Peter and Sylar, Newark, New Jersey
"This is my dad's house," Sylar said in a small voice to the young man standing beside him. It was early morning and the streets were still silent and damp. He shivered.
"I take it he's not home." Peter's voice was quiet too, taking in the innocent looking house of a madman. Of course with a sign like that out front... his eyes moved to Samson Gray's shingle. There was something about taxidermy that just screamed creepy and homicidal.
"He's probably still hiding in the woods."
Peter turned at the gravelly response. Creepy and homicidal, he thought again, looking at his own madman. Sylar turned to meet his gaze, raising his eyebrows at his stare. Peter shook his head and looked around suburbia.
"Can we just go get Luke now?" he asked. Sylar shrugged and headed down the block. They had passed only a couple of houses before he slowed, head cocked to the side.
"Well?" Peter asked after a minute's silence.
Sylar smirked. Peter had absolutely no patience. "I hear only one heartbeat. Mary Campbell, Luke's mom. Luke's nowhere around."
"So what do we do now?"
Sylar's face turned deadly serious as he resumed moving towards a nearby house. "There's only one thing I can think of," he said with a hint of anticipation.
Peter caught up and stepped in front of the taller man. "Woah there, killer. Why not let your partner in on the plan first, eh?"
"The plan is to torture Mrs. Campbell until she tells us where Luke is."
"Okay, see that's what I was afraid of. What happened to the new, kinder, gentler Gabriel?"
"If I'm not mistaken, you also need mean and deadly Sylar too, right? To take out the bad guys?"
"Okay, yes. However, Luke's mom is not a bad guy, Sylar. She's just a regular woman. We don't have to hurt her. We could just ask her where he is."
"I hate to tell you this hero, but I don't think she's going to want to cooperate with me."
"Why..." Peter broke off as clarity struck. He scowled. "You didn't tell me everything that happened here before did you?"
"Hey! A girl's gotta have some secrets." Sylar said indignantly.
What. The fuck? Peter thought. "You are so weird sometimes."
"You have no idea." Sylar waggled his eyebrows.
Peter closed his eyes in exhaustion. "You know what." He opened his eyes and raised his hands in defeat. "We have completely derailed here. Okay look, let's table for now your weirdness, and withholding important information from your partner. And believe me, we will be talking about that later, Gabriel. For now, let's just go question Mrs. Campbell. I will do the talking and you can lurk behind me and look menacing, deal?"
"Whatever you say, man." Sylar shrugged.
It went as could only be expected. Mary resisted. Sylar lost patience, and she was in a TK hold before Peter could object, but whatever. It was expedient and Peter was feeling antsy.
"I'm sorry, did you just say you turned your own son in for murder?" Peter asked. Despite his violent outburst, Sylar was still letting him do all the questioning.
"Well what else could I do?" The woman wailed, her large cow's eyes alternating between pleading and calculating.
"Oh let's not even go there!" Peter yelled into the woman's face as she sat, trapped in her chair. Peter stormed around the room. He couldn't believe this! With a mother like this, no wonder the kid was a sociopath. He turned back to his partner.
"We know what we need. He's at the police station. We can find out where that is from the laptop. Let's go." Peter started towards the front door.
"All right Peter. I'll meet you in the car." Sylar didn't take his eyes off Mary. Hers narrowed with hate and suspicion, causing him to smile.
"Sylar..."
"Peter..."
Peter walked back to the other man and put his hand on his out stretched arm, speaking quietly. "You can't kill everyone's parents, Gabriel. Luke might have a few things to say to her still."
"And you can't continue walking around this naive, Peter. What do you think she's going to do the second we leave here?"
Dammit, he's right. Peter thought through the problem quickly. "Look we don't have time for this. Just knock her out and we'll put her in the trunk. Let Luke decide what to do with her if we get to him in time."
"We don't have a trunk, Peter."
"Christ, Sylar! I'll get a fucking blanket to cover her with! Just knock her the fuck out and quit messing around, okay?"
Sylar smirked. "Okay," he replied in an innocent tone.
Peter gave him a stern look before going to find a bedroom. Just as he turned, a snare drum roll sounded and a song began playing.
"I am so high I can hear ever. I am so high I can hear ever..."
