Mind Games
Matt Parkman acknowledged the younger man with a tip of his chin. "Peter." He made no movement the second time, didn't even look at the silent son of a bitch who was just standing there like he had every right. "...Gabriel."
The young Petrelli continued to just stare, as if he'd have been less surprised to find it had been Mr Muggles who had just spoken. Apparently he was now stunned almost speechless at being found infiltrating a high security vault, as if Matt wasn't a threat that needed dealing with. As if he wasn't something to worry about. Please.
"Matt, what're you doing here?"
"More importantly, how did you find us?" Sylar jabbed, just as Matt had hoped he would.
The telepath huffed in triumph and plopped both hands on his hips. "You can hide your faces, but you can't hide your thoughts. Not from me." Raising both eyebrows, he digested the sight of these two particular men standing side by side, united just as they were the last time he'd seen them. He'd know them anywhere. In any form.
For the first time he locked eyes with the killer, not enough to grant him such decency, but long enough to see he looked locked to the spot, coiled like a spring that was yet to burst. But above all, he leaked the most glorious substance that Matt could have asked for in this situation: raw, vulnerable apprehension.
It was grotesquely satisfying to catch them in the act. Matt almost wished he could take a photo of their priceless reactions for proof: both stunned to have been bested by a lowly cop after they'd evidentially made it past every other precaution in the building so far. Matt relished the thought of the two Houdinis that the entire department had been hunting for months getting caught by him in his first week of the job... Noah company man Bennet couldn't do in half a year what Matt washed-up failure Parkman could in days? Oh yeah, it was a fun idea. Fun enough to overpower the unease at standing before the duo again. Fun enough to prolong setting off the alarm right this instant so Matt could have his moment. It was personal, after all. Not to mention long overdue.
"...You're working for them." Wishing he didn't feel the slight niggling of guilt, Matt watched as Peter (a little slow on the uptake, naturally) struggled to process another betrayal. The tender process was mapped all over his face, and it would've been crushing if Matt still held the same respect for the guy that he'd used to. Sylar, on the other hand, descended into forced, cold laughter that was swallowed up by the surrounding paper insulation.
"Don't tell me you're now raping minds for the highest bidder, Parkman? We should feel special, Peter, we got it done for free!"
Matt just stood his ground and didn't even twitch. Didn't bother denying it. Sure, he didn't like Sylar's choice of word for his... ministrations, but even now he wasn't ashamed and didn't regret what he'd done the last time he'd met the fucker.
"I'm doing the smart thing."
He ignored the nasty prickle on the back of his neck that accompanied seeing Peter and Sylar together again right before him. They were no longer just two initiates of the small circle of specials in the know, or mortal enemies hell bent on taking the other down – now they were media frenzied vigilantes on the cusp of becoming icons. It was wrong on so many levels.
"I have a family to support and Renautas happen to be appreciative of what I can do." The telepath continued. He didn't imagine Peter's eyes flicking to Matt's contributions to the wall of prophetic drawings, one of which foretold this very scene. "Like it or not: people like us? We're outcasts now. What the hell else am I gonna do with my ability? Go on the run? Waste away in a cell somewhere and miss my son grow up? Yeah, right."
( )
Peter couldn't believe his eyes. Or his ears. Couldn't believe what his heart was telling him. He'd wanted so badly for his former ally to have at least tried to redeem himself after the mess that had transpired in his basement. He'd just taken it for granted that the guy would have tried to better himself after falling so far from grace – wouldn't anyone?!
But now these thoughts seemed even more ridiculous than the idea of living a secret life inside someone else's head for years on end. Matt was working against them. He was conspiring with Noah, he was even chasing them through canvas with his prophetic ability like it didn't mean anything! Was this what high-security operations had been going on down here? Matt was Renautas' secret weapon...? The look that he was currently burning into Peter certainly didn't feel at all like that of an old friend. It was almost exactly the same look Peter received from his lost family every time he closed his eyes.
And so another one bites the dust.
"Matt..." He croaked huskily, feeling his lips tighten and brow lower. He was still half-sure this wasn't really happening. Crunching his way across paper, he grasped the bigger man's arm with numb fingers and channelled his sincerity through the fabric of Matt's shirt sleeve. "Why are you doing this? How could you work for them? They're rounding up people with abilities! Don't you remember how that feels?"
The cop sighed down at him, looking pointedly and with no shame in his eyes. It was an expression that shocked even more discomfort straight through Peter's arteries, so disapproving that it wouldn't have been out of place on the face of one Arthur Petrelli.
"What can I say? Some of them deserve it."
( )
A twist of emotion bolted Sylar, like the electric volts currently twirling around his fingers. He couldn't discern if the ache was simply rage at Matt's accusation, hurt when Peter's hand dropped back to his side, his own raw bruised feelings, or a mix of everything mashed together.
