Mr Do-Gooder

"What?" Sylar croaked, as if hoping he'd misheard.

"Someone's coming."

"Bennet?"

"I... I'm not sure..." Like someone had punched a mirror, the golden feeling of having Peter's abilities restored shattered into a million pieces by his scuffed boots. Suddenly he didn't feel unburdened and free anymore. Frozen to the spot, he fumbled to reclaim his grasp on telepathy.

It took a moment for him to re-locate the correct ability, then it encased his senses with only a little persuasion. His awareness expanded far beyond the thumping of two panicked hearts and Emma's soft breathing from outside; it slinked under the door of the abandoned operating theatre and stretched away along the closed down corridors of the hospital. He was a little rusty, but it didn't take long to channel out the distant ruckus of the wards and the vibrating hum of the air conditioning all around until he located the same whispering voices from before.

The counting of footsteps marching down the stairs. The memorising of instructions between a handful of people. A team creeping down to this location with the intention of an ambush.

"Whoever it is, I don't plan on waiting here for them to find us." Sylar stated.

Shaken out of concentration by his companion's authoritive tone, the ability slipped from Peter's fingers and he failed to catch it before it was gone. Reeling, he nodded just because Sylar was the sensible one and he always knew what to do.

But then the other man's plan really hit him. And while, yes, it did sound like the smart thing to do (not to mention the thing that they usually did round about now) ...this time it ruffled Peter's feathers the wrong way.

( )

The empath zoned back into Sylar with a determined frown gracing his face. Oh no.

He tried to shut down the crazy plan he knew was coming. "Peter, I don't think -"

"But aren't you tired of always running away?" Peter blurted. His cheeks were still flushed from earlier, his eyes still bright with newfound confidence. "We don't have to let them win anymore! We could fight!"

Distantly, alarm bells started to chime in the watchmaker's head. He tried to sound reasonable, to sound as un-controlling as possible so he wouldn't trigger the ingrained Petrelli instincts to only push against rationale. "Trust me, you're not ready for that yet. You need time to get used to your abilities first, you can't just break them all out at once – it could be dangerous."

( )

The first reaction that possessed Peter was insult. Then irritation. Then defensiveness. Until finally, against everything he wanted to be true, along came the first touch of resignation.

Although apprehension did inevitably accompany the thought of yet anotherRenautas attack, this time they didn't have to flee with their tails between their legs. Peter now had the means to confront his enemies! This time he was strong enough to stand his ground! He could win!

A dozen restless abilities were now flanking this man like his own personal army. They complained of neglect, they jostled each other for priority and impatiently pressed upon the inside of his skull. They wanted to stretch themselves free of their confines and he wanted to let them do it, he wanted to end this toxic relationship between hunter and pray once and for all! But Sylar was right: there was no telling how dangerous that could be.

Just as Peter opened his mouth in fading hopes of further arguing his piece, the door to the corridor squealed open on rusted hinges.

Shit, in just these last few moments he had totally forgotten about Emma! Yet as soon as he set eyes on her hurrying into the theatre the building pressure inside his head began to stabilize. No way would he jeopardise her safety just to prove a point.

( )

"I'm, I'm sorry but you said to say if I saw anything..."

Emma's explanation trailed off when her eyes swarmed over the leftover blood on the operating table. Then the remnants lingering on Peter and still drying on Sylar. It wouldn't take her long to put all the pieces together, and the watchmaker's gut flipped at the reminder of what he'd just done.

"No, no, it's okay, we already know." Peter gushed, snapping out of fight mode and crossing instantly to Emma, like a moth to the flame. Sylar couldn't really blame him this time, though.

He welcomed anything to ease her expression, one that hadn't been nearly as uneasy at the thought of intruders as it did at what Sylar might have just done to her friend. He didn't want to know what horrors she was imagining he'd inflicted upon Peter, but surely none could possibly come close to the truth. A lingering shiver traced Sylar's spine at the memory of the exposed brain at his fingertips. Thank god that was over with.

When the empath reached Emma's side he wrapped a protective arm her, but the words he spoke were for Sylar's peace of mind more than hers. "We're getting outta here." He said affirmitively, all trace of his previous fight plan gone. "Hold onto me."

Sylar hoped his gratitide showed on his face. Getting his way without one hell of a sales pitch was always a luxury. He was too relieved by Peter's cooperation to waste time dwelling on the fluttering concerns that still hovered at the outskirts of his mind.

Hushed noises in the corridor finally reached Sylar's ears. He crossed to Peter and accepted the hold around his back, awaiting the lurch of teleportation to whisk him away. Maybe these powers really would be worth all the effort to unlock them after all?