"Where is that coming from?" Sylar asked.
"Shhh. Wait a minute," Peter said urgently.
"And they say that a hero could save us. I'm not gonna stand here to wait. I'll hold on to the wings of the eagles and watch as we all fly away..."
Oh it can't be, Peter thought. "Where's your phone?" he asked, turning back to Mary.
"In my purse, over there."
"Someone told me love would all save us..."
"Is that your ringtone?" Sylar asked her incredulously.
Mary responded with an 'eat shit and die' look.
Peter got the phone and flipped it open, cutting off the soulful strains of Chad Kroeger.
"This is Rebel. Keep this phone. Hurry. They're coming," the text message read.
"It's for me." Peter held the phone up to the woman. "I gotta keep this. You," he pointed it at Sylar. "You knock out. Me blanket. We've got to move. Now!"
They made it to and into the police station with no problem. The Sat Nav computer put the military some miles away still. Peter kept lookout in the main room, presiding over the unconscious bodies of the few officers on duty this early on a weekday, while Sylar went down the hallway that was lined with holding cells. He found the right door and TK'd it off its hinges, allowing it to settle on the floor nearby. The room beyond was very dark.
"Luke?" he said hesitantly, setting his hand on fire and crossing the threshold. There was a body huddled in the corner. He saw a head come up.
"Sylar?"
Sylar knelt down as Luke crawled over to him. The boy's face was heavily bruised, his lips cracked and bleeding. Sylar extinguished his hand at the boy's flinch.
"Oh my god! Thank god! I knew you would rescue me. I knew it." Luke threw his arms around his hero. "Please, Sylar. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I tried to use you. Please, don't leave me again. Please! I promise, no more lying. Please, please take me with you."
"Shh shh. It's okay, Luke. It's okay." Sylar responded softly, trying to quiet the boy's heartbreaking ramblings. "I won't leave you again. I promise. I'm going to protect you from now on. Everything's going to be okay. Nobody's going to hurt you anymore." He hugged the boy tightly.
Peter approached the doorway intent on warning them that time was running out when he saw the embrace. He learns quick, he thought while watching Sylar hold the crying boy in his arms. It reminded Peter of Nathan, comforting him after a nightmare when he was young.
Sylar's eyes met his and they didn't need words. Peter could read every emotion on the other man's face. Helplessness. Guilt. Responsibility. Peter only hoped his own was as expressive. They exchanged a nod. A silent promise was made between the two men. Luke was theirs now. No matter what happened. They would protect him.
"We need to go," Peter whispered.
Sylar nodded again and pulled back to take Luke's face in his hands. "Luke, listen we need to leave now. Can you walk?"
"Yeah. As long as we're getting the fuck out of here, I'll make it."
Sylar smiled. "Alright then," he said, helping him to stand and joining Peter in the hallway.
"We'll head out the back. I'll take point. Luke, you stay between me and Peter and only engage if someone gets very close. Otherwise stay out of our way. Keep out of the line of fire. Understand?"
"Absolutely," the boy agreed emphatically, holding onto his bruised ribs. He nodded at Peter.
"Peter?" Sylar asked.
"Electricity," he said holding out his hand.
"The laptop and phone are off, right?" Sylar asked while transferring the requested power.
"Yep. But Sylar, you know there's not a back door?"
Sylar smiled at the other man. "Not a back door? Honestly Peter, you are so sweet." With that he headed down the hallway towards a solid wall.
"What's he going to do?" Luke whispered back at Peter.
"He's going to make a door," Peter answered. And, I'm an idiot for not realizing it immediately. "Now, stick close to Sylar's back and no more talking," he whispered, turning around and preparing to blast the first person he saw coming after them.
Sylar placed his hands on the wall, feeling the texture, the materials. He had been experimenting with using two powers together. He combined Zane's metal melting with Meredith's fire, and slowly began moving his hands from the floor, up and back down again until the semicircle started to quiver and melt. The entire section of the wall liquefied suddenly and collapsed to the floor in a puddle of steel and stone.
