy." Peter tried to pull Sylar out of bed, but he refused to go.

"Argh!" Sylar yelled, "Stop!"

"Don't make me shoot you too," Noah threatened, waving his gun flamboyantly.

"No biolence!" Hiro cried, stepping in front of Sylar heroically.

"Fine," Noah snapped, "You have three seconds, to get out of this bed. One…two…okay, that's it. Peter, Mohinder, you grab his arms. I've got his legs."

Sylar panicked as he felt himself being lifted.

"Noooo! Stop!" he shouted. "Okay, okay! I'll get up!" And then he was deposited unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Sylar, haven't you ever heard of pajamas?" Claire asked him. Sylar scowled and quickly grabbed some clothes from his suitcase before disappearing into the bathroom.

"Could someone at least tell me where we're going?" he asked when he came out of the bathroom, fully clothed.

"No," Mohinder said tersely.

"Um, no it's a surprise," said Peter apologetically. "Also, I'm really sorry about this, but I'm gonna have to ask you to wear this too." He held up a dog leash.

Sylar blinked. "Excuse me?"

"So we know we're safe," Noah explained.

"Um, how does me being on leash make you safe?"

"Duh, it's a restraint." Claire said, like it was an obvious fact he was just foolishly overlooking.

"Do not worry, brain-man," Hiro spoke, "If you wear it we will not harm you."

"Speak for yourself, Hiro," Mohinder said bitterly. "Maybe you've forgotten, this man murdered my father!"

"And mine!" Claire piped up. "And my mom too!"

"And Elle."

"And Isaac."

"And Eden."

"And Candice."

"And Ted."

"And Jackie."

"And-"

"Okay, okay! I've done a lot of bad stuff, I think we get it!"

"Then you see the need for the precaution," Noah replied.

"It's a dog leash!" Sylar sputtered.

"A magic dog leash," Hiro corrected.

Sylar rolled his eyes. "Fine, whatever."

And then Claire took great pleasure in fastening the collar around Sylar's neck and attaching the leash. Everyone relaxed a bit then.

"Okay, let's go," Peter said, and everyone filed out the door.

"I feel stupid," Sylar announced, dragging his feet.

"Good," Claire retorted, holding tightly onto the end of his leash. Sylar grimaced, pulling at his collar a bit. It wouldn't have been so bad if there weren't so many people at this darn carnival where they had taken him. And maybe if it hadn't been Claire that was controlling his reins.

"You look stupid too," Mohinder told him.

"Yeah, want a dog biscuit?" Noah asked, smirking.

"That's enough," Hiro said, "brain-man is about to do something bery noble."

"Yeah I…wait, I am?"

Hiro nodded. "Yes, you are."

"Oh."

"We're here," Claire announced, pulling on Sylar's leash to get him to stop.

"We're where?" he asked. All he could see was an empty chair.

"Yup, this is the place," Mohinder confirmed, pushing Sylar down into the chair.

"Ah, this is gonna be awesome," Claire stated, tethering Sylar's leash to a nearby pole.

"What is?" Sylar asked nervously, glancing around.

"Just try to relax," Peter told him, and draped a plastic sheet over Sylar's shoulders.

"Peter, wait! What's going on?"

"Uh…don't worry about it."

"Okay, Mohinder go get the pies," Noah instructed.

Pies!

"Peter, I really don't want any pies thrown at me!" Sylar informed him, finally piecing together what was happening.

"Relax, they're not real pies, just whipped cream."

"Well I don't want whipped cream thrown at me either!"

"Aww, it's for a good cause!"

"What, revenge?"

"Well, there's that. But all the money goes to charity too!"

"I don't care."

Peter laughed. "Sure you do. Just close your eyes, it'll all be over before you know it."

Unfortunately, as per usual, Peter was wrong. It most certainly was not all over before Sylar knew it. Over the next two hours, Sylar had whipped cream pies pelted at him by practically everyone he knew.

One by one, they stepped up, were handed a pie and threw it as hard as they could at him. This was particularly alarming in the case of Mohinder. And many people came back several times. He saw little Molly Walker more times than he could count. And Claire must have thrown at least a dozen. But no one threw more whipped cream pies than Noah. He was a complete animal!

Even Peter threw a couple at him. Each time screaming, "This is for Nathan!"

Actually a lot of people liked to holler things at him whilst throwing their pies.

"This is for Isaac!"

"This is for my parents!"

"This is for Alejandrooooo!"

Most people aimed for his face, but he also managed to accumulate a great deal of whipped cream in his hair, on his clothes, and in places he's rather not mention, despite the plastic sheet that hung over his shoulders. When Peter finally rescued him, accompanied by a Claire with arms full of prizes she'd won at her fun carnival day, he was just about dripping head to toe in whipped cream.

"You're…a mess." Peter told him.

"Hmm, I wonder why," Sylar replied bitterly, running a hand through his whipped cream soaked hair.

"Well look on the bright side," Claire said, gathering whipped cream from his face with her finger and plopping it in her mouth, "Now you taste really good."

"Speaking of things that taste really good," said Peter, rubbing his belly. "I'm starved. I say we ditch this place and go to a restaurant for lunch."

"Um," Sylar said, gesturing to his whipped cream coated self.

"Oh right, first we better…come on, let's go hose you down." Peter grabbed Sylar's arm and began pulling him away. Claire sauntered after them.

"Hey, Peter, guess what?" she exclaimed. "I won a rubber chicken at the carnival! Here, Sylar you can have it."