Accidentally, he locked eyes with Emma, tucked in close at Peter's other side. He told himself it was just the awkwardness of this Wizard of Oz-style embrace that made him cringe from her all-knowing gaze much too quickly. Emma, meanwhile, wasn't deterred. She was intent, it seemed, on making Sylar self-conscious of everything and anything he was. It was almost as if she somehow knew the ordeal he had just been through, how vulnerable he had let himself become. This was exactly why he'd wanted privacy in the first place.

He busied himself by looking down at Peter, watching the crease to the guy's brow and the set to his jaw as he tried so hard to travel through space just in the nick of time...!

But nothing happened. They didn't jump across the city in the blink of an eye. They didn't move at all. And that was the moment when those whispering touches of concern began to make sense to Sylar.

( )

Peter hurried to unlatch the right ability of out many, but alarm had ripped away the exhilaration that followed the success of Sylar's operation. Instead he was left clumsy, and the more he chased after his goal the more it evaded him. Damn it!

"Peter?" Emma asked. "What's wrong?"

He opened his eyes hopefully, only to be greeted by the same, dank operating theatre instead of the wood-paneled walls and silk curtains of Charles Devaux's living room. No! No! He grunted through his teeth, attempting again to carry his friends away to safety. But no matter what he tried, he just couldn't get it right. It was as much good as failing to strike a match with shaking hands.

"It – it's not working..."

"What?"

"I can't do anything!"

"Your abilites...?"

Now that Peter had plunged a hand into the immense well of his powers with the intention of actually using one, perspective began to creep over him. He took a moment to really notice how precariously his abilities were stacked up, how delicately they were balanced now that the curtain had been pulled aside. He'd forgotten what it was like after only having to look after one at a time for so long. Now, responsibility towered over him until he started to feel dizzy, until he lost his tentative hold on his powers one by one like dropping a handful of marbles. Oh god.

The sensation of vertigo started seeping in. Peter's skin crawled with energy that he didn't know how to channel into a useful function. He couldn't balance the rest of his abilities with one hand and handle time travel with the other, because too much was happening at once and he couldn't even remember how he'd used to multi-task the first time around...!

No! He was supposed to be capable now! Strong! The whole point of restoring his powers was to avoid being a burden ever again! Yet undeterred stage fright ripped every scrap of competence from Peter's grasp until, despite his father's blockade finally being lifted from his mind, he felt more powerless now than he ever had before.

Fear. Anger. Hopelessness. They consumed Peter at once. You'd think it would be enough, but even that didn't ease this self-deprecating man's shame of looking into two expectant faces and having to admit his thousandth failure aloud.

"I... I can't do it."

( )

It suddenly didn't matter that an ambush was only seconds away from where Peter, Sylar and Emma were trapped. Or at least, it didn't matter to the watchmaker's brain, so consumed as it was by too many thoughts that were spinning themselves into a whirlwind.

He couldn't argue with Peter. He wished he could. But he knew it was true. Somehow, something had gone wrong... The mechanic ticking of thought tuned out everything else in a blur of white noise; a moment of total clarity that raced to connect the dots at lightspeed...

Only for it to be rudely interrupted before it could form into a coherent thought. Sylar was too swept up in his own head to prepare any kind of defense, and then suddenly the trio were forced to break apart when a conflicting procession of barked orders and shuffling feet descended upon them.

"DON'T MOVE!"

"Get your hands in the air!"

"STEP AWAY FROM THE HOSTAGE!"

"It's them!"

"My god... all that blood..."

The instinct to fight might have prevailed through the haze, had Sylar not been beaten to the punch.

He felt the telltale gust of power whoosh past him, billowing his hair and harmlessly tugging at his clothes. Then a dozen enemy troops were blasted backward across the room with all the breath knocked out of them.

( )

Emma couldn't say or do anything. She was too overwhelmed by the angry bursts of colour that swept around the room like fire. She was shaking, locked in place and almost able to actually hear her own heartbeat at the pace it was bouncing around her rib cage.

Playing in mute, it seemed as if time had somehow slowed to a crawl. Everything was moving as if underwater, yet Emma couldn't do a thing to intervene. Eric Doyle might as well have been here once again keeping her captive, for all the good she did.

Then all at once everything stopped. Everything was still. Dark. And only the odd, rising tendril coloured with hues of surprise peppered the room.

( )

As the dust settled, Sylar gaped at the mess of assailants littered across the ground. Noah Bennet was not among them, nor were any Renautas logos or weaponry. So who were these idiots who had just knowingly crashed in on wanted fugitives...?!

It didn't really matter, though. What did was that they had been relatively innocent, well-intentioned, deluded. And severely outmatched to deserve such treatment.

Remorse kicked in then, and for a wild moment Sylar thought he was somehow responsible for attacking them. But then, with a jolt in his gut, he remembered the reason he was even here in the first place.

( )

Chest heaving, Peter couldn't tear his gaze from his hands. Woah.

