Gabriel dreamt of blood.

He was wading through it, the smell thick in his nose as it soaked through his jeans and into his skin, to his bones, mixing with his own. He could taste the copper on his tongue, gagging slightly as it rose to his calves, his knees, though still he could not find the source.

The first body he saw was Elle's. She was hanging by a noose from a building, the steady 'drip' of blood from her sawed-off skull adding to the sea that she was blissfully unaware of beneath her feet. Her eyes were open, dead and glazed over, and they followed him as he went, her dry and cracked lips able only to whisper a single word as he passed by.

"Murderer."

The word followed him like a chain as he trudged through the sea that had covered New York City, the site of most of his crimes. Isaac Mendez stood in the spreading pool, his eyes glazed over white as he painted on the side of a building, the top of his head missing and blood spilling out. As Gabriel passed, he caught a glimpse of the picture he was painting. He saw himself lying on the floor, murdered in the same way he'd killed so many, his brain exposed and blood smeared across the bricks. A shiver raced down his spine as he turned away, only to find himself face-to-face with Virginia Gray.

The pair of scissors he'd used to take her life were still sticking out of her chest, her pale hands wrapped pitifully tight around it as she attempted to free herself.

"You could have been anything," she whispered, and he felt his eyes widen as she tugged harder on the scissors, her face contorting in pain. "President, even. But you had to waste your potential, didn't you?" She demanded, and suddenly she wasn't weak; her eyes were ablaze with something he couldn't identify, the same flame he'd seen burn so brightly throughout his childhood as he strove to please her time and time again, somehow always falling short. "You're just as worthless as your father was. We should never have taken you from his brother. You've always been a disappointment, Gabriel, ever since the day we took you into our home."

He found himself speechless. He'd prided himself on his quick tongue, his ability to turn any conversation or argument around on the person speaking to him, but suddenly he was a child again, being scolded by his mother for some wrong. Virginia Gray finally pulled the scissors from her chest, gasping in pain as she fell back into the sea of blood, unable to hear Gabriel's screams as he knelt down and searched for her, nearly drowning himself.

A hand pulled him roughly to his feet, and he found himself face-to-face with Samson Gray, his biological father and potential future.

"You're just as bad as me," He hissed, his breathing impaired by the oxygen tank he still carted around. "Stop fooling yourself with these notions of change, of 'goodness'. You can never change. You'll die old and alone, just like me."

And suddenly it wasn't his father whose face he saw, but Hiro Nakamura's, his eyes somehow sad even as he delivered the blow that would never truly heal.

"You'll die alone. No one will mourn your death. No one will shed a tear. No one. I wish I could change fate, but you must go on your path."

The blood rose to his waist, and Gabriel hurried on, searching for some sort of high ground, anything to save him from the flood. He tried to fly, but he couldn't connect with the part of himself that held his ability. Panic encroached his chest, making it harder to breathe as he passed grisly scene after grisly scene, every person he had ever hurt. Bob Bishop, Alejandro Herrera, Nathan Petrelli, Meredith Gordon, Zane Taylor, Jackie Wilcox, Chandra Suresh, and of course, Brian Davis. The faces kept coming, each more familiar than the last, until he found himself staring at Molly Walker, her eyes filled with tears as she recounted the murder of her parents.

"You're a monster," She whispered, and the words fell from his lips without a second thought.

"I'm sorry," he said, and she shook her head.

"I'll never forgive you," She said quietly as the blood rose above her head, reaching his chest. It didn't stop; he felt it reach his chin, his stomach churning as some made its way into his mouth, choking him as he struggled to push off of the ground, to float. Something held him down, and though he couldn't see through the crimson sea, he knew somehow that it was the hands of all of his victims, come together at last in their death to take revenge on the man who had taken life away from them.

He took a deep breath, though once the blood rose above his nose, he knew it didn't matter. He opened his eyes as his lungs finally gave in, sinking to the bottom, the gravel rising to meet him and knock the last of the breath from his lungs.

The last face he saw was a certain blonde cheerleader, smiling as he drowned.

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X

The dream changed.

He had often had dreams where he was floating far outside his body, watching from a distance as events unfolded. He'd always felt detached, distant, disconnected; this was different.

He moved his finger slowly, watching the blood spring up from the man's forehead, reveling in the screams that he tore from his lips with his ministrations. He was like the little boy who pulled the legs off of bugs, turning them under magnifying glasses until the sun set them on fire, smiling with amusement and power as they twitched and burned out. This was so much more satisfying than that; with people, he could see the work he had wrought, feel the power that came from taking away all of someone else's. It was intoxicating, addicting; he felt a smile tug on his lips as the blood spread across the floor at his feet, soaking through to his skin as he knelt down, searching for the power he had so desperately sought after.