Sylar heard the blades of the helicopter before he could see it, squinting against the bright sun as he stepped through the wall. Getting a fix, he shot a large double-handed burst of electricity at it, frying its systems and sending it careening. He moved it telekinetically so that it would crash on the other side of the station, hopefully slowing down anybody coming after them.
Just as he thought they were going to make it without further incident he heard Peter shout, "Get down Luke!"
Hearing more electricity blasts and then gun fire, Sylar turned in time to see, seemingly in slow motion, Luke hitting the ground and Peter being shot several times, his face showing the pain of each bullet. His body was jerking with the repeated impacts as blood began pouring out the front of his jacket.
As Peter's body began falling to the pavement, time sped up again and Sylar leapt over both men, yelling at Luke to stay down. He landed between Peter and the officers, taking the rest of the already airborne bullets before letting loose a large stream of fire.
Watching the men who had shot Peter burn, he knelt and reached behind him trying to find Peter with his right hand. His left was busy throwing bolts of fire and electricity at the men still pouring through the back of the police station, and to the vehicles coming around either side of it. He felt a hand take his and Claire's power being copied.
Breathing a sigh of relief and without taking his eyes off the scene in front of him Sylar yelled out, "Luke! Do you see that orange building behind us?"
"Yes!"
"Get Peter. Drag him if you have to but run to it right now! Go!"
"Got him!"
Peter's hand withdrew and Sylar heard the younger men making their way behind him. The sound of bullets hitting the ground around their limping steps was music to his sensitive ears.
With both hands free it was no problem for Sylar to dispatch the police cars and the black vans bearing down on him.
Hearing the approach of more helicopters in the distance, he shot another stream of fire into the back of the station, before pulling back and telekinetically creating a shield around himself, a solid wall of fire to distract any remaining attackers. He needed a safe space and a few seconds of concentration to build up what Peter had called his final solution. Not as deadly in the long term as a nuclear bomb, it was, nevertheless, completely debilitating in the short term.
He closed his eyes and raised his face and arms in ecstasy, as the bubble of energy burst from his body, expanding pure, invisible destruction exponentially in all directions.
Sylar made his way slowly and confidently across the parking lot listening to the burning of the police station behind him, the downed choppers miles away, and closer, the few pitiful moans of the burning wounded amid the backdrop of utter technological silence.
His immediate focus was on the two men standing beside the Subaru station wagon behind the orange insurance building.
"Well?" Peter asked, leaning heavily against the car.
"Everything powered up and electrical within a thirty mile radius is permanently disabled." Sylar's voice oozed smugness.
"Except for us," Peter said, holding up the mobile phone and covering his wince with a smile.
"Except for us," Sylar agreed, holding up the car keys and jangling them. His smile faded as he gave Peter a thorough once over. His look turned concerned as he moved into Peter's space.
"I'm fine. But you can drive." Peter said reassuringly, cutting his eyes over to their new companion. "Um, Luke I almost forgot, we've got something for you in the not-a-trunk."
They opened the fifth door and pulled back a floral comforter to reveal Mary Campbell, trussed up in duct tape and looking furious. Sylar took Peter by the hand and moved them away to give the boy some privacy.
"Do we have time for this?" Peter asked as they slipped between some decorative miniature trees and another building.
"Plenty of time. Are you really okay?" Sylar's tone was belligerent as he unzipped Peter's jacket and pulled up his completely shredded shirt. Peter just smiled indulgently at the manhandling.
"I'm really okay. Perfectly healed." He tried not to squirm as Sylar grazed his fingers across his chest and stomach, pushing away blood to make sure it wasn't covering any wounds.
"You didn't seem fine a moment ago."
"It just took me a minute to heal all the way, that's all," Peter said, catching the wandering hand with one of his own. "I was pretty bad off. I think I ejected like twenty bullets."
"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean... Thank you for taking them, for saving Luke." Sylar said contritely, looking a little lost.
Peter smiled softly at his protector. He reached his free hand up. It hovered near the man's face before lighting on a broad shoulder instead. "Gabriel..."
"We can go." Luke interrupted, crashing loudly through the trees, stopping abruptly when he saw the pose the men were in, his eyes widening.
"What happened to your mom?" Peter asked as his hand fell away from Gabriel's shoulder.