Matt still hadn't gifted him actual eye contact. It was a statement. It was also understandable, at its base level, like it had been when Micah had warmed to Peter and kept his distance from the scary boogey man who had threatened him in a past life. Understandable, yes, but at the same time it wasn't even eligible for comparison. So Saint Parkman was playing it that way, was he? As if he had done no wrong and was just a scarred victim here?! ...Well, okay, he was, but he was far from the only one in this room!
When said "victim" finally did deign to focus his attention on Sylar, it wasn't met with the same anxious hope that it had been when he'd earned Micah's. Instead, it was enough to set the watchmaker's scowl and heat his pulse beneath the weight of Matt's laden gaze, the gaze that Sylar refused to be the one to break.
"Parkman -" He cut off, reconsidering the best approach. It might have been given through gritted teeth, but at least he managed to muster up a single shred of decorum. "Matt. We're not hurting anyone. We're trying to do good here."
Matt scoffed. "You're dangerous, that's what you are." His watery eyes darted between his two captives while his words rubbed more salt into the wound he had just sliced open. "This little superhero act you've got going? Showing off your abilities when the world has barely even accepted we exist? Please – what did you think was gonna happen? Renautas is trying to keep the peace."
"By getting rid ofeveryone who stands against them?!" Even from the back, Sylar could tell that Peter was fuelling his every thought at Matt through his transparent gaze. He knew the routine far too well to mistake, albeit from the receiving end. Who knew he'd ever be happy to see it come back into play? "They want to kill us, Matt!" The little man threw a hand back to the desk, to where the plans of their personal torture device lay. "Who else? Huh? How many deaths can you be a part of?!"
Peter was so beautifully unashamed, unfiltered and true with his accusations. He was so oblivious, blinded yet again by his ties to his people and unable to see the simple fact of the matter that Sylar could decode in a heartbeat. He didn't doubt that Matt knew his new company were barbaric in their methods. He also didn't doubt that the cop didn't care. It was survival of the fittest, lying down loyalty to the alpha dog in hopes of being saved a scrap of the carcass at the end of the day. Parkman was clinging on to Renautas despite their sins simply because he wanted to save his own skin over everyone else's. And suddenly, Sylar hated the son of a bitch more right then than he ever had as a self-serving "hero" who had deluded himself into believing he was doing the right thing.
"This isn't about anyone else." The "good family man" was barely swayed by Peter's heartfelt confrontation, the same type that hadn't failed to affect Sylar even when he'd been near his worst. "This is about you. You can't be left unchecked, not with that kinda power." Matt cast his eyes around the stuffed cell, shaking his head tightly as if it could negate any opposition. "You're too powerful. You have to be contained."
A sudden swoop of guilt and rage made it difficult for Sylar to keep hold of his manners any longer. Electricity surged in his lofted palm.
"Oh, right, "contained"!" He spat, his tone so sharp it cut his tongue on the way out.
He knew he should probably be trying to validate his argument with patience, like he had attempted last time when he had chosen to be the bigger person and overlook the cop's dark deeds – but look where that had gotten him! Matt had thrown him out on his ass like a piece of trash after forcing him through the toughest ordeal of his existence, and now Sylar wasn't feeling anywhere near as gracious.
"Is this you selling out your basement as well as your morality?"
Matt barked out a laugh. "Really? You wanna talk about morality?" Another malicious spark flashed and was gone in the man's eye, causing Sylar to shiver and close his mouth over his next biting retort. Maybe that hadn't been the best word to throw into the equation...? Matt's already flushed face began to darken from the neck up, as beads of sweat began to dew across his brow. "I don't think so. You might've fooled Peter with this "peace and love" crap, you might even have fooled yourself! But I tell you – you're not gonna fool me. Never again."
All it took was the briefest of seconds to destabilise Sylar, leaving him drifting helplessly like a ship who's mast had been blown off. Because he had just realised something new, something worse, something that only increased his aversion to his self-righteous captor and everything he represented. Suddenly he felt ridiculous for not seeing it sooner: because even Matt, the founder of his evolution, didn't believe he'd changed.
( )
Peter frowned and averted his face, crinkling a few steps further back from Matt. He should have known better than to not expect things to revert from the topic of the cop's descent... to this. Fuck.
Even after all this time since the carnival, even though this man was the only outsider who was privy to the full picture, he was still burying his head so far beneath hatred and denial...? He was just like the rest of them. Only he didn't have the excuse of ignorance on his side. The ugly truth of the matter was suddenly so clear, although Peter wished it wasn't: Matt had chosen the wrong side by choice, and Sylar had been right about him all along... he wasn't a good guy anymore.
Peter growled, raking his fingers through his hair for lack of something better to do. "We don't have to listen to this..."
This wasn't why they were here! They hadn't come all this way just to endure another lecture, another knife to the back! They could run out and never look back, if only Matt wasn't guaranteed to call for backup the very next second... Caught between either marching into the telepath's face or dragging Sylar out of the cell by the scruff of the neck if need be, Peter fought to bite back the anger that was beginning to cloud his brain function. It was difficult, but the biggest red flag should have been recognisable from any state of mind: that one opponent was much more favourable than hundreds. As it was, Peter found himself simply unable to storm out on his old friend in this way.