They looked just the same as always, but he could feel a pulsing strength trickling away, stroking over his palms like the tip of a feather. This was interspersed with an occasional rogue flickerof electricity, sparks that jumped out at him until he somehow condensed them into just a sickly glimmer below the surface of his skin.

He hadn't meant to do it. It was an accident. Instinct. He hadn't even called on telekinesis before it rose to protect him as if on its own! Even now, the unseen force lingered within reach, suddenly far too easily accessed if he dared to think upon it. ...Had it used to be that way? He couldn't remember.

Under Emma and Sylar's scrutinous gazes, Peter dropped his hands and tuned into his groaning, strewn out victims for the first time. Yes, he was still reeling from his epic failure at teleportation, and his skull was pounding as if head rush was refusing to fully fade, but it wasn't that which made the scene take a while to fully make sense to him.

He knew these people.

Not all by name, but through the fog clouding up his senses he recognised the perpetually purple face of the man who had nodded him into work every day and nodded him out every night, and the red haired woman who had patrolled the grounds and almost caught him flying more than once. Wait, what? He had been so set on anticipating the usual Renautas bullshit that it took a moment to realise that, no, these people hadn't quit their jobs at the hospital and signed their souls over to the Company. And that maybe the godforsaken corporation didn't have anything to do with this at all.

Instantly, all defensiveness fled from Peter and he felt even worse.

He had no desire to further fight or hurt this team. They were just security guards. Doing their part to try and keep the hospital safe from potentially dangerous fugitives. But even that posed a harrowing question: how had they even found them?

"What the hell was that?"

Peter turned his attention to Sylar with a jolt, unable not to squirm on the spot like a child who knew he'd done wrong.

( )

Sylar couldn't help but squint at his friend with no small amount of accusation. Suddenly Peter Petrelli – Mr Do-Gooder who would sacrifice his life instead of hurting others – was just okay with abusing his new powers so violently? A lecture formed on his tongue as soon as the initial shock waned, but the longer Sylar looked at his friend the more clear it became that he had no clue what had happened either.

Peter didn't reply, but he didn't need to when the answer was cristal clear on his face. He looked shaken by his actions; his breathing deep and rapid. But Sylar didn't even need to see him to feelthe very air shimmering around the little man, misting from his skin with the force of unseen, pent up power.

Those alarm bells chimed ever louder, echoing as if from the far end of a tunnel. Sylar did not want to know what they alluded to.

( )

There was no way for Peter to mask his accidental outburst now, but that didn't stop him from at least trying to pretend he hadn't fucked up within minutes of supposedly being made capable. When his two friends crossed fallen, stunned security guards to reach his side once again, Peter back-kicked his doubts and made himself focus on the way ahead for now.

"Are you alright?" He asked Emma when she reached him, accepting a shaken nod from the woman in response. When Sylar got close enough Peter didn't linger for more than a reasasuring pat on the arm. The watchmaker didn't call him out again for losing control, and for that Peter was grateful. But he could feel a telltale knowingness that he wished he knew how to evade radiating from the taller man, and he dreaded the subsequent talking-to he was bound to get back at home.

Peter didn't look at the guards who he had accidentally hurt (but of course, the guilt would be stored to brood over later). Even if it looked like he wouldn't be soaring home happily through the sky after all, he still needed to get out of this cesspit of a theatre. The chill, the grime and even the smell of the place were making him feel ill, and it certainly wasn't helping the growing buzz of power that refused to settle back in its place within him.

Sylar cleared his throat. "Okay... c'mon. Before they get up." Peter conceded to the push on his back, ready to flat-out run to the exit if need be, only Emma didn't budge when he reached back for her. "Emma?" Peter asked, stopping in his tracks, confused. "What're you doing? We have to go -"

"I can't leave with you, Peter."

( )

Emma wished she didn't feel so bad to see the concern flare up on Peter's face. But what did he expect? That she would leave her job and go on the run with him and Sylar? Join the team and fight injustice in the streets like they did? The notion was sweet, even though it was the last thing Emma had planned for her future. No, she had done her part in assisting the return of Peter's abilities, and that felt like enough to go on.

"I'll hold them off here." She insisted.

Maybe she had some serious talking to do after this, but the truth of the matter was that she didn't know anything anyway. She hadn't done much here, either. And in the eyes of these half-conscious security guards, she was only a helpless victim in the whole thing. As much as that enraged her, Emma knew she could at least weild it to her advantage for now in giving her friends a chance to escape.

Peter took a while to respond. Sad, hazel eyes roved over her face, and she remembered how happy he had been to see her upstairs. The opposite could be said for just now. The younger man sighed, bit his lip in acceptance and touched a hand to Emma's arm. Careful, warm and reassuring, as always.

"I'm really sorry for dragging you into all this." His mouth moved in such a way that she knew his words would be gentle. "I... I never wanted to cause any trouble."