"I sent her home." Luke said vaguely, as he watched Peter try to casually disengage Sylar's hand from his shirt so he could pull it down and zip what was left of his jacket back up. The boy gave the taller man a questioning look, which was returned with a frown before Sylar stomped off through the trees.
"But I don't get what he did back there," Luke said to Peter as they followed Sylar back to the car.
"Sylar let out an EMP," Peter explained, watching as Sylar's black wool coat flapped around his legs as he walked.
"Dude, what'd you guys have for breakfast?" Luke exclaimed, making an eww face.
"No, Luke," Peter tried to get out between chuckles. "I mean an electromagnetic pulse."
"I know dude, I was just joking." Luke said, bumping his shoulder against the other man's. "That is bad ass! He could bring down modern civilization with a power like that."
Peter cut him a worried glance.
"Which of course would be a very bad thing. I'm just saying... it's cool. And, by the way, I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for taking all those bullets for me. Seriously, that was intense," he said, stopping and giving Peter a serious look.
"It's alright. I can heal, you can't. Simple equation." Peter stopped too.
"Yeah, but that's just it, you can't heal. Sylar had to give you that power. What if he hadn't gotten to you in time?" Luke's voice lowered to a whisper.
Peter's looked over to the man in question. "He always gets to me in time," he murmured, eyes lingering on the tall, dark figure. He shook his head and gave Luke a reassuring smile.
"Don't worry. He will always get to us in time, Luke. That's just his way." Peter squeezed Luke's shoulder and resumed walking towards the car and Sylar.
Luke nodded, appearing thoughtful, and let Peter go on ahead. His eyes dropped down to the most perfect ass he had ever seen. He smirked. Yeah, Sylar's just a great guy like that.
Getting to the outskirts of the city was a challenge, but from then on they drove steadily all day and into the night, taking and switching cars a few times until finally settling on a plum colored Lexus.
Sylar joked that they should have a real trunk, big enough to hold at least three dead bodies.
Peter just thought the cruise control was nice, and the wide, heated leather seats. Plus in upstate New York, this car didn't exactly stand out.
Luke didn't give a shit. Well, except that this car had a really nice, roomy back seat.
Peter had exchanged text messages with Rebel as they drove, working out a system of codes and another time to make contact before ditching the phone. They'd get another one tomorrow. It was also decided they would stay as near to the city as possible, in case Angela needed help. Sylar insisted that they return to a heavily wooded area.
"I'm going to teach you how to fly." Sylar explained to Peter.
"How? And what do trees have to do with it?"
"Patience, young padawan. You'll see." Sylar's smug grin was back.
Peter rolled his eyes. "Not padawan. Try again," he said, looking out his window at the night sky.
"Grasshopper?"
"Absolutely not. I made Nathan call me that for years after we watched Kung Fu. Once."
"You know Peter, I wasn't nearly as picky with my nickname as you're being."
"Why do we have to have nicknames at all? We've already got Rebel's code names," Peter whined.
"But we have to have our own," Sylar whined back.
"Why? Where does this obsession with nicknames come from? It's beyond weird, even for you." Peter wondered if setting off that EMP had made his cohort high, or crazier than usual.
"Where does anyone get their obsessions from? That's not the point. We're partners Peter, and partners have nicknames. Like buddy cops. Noble outlaws! Fighting the good fight together. Amassing a rebel fleet to bring down the evil imperial forces." Sylar gestured animatedly back at Luke. The beginning of their rebel fleet, apparently. Or maybe an evil, imperial force. One could never tell these days.
"Just how many times have you seen Star Wars, anyway? And more importantly, have you ever heard the term 'fantasy prone personality disorder'?" Peter also worried about what else might be in Gabriel's rule book for relationships but he wasn't about to ask.
"At least my fantasies are inspired by books and movies written by adults, for adults. Not picture books."
"Books written by boring people you mean. And comic books are written for adults too."
"Boring! Are you kidding me? The Lord of the Rings is nothing but action. I guarantee there is more creativity on one page of any Tolkein novel than in every comic book ever produced put together."
"One page? He needs three just to describe a meadow."
"Well Tolkein wasn't writing for people who have the attention span of a hummingbird."
"I swear if you call me hummingbird one. time. I am going to kick your ass so hard..."