Jesus, how many times did he have to say these words? He'd come to terms with it by now, of course, but in all this time he'd never once expected to have to say them to this person. He wasn't going to argue again. He wasn't going to plead for this guy to believe him if he couldn't even be convinced by his own eyes and ability! Eventually Peter settled on the spot between both other men, his hair pushed out of his eyes in order to watch the larger of the two with unobstructed clarity. "Sylar's changed, Matt." He insisted quietly, sternly. "I saw it. You looked inside his mind, you saw it too. You know what happened, why are you denying it?"
Again, Matt lofted both eyebrows in order to look down his nose at his charges.
"I saw a lotta things inside his sadistic mind." Peter's heart sank lower. He couldn't stop the cop from speaking the next words directly over his head at Sylar, alone. "Just because he wants to weasel outta everything he's done doesn't make him a good person. And it doesn't mean he deserves to walk free." Without tearing his attention away, the cop increased the amount of daggers in his glare. His eyes were on Sylar, but the words weren't directed that way. "I lived with him inside my head, Peter. I know exactly what he's capable of."
( )
Forget the cell. Forget the greedy corporation who's gut he had wormed his way into, because suddenly Sylar wasn't surrounded by death plans for himself and his only friend in one of Primatech's old cells devoted to taking them down. No. Instead he was thrown back in time to Parkman's kitchen, and Sylar's first minute of freedom as his new self, to when he'd just had his fragile hopes of trust shattered anew for the very first time. It probably wasn't supposed to hurt as much now as it had last December, but it did.
He winced at Matt's words, a barely noticeable shiver as uninvited memories swarmed him in vivid detail. Confusion, rage, terror; the chest-crushing weight of being unable to move or even feel his own body; being imprisoned, being ignored, being worse than dead because he didn't even exist except in the consciousness of a man who'd tried to erase every particle of him for good.
The ex-villain's stomach squirmed. He was well aware that he'd been especially horrible while confined to Matt's mind. Endangering the man's job, threatening his baby and fucking his wife probably hadn't been very good ideas in retrospect. But that was nothing compared to what Matt had done to him. Sylar had only been scared and powerless and furious, and all he'd had were words and a tiny amount of leverage that he had manipulated vehemently just to prove that he wasn't a ghost. Yeah, Sylar had really been awful back then. He wouldn't do it again if the chance presented itself. But even now, while stewing under that nasty, beady gaze... he wasn't even sure he regretted it.
He had so much to say in response, but too much of it would only start a fight. If Matt had only helped him when he'd asked, or if he'd talked him through the out-of-body experience instead of being such a smug bastard – if he'd even minded his own fucking business instead of butting in to play god at the Stanton Hotel! – then Sylar would never have wasted any energy on him! He hadn't wanted to be there. He'd never had a choice in the matter. It was Matt's own fault and Matt's own decisions that sparked these reactions, because what the fuck else could Sylar have done...?! It still made him furious to even glance in the direction of the blame game while the arrow was locked constantly onto his position, regardless of circumstance.
But now was not the time to get angry. And so, if only because the current scenario was a tender one, the ex murderer swallowed back down all of the details that could even almost justify his actions.
Finally, the last embers of electricity burned themselves out, leaving only smoking tendrils rising from his palm. The latch to his voice released at last, freeing a genuine, honest but hoarse sound. It almost hurt Sylar to hear himself, but the touch of resentment didn't go undetected. "I know what I did back then, Parkman. I know it was wrong. But I was angry and trapped and I know that doesn't make it okay but it's true. I can't take it back and I can't fix it. But I am not that guy anymore."
Matt's expression barely flickered, yet darker splodges of puce began blooming across his cheeks. "You're a monster. Sylar. You think you're out there "saving the day", but what happens when you lose your patience, huh? Or – or you lose your temper and someone ends up dead?! You haven't changed, you're just a ticking bomb. An accident waiting to happen. I don't give a crap about your excuses; you can never come back from the things you've done."
Every word walloped Sylar like the reverberating twang of a bow. On the outside, the repentant murderer closed off his emotions with a concrete expression. On the inside, he was so shaken that he completely forgot to be angry.
He automatically hunched in on himself, shaking hands seeking refuge in his pockets and itching eyes dropping to the paper-littered ground of their own accord. Matt's observation, the one of a literal mind reader, sent alarm bells blaring through him like teeth gnawing on his bones. The last time, Matt had cast aside Sylar while all he'd wanted was a chance to make up for the horrific ordeals he was responsible for. And yeah, it had stung more than he would ever admit aloud even though he knew Matt's continued allegations were false, although justified.
