Chapter 1 – The Truth

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Dominating the executive office at Pinehearst with his surprise entrance, Sylar was in his element. He'd been determined for this moment to arrive ever since Noah Bennett had slit his throat then rocked his world, but now the wait was over. He was face-to-face with Arthur Petrelli, seconds away from confronting this so-called father about his lineage, but more importantly, he had just the ability to help him identify the truth. He and Arthur weren't alone of course, Peter and the Haitian were also nearby, but one was powerless and the other weakened; they were no major threat to him at all. Aside from Sylar himself, the only potential menace in the room was Arthur, but even he could be wiped out in an instant the way Sylar was currently feeling.

He slowed – but didn't completely stop – the bullet that Peter had fired at "their" father, not the least bit troubled by the fear brewing on Arthur's face. The man should be afraid. His life was about to end. Smiling slightly as he announced there was no place he'd rather be than with family, Sylar waited a beat, cocked his head, then asked the only question that mattered to him.

"Are you really my family?"

Frozen in place and all too aware of the slug that was steadily spinning ever closer to his head, Arthur gazed at him warily. "Of course …" he replied, "I'm your father."

No, you're not, Sylar thought. Still, he kept his head cocked and listened to those five simple words as they exited the mouth of Peter's dad, waiting five full seconds longer than necessary for the tingle that would tell him he'd just been lied to. The moment it came, he was going to kill the man faster than he deserved for betraying him, and after that, he was going to find that conniving witch, Angela Petrelli, so he could do even worse things to her.

Sylar waited for that tingle and then waited some more, but as five seconds stretched to ten and no tremor ran through him, he hitched in a breath and dropped his right arm. His concentration shattered. Confusion was etched in his face as the bullet he'd slowed telekinetically was driven into the carpet by someone else, and in a daze, he watched Arthur straighten up then focus on him in disappointment. An angry flick of Arthur's wrist sent The Haitian into a wall at full force where he slid to the floor, concussed and unconscious, but Sylar barely registered the movement. He didn't notice Peter rushing to René's aid either. He was too shocked by what he'd just learned.

"You-you are my father," he stuttered. "I thought … Noah said—"

"Noah who? Noah Bennett?" Arthur kept a stern gaze on his son. "Gabriel, that man is a professional liar and a heartless bastard. After all he's done to you, that you would trust his word over mine disappoints me greatly, and I'm going to have to punish you for it, both you and your brother." As Peter heard that and looked over from his crouch in defensive alarm, Arthur hardened his tone." I won't have my boys holding me hostage or firing guns into my face."

Before Peter could stand, a bolt of lightning arced and struck him in the chest, cooking his torso right through his jacket before it was diverted by Sylar with a cry even louder than Peter's.

"DAD!"

Arthur cut the charge to Peter but left it sparking in the palm of his hand. "What is it?"

"Don't." Sylar moved to stand directly in front of his brother, all too aware of how vulnerable Peter was without the use of his abilities. His right arm rose up in preparation to do battle, hovering an inch above his waist. "Please, Dad. Don't."

"Give me one good reason why not, son."

"Because he's my brother." Sylar glanced at Peter gasping behind him then focused back on their father. Arthur was advancing, but Sylar refused to step aside. "I never had one before, Dad. I need him."

Within reach of his boys now, Arthur laid a firm hand on Sylar's arm then touched Peter's shoulder as well. "All right, Gabriel. If that's what you want, fine," he said. "Maybe a timeout with your mother is just what you two need to come to your senses about who I am and what I can do for you."

To Sylar, what happened next was like his last encounter with Hiro. One minute he was pinning Noah Bennett to the wall of his home in Costa Verde, giving the son-of-a-bitch exactly what he deserved, and the next that meddlesome Japanese do-gooder had shown up out of nowhere and transported him away, dumping him on one of the Channel Islands. He was with Peter this time instead of Elle, and it wasn't the dead of night since the sun was still setting wherever this was, but once again, he'd been teleported to a beach without his consent and without fair warning. He glanced around, trying to identify this new location, and then he looked over at Peter, who was glaring daggers at him.

"Where are we?"