Luke sat in the middle of the back seat listening to the men play-fight. Watching these two was better than any movie, TV show, or comic book he'd ever seen.
"Um, I like Dark Horse Comics," the teen volunteered.
"Really?" Peter turned around in his seat. "Have you ever heard of '9th Wonders'?"
"Ummm... I've seen it in the store. It looks kind of, uh, not really what I'm into," he said apologetically. Luke didn't think it would be cool to tell Peter he thought '9th Wonders' looked totally gay.
"Luke! Man! That comic is about us!" Peter said excitedly.
"What do you mean?"
"It's about us, Sylar, and me, and other people with abilities we know. It was written by this guy, this artist named Isaac Mendez. I knew him in New York."
It was funny how time and distance could make certain unpleasant memories seem almost unimportant. Like that Isaac had been a heroin addict. And had tried to kill Peter. And had shot and killed Peter's girlfriend, who had originally been the painter's girlfriend, and was maybe getting back together with him. Until he shot her, that is.
"I killed him," Sylar spoke up.
"Yes, thank you for your contribution to the conversation Gabriel," Peter said sarcastically, coming out of his reverie. "Let's keep working on that, shall we?"
"Hey! Isaac Mendez died with courage and grace, Peter. You've got to respect that. He accepted his fate, and my role in it. It was a very... satisfying moment for both of us." He noticed Peter's look of confusion and growing horror, and reviewed what he had just said.
"Wait! I don't mean satisfying, as in satisfying. I mean it was spiritually satisfying. Fulfilling. Fulfilling of destiny. Fate, karma... you know what I mean, Peter." Sylar gave up and looked over at Peter beseechingly.
"Yeah, uh huh, sure." Peter, now sitting completely sideways in his seat, propped his left arm on the head rest and looked his killer up and down suspiciously.
Sighing, Sylar glanced in the rearview mirror at Luke. His protégé's eyebrows were in his hairline, his expression gleeful disbelief.
Sylar turned his attention back to driving. He let his thoughts drift as he watched the headlamps and the hood of the car eat up the road in front of them.
"What I am trying to say," he started again after several silent minutes, "is that Isaac's gift was - is - much more than some simple parlor trick power like throwing fire or electricity."
"It's a connection to the universe. It's a connection to all that is. It reveals to you what could be, what will be, all the strands of probabilities. The outcomes from choices we make. Paths we choose to walk. The places to which our steps are taking us. And every path is already laid out, every outcome just waiting to be made reality. Every possible future already existing. The realization that everything that could be and will be, already is, somewhere... sometime... everywhere." Sylar's eyes widened briefly with emotion. He paused, breathing slowly, and brought it down a notch.
"Isaac's gift," he continued, "lets you take a step back, a step out, to see your place in the whole tapestry of existence. To see where your strand fits in. And getting to make the conscious choice of moving forward on a certain path, knowing where it is going to lead, helping destiny, taking an active role in it, it... it's like becoming one with the universe. It is the ultimate experience."
Sylar tapped his finger on the steering wheel after a long moment of silence.
"Just say it. Whatever it is, I know it's killing you," he sighed.
"Was that an excerpt from your book? What's it called again? 'Zen and the Art of Supernatural Serial Killing'?" Peter asked, smiling as Luke cracked up in the back seat.
"Peter, I am trying to teach Luke something important here, about the nature of our powers. He hasn't experienced everything we have the last few years. He needs to know these things are real."
"I know. I'm just kidding. That was... beautiful."
Sylar scowled.
"I mean it." Peter reached his right hand over and rubbed Gabriel's arm soothingly. "I'm sorry I made fun. That was a really profound explanation of Isaac's power. And you know I know what you mean. I know exactly what he means," Peter said, turning to the teen in the back seat again, absently moving his hand down to Sylar's leg to accommodate the shift.
The killer's hands tightened on the steering wheel as he sat up straighter.
"And he's right," Peter continued to Luke. "We need to get you caught up on a lot of stuff. If things work out the way I think they will, we'll soon be meeting up with a lot of people Gabriel and I know. Most of whom, well, he's tried to kill at one time or another. So, we should probably get... you caught up..." Peter's voice trailed off as he looked down, finally realizing that his hand was slowly stroking Gabriel's inner thigh.