...But now, after months of hero duty and behaving himself andtrying desperately to prove he was more than he used to be... after failed missions and rogue abilities and that incident back at the casino that was still clinging to Sylar's skin like a grimy film... This time, he couldn't help but question himself. He couldn't help but question the words of the man who could read even the furthest corners of his mind... what if Matt was right?
( )
"You're wrong about him."
Peter Petrelli fumed at the person he could no longer recognise. Where was the family man who had fought by his side on more than one occasion? Where was the flawed, but generally good guy, who Peter had once known to go out of his way to do the right thing? He didn't know him anymore.
Surprisingly, it wasn't shame that bubbled inside his ribcage, but protective rage. Of all the times for Sylar's confidence to take a hit, it had to be when his defences were already damaged! Of course Matt had a point, and it wasn't as if his claims were founded on nothing, but things were different now! Peter couldn't un-see his only friend's pain atop the Devaux rooftop, or un-feel his clammy hand as they'd teleported home from Linderman's casino, nor his scarred and trembling soul from that night after the carnival way back when. He knew the whole almost-murder thing was still eroding away inside the other man, and he was not going to let Matt fuck Sylar up more than he already had!
Fuelled by determination instead of regret, Peter turned his back for good on his old ally. He then didn't falter until he'd taken up stance beside his old enemy at the other side of the cell, now his responsibility, his friend. He slipped a hand around the crook of Sylar's elbow, spurned on by the sight of the taller man's naked dismay that he would hate to have intruded upon by a third party.
Peter tried not to snarl. "You're wrong." He repeated, scowling across the cell at the outsider.
( )
The touch was only a small motion between the pair but, with a twitch of admission, Sylar didn't let it go unnoticed. And with a choked, spluttering sound of disdain, neither did Matt.
"Oh – c'mon! You can't be serious?!"
It was preposterous. Peter really couldn't tell the difference between dreams and the waking world? He'd had months to get over the "nightmare", months to come back to his senses, or at least test the boundaries of them! No way had Matt expected him to still be so deluded – surely by now there would be some cracks showing through the facade...?
Rubbing gathered sweat from his top lip, Matt prowled towards the pair with no care to their fearsome array of powers. "This is Sylar we're talking about, Peter! He murdered Nathan in cold blood and - what, you spend a few hours in la la land and suddenly you actually trust him?!"
Peter's voice and face hardened as Matt drew closer. "Yes. I do."
He said it boldly. He was unashamed to declare it out in the open. If Matt couldn't sense the definitive hum reverberating from the empath's awareness, he might have believed the guy had gone totally mad. As it was, he was leaking the telltale aura of the promise that defined him – that he was willing to fight to the death for his cause. And that was never a good thing to be on the wrong side of.
Oh, hell.
"Wow..." Matt sighed. It wasn't that he wanted to do it, per se. It was that this was his only weapon against the two most powerful people he had ever known. Flaunting his superiority had gotten him less satisfaction than he'd hoped, and he guessed he'd better get the show on the road before the other men tried to overpower him and void this victory. He should really sound the alarm, or call for back-up, Matt knew. But he also knew that he still wasn't done here, and that he'd never forgive himself if he gave up now.
So with only slight hesitation, he wiped a hand over his perspiring brow, shot an unbreakable glare at his two targets, and advanced upon them with both his physical and mental prowess.
( )
"Matt...?"
Peter wanted to stubbornly stand his ground as the telepath approached, but somehow his legs carried him backward, Sylar in tow, like an automated response that he couldn't control. The purpose that had kept him tethered this far unravelled, and he floated through the cell without ever deciding to move...
"Wow." The cop repeated. "This is worse than I thought." Still, he kept following and Peter and Sylar kept retreating, retreating further than the constraints of the cell would surely allow. "The two of you have seriously gotta get back to reality..."
Bang! All breath and reasoning was knocked out of Peter as his back finally hit the wall. But not that of the cell. Instead it was a tall, red, unbreakable wall that didn't belong anywhere in this world.
His heart skipped a beat.
( )
Holy shit.
Hands stroking over rough brick at his back, Sylar gaped, wide-eyed, around where the Renautas cell should have been but wasn't. Instead of stacks of paper and a reinforced door, there was only a wide alley stretching out before him, set between two towering buildings at either side. Everything was still. Silent. A full moon hung low in the night sky, illuminating a pile of broken sledgehammers discarded to the side, near an impressive mound of empty water bottles overspilling the dumpster...
Everything was exactly the same. Exactly as it had been left when its only two inhabitants had left this world behind. And suddenly that was all that mattered.
( )
Matt refused to give an inch. He channelled the vision directly into the consciousnesses of the two men, like a drill searing relentlessly through wood. It repulsed him to witness the state they'd rendered his masterpiece design, because it was never supposed to be a haven or retreat or a private place for two enemies to work out their differences against all odds.
It wasn't supposed to have come back around to bite him in the ass. It was a lesson! It was all make-believe! And Matt was determined to make that point clear... one way or another.