The shudder of relief he experienced as the power made its way into his body was almost sexual; he could feel it spreading throughout his bones, making its way to his own brain, where he reached for it with only a thought. It felt natural, right, to access this man's ability. Surely he, Sylar, would put it to far better use than the pathetic creature at his feet ever could. So many of them saw their gifts as curses; in a way, he was simply lifting a burden off their shoulders. They didn't deserve them anyways.

God, why had he ever stopped?

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X

Gabriel awoke with a start, his eyes wide as he scanned the room, searching for blood or bodies. He tore the sheets away from his body, letting out a long breath when he found no blood on his person. It took a moment for his heartbeat to return to normal, his finger twitching with the muscle memory of something he'd vowed to never do again.

He stood slowly, somehow still sweating despite the chill in the air. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table, somewhat surprised to find that it was already 7 a.m. He'd slept for hours, a nice change in pace from the minutes caught every other-night that he had grown accustomed to. Peter had offered to let him borrow some clothes, though Gabriel knew that he was too tall to fit into anything he owned. He would have to buy a few outfits later; his clothes were still gritty from the nights spent sleeping on the pavement.

He could hear voices coming from the kitchen as he opened the bedroom door, walking into the living room. He heard Claire laugh, and suddenly felt a strange sense of guilt as he stepped into the room, the smile immediately wiped from her face.

"Good morning," He said, and Peter turned from his spot near the sink, nodding and gesturing towards the bowl and spoon set out on the table.

"Good morning, Gabriel," He said, and Gabriel couldn't help but notice the way Claire tightened her grip on her spoon at the words. "I left some cereal out for you. I already ate a few hours ago. The milk is in the fridge," he added, and Gabriel nodded, offering him a small but genuine smile.

"Thank you," he said, taking the milk from the fridge before pouring himself a bowl of cereal, electing to stand rather than join Claire at the rather small table. He hadn't had a normal breakfast in years, and his stomach protested even as he took small bites. He put the bowl down after a few minutes of silence, waiting until Peter finished rinsing dishes and turned around, looking from him to Claire in turn.

"I have to go meet the others today," Peter said simply, apparently unwilling to make small talk. "We try to meet as often as we can. There's an abandoned warehouse we use; a sort of home base," he explained. "It's far from here," he added, though didn't seem eager to disclose any more information, causing Gabriel to raise his brows slightly. "Hiro usually takes care of transportation, but since I've been borrowing his ability recently, I can get myself there."

Gabriel was silent as Peter spoke, glancing at Claire from the corner of his eyes. She had the same strange look in her eyes that she had the day before upon finding her home empty and nearly destroyed. It had been his fault; he'd planted the seed of revenge in her mind, and it was quickly growing, a notion that was vaguely unsettling. He turned back to Peter when he continued, a small frown tugging on his lips.

"You two are welcome to come with me," Peter continued, glancing at Claire. "Your abilities can certainly help. Especially yours, Claire," he said, causing her to sit up straighter in her seat. "You could help us to heal those they've hurt, if you're up for it."

Gabriel was unsurprised when she nodded, her face a determined mask. He saw Peter's slight frown, mirroring his own, though wondered what was troubling him.

"Alright, then," He said, turning next to Gabriel, who met his eyes and nodded in answer to his unspoken question.

"We'll head out after breakfast."

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X

Gabriel pulled Peter aside once Claire had left the kitchen, saying she needed to get ready. He waited until he heard the bedroom door close behind her before turning back to Peter, unsurprised to find the other man already starting at him, as though waiting for his words.

"They're going to see me as The Boogeyman," He said simply, the words tasting somewhat bitter on his tongue. Hiro Nakamura would only remember all the evil he had done in the past, as would any others who had seen his face before. He didn't expect anything less from them, but something about the thought of walking willingly into a room full of people fully prepared to kill him where he stood was vaguely unsettling, especially considering his dream from the night before. It would be far too easy to lose control.

"I'll make sure that doesn't happen," Peter said, and it took Gabriel a moment to remember that Peter was not holding Matt Parkman's ability. He felt a strange combination of comfort and unease at the idea that Peter Petrelli knew him well enough to be able to deduce his thoughts simply by looking at his face.

Another thought came to him, and he spoke before he could think better of it.

"Matt Parkman," He began, then paused, remembering their last encounter two years ago. To say it had been ugly would have been a gross understatement. "Is he there?" He asked, struggling to keep his features neutral, a feat he was ordinarily adept at. Perhaps two years out of practice was too much.