"Who cares?" Peter winced and clutched his chest but didn't let the agony of near electrocution stop him from yelling at the man in front of him. "You're just as powerful as he is! You could've ended him!"

"You're wrong, Peter. He's stronger."

"No, he isn't! You only think he is now 'cause he's messing with your head, trying to be all paternal to you!"

"So why shouldn't he?" Sylar demanded. "Arthur Petrelli is my dad just like he's yours."

"You didn't act like he was a minute ago! You were seconds away from finishing the job I started!"

"That was Bennett's fault!" As Peter staggered back from the unintended power in his voice, Sylar struggled visibly to control both his temper and the ability he'd taken from Jesse Murphy. He moderated his tone. "Look, Peter, I stopped believing we were related after what Bennett told me, but I don't doubt it anymore. Before I went to Pinehearst tonight, I acquired a new power—"

"You acquired?" Peter stared at him in disgust. "Don't you mean you stole it from someone by killing them to get it?"

"I had to," Sylar defended himself. "I needed a lie detector ability. After what Bennett told me, I had to know the truth about my family and now I do. We're brothers, Peter. Like it or not." Checking out their surroundings once more, Sylar furrowed his brow. "Seriously, man, where the hell are we?"

"Seriously, who cares where the hell we are?" Peter retorted. "We're not at Pinehearst anymore; that's for damn sure! How am I gonna stop my father from giving out abilities like candy from way the hell out here?"

Sylar opened his mouth to remind Peter that Arthur was his father too, but he was supplanted by Angela, who stumbled over from the treeline as gracefully as she could. Still dressed in a Prada outfit and high heels, it was clear to all that she hadn't packed for this side trip anymore than they had.

"Gabriel? Peter?" She noted the bleeding scratch to Peter's face along with the crispy state of his jacket. "You failed, didn't you?"

"What, you didn't know that I would? Why didn't you dream that Dad would do this to us?"

Angela patted her sweaty forehead with distaste. "Don't be snarky with me, Peter. You know my ability doesn't work that way. I have no control over what I dream, but since we're all here, I suggest we—"

"How many sons do you have, Mom? Is Sylar really my brother?"

Discomfited by the question, Angela looked at Peter uneasily, remembering his uncontrolled fury the last time he'd asked this question. Still, she did her best to mask her fear with a cool attitude. "Don't be silly, sweetheart. I already told you—"

"You know what, Mom?" Peter marched over to her. "Actually you didn't. You haven't told me anything yet." He jabbed a finger in Sylar's direction. "You only told him and Dad told him and he told me, but you haven't told me anything and I need to know. I need to hear it from you in front of him." Peter glared at Sylar then shifted his gaze back to his mother. "Are we brothers or not?"

Angela returned his gaze sadly, her chest hitching once as she glanced at Sylar. "He's more than your brother, Peter. He's … he's your fraternal twin."

"My…?" As Sylar's eyes opened wide, Peter was too stupefied to finish his own sentence. His jaw flapped soundlessly for almost five seconds before he actually roared what he was thinking. "WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU EVER TELL ME?"

Angela didn't get a chance to respond. Before she could fashion a story that might appease her sons, Sylar took a step toward her, his height and dark clothing working together to intimidate all around him.

"Did you really try to kill me when I was born?"

"W-why of course not, Gabriel. I would never—"

Instinctively, Sylar's hand came up, the right one, his thumb and index finger poised to strangle or do some other kind of permanent damage. His lip curled as his voice rang cold.

"Don't do it, Mom. Not to me ever again, if you want to keep on living a truly wicked life. I can tell now when people are lying and what's coming out of your mouth right now is a lie." Sylar cocked his head a bit, his brown eyes narrowing dangerously. "And I don't want to hear it."

"I …" Angela looked helplessly at the son she's raised from birth, but Peter offered no assistance whatsoever. The anger coursing through his lean frame was clearly on a par with Gabriel's and it was entirely possible he wouldn't immediately come to her aid if his brother abruptly decided to attack her. She turned a fearful gaze on Sylar. "I-I did try to kill you," she replied softly. "But it wasn't right away. It was two weeks after you were born when I dreamed you would become what you became, a serial killer who targets specials and steals their abilities." Angela reached out to touch the son she'd abandoned shortly after birth, then hesitated, gradually retracting her arm. "My dreams are often open to interpretation, Gabriel, but that one was not. I understood what it meant and I acted. I had to."