"That's all you ever do." She smiled. Sylar's face twitched in agreement when Emma released a soft laugh. Luckily the two men couldn't see the colour of it, so revealing of her feelings in a way the sound alone was not. "But it's always for the right reason."

Peter looked at her then exactly as he had after breaking her prized cello, knowing he had to leave when it was the last thing he wanted to do. Emma would never hold him back though, even if the security guards strewn over the floor weren't already stirring back to life. He was born to be mysterious and brave and to dive into danger over and over again, doing everything he possibly could to save everyone at once. Those were even the first things Emma had fallen for about him.

Somehow Peter was still beautiful with blood streaked over his face and drying in his hair. An air of tenderness that contradicted his lifestyle shone through his features as always, and kindness was etched into every plane of his face along with that genuine interest that made you feel like the most interesting person in the world when it was your turn for his attention.

Emma knew what she felt for this man. She also knew the thing they might once have had between them was gone. It was too late for that now, Peter had moved on with his life and Emma had survived just fine without him all this time. But somehow... somehow she got the feeling they might never meet again once he flew out that door and gave himself over to the fate of the world. It was what finally gave her the confidence. And she would always regret it if she didn't...

( )

Just too late, Sylar saw what was coming. Though not before Emma took the plunge, stepped up, and captured Peter's lips in a kiss.

Sylar burned and averted his eyes, hunching in on himself. He tried not to listen, but it was impossible not to hear the surprised intake of breath from Peter or, a moment later, the quiet sound of the kiss breaking. For fuck's sake. Was now really the time...? Left standing stupidly on the outskirts, Sylar scowled and said nothing as he let the other two have this heartfelt moment without him.

It was inevitable, he told himself. It was closure. It was always going to happen at some point, ever since Peter had burst all heroically and deluded into Sylar's mind prison to save the world for this woman. He had even seen it coming the moment they'd stepped into this room together. But that still didn't make it any less fucking unpleasant.

"Good luck." He heard Emma say.

Meanwhile Peter could barely muster his voice at all. "Th-thanks. Thank you. You too."

Sylar gave them what felt like more than enough time to say goodbye while running on a deadline, then chanced a look. Emma was smiling shyly at a scarlet and breathless Peter, the two of them just staring at each other like idiots. Sure, Sylar had only been the one to actually save Emma's life at the carnival, and he had merely risked everything he'd painstakingly crafted over the better part of a decade to gift Peter his dream today, but please – let them think each other was marvellous and forget all about him! It wasn't like he deserved any praise or good luck wishes from either of them. It wasn't as if he didn't deserve to be the third wheel in this scenario that wouldn't even have been possible without him.

Sylar wasn't sure if his expression was appropriate to be seen or not, but of course the pair chose that second to remember he existed. Peter only looked for a moment, otherwise too red-faced and flustered to do much more than hide behind his hair, but Emma turned to Sylar with a smile he half wished wasn't as genuine as it really was.

Damn her. Maybe she and Peter deserved each other after all.

( )

Sylar raised a hand before Emma could even do anything. "I'll pass. Thanks though."

This was one of the times she didn't quite understand the guy's sharp humour, but she was brimming with too much contentment to worry about it, or the touch of shadow bleeding into the colours of his voice. So she just watched him, watched Peter with a bright warmness in her chest, watched them regroup and traverse the operating theatre together towards the rest of the fight for freedom.

Despite the blood littered all over the scene, and these poor people who didn't deserve to get hurt like they had, and even the trouble Emma was likely to get into for helping two evo vigilantes, she didn't regret getting involved. It still felt like the right thing to do.

At the door, Peter hesitated. He looked back at Emma one last time. Her lips tingled in memory when his lifted into one of those small, crooked smiles he could pull off so well. She would miss those.

Then he was gone, leaving Emma alone to help the struggling security guards to their feet.

( )( )( )

Beyond the operating theatre, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Peter and Sylar ran through the labrynthian web of corridors and stairwells with their senses on high alert, just in case. Occasionally they had no choice but to brave the more bustling parts of the hospital, but they managed to stick to empty corridors and abandoned wards for the most part.

Things seemed quiet, but that could easily just be to avoid a mass panic amongst patients and staff. Sylar doubted the "dangerous fugitives" had just been allowed to escape, especially after that last encounter had hardly helped their case. But they had a head start, at least.

The evos didn't speak while they fled; while Peter fought to produce the appropriate power one at a time and while Sylar patiently let him. The first time Peter phased them through a wall, he needed three attempts to ensure they didn't get stuck halfway. Sylar had felt nauseous ever since. They broke open locked doors and slipped through the structure of the building, both seemingly focused on the route ahead while, really, that couldn't be further from the truth.

Sylar seemed to float along on auto-pilot while an overwhelming firework display erupted inside him. Each one burst and clashed in a new shade of emotion: fear, regret, pride, trepidation, dread...

