And me, I'm just one story in a two story town,

But you're never gonna find me in the lost and found...

It's just the same old sights and the same old sounds.

I want to take my car and drive out of this two story town.

It's the same old ship going down.

I'm going down, down, down, down, down...

It's just the same old sights and the same old sounds.

I'm gonna take my horse and ride him off this merry-go-round.

I won't give up, and I won't back down.

Ain't going down, down, down, down, down...

Never going down, down, down, down, down...

In this two story town.

Gabriel woke with a start, his heart pounding. He gasped, out of breath, and realized he was covered in sweat, as if he had just run a marathon. His entire body was shaking.

Elle stirred next to him, lifting her head from the pillow.

"Gabriel? Is something wrong?" She touched a gentle hand to his arm. "God, you're shaking! What happened?"

He closed his eyes, still trying to catch his breath. He concentrated on lowering his heart rate.

Elle was sitting up now, twining her arms around him and running her fingers through his hair. "Talk to me, sweetie," she said. Her voice had a calming effect.

"I…it was a dream."

"A nightmare?" she inquired, still combing his hair with her delicate fingers. "I didn't think you were the kind of person who had those."

He shook his head. "I've never…I mean…" He rubbed his eyes. "Elle, it felt so real."

She let her arms drop, and he immediately missed the sensation of her arms around him.

"That's not one of the powers you picked up, is it? Dreams about the future?"

Gabriel frowned. "No, I…wait. My mother. That's her power. I must have taken it from her without realizing it!"

Gabriel heard the rustling of covers as Elle shifted in bed, and her sharp intake of breath. He blinked, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness quicker, and reached out to put his hand on her swollen belly.

"You okay?" he asked, concerned.

"Fine," she assured him, but her voice was tight. "Just a sore back. Nothing to worry over."

"I have to worry, it's my job." He scooted closer to her, untangling his legs from the covers. "You just relax, I'll give you a back rub."

As he massaged her back and shoulders Elle sighed contentedly. "You've gotten good at that," she said.

"Lots of practice."

"Gabriel?"

"Mm?"

"What did you dream?"

He was quiet for a moment, and his hands faltered.

"It was Peter," Gabriel said.

The room was very quiet.

"What about Peter?" she asked. Her shoulders had suddenly gotten very tense.

Gabriel closed his eyes, replaying the dream in his mind. There was no mistaking it.

"He's going to be killed, Elle," he said softly.

She took in a ragged breath.

"You have to go."

Gabriel squeezed her shoulders.

"I can't leave you, Elle! Not now! You're nine months pregnant!"

"I'm not due for a few weeks yet," she said.

"But Elle—"

"Gabriel, I know you," Elle interrupted. "You want to go. You have to! Gabriel, he's your brother."

Gabriel sighed. "I know. I just…I have a bad feeling, Elle. This is more than just Peter. Things are happening out there—dangerous things. I…" He shook his head. "I've never had anything to lose before," he finished lamely.

Elle clumsily turned around and took Gabriel's hands.

"You're not losing anything, silly," she said, injecting more confidence into her voice than she felt. "You'll go, you'll save your brother's life, and I'll be waiting right here when you get back, me and your son."

Gabriel leaned down to kiss her belly. "We still have to come up with a name for him," he pointed out.

Elle kissed the top of his head.

"When you come back," she said with a smile.

Gabriel slid out of bed, pulling on a pair of jeans.

"I will be back," he promised, just able to make out her face in the darkness. She was trying to look brave. Gabriel felt a surge of emotion wash over him and he knelt on the bed to kiss her passionately. Then, before he had the chance to change his mind, he left, closing the door behind him.

Elle sat in the darkness, the covers pulled tightly around herself, and tried very hard not to cry.

Peter winced, pain shooting up his back. For the hundredth time he found himself wishing that he still had his powers—if he did, he wouldn't have to worry about things like bruises or broken ribs that used to be so trivial to him. Pulling his jacked tighter around himself against the chill, he glanced over his shoulder before ducking into an alley.

He leaned against the cool brick wall and took a few deep breaths. He knew that he had to keep moving, couldn't afford to stop. But he needed a minute.

With his eyes closed, Peter didn't see the two men who casually stepped off the sidewalk and turned into the alley where he was resting. He did, however, hear the crunching of the broken glass under one of their boots.

He jumped away from the wall, adrenaline surging through his tired body.

"Don't run," one of them said in a bored voice. "You know we'll just catch up to you again."

If he was completely honest with himself, Peter wasn't sure if he could've run anyway. His legs were shaking with fatigue.

The bigger man stepped towards Peter, a condescending grin on his face.

