They're Just Kids

Chap. 1- Push It

a/n: I own nothing besides my OC's. Chapter title sponsored by Garbage off of their album "Version 2.0"

Bennett took the elevator down to Level 5 like nothing had changed, but he knew from the knot in his gut that the opposite was true. He took a deep breath as the doors opened and swallowed his horror as he took in the sight of blood on the walls, live wires letting off sparks every now and then, and Angela.

"You got here pretty quick," she said calmly as she turned to face him.

He started to walk past her, his eyes running over every inch of the space. "I knew I would need to take care of this," he responded, looking at each empty cell. Jesse, Knox, The German, and Flint were all missing.

"They're not the only ones who managed to escape in the blackout." Bennett gave her a look and she continued, "Twelve of them got away in total, including a few that you didn't originally catch."

The two walked further down the hallway to stop in front of three cells. The first held a containment chamber with most of the glass broken and gas tanks to remove the air had been taken away. The second held a chair with many straps all ripped or opened and what looked to be something similar to a ball gag on the floor. The last cell held a similar containment chamber but stood vertically as opposed to the first; broken glass, water, ripped plastic tubes and broken equipment lay strewn on the floor.

"Who's were these?" he asked, looking back to Angela.

"Thompson's, but now they're gonna be your responsibility," she said as she handed him three red files.

Bennett opened each one quickly just looking for the basics. Names: Damon Pavlis, Canaría Rosales, and Abigail Fresca-Wrightenbalk. AKA's: Zeus, Cana, and Abby-normal. Hometowns: Volos, Greece; Los Angeles, CA; Springfield, IL. Ages: 21, 20, 19. Abilities:-

"We need you out there as soon as possible," Angela interrupted his reading.

"They're just kids, all around Claire's age," he replied.

"Yes, and they're just as powerful as she is, if not more, that's why they're our top priority right now. They still have plenty of room to grow."

Bennett tucked the files under arm. "Just so we're clear, I'm not re-enlisting, I'm just here to take care of this and then I'm going back home."

"Yes, back to our Claire. That's fine. Unfortunately, I'm assigning you a new partner."

"What happened to the Haitian?"

"He's doing a pick up for me," she replied as she stopped in front of another cell. A tall man stood in front of a blood spattered sink, toweling off his hands. He turned to see his mother and the man who had tried killing him numerous times and smiled. She opened the door and motioned her finger, beckoning him to follow her.

They all walked into her office and as soon as the door closed Bennett yelled, "You expect me to work with this monster!"

Sylar looked at him, caught a bit off guard. Angela smiled, touching his hand gently. "He's perfect for you, Noah."

"He's a murderer," he replied reaching for his gun.

"Then that means you have more in common than you'd like to admit." She said touching Bennett's arm, which dropped to his side. "Regardless, I want to put Gabriel in play here. He just needs a little structure, and I know you can give that to him."

Sylar felt his ear twitch a bit at the name Gabriel. Am I still Gabriel, even after all of this?

Angela turned on the T.V. to see the news broadcasting footage from a security camera. "Reports indicate that four men, equipped with what looks to be a flame-thrower, have taken hostages and are currently robbing the First Federal Bank in Poughkeepsie."

"Flint," Bennett muttered through gritted teeth as he looked at the screen.

"Looks like there's a change of plans for now," she announced as Bennett left the office to prepare. Sylar looked at her questioningly, and she smiled. "You should be fine. I'll send someone to get you a suit," she said she picked up the phone.

It had been a rude awakening for all of them as they heard the sirens, the yelling, and the sound of glass breaking. Without opening her eyes, Abby had known that something big had happened. This was the chance for escape, but to go back to what? Her parents believed she was dead, fake closed-casket funeral and all. She hesitated before she took a deep breath through the tube they had shoved up her nose and down into her lungs; she could heard the glass cracking and the whoosh and splash of gallons of water as it all rushed to the floor. She didn't immediately fall out of the containment tank, tip-toeing around all of the broken glass and removing her air tube without touching it. She went to the open door and took a look around. Inmates were running in every direction, looking for the exit. She looked at some of the other cells, most were empty, but the two next to her still held prisoners. One lay unconscious in a containment chamber, hooked up to machines, just like hers, the other was unconsciously strapped to a chair, with tubes coming out of their arm and stomach. She pressed her hands against the glass of both cells. Wake up! She sent the thought to the both of them, and they stirred.

