I would like to thank katie farmer for taking the time to review the chapter… and I hope you like this short chapter too… And I hope anyone else reading this will like it as well… *chu*

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He hadn't heard him the first two times when Clark explained to him why they were driving out to his home. To the barn. A few stray words were caught, like 'sleeping' and 'meteor infected', but they were meaningless for him.

The car was wrapped in silence. Clark was driving while Peter looked out the window.

His head rested against the car window. The glass was cold but didn't help his throbbing headache. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the green of grass, the landscape, so alive, but as soon as he did the image of Chloe's broken body was there in front of him. And he could hear Sylar's voice, mocking him. Taunting him, torturing him by repeating all over again what he already knew.

She was dead, he didn't save her; for all of his superpowers, he couldn't save her. He was her hero, but her hero couldn't even save the woman he loved.

He buried his face in his hands. Trying to hide from the image of a dead Chloe, trying to hide from Sylar's voice. He stayed like this until Clarks hand came resting on his shoulder. Pulling him out of his tortured world of self loath and guilt; bringing him back to the real world.

Only then did Peter notice that Clark had stopped the car, that they were there on the Kent Farm, and that the car had stopped in front of the barn.

Clark was talking again, but Peter wasn't listening, couldn't hear anything besides the pulsating, rushing sound that disturbed his hearing. His pulse. His gaze rested on the Kent barn. On the place that Clark had taken the dead body of his wife. The only woman he had ever truly loved after Simone. And then suddenly a rage filled him. How dare Clark Kent steal the body of his wife. How dare he take her, and lay her in his bed, while he, Peter, wasn't even able to touch, to kiss her ever again.

He started shouting at Clark. His own outraged, screaming voice was muffled to his ears. He flung his hand at him without thinking and watched Clark fly out of the car, watched the car door being ripped away like a paper box lid being easily torn away from the box.

Somehow he had gotten out of the car, didn't really know how, and didn't really care either. He was flinging his hand again, and watched with satisfaction as Clark was propelled into the air again, until he landed into a tree trunk and shattered it with his back.

With a sudden jerk Peter came out of his rage. What had he done? Why had he suddenly given in to the rage that was inside of him? But it didn't matter, because he turned to the barn and made his way toward it. He needed to be with Chloe now. Needed to stay with the dead body of his wife. He just wanted to touch her one last time, to kiss the forehead lovingly like he always did to wake her in the mornings and to see her sleep one last time.

He needed to say good bye to the woman that meant more than the world to him. And so he left without sparing Clark Kent another glance.

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