Chapter one: Trapped
After his spectacular failure of an escape attempt, Peter couldn't bear to be around Sylar. He was so mad, the man was just delusional, in his own mind just the same as in the real world. He really believed that all of this was real? If he just fucking cooperated they could at least make a solid attempt to escape, he had felt a barrier when he tried it before but he couldn't tell if it was from Parkman, trapping them here, or if it was Sylar. After contemplation her knew it had to be Sylar, just not trusting him, or rather not allowing him. What could he lose in Peter's offer to escape? Nothing. There was no other answer for it; Sylar had simply not allowed it. Why? He had seemed eager enough to leave.
Didn't matter, he was stuck here at the moment regardless. Here being his apartment in his feeble hopes to regain normalcy. After the first week of walking around in restlessness, he explored different buildings, sat for long periods of time trying to reach out with Parkman's power and find the edge of Sylar's mind, of this nightmare, but it yielded no results. It didn't feel like he had no power, he could still feel its presence it just didn't work here. It felt like he was attempting a high dive in the middle of the ocean would; useless. But it didn't stop him from trying of course. And every time he failed, all his anger boiled to the surface again. Why the hell did here ever come here! There was no reason he should be here.
Yes there was, of course there was: Emma. As much as he hated Sylar for all the things he did, he had dreamed the dream himself. Sylar was meant to save her, and judging from this situation Peter was meant to save him. If only he knew how! How!? Maybe there was a way to access his ability and he just had to find it. Maybe he had to play therapist with Sylar to get him to access his own abilities so he could open the channel back to the outside, back to their bodies. He felt such desperation to escape, even if he had the whole city. It was a fancy cage, in which it seemed that that he would not be allowed to hide.
Sylar may have been the only man left in the world, but he was an ever-present nuisance, just reminding Peter of why he was trapped in the first place. Sylar your not-brother serial killer bestie! Peter thought very unhelpfully. He could barely look at the man without it invoking some degree of rage. All that he had done to the Petrelli's, his mother, his brother, now he had to believe that Sylar was a hero? A Savior? Could he force himself to do that? Did he have any other choice?
He heard a door open behind him, and he didn't have to wrack his brain to figure out who is was. After three weeks those habits start to leave you. He turned to look at Sylar and he was dressed as always: Black pants and black trench coat. He had his hands in the pockets and strolled in casually, having the audacity to smile at Peter.
"Just because you're the only person in this world doesn't mean you don't have to knock." Peter hissed out.
"My mistake." Sylar retorted equally as biting. "Would the only other person in the world care to do something other than mope today?" he asked tilting his head.
"No one to murder." Peter said with a pleasant air and a tight smile.
"But all of New York to ourselves, anything we want- anything you want- we need only take." There was something in his voice that Peter couldn't identify; it sounded like desperation, but that- it just- it couldn't be. This was Sylar, the murder, the monster!
And yet…
He seemed so broken, so defeated. Even in the real world he had always seemed lost just looking for his way really. He stood now with his hand in his pockets just fidgeting and looking at the ground. Maybe he could go…
"This world isn't real Sylar." but not today.
Sylar huffed out a breath of air and stood to go. "It's all we've got." He tossed over his shoulder.