The prisoner in the containment chamber breathed deeply through the tube in his nose before punching the glass. It shattered, and he climbed out, running to the open door and looked at Abby. "Thank you," he said, his voice lilting with a heavy European accent.

She looked back at him for a moment before she turned her attention back to the other prisoner. She sent her wake up thought again, but the prisoner barely stirred. The man she had just rescued charged into the other cell, seeing the other prisoner, began to undo all of the straps. The straps soon started to undo themselves, and he stepped away. He looked back the girl on the other side of glass, who smiled nervously. The prisoner was a girl with greasy, blonde curls falling into her face. He pulled the tubes off of her and picked her up in his arms once the last strap was removed.

Together the three made for the exit and watched as the remaining prisoners scattered, killing all of the guards and taking whatever vehicles they could find. One last car was left, and the three ran for it, Abby unlocking and opening the doors without touching them. The man placed the unconscious girl in the backseat, strapping her in before jumping into the driver's seat and ripping off the plastic cover underneath the steering wheel. He began to hot wire the car, and Abby looked on in astonishment.

"I'm guessing you've done this before?" she finally piped up.

He looked at her and smiled again, "My father's boat would break down all da time back home. I always had to do dis to get it going," he explained as the engine turned on. He put the car into gear, and sped off towards the highway.

As the car made the first turn, the girl in the back seat slid hard against the door. She quickly woke up grabbing her head. She hissed in pain and then sat straight up, looking to gain her bearings. Upon seeing the two people in the front seat she promptly exclaimed, "Who the fuck are you?"

Sylar adjusted his tie one more time before his mother walked back into her office.

"Oh good, it fits," she said glancing at her son. He turned to her before Bennett walked in to fetch him.

"Let's go," Bennett said, as Sylar wordlessly followed him.

Their car ride was quiet; Bennett gripped the steering wheel, resisting the urge to blow out the brains of his passenger. Sylar looked at him with cautiousness. If he tries anything, I'm ready, he thought, resisting to the urge to smile, even to himself.

As the two men approached the scene, cops swarmed everywhere; one of them stopped them briefly only to be fooled by a fake badge Bennett flashed at them before they were let through the barricade.

"I'm gonna head in there and get things taken care of," Bennett said as they got closer to the building.

"Well what am I supposed to do?"

"Stay here and stay out of trouble."

"That's a little one-sided to be a partnership-"

"You're not my partner!"

Sylar paused before he barked out in a New York accent, "Who's in charge here?"

An officer walked over, authority firmly in place, and replied, "I'm Lt. Corey. Who're you?"

"I'm special agent Andrew Hanson with the FBI. Ya mind telling me why these barricades aren't back 30 ft. Ya want the media up our ass or are ya tryin' to let one of these looky-loo civilians get killed?"

The officer looked down at his feet before yelling to the other officers, "You heard the man! Back these horses up!" He walked away.

"And bring us some coffee- decaf!" Sylar yelled before turning back to Bennett. "You drink decaf right, Noah?"

Bennett could only roll his eyes at what had happened. He walked over to one of the trucks and grabbed a bullet-proof vest before Sylar followed him. Bennett handed him his gun and strapped himself into the vest.

"So you goin' in? And without your gun?"

"Yep. You're waiting out here."

"They're not gonna let you out alive, even if you do what they say."

"Oh how touching. The monster cares about my well-being."

"Do you think you have to prove that you're better than me by getting yourself killed-"

"I am better than you."

"Let me help."

"Fine. Debrief the hostages, but under no circumstances are you to go anywhere near that buffet in there, got it?"

Sylar pouted slightly, "Yeah." He watched as Bennett walked into the bank.

As the car drove down the highway, the three occupants stayed silent, until the blonde opened her mouth again, "You didn't answer my question."

Abby finally turned around to get a good look at the girl. Her messy blonde curls hung down past her shoulders in a knotted heap, she had golden tanned skin, but brown eyes looked at her like she was about to slap somebody.

"I'm Abby," she simply said. The blonde looked Abby over, noticing how flat, straight and mousy the girl's light brown hair was. She had brown eyes and incredibly pale skin with odd scars on her hands and forearms.

Like a fucking ghost, the blonde thought to herself.

"I am not!"

"I didn't say anything!" the blonde yelled back.

"Oh yeah? I'm not a ghost!" Abby screeched back.

The blonde's eyes went wide with shock. This bitch can read my mind. Oh my God!

"Besides, who the hell are you?"