"I don't know," Peter said, glancing towards the living room, where Claire was now tying her shoes. "He took custody of Molly Walker again, so he tries to stay out of the way as much as possible. To keep her safe."

That was what he'd been fearing. He saw the young girl's face from his nightmare the previous night, the fear and resentment and hatred, and quickly turned away, nodding.

"Alright," He said simply, meeting Claire's eyes as she looked up, expecting to see the same resentment and hatred he always had. She seemed to be looking past him instead, and he felt vaguely unsettled as he walked to the front door, slipping on his own shoes before walking back to Peter, who had now been joined by Claire. He closed his eyes when Peter's hand closed over his shoulder, and when he opened them, they were somewhere else.

It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim lighting. They were standing in a small office, or what had once been an office. It seemed to be some sort of storage area now; boxes were stacked in the far corner, a file cabinet pressed against the opposite wall. There was a small, dingy window that looked out onto the broad first floor, abandoned and rusted machinery scattered on the floor where the previous owners had apparently given up moving out.

"Homey," Claire observed, and he felt the corner of his lip turn up slightly in amusement as Peter nodded.

"We're not too picky," He said, stepping towards the door, which creaked slightly on its rusty hinges as he pushed it open. "There's a bigger room downstairs. I think it was some sort of break room at one point. That's where we meet." He held the door open for Claire, waiting until Gabriel stepped through to let it fall closed behind them.

"Follow me," He said simply, and Gabriel waited until Claire had taken the first step before falling in behind them.

He didn't see this going well. Part of him thought it would be far better if he had stayed in hiding, at Peter's apartment. Another part, however, one that was much stronger, longed to be a part of something again; it wanted to be a hero again. He had never felt so alive or good about himself as he had at the moment he saved Emma at the carnival; it was the only time had been sure that what he was doing was right. And what was wrong with trying to right wrongs? He set his jaw, reaching far inside himself for the stoicism he had so often employed in the past. He wouldn't be chased out; this was his fight, too, whether or not the others agreed. They had a common enemy, and this time, it wasn't him.

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X

Though he was the last to step into the room, every eye seemed to turn to him at once. Gabriel paused in his stride, his gaze passing quickly over every face in the room, both familiar and foreign.

Hiro Nakamura, who had just stepped forward with a loud exclamation of 'Cheerleader!' had paused, his eyes locked onto Gabriel's, who didn't waver.

"Brain man," He said softly.

Gabriel stiffened slightly and turned towards Peter, who was looking at the others in the room. He recognized Micah, two years older and yet as small as ever, standing under the protective arm of another older teenager. Ando and several of Samuel's troop were scattered among the room, though the ringleader himself was absent. He had only taken one step farther into the room when he was thrown back against the wall, knocking the breath from his lungs as his head hit the wall with a sickening thud.

"You bastard," Mohinder growled, pressing him into the concrete with the side of his arm, completely at ease. "How dare you show your face here?!" He demanded, pressing harder, cutting into his windpipe. Gabriel saw black spots dancing in the edges of vision, and struggled to resist the urge to throw the other man across the room and kill him where he stood.

A moment later his feet touched the floor, air filling his lungs in a rush as he gasped, his vision adjusting to see Peter, one hand on Mohinder's shoulder a few feet away.

"Gabriel isn't the enemy," Peter said simply, his voice strong and sure. "We all know who the enemy is, and we don't need a civil war going on in our own ranks. If you trust me, then trust this: He's not Sylar anymore. He's here to help, and we all know that we can use it."

There was silence, the only sound the heavy rise and fall of Dr. Suresh's chest as he tried to calm himself. Gabriel took a step back, closing his eyes in an attempt to rid himself of the image of splitting open the man's skull and taking what he had just threatened him with. He didn't open them when Peter began to speak again, throwing around names and places he'd never heard of, discussions ranging from sightings to captures to threats.

He stayed in the far corner while the others spoke, though eh noticed several times as pairs of eyes made their way to his figure, as though to make sure he hadn't moved. Every time he shifted his weight even slightly someone flinched, taking an indiscreet step to the side, away from him. Part of him was amused, though most was annoyed as time dragged on. Eventually most turned away from him, turning him into just another unimportant fixture of the room. It was Dr. Suresh whose eyes he could feel on him even when he turned away, crossing his arms over his chest and waiting for Peter to speak again, distancing himself from his environment.

"I think it's time we made an offensive move."

Gabriel frowned, opening his eyes and looking at Peter. He was standing near the door, his arms folded across his chest, taking in the several reactions at once. There were many objections, violent and vehement words, and still Peter stood still, waiting for the chaos to subside.