"You had to." Sylar's voice was flat as he dropped his own right hand. "You had to try and drown me in a bathtub, and then when that didn't work because Dad caught you and saved his son, you had to give me away so I grew up without my family. All that because you misinterpreted one dream."

"I didn't—"

Sylar's nostrils flared. "You did, Mom. I became a serial killer because I wanted power and I had no one to guide me, no real parents to show me another way. I was Gabriel for so long but I turned into Sylar because you weren't there for me the way a real mother is supposed to be."

Angela straightened her spine, her own gaze beginning to harden. "That is not true, Gabriel."

"Isn't it?" Sylar challenged. "Did you know your husband taught me to how to acquire new powers without killing?" Without waiting for Angela to answer, Sylar raised his arms and turned them over, cupping deadly electricity in his palms. His brown eyes reflected the glow in his hands as a proud smile began to form. "Well, he did, two days ago with Elle. He taught me empathy." Abruptly, Sylar cut the charge and lost his smile. "If you had let Dad be my father from the start, I wouldn't have become the man who murdered so many people and attacked his own niece. I wouldn't have had to kill anyone. My victims are yours too, Momma, every single one of them."

Angela's irritation seemed to wilt as she looked to Peter to see if he believed what his brother had just said. What she saw was disheartening, but not so to Sylar, who noted the exchange and felt the beginnings of a vengeful satisfaction.

"Tell me," he continued, "how does a woman who carries twins for nine months just toss one away like he's nothing? Didn't you care? What kind of a mother are you?"

Angela didn't dare answer that last question with any degree of truth. Drawing hard on the inner strength that had once led her to poison her beloved spouse of forty years, she straightened her back once more then replied to the first thing Sylar had asked.

"How does a mother do what I did, Gabriel? Well, for one thing it's easier to do when a mother doesn't know for nine months that she is carrying twins."

"You didn't know? What do you mean you didn't know?"

"I mean exactly what I said, young man. I didn't know."

Peter had been silent for awhile but he spoke up now, his skepticism plain as he looked from Sylar back to Angela. "That can't be," he told his mother. "You didn't have us in 1777, Mom, and you and Dad had money. You must've had some of the best pre-natal care possible in New York City."

"Did I?" Angela smiled without amusement. "If you really think so, Peter, then you don't know me very well. I don't like doctors and I don't trust them either."

"Since when? Why not?"

Angela fell silent for well over a minute as her gaze drifted from her sons to the waves lapping at the beach. Finally, she seemed to shake off her memories in order to focus on the here and now.

"My reasons are not important, Peter. Suffice it to say that after certain … experiences … I had as a teenager, I've never been able to withstand doctors or their multitude of tests for any extended period of time. When I was pregnant with you boys I had one ultrasound at seven weeks, and then I took the pre-natal vitamins that I was prescribed."

"That was it?"

"Yes, dear. There were no more ultrasounds or anything else besides the occasional stethoscope against my stomach. It was risky, I suppose, but I simply used common sense to stay in good health."

"But—"

"But nothing, Peter. I wasn't a novice after all. It was the same regimen I followed with Nathan and he came out fine."

Ever the nurse, Peter was beyond astounded. "But you're so controlling! How could you leave our health totally up to chance like that? Didn't you want to know in advance if we might have birth defects or –"

"There was no need for that." Angela gave her agitated son a pinched smile. "If there were going to be any major problems with you, I'm sure I would have dreamed it."

Sylar's gaze hardened at those words, but Angela pretended not to notice. She kept her full attention on Peter whose knowledge of medicine seemed to forbid him from dropping the subject.

"But your obstetrician…he must have guessed you were carrying more than one baby. You let him listen with his stethoscope, didn't you? You said he—"

"Peter, Dr. Cummings was perhaps not as competent as your father and I believed him to be when we first sought his services. In any case, he told us after you boys were born that you must have been very close in the womb. Your hearts consistently beat as one."

"I don't believe this!" Instantly, Peter turned on Sylar. "What's your birth date?"