It seemed to be working pretty nicely. The dream city was nothing too special to look at, Matt had to admit, but from their expressions alone you'd be mistaken for thinking the paramedic and serial killer were looking upon the long lost faces of their ancestors. They seemed to fit in right at home, continuing to drink in their old surroundings as if they'd forgotten all about Renautas and the fact that they could ruin Matt's triumph (yet again!) with only a twitch of a finger if they so wished.
"You see this? Huh?" He panted, throwing both arms at the translucent city around them. "You recognise it? Is this home...? Yeah, no – none of it's real!"
( )
Oh god. In the corner of his mind Peter knew it was an illusion and didn't want to fall for it, but it still felt sinfully good to breathe this air again.
He tried to tune out Matt's curses before they knocked his legs out from under him. He couldn't help that his heart sang out for the familiar, the easy, that he felt the grime of reality fall away from him like cinders, or that he slipped back into this world like a penguin taking to water after waddling clumsily on land for too long.
Everything about this place welcomed him; the feeling of it, the smell, even the colour scheme soothed his eyes compared to the too vibrant hues of the real world. He recalled the many nights he'd dreamed of it since leaving, the occasional, grabbed minutes spent in the supply closet at work in order to try and replicate this setting, but somehow now it felt like he'd never even left. The only difference was the fragility of the mirage. It didn't sit as tightly as it used to, like the breeze was distorting the edges of this vision and sending ripples across the canvas. It was the same and it wasn't, it was outdated but not one second had aged the place, and Peter knew and resented what Matt was trying to do... but the truth of the matter was that he was too stunned right now to care.
( )
"You get that? I created this city, I know every part of it and I'm telling you it doesn't exist..."
Matt's chiding tone cascaded shivers down Sylar's spine. He couldn't be sure if it was in humiliation or the prelude to danger. The cop was skating on some pretty thin ice, but luckily for him Sylar was too pre-occupied and over stimulated to lock his attention onto more than one thing at once.
Chest heaving, organs swooping, he finally met Peter's equally round eyes. And everything came flooding back to him. It was bizarre but so natural to see the guy back in this habitat, where he appeared most at home, framed in dusty red against that wall. No, the wall, the one at which so many days had blurred past, so many fights had transpired and mountains had been overcome to get to where they were today...
( )
These bricks had bore witness to so much. More than Matt would ever acknowledge, even though they were of his own design and he, alone, answered their whispers. Every inch of this wall knew the true story, was standing proof of every day of torment, and if only the rest of the world could see it they'd understand –
"W-wait!" Peter gasped, so inspired that he momentarily dropped all hold on his anger. Using the wall at his back, he drew strength from the most reliable thing he'd ever known, enough to stand on his own two feet in the face of turmoil. It was such a practised skill by now that he didn't even notice he did it. "You can fix all this!"
( )
Uh... what? Matt's swelling ego deflated like a burst balloon. All at once Peter snapped out of his spell and was filled to the brim with energy in a way Matt had yet to see him, ever. He pushed off from the wall, gesturing avidly with bright eyes and passion infused words that fell short at the telepath's feet, despite the strength with which they'd been thrown.
"It's not too late, Matt! You said so yourself you created this city, so just tell Renautas the truth then they've gotta believe us! Tell them about the dream, about Sylar coming to you for help – all of it! Tell them what happened, they trust you!"
The words echoed on forever into the endless void. Then Matt snorted, slapping his hands helplessly by his sides and throwing a look the aforementioned murderer's way. "Is he for real?"
The still, sharp shape that was Gabriel Gray didn't respond beyond a flash of ever-watching eyes. Peter, meanwhile, nodded eagerly, like a trusting pet waiting for the apologetic treat that his owner had promised but never intended to give. Jeez.
( )
All Matt had to do was corroborate Peter and Sylar's claims and it would make a world of difference! He was the only other person who knew what had happened within the dank, creaking walls of his basement, the only one who could confirm the story, and that changed everything!
At least, it should have done.
The last of Peter's hope took a fatal hit at the expulsion of a helpless laugh. "You want me to jeopardise my job, my life and my family's lives by admitting I'm responsible for putting you two together? D'you even know how freaked out they are about that...? Yeah, not gonna happen." Matt wheezed, as if he couldn't believe Peter could be so naïve.
Getting desperate, the empath turned in one last ditch hope to find support in Sylar, only to receive the exact same expression from him as from Matt, just without the ridicule. ...Seriously? That was it - "no" - and Peter was supposed to just be okay with that?! The dregs of his optimism died at last, only to be swiftly replaced by a burning chunk of coal blazing in his gut like a furnace.
Once again, Peter's anger broke the surface and re-flooded the banks on all sides. He suddenly felt like nothing more than a skinny, twelve year old kid, begging Nathan to own up to the mess of Arthur's study that had earned Peter two months' of being grounded and an angry red handprint on the back of his neck. At the time, Nathan at least had the excuse of "but he goes easy on you, Pete", while today, right now, Peter couldn't sympathise with his adversary's reasoning in the slightest.