He was grateful for the clean escape because he was reeling far too much to be able to concentrate on complicated evasive manouvers. His feet hit the ground heavily but he could barely feel them. He could sense each movement from his companion, yet he couldn't look at him. He thumbed over and over a burning question, unusually wary of Peter: currently just a smouldering being of heat and energy at his side.

It was only when the pair tumbled out of a staircase at basement level and pelted down the long descent of another nondescript corridor that Sylar finally summoned the courage to speak, for the first time since they'd left Emma behind.

He had to start twice before his voice made it out, ragged and weak. "So... what was that back there?"

Peter's steps faltered for half a second before he only ran harder. Sweeping a hand through his swishing hair, he puffed out a sigh between laboured breaths. "I – I dunno she just... came at me. And I totally froze. I didn't even –"

"I meant with your abilities."

"Oh."

Dear God, the last thing Sylar needed right now was a play by play of the kiss, as if witnessing the thing hadn't been enough. The thought was even less appealing than yet another desperate escape. Please – that was not what he wanted to talk about. Instead, it was the growing observation that each time Peter called upon a power it seemed to pain him further and took longer to exinguish. It hadn't escaped Sylar's attention, no matter that it seemed to have escaped Peter's.

( )

Just the mention of his abilities killed the bashful butterflies in Peter's stomach. Instead, so many pockets of energy surged inside him with a new lease of life, pushing and shoving for attention now that they were being addressed.

It frightened him, if he was honest, to hold so much power again. Yes, it was amazing, and it was exactly what he'd wanted! However it was undeniably humbling, too, in a way he hadn't thought to anticipate.

Aftershocks of his outburst back in the theatre were yet to stop lingering in a reminder of his power. In promise. "I, uh..." He wanted to confide these thoughts to Sylar. He did. But that would mean admitting that he'd somehow done something wrong again, not to mention throwing the entire point of the guy's grand gesture back in his face. So Peter just kept moving forward, just kept going, hunting for an escape from these nondescript, claustrophobic walls. "It was nothing. I'm just a little rusty, that's all."

"Y'know, I think you should be careful with -"

"I'm fine, Sylar!"

Peter snapped more viciously than he had intended, a river of sparks rolling down his arms just as goosebumps rolled down his spine. The anger startled him in flaring as if out of nowhere, but now that it had been stirred he backed it wholeheartedly. The following seconds rang out poignantly with only the sounds of panting breaths, ringing footsteps and the continuous fizzle of electricity that wouldn't desist from Peter's fingertips.

He knew he should have apologised, but the words got stuck in his throat.

Just as it sounded like Sylar was going to retort, luckily the former paramedic recognised the upcoming break in the corridor. With a lurch of his heart he took a left, picked up the pace, and phased himself and Sylar through double doors and into Mercy Height's ambulance bay.

The garage was strangely empty for this time of day. It was eerily unfamiliar, but Peter wasn't going to complain about the lack of witnesses.

A lone ambulance was parked in its spot; nobody scampered around the floor cleaning or restocking or transporting goods or patients; and the only sounds were of the bustling streets of New York city visible through open driveways in the far wall. Evo protests were apparently still going strong out there, but as long as Peter and Sylar could make it past they had a clean path home. Yes. Finally. Thank god.

( )

Sylar was not a fan of this new attitude. Was this to be his reward for finally relenting to Peter's greatest desire? To be ignored, snapped at like he was talking nonsense, and then subjected to such an unspectacular, shameful escape...? But he sucked it up and behaved himself, for now. It was yet another facet of Peter's recent behavour that conspired to twist in his gut, and he wished he didn't have the instinct to know what it meant, but he did. Mostly.

He could taste it in the air. A rogue detail that shouldn't have been there but was. Peter couldn't teleport before; he hadn't meant to attack those guards, either; something was definitely off kilter somewhere. Sylar just didn't know what it was yet. He couldn't see it through the haze of adrenaline, but it was undeniable all the same.

It would be only too easy to freak out and drag Peter out of here as quickly as possible, but that would only make things worse. One of them had to be the responsible one, and if the tendrils of distress and discomfort currently furling off the guy meant anything, it definitely wasn't going to be Peter.

So Sylar silently followed his ally through the bright and airy garage, forcing himself not to wince at the guy's palpable aura. But he couldn't focus on that. The most important thing was getting out of here without encountering more trouble.

Besides, Peter could read minds now (a detail Sylar decided hadn't been thought through nearly enough beforehand), so he had to keep his thoughts moderated and inoffensive. He had to keep calm. Supportive. Even if a part of him had the urge to give this ungrateful cretin a good kick up the –

Suddenly, Peter stopped in his tracks. Sylar was so close behind that he almost crashed right into him. Quickly the former killer broke into a spout of mental backtracking, just in case... but when Peter turned around, the pain on his face wasn't directed at Sylar, but past him.

Then a third voice echoed around the garage. "So it's true."