"You know what it is!" Sylar snapped impatiently. "It's the same as yours, Peter: December 23rd, 1979."

"This can't be!" Peter exploded, turning back to his mother. "I've seen my birth certificate, Mom, and it doesn't say anything about me being a twin!"

Angela had an answer for that too. "That's because your father and I had it doctored to avoid awkward questions. It was best, Peter, for both of you."

Peter and Sylar exchanged a fulminating look. Neither one understood how their mother could speak so callously about events that affected them so profoundly, and neither one quite knew what to do with the shock, the hurt and the rage that was building ever higher. Peter, in particular, had never felt so betrayed. How could his own family – the people who were supposed to love him above all others – deceive him so well for so long? Why hadn't his big brother ever told him who Sylar really was? Peter had to know. He stepped into Angela's personal space and demanded the truth.

"How did you get Nathan to keep this secret from me all this time, Mom? He wouldn't do that on his own, so what? Did you and Dad set René on him?"

A guilty flush seemed to color Angela's cheeks. "No, we didn't have to. Your brother spent the Christmas holidays with Nonno and Bella that year, and by the time he returned, everything was settled. The only sibling he ever knew was you."

"And now?" Peter persisted. "Does he even know yet, or are you keeping him in the dark just like you've been keeping me?"

Angela glanced at Sylar then looked away. "I haven't told Nathan anything," she admitted. She eased away from Peter, far from comfortable with his hot, accusatory breath misting her face. "Your father may have at this point, but I wouldn't be terribly surprised if he hasn't. It's not an easy announcement to make to your children."

It's not an easy thing to hear either, Peter thought bitterly but aloud he said, "When we get back I want to see my original birth certificate."

"That can be arranged."

"Good because I want to see it."

Nodding briefly to signal her understanding, Angela turned a complaisant smile on Sylar. "Gabriel dear, how about you?"

"I don't need to see it," the serial killer scowled. "But what I do need is to know why you ever stepped forward as my mother. I never knew about you. I never even suspected our relationship, so why the hell did you tell me I was your son?"

"I told you because I had to," Angela stated gently but without apology. "The coma we induced in you after you and Elle released all of Level 5, well, that wasn't going to hold you for long. You're too powerful for that. You needed to be controlled and I knew instinctively that the only person you would listen to is your mother."

Sylar looked briefly at Peter then focused his hard gaze once again on Angela. "You used me to save Peter," he stated venomously, "the only one of us you ever cared for."

"That's not entirely true."

"So you love me then?" Sylar demanded. "Is that what you're saying?"

Angela certainly wasn't saying that, but she was not a fool and she knew she had to say something. Both of her sons were studying her face and awaiting her reply, neither one of them willing to back down from their pressured silence. Angela looked from one to the other with a carefully neutral expression before approaching the son she'd abandoned.

"I did love you once, Gabriel … but then I stopped when I dreamed that you would kill us all." She lay a cool and bejeweled hand over Sylar's pounding heart before reaching up to cup his left cheek. "I can love you again, dear, if you can be the son that I need. Can you do that?"

Sylar's lips twisted upwards but there was nothing warm or inviting about his smile. "No such thing as unconditional love, huh, Momma?"

Angela didn't answer and Sylar didn't wait around to see if she would, given enough time. He stared down a moment longer at the woman who had both given him life and tried to take it back, and then he pushed her hand off his face and walked past Peter into the night.

Peter watched him go until his tall, brooding form had been swallowed by the dense vegetation, and then the former hospice nurse turned to face his mother.

"How could you do this to us?"

Angela's eyes were gleaming suspiciously. "I did it out of love, Peter. You were born first with the sweetest little face, and Gabriel followed you eight minutes later. I loved him just as much as I loved you—"

"And yet you could kill him."

"Yes, I could." Angela brushed at her tears with impatience, the telltale shine to her eyes receding as her features hardened. "I made a choice to protect my family, Peter, and I refuse to regret it. Gabriel was a danger to you, to me, to everyone I cared for. I couldn't raise him after my dream. Your father's decision to have him adopted, after I failed in my attempt to kill him, was the next most merciful thing; you'll have to trust me on this."