"But you have to help, Matt! You did this to us!"
"I didn't do that to you." That coal only flared hotter under the disdainful eye that Matt rolled over Peter from head to toe. "You did enough on your own."
( )
Sure, Matt would admit that he perhaps should have thought again before just propping Peter Petrelli's sleeping form against that wall in his basement for all of time. He hadn't thought it through properly, but even if he had, he would never have anticipated the end result to the duo's shared dreamwalking.
Seeing them now, grimacing at the bad taste it left in his mouth, he looked at both the empath and killer in turn, then together. Peter stood nearer, jaw set and hands fisted at his sides, a foreground feature to the figure still shrouded by the wall, almost unreadable, locked up tight but still unnerving like a snake about to strike. Together they stood united in this lonely world of Matt's design; the one where Sylar the son of a bitch was supposed to suffer eternally for his crimes, not find salvation.
Matt once again planted his hands firmly on his hips, just to stop himself from flapping them about the place stupidly under such scrutiny. "Oh, c'mon! Y-you think I wanted this to happen? H-how was I supposed to know you were gonna pop out playing at happy families? That was never part of the plan!"
"You left us in that place for five years!" Peter shouted through his teeth, his eyes on fire and the very air around him appearing to dance like water. "Was that part of the plan?!"
( )
Sylar really had to hand it to Peter. That he could keep his wits about him like he just had, that he could still form coherent words from coherent thoughts that weren't bottlenecking somewhere between his brain and mouth due to a bully picking on his most sensitive boo-boo.
Sylar had used to be stronger than this. He'd kept up a constant commentary through some of the most horrific acts imaginable, he'd even stared directly into Hiro's face while he'd described the nitty gritty details of Sylar's own death. Now he felt so violated by his insecurities that he could barely move a muscle. So he just watched his future unfold before him, without him, entrusted solely in the hands of Peter Petrelli – who might not be the most responsible choice, sure, but who would at least stand his ground until his final breath before letting go of his charge.
The telepath scoffed, another ragged pant of breath. "Not years – hours." The words stirred up a distant memory in Sylar from long ago, like disturbing a puff of dust from aged floorboards. "Y-you gotta listen to me, alright...?"
Maybe it was the agony of having his deepest, darkest worry torn out and used against him, or maybe it was the hallucinogenic nature of the discount dream city that couldn't seem to stop flowing at the edges, but somehow Sylar felt like he wasn't even involved in the stand off anymore. The fight had forgotten him and moved on, and even the blades in Parkman's gaze didn't hurt because Sylar was just numb. He was just a witness, or a biased referee, but one that was unable to set foot on the pitch, himself.
That was, until Parkman's head twitched between both Peter and Sylar and his eyes narrowed. That look still haunted the former villain's dreams, had done for years, now. He didn't even have time to fear it before it coiled around him tighter than any chain.
"Whatever you think you saw – it was all make believe..." Matt's voice pierced the mist surrounding the watchmaker, and a telltale scratching began at the seams of his mind. "None of it happened..." The words were luring him in. Winning him round. Making the idea behind them not seem quite so bad after all.
None of it had happened? Oh. Sylar wasn't sure how to feel about that. It meant he hadn't beaten his only companion black and blue countless times... that he hadn't finally pried open his shell, rusted closed from years of bloodshed and avoidance, and hadn't let in the chainsaw-like pain of feelings and regret... he hadn't been weak in public more than once, in front of someone, with someone, with the last person he'd ever have imagined would make him feel better... they hadn't exchanged all those mean words... or the nice ones... they hadn't done anything at all... even the agony of redemption hadn't nearly bested Sylar, because none of it had ever happened in the first place...
There was that voice again. The voice of reason. "It. Was. A. Dream."
A dream. A dream? But was it a dream? A nightmare...? Yes. A nightmare because it was one from which he couldn't be awoken, one that didn't belong to the living... 'The only thing that's real... is us...'
Like the crack of a whip, suddenly everything was crystal clear. Sylar was back in control of his mind and could breathe fully again, steam practically pouring from his nostrils. His body pounced before his mind could question it, his hand darting out before him as another unexpected roar ripped its way out his torn throat.
"It was REAL!"
( )
Within an instant Matt was pinned to the wall, one not red and towering and safe, but instead draped in illustrated paper like scales. Reeling, he scrabbled at the vice-like grip at his throat, eyes bulging as he found a glowering Sylar inches away from his face.
Shit! Shit! Spluttering for breath, Matt choked and could do nothing as his vision began to blot like ink in water. Embarrassingly quickly, he lost the handle on his ability and the alleyway rained down around the trio like shattered glass.
The hand squeezing his windpipe seared like it was on fire. "We lived every single day of it, Parkman! Every hour! You have no idea what you did, what you put us through!"