"Gabriel and Claire were being held in a hospital in Pennsylvania," He continued, his voice loud and sure over the discontented mass. "We already knew about this place, and many like it. I've been thinking that we should do something about it for a long time, but it would have been suicide. Now, though, we have a way in. We have inside information; we have guides."

Gabriel glanced at Claire, who had stiffened considerably, her hands clenched into fists, though she tried to hide them behind her back. He quickly looked away when she met his eyes, turning instead to Peter, who was now looking at him.

"Gabriel. How much do you remember about the layout of the hospital?" He asked, and Gabriel frowned, feeling a small spark of anger ignite in the pit of his stomach. He'd already told Peter that this was a suicide mission, a rash move that would only get him killed. Obviously that didn't matter to him.

"Enough," He answered simply, feeling every pair of eyes in the room turn to him. It made his skin crawl uncomfortably, and he returned the gaze directly until they looked away, shifting uncomfortably. And it was true; he did remember the hospital well enough. Though he'd spent a great deal of time in an induced coma, Matt's ability hadn't completely turned off. He figured he'd obtained it back on the night of the carnival, when Matt had looked into his head to see if he was genuine about his words. He hadn't realized it until weeks later when it manifested, and had tried not to use it; he still hadn't wanted to lose his newfound humanity to a lust for abilities, and reading people's minds was far too tempting. Still, he'd been able to connect with the orderlies who filed into and out of his room each day, the paths they were planning to take, the stray thoughts as they punched numbers into keypads outside doors. It was hard to tell how much was real and how much was his imagination, though as he and Claire had made their way out that night that felt so long ago, he'd been sure of the steps he was taking; he'd taken them before, with every person who stepped into or out of his room.

"Shouldn't we be focusing on ourselves right now?" A woman asked. Gabriel didn't recognize her; she had her arm around a young girl's shoulder, encircling her protectively. "We're still not safe; how can we rescue anyone else?"

There was a soft murmur of agreement, but Peter spoke before anyone else had the chance.

"I'm not going to ask anyone to do something they don't want to," He said, glancing around the room. "I'm just asking that you think about this, and those who decide they want to help can. I know we've all lost people, but this could be a chance to reunite other families, to make sure that they don't have to go through the same pain." He paused, looking back at Gabriel, who stood up straight, nodding in answer to his unspoken question.

"Meet back here tomorrow if you decide you want to help," Peter said simply, and turned out of the room without another word.

X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X

"Peter, you're going to get yourself killed!"

Gabriel could hear the conversation in the living room perfectly clear, though so far most of it had consisted of Claire yelling at her uncle, refusing to let him get in a word.

"Claire, I told you-"

"You have no idea what it's like there!" She interrupted, and Gabriel glanced into the living room from his spot in the kitchen, a frown on his lips. "If you get caught, and you will, they'll never let you go. They'll torture you, they'll maim you, they'll-" She paused, having caught Gabriel's eye, and he felt his frown deepen as she gestured at him.

"If you don't believe me, ask your friend," She said, a fair amount of venom lacing her words. Gabriel took a single step into the room, meeting Peter's gaze, his long fingers encircling the mug he held in his hands tightly. He'd already made his position on Peter's idea clear the night before; anything he said now would just be repetition, and he knew that it would make no difference once Peter had made his mind up.

And so he was silent, feeling Claire's stare harden until she groaned, throwing her hands up and taking a step back.

"The one damn time you could have made yourself useful," She said quietly, turning her back and making her way to the guest room, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"Emma's there."

For a moment Gabriel wasn't sure if the words he'd heard had been spoken aloud or passed telepathically, though it didn't matter. His eyes snapped quickly to Peter's slumped form on the couch, his head in his hands, eyes closed. Gabriel wasn't sure if it was for Peter or for the woman who had inadvertently set him on the right path, but he felt a sudden surge of protectiveness, of adrenaline; of purpose.

"I don't want to put everyone at risk for a personal venture," Peter said softly, glancing up at Gabriel through a tangle of brown hair. "I had been thinking about making a move like this for a long time. But when I found out that's where Emma was-" He trailed off, silence quickly filling the air between them as Gabriel nodded, his jaw set.

"I understand," he said, and felt something in the air between them, a connection being forged between two people who had barely held onto remnants of years spent together. Hiro Nakamura's ability flooded his brain, every synapse firing at once, coming together to form an intricate web of delicate pieces and parts. He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath as it settled into place, fitting comfortably and perfectly in the back of his mind, along with the others.

"Hold onto that one," Peter said quietly, and he quickly opened his eyes. "You'll need it."

Note: Sorry I took so long to update! I had writer's block, and I feel like it showed.