Peter shook his head in angry disbelief. "How can I after learning all this?"

"You must," Angela stated bluntly. "I'm your mother and I know best." Before Peter could respond – which he was clearly itching to do – Angela steamrolled ahead. "Now in case you're wondering where your father put us, we're on Henderson Island in the south Pacific. Fortunately for us, it's the right time of year for visitors from Pitcairn to come collect wood, so we won't be here long at all before we're rescued."

"And you know this how?" Peter snapped.

"Another one of my dreams, dear." Angela waved her hand dismissively as she forced herself to take in their surroundings once more. "I had hoped shooting Arthur would avert this little detour we're on, but obviously, that wasn't to be."

"I thought you said you didn't dream Dad would do this to us."

"Did I?" Angela said, knowing full well she had. "Well, no matter now. What's important is that if I interpreted my latest dream correctly, our saviors should be making an appearance within twenty-four hours, which means we can be back in New York within a week, if we're lucky. In the meantime, I suggest we sit here and –"

That was enough for Peter, who turned and walked away. Angela called after him, demanding he stay so they could re-strategize together before their return to civilization, but Peter paid her voice no heed. She wanted him to cozy up beside her and talk about Pinehearst? After what she'd just confessed about their family? She was either crazier than her recently-resurrected husband, or she was even more indifferent to his feelings than he'd ever imagined she could be.

Peter Petrelli had a second brother – a twin no less and Sylar of all people – but his own mother had never told him. She'd just shipped the guy off in secret like she'd done to Claire, leaving her sons to discover purely by accident what their relationships were to each other. Both the times that Peter had died at Sylar's hand, she could have told him who it was that had tried to murder him, but no, she'd kept her secrets and allowed a hatred to burgeon between them, a rancor Peter didn't know what do with now or how to channel again.

Did he still hate the man he'd always known as Sylar?

Could he still hate him after the discoveries he'd just made?

Peter wasn't sure. The animosity he'd felt for so long had slipped temporarily when Sylar had rescued him from Mohinder the week before, but then less than an hour later, Sylar had stayed at Pinehearst to support their dad. That decision alone had made him suspect again, regardless of the fact that he'd saved Peter's life a second time in so doing.

He was not fully reformed; Peter had no doubts about that. Sylar might very well remain a threat to one and all the rest of his life because his native power was truly a selfish, consuming beast. It was so easy to lose control of it. Peter knew of its effects firsthand from the brief but deadly experiences he'd had it. There was little doubt that The Hunger would have devoured him too if Arthur Petrelli hadn't stolen the ability from him.

Knowing this as he did, though, what was Peter supposed to do? Forgive Sylar or take advantage of their confined proximity to try and kill him?

Was he obligated to try and reform him?

If Peter had never grown up with Nathan, never collected any good memories along the way to offset the bad he disliked in his older brother, what would he have done? Could he still have grown to love Nathan simply by virtue of their being brothers?

Peter had no easy answers. He knew Sylar was capable of doing good – he'd seen it with his own eyes – but their history was so tainted, so thoroughly skewed by pain and betrayal and the self-centered machinations of evil parents, how could he ever learn to trust the man now?

More importantly, did Peter even want to? Was he genuinely willing to try?

Overwhelmed by the life-altering decision he had to make, and wishing more than ever that he could time-travel to a future where the verdict was already in, Peter did the next best thing.

He broke into a run.

It wasn't easy in clunky boots and black jeans when the surface he was travelling was far better suited to bare feet and board shorts, but Peter didn't let that stop him. He dismissed the lingering ache in his chest and ran along the shoreline as far as it would take him, and then he ploughed past a few coconut trees straight into the undergrowth. There, vines and ferns alike conspired to shred what was left of his jacket and scratch his skin, but Peter pushed on until he was just too tired to keep fighting against nature. Panting and whipped, he finally sank against a tree trunk onto a small bed of moss, ignoring the sweat and the small trickles of blood that coursed down the sides of his face. He didn't know where he was and he didn't care. He drew his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on his arms, trying not to think of Sylar, who was equally alone somewhere else on this island. He wasn't his brother's keeper, after all, and Sylar – Gabriel – didn't need him.

And Peter sure as hell didn't need him either.