( )

Peter clenched his still flickering fists, standing his ground even though he was this close to an escape. He made himself stare his accuser directly in the eyes even though it was painful to do so.

How many times had Peter lied to this man? How many times had he twisted the truth or omitted details to spare them from this exact exchange? But he could hardly deny it this time, when he was caught fleeing the scene of a crime with his powers all over the place.

He spoke quietly, his voice no competition for the flurry of thoughts currently bouncing around Hesam's head. "...Not all of it."

Unspoken accusations were speared Peter's way, more of the same that had alerted him to his partner's prescence in the first place. They hurt just as much again, if not more. He didn't mean to employ telepathy, and even if he had he couldn't keep his grip on it anyway. Hesam's thoughts faded in and out like a weak radio signal, but Peter didn't need them at all to recognise the way the Iranian was staring at him.

...the hell d'you think you're playing at... defended you... with him... I had to do it... I'm sorry, Pete...

Peter hid his sparking hands from Hesam's line of sight, fighting to clear his throat. "What they're saying about us... it's not how it really happened. All those events, these powers even – we've just been trying to help people."

It was insane to actually be talking about this side of his life that he'd worked to hard to hide from Hesam for so long. Only in hopes of avoiding the hardened glare that was coming his way right now. "That's what I've been telling myself. But there's only so long I can believe that, Pete."

There had still been a part of Peter, a naïve sliver of hope tucked away in a recess that had wanted to imagine Hesam would take it well. Surely, if nobody else did, the man who had witnessed him risk life and limb at work to save lives would see Peter was still just trying to do good?

But just like Claire, like Angela, like Noah and Matt, it seemed Hesam was against him too.

( )

Oh, how Sylar suddenly missed Emma. Waiting awkwardly while her and Peter smooched it out might actually have been more favourable than standing here now, with freedom within sight on one side and a ton of emotional baggage on the other.

Honestly, Sylar had never much warmed to Hesam. True, he hadn't warmed to many people in his time, but this guy's arrogance and condescending eye had irked Sylar from the first time they'd met. There had always been unpleasant signals sent his way from the EMT, like somehow Hesam knew he should be wary of Sylar even though he shouldn't have had a clue. He'd always taken care to make him feel like an intruder the times he'dropped Peter off for a shift or met him afterwar, and he wasn't holding back that same courtesy now.

Sylar may not have possessed the ability to read minds like Peter, but his knack for reading people was as strong as ever. Within moments, he decoded the look on Hesam's face – the anger, the hurt, the guilt, the resignation of something he'd told himself was false being proved wrong. He had a nasty feeling, without another word being said, that he now understood the hasty ambush back at the operating theatre. Son of a bitch.

It wasn't Sylar's place to put Hesam in his place. Even though he wanted to growl and make him pay for being the one to throw the spanner in the works when everything had just been going so well...! Peter had been so happy! So thrilled and excited and Sylar had been so proud of himself for making that happen! But now, what else could he do but do nothing, look unapologetic, and stand with Peter for the onslaught of further rejection.

( )

The sudden chest pain could have easily been another blast from his unruly abilities, but Peter knew this time it wasn't. Taking a step forward, past Sylar's protective, towering form, he didn't even care that Hesam had ratted him out to Mercy Heights security among who knew who else.

That wasn't the worst part of this betrayal. It was the fact he had to defend himself again to an old friend that flared those angry flames to life again within his ribcage. He gave up his weak attempt to keep the crackling light from his hands hidden, throwing them out before him for emphasis.

"Look, I'm sorry I never said anything. But before all this, if I'd told you I can walk through walls and run across the city in seconds, you'd have thought I was crazy!"

There was no real reason to stay here for this. Hesam wasn't blocking the exit, he didn't have a weapon, and he was seriously overpowered even if he tried to fight. Peter could easily just leave this disdain behind and flee without any repurcusions... aside from sacrificing the bond that had grown between two people across such a tumultous partnership as theirs. He could call it quits right now, without trying to fix the loose end here. That didn't mean he was going to.

"I just didn't wanna get you involved in all this!" He insisted, those flames of vexation burning their way into his voice.

Hesam's eyes definitely widened a little at the brief insight to Peter's skillset. Aside from that, however, he didn't change his stance or the hardened edge to his tone. "So what, you're an evo. You seriously think I'ddiscriminate against that? I've tended to a dozen evos since you left, and you can bet your ass I didn't treat them any different than before."

"That's not what I meant."

"I don't care what you are, Pete. I care that you're dangerous."

The words landed with a clunk in the pit of Peter's stomach. He set his jaw and tightened his fists until his nails stabbed at his palms. It wasn't all in fury though, but also in hopes that it might make him strong enough to withstand yet another confrontation with yet another of his dropping allies.