The girl hesitated a moment before answering, "I'm Cana…Rosales." The blonde looked over at the driver, irritated that he had not said a word during the girl's tiff. "And who are you?" she asked, catching his eye in the rearview mirror.

He glanced at her through the rearview mirror before turning his eyes back to the road, "I'm Damon," he said, his thick accent rolling off of his tongue.

"So, I'm guessing you're not from around here," Cana replied, settling herself into the backseat and draping her arms along the top of the backseat.

"No, actually from Greece….Volos." Cana exaggerated a face showing she understood.

Abby looked over at Damon, a small smile on her face. "I'm from Springfield-"

"Oh like the Simpsons?" Cana interjected.

Abby glared at her a moment before replying, "No, I'm from Illinois."

Cana saw that both Abby and Damon were looking at her before she replied, "I'm an L.A. girl myself." She looked down at her nails which she deemed were in dire need of a manicure. "How long have we been on the road for?"

"About an hour," Abby sighed as she settled back into her seat.

"Where the hell are we even going?" With that, Damon pulled over on the side of the highway. He put the car in park before he turned to face both of the girls. "So, I'm guessing you have no idea?"

"I'm not going back home," Abby said looking at her hands that lay in her lap.

"Why not? I'm sure Damon could drop you off right in front of your house. Couldn't you, Damon?" Cana suggested, the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Damon smiled, but Abby shook her head," You don't get it." Cana stared back at her not knowing what to say. "My parents think I'm dead."

"Well, how the hell did that happen?" Cana immediately blurted out.

"The company."

Each looked away from each other pondering the weight of the realization.

"They made you parents believe you died?" Damon asked his accent and his sympathy mucking up what he tried to say.

Abby nodded, her face retreating behind her hair as she stared at her lap. Outside of the car, the sky had started to cloud over in a depressing gray, when only a few minutes before the sky had been a bright blue. Damon placed a hand on her shoulder and tried to smile at her.

"That's so messed up," Cana said snapping everyone back into reality.

"Wouldn't you wan try to see them, tell them you alive?" Damon tried.

Abby bit her lip, fighting back tears. She let out a shaky sigh, "I've done something bad, if they knew the truth my parents wouldn't forgive me anyway."

"What? You were a cutter?" Cana asked pointing directly at Abby's hands. Abby shoved her hands in the pockets of the standard gray pajamas given to all company inmates and stared daggers at Cana. "What? Believe me you're not the only one that cut. A lot of my friends used to-"

"I never cut!" she screamed staring at an odd spot on the front seat, eyes wide. "I was born with autism." Cana looked at her completely confused. "When I was younger I used to bite my hands and my arms without thinking. I never really did think much back then, not about what I said or what I really did, just as long as everything stayed the same. My parents did everything they could for me, sending me to a school for those like myself, and it was fine.

"The whole thing started about a year ago," she said as she started rocking her body back and forth. "It was the spring, and I remember I was with my class and we were taking a field trip to a park for a softball game. I couldn't pay attention to what was going on and I slipped away from the class in the stands, and none of the teachers or monitors had noticed. I kept walking around trying to find something to do…" She stopped as she started hyperventilating and Damon rolled down all of the windows before putting the car back in drive, hoping the moving air would calm her down. She continued, "I guess I had wandered by the fence near the foul line and all I remember there was this ball coming straight at me at full force. I tried to run away, but it was too fast and it hit me right here," she said pressing her finger to her left temple.

"That shoulda killed you," Cana replied deadpan.

"All I know is that once it happened all I saw were sparks in front of my eyes, before I blacked out for a while, but then the sparks came back. I remember how I couldn't open my eyes, but it was like I knew what was going on around me. I remember the doctors trying to keep me alive, cleaning the blood off of me, trying to get the swelling in my brain to slow down," she said as she wrung her hands repeatedly. "I was eventually put in a room by myself, and my parents saw me every day. I could tell how badly they wanted me to wake up, and I wanted to wake up to show them I was fine, but the only way I even knew they were there was because of the sparks. There had to be a way for me to show them and I tried, I really tried, but nothing seemed to work.

"And then there was this nurse who called herself Danielle. I remember hearing her name every day," she as she waved her hand by her ear. "She used to hurt me, she would stick needles in my arm with things that made me feel like I was falling farther away from everything, my parents. I didn't know where it came from but I felt so much pain inside of me, and there was nothing I thought I could do about it. But I fought," she said as tears started to roll down her cheeks only to be blown off of her face by the wind blowing through the car. The sky had darkened and a light rain had started to fall. "I fought to try and stop the pain, try and show my parents I was still there so I could somehow tell them what that nurse, Danielle, was doing to me.