Peter raised his head quickly, running into Gabriel's equally wide eyed gaze, just a few inches from his own. The younger man blushed, cleared his throat, and as nonchalantly as possible, removed his hand and scooted all the way back in his seat, re-buckling his seatbelt.
Sylar returned his still wide eyes to the road ahead, shifted his hips, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck twice.
Luke's eyes, filled with anticipation, moved back and forth between the two men in front of him. This is going to be so much fun.
"I don't have to sleep on the floor do I?" Luke asked once they had finally made it into the motel room. It had taken them forever to find a place that rented by the week.
"Why would you have to do that?" Peter asked, looking up from the grocery bags he was unpacking in the kitchenette area.
"Well... three guys, two beds, and one teenager means I'm the odd man out, right?" he responded, trying to find the clothes they had bought for him in the bags he had carried in.
"Um, well..." Peter's eyes met Gabriel's across the room, who just raised an eyebrow in return. He was already lounging on the bed he had picked out by the front door, flipping through the TV channels with the sound turned down very low. He stopped on a news program describing a terrorist attack on Newark, New Jersey. Apparently the entire city was shut down.
Sylar smiled in satisfaction. His eyes narrowed as Danko appeared on the screen.
"You know Gabriel," Peter tried to sound casual. "Luke, being injured and all, just getting out of a jail cell, we should let him have a bed of his own, don't you think? We can be mature, share yours, right?"
Peter gave him what Sylar secretly called the Petrelli Puppy Dog Eyes of Doom. Angela knew how to work them too. The serial killer was still trying to find a power that would make him immune to them.
"Oh, all right, Peter," Sylar sighed, feigning unhappiness. "I guess, just for tonight though..."
Peter started coughing.
"I mean for tonight and as many nights as until he's all healed up, Luke can have his own bed..." Sylar trailed off uncertainly.
"Are you sure?" Luke asked. His eyes drifted from one to the other and back again.
"Sure we're... sure." Sylar and Peter finished in unison, before sharing a brief, nervous look.
"Okay, then. Thanks." Luke shrugged.
Sylar's attention went back to the news, and Peter turned back to the groceries.
Luke opened his eyes to find himself standing in his motel room.
He looked down and saw his body laying in front of him on the bed.
"Holy shit?" he yelled, stepping back and looking around wildly. "What the fuck's going on here?" he asked Sylar.
Sylar was looking down at himself and Peter getting the weirdest feeling that he had done this before. He slowly reached out a hand to Luke.
"Calm down. We're not dead or anything. I think we're dreaming... that I'm dreaming... well obviously we're both dreaming. What I mean is, I think I'm the one doing this. This is my dream."
"No shit, Sherlock! No, wait. We've done this before." Luke said, gesturing between the two of them.
"A couple afternoons ago, after those fuckers kicked my ass, I passed out and dreamed about talking to you in a motel room. And I think Peter was there too."
Sylar snapped his fingers. "Peter woke me up from that. That's how I knew to come after you. I remembered talking to you too."
Sylar smiled, satisfied for only a moment. He looked again at himself and Peter, spooning on the bed. No, that wasn't it. There was something else he was forgetting, something important. His view was blocked momentarily as Luke walked to Peter's side of the bed, squatting down so that he was eye level with the man's face.
"So this is Peter Petrelli, huh? Man he is pretty."
"Luke..."
"Come on, those cheek bones? That hair? He's got what Judy Daluca's mom calls 'dreamy hair'. Hey, have you touched it yet?" he asked excitedly, head whipping around so his eyes could find Sylar's.
"Touched what?"
"His hair, jeez." Luke turned back around, resuming his examination of Peter. "You obviously haven't touched anything else yet," he mumbled. "Can I touch it?" he asked, already reaching a hand up.
"No! Luke come here. I'm not going to let you... molest Peter in his sleep."
"Can I watch you do it?" The teen waggled his eyebrows.
"Luke... do I even need to tell you what I will do to you, and exactly how much you will not. like. it. if I ever catch you molesting anyone in their sleep?" Sylar's voice was deadly serious.