"What the hell were you thinking coming back here?" Hesam continued, his eyebrows twisted in an arch of resignation. "I didn't wanna turn you in, but you gave me no choice. My job is to protect the people in this building and out on those streets!"

"So is ours."

Peter's intended retort was cut off by Sylar's injection to the scene.

Shaken out of a murky fog of feelings, he couldn't help but look up at the man at his side. That fire inside was still growing, scarring Peter's insides and clogging up his brain function, but it got a little bit easier to breathe through the smoke, then. Until Hesam huffed and all of the darkness came rushing back.

( )

"If you'd call that 'protecting people' then maybe it's time to invest in a new hobby."

Sylar's temper raged. "If you knew even half of what we've been through, you ungrateful...!" With difficulty, he swallowed back far too many curses that would rip Hesam to shreds if released. It was tempting, but he was still too conflicted about morals and Peter's state to be in top form for arguing. He tried again, calmly. "Let us go. This doesn't have to get difficult."

There it was: the way the Iranian observed Sylar as if he were an ugly stray mutt Peter had randomly taken in one day. Well, maybe he was, but this stray mutt's hackles were rising and he was ready to snarl again if need be.

Hesam bravely squared up to the country's most wanted fugitives. "I can't do that." If Sylar hadn't been so agitated then he might have actually been impressed. Peter, on the other hand, erupted with passion-infused words, all rippling force and gesturing hands.

"Why not?!" Hesam backed away when Peter stalked up to him, and to be honest, a gobsmacked Sylar couldn't blame him.

( )

"You think you're doing the right thing here? Well so do we!" Hurt, Peter pleaded through gritted teeth, only more offended by the way Hesam physically retreated from him. "You all keep saying we're "dangerous", and yes, it's true, but all we wanted was to help the world – why can't you just see that?!"

He was a man possessed. By love, by rage, by a burning power he couldn't control, and by months upon months of heartbreak. Hesam might have a point, but Peter had come too far and lost too much to turn back now! He couldn't bear it, he couldn't ignore it any longer and Hesam just happened to be the poor soul who had used up the last few scraps of his tolerance. As quickly as his anger had first flared, it spread through his entire body. It urged him on, kept him strong and made him brave enough to say what he'd never been able to before.

"Have you died for your cause? Huh?! So many times you can't keep count?! Have you had to drop everything and everyone you've ever known so that nobody can stop you from doing what's right...?!" Peter's voice cracked in fury, which was closely followed by a renewed round of static arcs breaking free from his skin. "Because we have! And still nobody even tries to understand!"

He was sick of it! Sick of all of it! Just when things had started to look up, when his powers had been unlocked and he'd finally dared to feel alright, of course the outside world had crashed in to remind him not to be so naïve! It wasn't fucking fair!

There was too much loss, too many hurt faces staining Peter's conscience, and the wound that got bigger each time he severed another connection was turning him inside out in shame. It would be easier not to care at all! Not to have anyone to worry about or let down! Maybe then, and only then, Peter could rest easy. If only he didn't have people to care for.

"...Do you understand?" He murmured now, close enough to the other man that there was no need to speak louder. Hesam said nothing, but there was nothing he could say that would placate Peter anyway.

The empath glared at his former work partner, his blood pounding against his skull and the lock on his powers slipping looser. All the hours they'd shared each other's company were irrelevant now, the lives they'd saved and lost together meant nothing, just because Hesam couldn't take the time to question what he thought he knew...? He was still staring at Peter. Only this time there was fear where there hadn't been before, and there was distrust where there used to be a soft spot for old times's sake. It stung another blast of pain through Peter to his core.

After a long pause, Hesam sighed. The gesture held only a fading touch of sadness at the corners. "I understand that you've been through a lot. I'm sorry about that. But it's changed you, man. Say what you want, but when I look at you now? I just don't see the guy I used to know."

Peter physically recoiled from that body blow. Disgruntled whispers from his abilities leaked through his veins, eclipsing all human voices in the garage. They were angry with him for being so pathetic while he had the potential to be better, they urged him to do something worthwhile instead of being such a useless pushover again goddammit!

The bruise from Hesam's statement sent Peter spiralling. He couldn't say anything past the stinging throb behind his eyes and the stoking coals of his anger. This guy didn't have a fucking clue! Maybe he wouldn't be so harsh if he'd had to repeatedly look into the eyes of his family and watch them fall out of love with him, simply because they just wouldn't listen to what he'd been trying to tell them all along...?

But why weren't they listening? Why couldn't anyone believe in him anymore? What wasn't working as it should, in everyone else's minds, that meant Peter was still battling a brick wall long after leaving Matt's nightmare behind?! He wanted to understand – no – he needed to. There was only so long things could continue this way, he could see that now. And he had to make sense of it by any means necessary or he would surely go out of his mind not knowing!

Instinct flared the moment before concious thought followed. The last fraying thread of Peter's patience snapped, and he threw caution to the wind, let telekenesis flow forth from his fingers and locked Hesam bodily in place.