"Sylar!" Peter's voice was tight.
This was an imagined decade's worth of feelings finally seeing the light of day for the first time. This was the moment when those brows would lower, a forefinger would rise and everything would cut to black. Matt knew this. He fully anticipated it...
But instead, he made sense of the blurred shapes in his vision as Sylar glancing back at the other man. And then the hold on him lessened just enough to draw breath.
( )
Blood rushing in his ears from the sudden disorientation, Peter tried to uproot his feet from the floor of the cell but found that he couldn't. He was back in cold, stinging reality, like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head, yet he still felt out of place, almost jet-lagged. His vision was spinning and playing tricks on him, he was certain – because surely Sylar hadn't just about throttled Matt Parkman?
Like shaking himself out of a trance, Peter peeled away the cobwebby remnants of Matt's intrusion into his mind. Then his anger returned in full force when he made sense of what had just happened.
Matt had tried to control them?! He had tried to fucking brainwash them just to cover his own back?! The sensation was ringing throughout him like the beginning of a migraine, stemming from the tender point of entry that Matt had invaded. So that was what it felt like? It was so assaulting that Peter felt no remorse whatsoever when he looked clearly upon the cop in his current state: trapped and wriggling fruitlessly while trying to claw air back into his lungs.
( )
Blazing hazel eyes darted to Sylar's, equally as bright, equally as infused. He raided them frantically for any sign of Matt's poison successfully turning Peter against him, but thankfully it appeared the fucker had been stopped before making any damage. The little man looked shaken after Parkman's test, but at least he was in his right mind, thank god! ...And so was Sylar. Very much so.
The furious ex villain rounded on his purple, sweating captive again. "But... I want to thank you." He added, panting under the exertion of the attack and Parkman's weight, aided as it was by as little telekinesis as possible.
Sylar recoiled slightly in order to avoid the spray of Matt's coughing fit. "Th-thank me? Wh... hell you... talking about?"
"If it wasn't for what you did..."
Again, Sylar let himself be drawn to the magnetic pull of trust from behind him. As he took in the sight of his steadying anchor, he couldn't believe he'd just stood at that wall again with Peter. Their wall. The one Sylar had hated and Peter had conquered and Matt had tried to take away from them. As if just to wipe away any last doubts about who held his faith, the empath gifted Sylar with a small, encouraging smile.
"...I'd still be a monster."
( )
Matt chortled shamelessly, struggling a little with his windpipe constricted such as it was, by the towering figure who had overpowered and trapped him like nothing more than a chunk of meat that was ready to be flayed.
"And what... the hell... d'you think you are now...?"
There was a second, in which Matt could tell even from the back of Sylar's head that the man had faltered. When his face reappeared to drink in the current scenario, it was almost stoic aside from the prickle to the outside corners of his eyes and lips. That's right, son of a bitch...
Panicking around the grip on his throat (yet determined to hide that fact), Matt didn't care to wipe away the drool running from the corner of his mouth or the drops of sweat rolling down his face. "Y-you're never gonna change! You know as well as I do, Sylar, the twisted thoughts hiding in your mind can't be erased. Look at this: all it takes is one temptation, and – and you're right back to where you started!"
Flicking his watering gaze over Sylar's shoulder, Matt acknowledged the youngest Petrelli staring in indecision, as if he wanted to intervene but just couldn't figure out how.
"And you-!" He spluttered. "You never came back from that dream, Peter! You still can't find your place in the real world – and you seriously expect me to trust your judgement? Look at your hero now!"
The cell fell silent then, aside from ragged breathing and fallen paper crinkling underfoot while Matt's announcements sank in. They melted uncomfortably over the two vigilantes, meanwhile Matt ingested in the feeling in order to keep his heartbeat from overworking itself.
But then it almost stopped in shock. Because the angled face above him flickered with a pure emotion that Matt had never seen there before... and then, with great effort, Sylar let him go.
The guy staggered back across the cell, leaving Matt to find his footing and massage his throat, stopping only when he returned to Peter's hand on his back and the wounded expression that caught his fall.
Through their eyes alone, the duo shared an entire conversation that Matt didn't even need to intrude upon with his ability in order to hear. He'd seen too many like this one between them to last him a lifetime.
Tugging at the biting collar of his shirt, Matt shook his head. Sighed. So what, now he had his freedom? He would lose his victory but at least he got his life, and he was lucky to get that? No. No freaking way.
( )
Sylar hated to even think it. But Matt was right. What kind of person would string up his enemy like he just had? Nobody he wanted to be again. This wasn't the way. Or if it was supposed to be, then Sylar was determined to carve his own path in order to defy the one presented to him.
With the conscious choice to be better than Parkman and end this squabble, came the refreshing clarity of peace. That's not to say that Sylar wasn't aching inside like every seam of his body was eroding, but at least he suspected what would make it better. Even if just temporarily. Even if just a little...