"Alright, alright. No sleep molestation." Luke rolled his eyes dramatically and stood up. "I'll cross that off my list," he joked, moving to stand beside his mentor.
"See that you do," Sylar said, not taking for granted for a second that the boy was completely joking. He had read somewhere that clear boundaries were important when raising a teenager. He supposed that was doubly important with a boy like Luke. As was giving praise where it was due.
"Look don't think I don't appreciate you not letting onto Peter... you know... what we talked about before..."
~~~~~ [Flashback] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sylar, how do you feel about guys who think about other guys?" Luke asked as they drove through the night.
"I do not have sex with teenage boys Luke."
"Dude, no! That's not what I'm asking."
Sylar raised an eyebrow.
"Well okay, I'd have to be blind not to think about you. I mean come on, you're a gorgeous, super powered serial killer. And now your my knight in tarnished armor too. What's not to like? But you're not the first you know... I've had thoughts before. And I just wanted to know how you feel about stuff like that."
"You're asking me how I feel about homosexuality?"
"No! Hey! I'm not gay. Believe me, I like girls. I've had plenty of sex with plenty of girls. I've just also had thoughts about, you know, guys."
"I think having thoughts is fine Luke. I think being gay is fine too. And I think it's okay if you're still not sure what you want, or if you end up wanting both."
"So have you had thoughts?"
"Not about you Luke."
"Man, I know, but have you?"
Sylar remained silent, driving.
Luke's expression turned sly. "Who's Peter?" he asked, grabbing onto the door handle as the car swerved across the yellow lines and then almost into the ditch on their side of the road before straightening out again.
"Where did you hear that name?" Sylar asked through gritted teeth.
"You talk in your sleep."
~~~~~~~~ [End flashback] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Whatever man, it's cool," Luke said. "Besides, I'm having way to much fun watching you guys stumble around each other."
"What do you mean?"
"You're kidding right? There's so much sexual tension here you could eat it! Hello, spooning, center stage." Luke gestured to the men on the bed in front of them. "You're constantly touching each other. And, you're making googly eyes."
"No, we are not!"
"Oh, you so are! And don't think for a second you were fooling anyone with that 'give Luke his own bed cause he's injured' crap. I thought Peter was going to have a heart attack when I brought up sleeping arrangements. You two slept in the same bed last night too, didn't you?"
"No. We were in the car all night trying to get to you in time to save your ass," Sylar said pointedly, hoping the kid would drop it.
"Uh huh, and the night before that?"
"It was for comfort. For Peter," Sylar admitted grudgingly.
"Comfort." Luke snorted. "I don't remember you giving me that kind of comfort."
"Peter is from a very different kind of family than yours, Luke. He's used to getting a lot of physical affection. Add to that the fact that its his own brother who is hunting us down, and Peter is understandably feeling... needy. I'm just trying to make this easier for him."
"Bull. Shit. You've been thinking about that man for a very long time. And he has so got the hots for you too. He can't keep his hands off you!"
"He is just lonely." Sylar insisted. "When I found him he had been on the run, alone for weeks. He is scared and used to having someone stronger than him around to depend on. I am not going to take advantage of that."
"You don't want to take advantage of that? Of him you mean?" Luke's voice rose in disbelief.
He took a breath and spoke slowly, as if to the brain dead. "You don't want to take advantage of him. Do you hear yourself, Sylar? You're talking about the guy like he's some drunk cheerleader passed out in your room. He's not you know. Like, at all."
Sylar was stubbornly silent.
"Jesus. You really like this guy. I mean, you don't just like him. You really like, like him, like him."
Sylar cringed at what passed for sentence structure to a teenager.
I have got to figure out how to wake myself up from these dreams.
And just like that, Sylar opened his eyes to see... dreamy hair. He raised his head above Peter's to see Luke smirking at them from the other bed. He rolled his eyes at Sylar, gesturing to the arm he had tight around Peter's waist. Sylar just narrowed his at Luke and mouthed the words "go back to sleep". He laid back down and leaned forward to rebury his face in Peter's soft, sweet smelling hair. He pulled the blanket up around their shoulders.
See, he thought, putting a leg over his sleeping teddy bear, and cuddling as close as possible. This is very comforting.