A/N: I'm about ready to run around screaming the lyrics to songs from RENT, while fawning over Pylar fanfics. So I, in my infinite wisdom (stop laughing, Sylar!), decided I would combine both the lyrics of What You Own and my favorite Heroes pairing. Fun, no? Not to mention Roger/Mark sing this and they were my first slash pairing. Ah, memories. But, anyways, I'm making Peter a little OOC, okay? I'm making him, in fact, a little more like Mark. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I own neither RENT or Heroes. If I did, Sylar would have had brief affairs with Peter, Mohinder, Luke and Claire already.
Season: Four, AU. Sylar has his body, memory and powers. Plus one.
Spoilers: None that I know of.
Warnings: Slight language, mentions of slash.
Pairings: Sylar/Peter.

And when you're living in America
At the end of the millennium
You're what you own so
I own not a notion
I escape and fake content
I don't own emotion.
I rent.

It was undeniably cold, and to think it was only the fall. Peter Petrelli glared at a passerby, silently wondering why it had to be so damn cold when the leaves had only begun to fall. Finally, not able to take his own emotions any longer, he stopped and leaned against the rutting building only a few blocks away from the hospital. He focused on his breathing, a small trick he learned from the years he went to the school's psychiatrist as a teen.

He was never depressed or psychologically challenged, per se. Just...grey. He couldn't bring himself to care. Sure, he could empathize if his brother broke up with a girlfriend and could easily perk up the lonely kid sitting at the table by the trash cans during lunch, but that wasn't caring. It was understanding. There was a large difference between the two, and only those who didn't have the problem couldn't see the large ravine between them. They somehow blurred the lines. And maybe that's why, when he found out he actually cared for it, he had been so intent on being different. On being heroic.

But being heroic came with things he couldn't stand. Like saving illegitimate cheerleader nieces from crazy, stalking serial killer's who wanted to be as special as he did for example. Oh, yeah. That was totally hypothetical.

But he had the easy end of the stick. A smooth, practically carved walking stick end. The serial killer was holding what was basically the limb of a rose bush, minus the rose.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Peter heaved a sigh, glancing down at his clenched, gloved hands. Once upon a time he wasn't so sour, had a nice job. Saved lives. Something that would get him out of bed each day. Still had that, even now, yet he could feel something missing. And things had begun to happen to him, people coming into his life that he knew shouldn't be there. And, as much as he wished it would stop and he could go back into that blissful life of grey, he knew they wouldn't stop coming. He was officially deemed the hero of everyone he knew. Why else did Nathan come to him when he felt things were missing in his life? Because his brother believed that Peter had everything together.

It didn't matter that Peter was the younger brother and it was Nathan who should be caring for him. It didn't matter that no one saw what Peter was going through.

Peter was the hero. A hero doesn't have problems. They solve them. Sometimes he hated being the hero.


Sometimes Sylar hated being the villain.

That was an odd statement, and certainly not true most of the time. But it came upon his mind all the same.

He was leaning against a pillar, watching the dark-haired man across the street get his act together. The odd thing about coming back after getting a new ability, was using that exact ability. A lot of the time he used innocents, people who wouldn't be missed. But, oddly enough, when he gained the ability to decipher someones feelings and make them his own, or shove feelings upon another, he wanted to do it to someone he knew. And Peter, being his greatest enemy for God only knows what, seemed like the perfect target.

He started out simple, taking the past few weeks to figure out his schedule, and the other day forced a feeling of anger upon Peter in a cafe. The result was surprising. Peter, ever the kind heroic, simply twitched an eye at the waitress and clenched his jaw.

So Sylar did the next reasonable thing anyone would do. He increased the anger. He watched, in severe interest, as Peter's hands clenched and unclenched. For the next few minutes it was quite entertaining, watching as the empath showed signs of barely contained anger and the waitresses skittering to get far away from him. And then, as if Sylar had lost every power he ever had, Peter suddenly deflated. The man sunk low into his seat, staring up at the ceiling with forlorn eyes, and no matter how much Sylar increased the anger Peter did not twitch.

Stunned, Sylar had left.

Today Sylar decided to use the other half, taking away a feeling and making it his own. It was fascinating, if not sad. It was like reading the empath's mind, understanding every little nook and cranny, and, sadly enough, Sylar found many things that were close to his own feelings and beliefs. The most prominent being that nobody saw what was happening to him. To them.

They were dying, slowly and surely dying from the inside out. And no one saw as, with trembling hands and scared voices, they cried out for help. Their worlds crashed in upon themselves, and nothing would revive it.

And then there was the difference. Sylar had learned how to cope with that, how to move on, and Peter had not. Peter was living in his own secluded world, watching as dreams slipped like sand through his fingers. And, no matter how tight he held or wished for it, they never came back.

They were alike in many ways.

Sylar wished they weren't. Because, now, he never wanted anything to happen to the man across the street. All he wanted, and it pained him to think it, was to show Peter he wasn't alone in this rotting country.

He wanted, and this scared him, to hold Peter. And never, ever let go.

Dying in America
At the end of the millennium
We're dying in America
To come into our own
And when you're dying in America
At the end of the millennium
You're not alone
I'm not alone
(What You Own, RENT)

A/N: Hope that was enjoyable for you. I couldn't resist putting the end lyrics there, they're quite fantastic. Now, excuse me while I go pray someone will create a RENT Heroes fanvid. Also, I'm sorry at the very beginning where it goes from my a/n straight to the lyrics. There was supposed to be a line break but it's being evil. Review, please!

I remain your obedient Authoress,

Lushy