This was what they should've done the second they entered this cell. They didn't have to have endured a re-run of Parkman's disdain. Now that was never part of the plan.
Tingling heat vibrated down Sylar's forearm and along the length of his fingers. The heat struck to life like a match had been lit, casting white blue light over the cell once more. Blue sparks danced in Peter's eyes below him, reaffirming Sylar's determination with no words needed. The sensation of the ability felt oddly satisfying, more than he'd ever noticed before. Perhaps because it was the right thing to do? To free his captive and defy the screaming self doubt in his ears and prove he had changed, no matter what anyone said? ...Or perhaps just because it was a blatant "fuck you" to Matt Parkman?
The telepath finally seemed to have caught his breath. "Hey – wh-what're you doing?"
"What we came here to do." Sylar promised, his gaze never straying from the blue fireworks reflected in the one opposite. "We're going to keep fighting against Renautas. And you're not going to get in our way."
Sylar raised an eyebrow, a motion that Peter greeted with a sombre tip of his head, a confirmation that they shared. Ignoring Parkman's gasped cries of "No! S-stop!", he extended his fiery hand towards the closest pile of paper – the one that conveniently happened to be the plans for his and Peter's capture. Goodbye multi-million dollar plans, goodbye months of Noah's backbreaking work that had created this pit, because these immortal men had come here with a job to do, and like everything in life, they were not giving up without finishing.
Unless, for some reason, Sylar's arm froze and refused to obey him. Like it did just now. What?!
"I can't let you walk outta here together! You're too dangerous..."
( )
He really didn't want to look at Matt again, because every time he did the view got worse and worse. Now no longer just another lost ally, or even a lost ally who was willing to turn them over and fuck with their minds to protect himself, to Peter Matt appeared like a totally different man than he had even five minutes ago.
The cop limped a step closer, fixing his two targets with perhaps the first, true glint of empathy all day. But it did nothing to preserve what had once been good about him, so distorted was the man now by the lack of Peter's rose tinted glasses. Or should that be revealed in his true, twisted form: disgruntled and scruffy after the manhandling and the pressure of trying to condemn two lives over again. But much more than that was a definite sizzle to the air. Like hideous wings had unfurled themselves ready for flight, casting long, stretching shadows over the three men, shadows that were unable to be outrun even by a former speedster.
His voice caught in his throat. "Matt, don't –"
"I'm sorry, Peter. But you don't understand." The cop sighed once again. Then suddenly that glint of empathy dissolved into pure, greedy determination. "...I'm saving the world."
Peter could sense what was coming, like smelling gas in the second before an explosion when it's already too late to do something about it. Then all at once pain speared through his head like a javelin; white noise blocked out any other sound and he fell; unable to fight and only swirling down and down an endless tunnel, failing to scream louder than the pressing silence that gagged him. He felt a soft warmth at his side, another helpless person, falling with him because they'd both forgotten how to fly, and with a fractured heart he watched the retreating form of Matt Parkman swimming out of focus far above.
( )
They didn't even put up much of a fight. It was so easy that Matt actually stunned himself with the magnitude of his own power. He should've done this in the first place instead of messing about with egos and pissing contests. But then again, where was the fun when there was no challenge?
He did feel an inkling of remorse (mixed with a hefty dose of pride, true) while looking down upon the "two most powerful men on Earth", lying together on the floor in the same spot they'd fallen, slipping in and out of consciousness while writhing around in a pain they couldn't even begin to process. It was not a pretty encounter, Matt wished he couldn't speak from experience, but it was all he could do to stall for time.
There was a second, just one, where Matt revelled in the sensation of ultimate power. He could do anything to them, for good this time, because who would know or even complain if Gabriel Gray disappeared once and for all...? It would be payback. No – justice! For what the bastard had done to Matty and Janice, and Matt, himself of course. It wasn't like he didn't have good reason! And now he had the perfect opportunity. The control alone was heady, more so than any drug.
But then the second passed, and Matt fished his expensive new work phone out of his pocket. Oh yeah, he was definitely getting a promotion for this one. He could already see his new office... could taste the accompanying raise... the elevated status... but most importantly, real, true respect for once in his life...
The line didn't ring nearly long enough for him to be able to work down the achievement in his voice. "Noah? You'd better get down here."
A/N: Omg, this confrontation just did NOT want to co-operate with me (and I blame Matt just because he's a major a**hole hehe), but we finally made it to this point, phew! I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get this update posted, and I hope it was enjoyable to read (especially after all the trouble it was to finish! XP)
The next chapter will be a lot less civilised and a lot more packed with action and angst and raw emotion – and I can't wait to get onto that part! I hope you can't either. That's all I'm going to say on it for now X)
Thank you for your patience, and as always I can't thank you enough for reading! ^.^
P.S. In case it wasn't obvious (SPOILERS FOR REBORN), this chapter marks the start of Matt's descent into the merciless Director we saw in Heroes Reborn – hey, he had to get there somehow, right? X)