( )

"Peter!"

Shocked, Sylar reached after the fiery empath to drag him back from the edge, but Peter was in full swing already. He shrugged Sylar off with a half-hearted blast of telekinesis, then continued to try to force his consciousness into poor Hesam's mind in the same way he so hated, the way he had promised never to inflict upon someone else again. All traces of derision were wiped from the Iranian's face and suddenly he was speechless. Hopeless. Far, far out of his depth... and so was Sylar.

Everything that had seemed so important just seconds ago was nothing now. Peter's attitude, Hesam's stink eye, Emma's intrusion... just petty grudges over nothing, Sylar realised now. Because he had only seen Peter like this once before. And not for a long time.

But no. Please no. Because that would mean...

( )

It was all or nothing. The end of Peter's tether. The moment where things had to change at long last because he just couldn't stand to backtrack again in the face of pain, and now he had the power to defy the urge.

Finally buckling beneath the weight of his power, Peter gave in and let the pressure assume control of him. It led the way forward, took his hand and guided him on, and he decided to let it because he was tired of fighting and it knew better than him how to get the information he so craved. As a man, he was useless and dispensible, unable to even keep hold of his own family's affection. But with these powers, nobody would ever ignore him again unless he let them think they had the choice!

It was calm in here, soothing. Like slipping underwater where pain was muted and everything was weightless. Serenity cocooned him, clarity tuned out the rest of the world and curiosity promised him the release he'd been craving.

Everything would finally make sense... everything could be put right at last... as soon as he got his hands on the answers... as soon as he understood...

( )

Rendered numb, Sylar watched too much energy finally leak free from his only friend, like steam pouring from a kettle. Peter Petrelli fizzled like a stuttering flame while he tried to get his ability started: power eminated from the raised hairs on his arms, from the flush in his cheeks, colouring the air around him while his tense little frame sparked static blue arcs and flickered in and out of visibilitiy...

Sylar's breath caught in his lungs when, at long last, the final pieces fit together. The whispers in his ear made sense. The epiphany that had been threatening to break since Peter had first failed to teleport splintered through Sylar so forcefully it likely left cracks along his bones.

It was so clear now. The fault in the plan. The transparent oversight that Sylar had missed until now.

How could he have been so ignorant? So negligent...? He'd done everything right, everything perfectly, and tied it all off in a neat little bow, but still he'd made the biggest mistake possible. He'd forgotten to remember. The fallout of his error was unavoidable. What it meant in the long run couldn't even begin to process when Sylar was already shaken and there was an innocent third party in the room and more hunters could burst in upon them any second.

"Peter... don't...!" Sylar gasped helplessly.

He wanted to help his friend, to swoop in and shake him to his senses before things got out of control. But his body just stood there uselessly while dread prickled along his skin like poisoned needles. Even from the back Sylar knew the expression that was twisting up Peter's face. His throat constricted as if by a bone-breaking grip, and suddenly he was cold as if his back had been pressed up against the wall of an underground cell...

Then the spell binding his entire body suddenly broke, leaving him wavering on the spot when Peter gave up his current tactic in favour of lifting a forefinger to Hesam's perturbed face –

Scandalized, Sylar cried out an echo that rebouned right back to him. "STOP!"

He had no other choice. No alternative option sprung to mind before he threw out a hand, grabbed Peter's body with an invisible rope, and hauled him off his feet with a clatter.

Holy shit. Sylar stood between the fallen, deranged man and his intended victim, chest heaving and thoughts in painful meltdown. He couldn't believe his eyes. He should never have listened to this persuasive, charming, manipulative son of a bitch! He shouldn't have meddled with something that never should have been meddled with in the first place, because now there was no stopping it! There was no undo button, no reset, no cure for the illness that was infecting the empath's system like smoke poisoning his veins.

Sylar could only gape, hoping at any moment he would wake and find it hadn't really happened, that it wasn't real and he still had a chance to do it over, do it better, because Peter had put his life in Sylar's hands and had it deformed by accident. Because it was an accident – it was an accident... Peter... no...

The last thing he wanted was to have to fight the beast that had taken hold inside his only friend. But he knew too well that as simple a thing as telekinesis wasn't going to hold off the inevitable. Not for long. Not even close.

A/N: Thank you for reading, I'm sorry again for the wait between updates! But the good news is I split this latest one in half (blame the word count XP) so you have two new chapters to read at once ^.^ Please don't forget to check out the next one, which is up and posted now.

A quick note about this chapter – I've always thought the relationship between Peter and Emma was adorable, but I was also really pleased they never got together. But here, I just thought it felt right to give them that little bit of closure to their story X) It wasn't a kiss that will kickstart a romantic relationship, but it was the sweetest goodbye I could give them and I thought they deserved that 3 I hope you guys do too ^.^