"Then one day, my parents showed up and I fought with everything I had and I managed to push this pen that one of the doctors left behind on the table onto the floor. I don't know if my parents got it, but it was a start. Then every day I pushed myself to move more things to show I was still there. I pushed papers around, and once when they were actually leaning over to kiss my head I knocked over a plastic pitcher filled with water onto the floor. I realized if I could do that, maybe I could stop Danielle.

Cana's hands flew to her mouth, and Damon looked at her wildly.

"It was late one night when she came to hurt me again. She gave me this evil smile that I had never seen before she waved the needle in my face. I couldn't move, much less open my eyes, but I knew what she was doing. When she went to stick the needle in my arm, I forced it out of her hands. She thought she had dropped it and bent down to pick it up, but I had had enough. I pushed her with everything I had against the wall, and then I pushed the needle off of the floor and into her neck, then I couldn't stop myself. Every remotely sharp object in the room I sent at her. She deserved to feel the pain that I had but couldn't tell anyone about. After that I blacked out again." She wiped her nose with her sleeve.

Cana looked at her completely dumbfounded. "How did you know all of this was happening if you were unconscious? You couldn't even move!"

"I didn't get it either. When the sparks started again there was this man who was wheeling me out of the hospital and into an ambulance. He was talking to me, I knew it, but I couldn't say anything. He said, 'Abby, Abby, Abby-normal. I never thought you would turn out like this.' After that he kind of forgot I was there but I could hear him talking to another man, saying how they had made up this story about a new nurse who had messed with the valves over the bed and left a cup of water on the edge of the night table in the room and how the whole thing had supposedly caused a small fire that had killed me. The other man had asked if my parents had believed me, and he laughed. He said my parents were a wreck. He said that he had told them that the only thing they could do was to offer to pay for a closed casket funeral. And to make sure that the deal was sealed they charred the hospital room."

Damon had begun hyperventilating himself, gripping the steering wheel not knowing what emotion would take over him. By then a hard, steady rain was falling, and they were forced to roll up the windows. Cana pulled her knees to her chest and rested her head on top. Abby sniffled as she tried to calm herself down. "I didn't wake up like that again until we all escaped."

"Did you ever hear da man name?" Damon asked trying not to look at the sobbing girl, for fear he would accidentally drive them off of the road.

"His name was Thompson," Abby croaked out.

Cana's eyes grew wide, and she gritted her teeth but said nothing.

Noah drove in absolute silence, mentally kicking himself for what had happened in the bank. Sylar didn't listen to him, of course, and walked into the bank after things had gone wrong. He was being held hostage, and that monster saved the day. But he couldn't stop himself could he? Bennett thought as he glanced over at Sylar, who stared out through the windshield, barely blinking. Sylar couldn't stop himself and had killed Jesse, opening his head up like a can of vegetables to poke around in his brain. Bennett gripped the steering wheel a little harder.

They pulled up to the headquarters of the Company, and Bennett immediately got out and marched toward the entrance. Gabriel sat in the car a moment, looking down at his hands shamefully before he sighed and finally got out.

He figured Bennett had gone to report to his mother, so he went straight to her office and was surprised to see her standing at the door with a pile of clothes in her hands. His head hung a little as he approached her, and took the clothes she held out to him. A slight pout played on his lips before he turned to go back to his cell. Back to my cage, he thought.

He sat in the cell for a bit before resolving to change into the standard gray pajamas. He took off his jacket, his tie and his shirt and folded each item neatly into a pile, before he reached for the gray wife beater. As he put it on he spotted a bit of red, and looked closer as the shirt went over his head. He reached out to find that there were three red folders. Mother, he thought as he opened one. A picture of a young girl with stick straight brown hair and brown eyes stared back at him as he began to read:

Name: Abigail Fresca-Wrightenbalk

DOB: January 15, 1989

Place of Birth: Springfield, IL

Ability: Telepathy, Telekinesis, and possible potential for Intuitive Aptitude

Detained since: September 2007

Intuitive aptitude, he thought, is that what my ability is? He kept reading about Abigail's former state of Autism and of her murdering a nurse in St. John's Hospital and how easy it had been to capture her. He looked over the signature at the end of the report, Thompson. He grabbed the other files, flipping to the last pages of both, and sure enough, Thompson's name was signed on each. He sat for hours reading through the files, his brain going a mile a minute, deciphering every possible meaning behind his mother's secret gesture. The deeds these children had done could unlock something, they had to, right? Sylar thought as he looked at all the pictures in all of the files. The happy family photo of Abby and her parents, all wearing matching sweaters; the photo of the young man known as Damon on a dilapidated boat with an older man, more than likely his father; and a photo of a dark skinned blonde in a tight dress, if it could be called a dress, with what seemed to her friends and drinks in all of their hands. What does she want me to do with this?

The hours on the road dragged on until one of the lights on the dashboard started to flash.

"Oh shit," Damon said, waking up the girls who had fallen asleep.

"What?" Abby mumbled rubbing her eyes.

"We're almost out of gas," He replied glancing over at her.

"Where are we anyway?" Cana asked as she sat up and promptly cracked her neck.

"Pennsylvania, we been here two hours," Damon answered.

"Well, it looks like there's a gas station a few miles off the highway," Abby said as she pointed at a sign.

"We have no money," he said.

"You're right," Abby replied.

Cana rolled her eyes as Damon switched lanes to pull onto the exit ramp that Abby had pointed out. The road seemed to get more rural as the farther they went. "We're really out in the boonies now," Cana commented making a twanging sound like a banjo. Abby rolled her eyes.

"Does everything have to be a joke to you?" Abby huffed, turning to look at Cana.

"What the hell is your problem?"

"You act like a kid."

"Says the person who supposedly had autism," Cana retorted.

"That's not funny."

"What are you gonna do? Cry about it? 'Cause I can give you something to cry about." Cana's eyes silently dared Abby to try and hit her.

Damon pulled up to one of the pumps at the station and put the car in park.

"We have no money. How we gon' do dis?"

Abby opened her mouth to try and say something, but Cana had already climbed out of the car.

"What're you doing?" Abby called from the car.

"Just shut up and stay in the car," Cana ordered heading into the miniscule minimart in the station. She walked in to find the place in absolute squalor; all of the merchandise looked either expired or rotten; the floors looked like they had never been mopped; and most of the lights were blinking as if they were about to die at any second. Behind the counter sat a large, balding man who was staring at a copy of Hustler. She walked up to the counter and smiled at the man.

"Excuse me," she said, keeping her voice as demure as possible, "Are you still open?"

"We're closing in ten minutes," said the man, who hid his face behind the magazine.

"I was wondering if you could help me and my friends out. We need a full tank on pump 5."

The man moved the smutty magazine from in front of his eyes to look at the blonde who smiled at him.

"What's with the pajamas?" he asked.

"Me and my friends are on our way to a pajama party at Penn State," she replied, the lie coming out smoother than she thought.

The man got up from behind the counter and gave her a once-over.

"I'll just wait right here until you get back," she assured him by tapping the counter and batting her eyelashes.

The man ambled out of the minimart and walked over to the pump where the car was parked. He took off the gas cap and pumped the gas, and he looked into the car to see a greasy European and a young girl sitting in the front seat. He licked his lips as he eyed the young girl and said, "Howdy."

"Hi," Abby squeaked back and scooted a little closer to Damon who glanced at the fat man.

"I'm guessin' your little friend in there is gonna pay?"

Abby nodded furiously just wishing he would go away already. The gas attendant walked back to the minimart to find the blonde flipping through copy of Hustler he had left on the counter. She looked up at him seductively and smiled. "So, what time do you get off?" she asked.

He looked back at her and said, "Right about now."

"Is there anywhere around here more private? I'm not as brave as these girls in your little magazine."

The man headed towards the back room with Cana following him. Once in the room, he sat in the only chair and petted his lap. Cana stood at the door for a moment to lock it and turned back to sit in his lap. "So, nobody interrupts us," she whispered in his ear and immediately felt the evidence of how badly he wanted her poking her thigh. She held his face in her hands, with one running over the man's large bald spot before she grazed her lips over his ear and screamed. The scream wasn't heard, but a small quake moved through the entire store, knocking some of the merchandise onto the floor and splattering blood on the walls of the back room.

Cana walked out of the minimart a few minutes later with a ratty backpack and got in the car.

"What-" Abby started.

"Just drive. Now," Cana ordered, and Damon immediately pulled away from the pump.