"You've been a hard one to keep up with," he said. "Pretty resourceful, for someone with no powers."

Peter swallowed. "You don't have to do this," he said desperately, even though he knew it wouldn't make any difference. "My father—"

"Gave us orders," the smaller man finished. "Sorry, Petrelli, but he's the boss, and he says you've got to go."

They stepped closer, and Peter backed away, glancing around himself quickly. His heart sank. He had thought, when he first stepped into the alley, that it connected to another street, but now he realized that it was fenced in. There was a dumpster backed up against the chain-link fence, and Peter thought that he might be able to climb it—but not quickly enough. If the alley had been open he might have been able to run fast enough to get out into a public area with other people where his father's goons wouldn't risk exposing themselves. But now he was trapped. He had made a fatal mistake, and he realized, with a sinking feeling, that he was about to pay for it.

The two men advanced on him, cracking their knuckles.

"Let's get this over with," the bigger one said.

Going for broke, Peter spun and dashed for the fence. He was still five feet away when he was grabbed from behind. He yelled, thrashing, as he was lifted off his feet. Then he was thrown forward, crashing into the dumpster. He tried to regain his footing, his head spinning. Then someone's hand closed around his throat and he was hoisted up into the air.

He struggled to breathe as the hand squeezed his throat in a vise-like grip, clawing uselessly at the goon's arms and trying to kick him in a tender spot. But he knew that it wouldn't work.

Then the hand was ripped away. Peter fell to the ground, knocking the wind out of his lungs. As he struggled to pull himself up Peter heard several heavy thuds and grunts of pain.

He managed to pick his head up off the ground. His jaw dropped.

"Peter, are you all right?"

He was too dumbfounded to reply. Standing at the entrance of the alley, both his arms outstretched as he held the two goons up against the wall with his telekinetic powers, was Sylar.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" the taller of Peter's attackers demanded.

Sylar raised an eyebrow.

"Quiet," he said. With a flick of his wrists he brought the two men crashing together. They fell to the ground in a heap. Sylar walked past them without a second glance, coming towards Peter.

His heart started to pound, and Peter pushed himself to his feet, stumbling backwards.

Sylar stopped, and a look of dismay flashed in the depths of his eyes. Peter recognized that look. He had seen it in the future, when Sylar had told him that he wasn't Sylar anymore. He was…

"Gabriel," Peter said softly. "You…you saved my life. Thank you."

All of the tension left Gabriel's body, and the hint of a smile crossed his face.

"Who were those guys," he asked, indicating the unconscious goons.

"Pinehearst assassins," Peter explained, rubbing his sore neck. He would have a hell of a bruise the next day, he was sure.

Gabriel frowned. "Pinehearst," he muttered.

"They're marines," Peter went on. "Dad…he's injecting them with powers. He perfected the formula, can give powers to anyone he wants. I tried to stop him—I shot him, but I didn't kill him, and he healed. And ever since he's been sending these goons after me. I've managed to keep a step ahead of them for the most part, but…well…" He shook his head. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"Hey, what are you doing here anyway?" Peter asked. "I thought you were…you've been gone a while. I thought Dad had…"

"You thought he killed me?"

Peter shrugged. "I figured, if anyone could…"

Gabriel laughed—he laughed!

"I'm sure he would try, if he had any idea where I've been." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I, uh…I dreamed that you were in trouble, so I…"

Peter found himself wondering if the marines might have put him into some sort of coma—the man standing in front of him seemed so unreal. Gabriel actually looked embarrassed!

"Well I'm glad you're here," Peter said, trying to hide how confused he was. This new and different version of Sylar would take some getting used to. "And not just because of the whole saving my life thing. Without my powers there really isn't anything I can do against Pinehearst, but with you here—"

"Hang on a minute, Peter," Gabriel interrupted. "Look, I came because you're my brother and I can't just let you get killed—but I can't stay. I have a life now, Peter, and I have to be there to protect it."

Peter frowned. "Gabriel, you don't understand—Pinehearst has to be stopped. My father—our father—has to be stopped! I've seen the future that he creates, and it's a horrible place!"

Gabriel was shaking his head. Peter stepped closer to him.

"Please, Gabriel," he pleaded. "You have to help."

"Peter…"

"This is going to affect you too," Peter said, starting to feel desperate. "Please!"

Gabriel looked away, biting his lip. Then he closed his eyes.

"All right," he said softly. "All right, I'll help."

Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Gabriel."

Peter clapped his brother on the shoulder.

"Besides," he said lightly. "You kind of have to help—if you don't, Dad'll just send more marines after me, and you'll just have to come save me all over again."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep an amused smile from flitting across his face.