Gibberings: Chapter 2 is here! Fastest update EVER...at least for me haha. Thank you everyone for your amazing reviews, and thank you also for those who favorited/alerted me or this story! Last chapter will be up before Christmas so keep your eyes peeled!

Major thanks to Val for betaing! You rock chica!

Chapter 2: Never to Late

Angela watched Sylar fall to the floor, saw the hard look in Claire's eyes, and said nothing. She ignored them as they left, leaning down beside the killer's fallen form.

"It's a shame. You had so much potential, Gabriel." She brushed a hand across his slicked back locks. Her fingers traced across the glass shard. She did not ignore the irony.

She pulled it from his skull with a sickening wet sound. She leaned in close to his ear, breath brushing it as life returned to him "Don't say I never gave you anything."

There had always been a connection between him and Peter. When he first realized it, it drove him insane. Being connected to such a benign person was like a spark of conscious to his darkened soul. He wanted Peter dead for that reason, more than to take his power. Then he found out they were brothers and the connection was like a blessing. It made sense. Now…

Now it is just another question.

He feels it pulling him away from the burning remains of Primatech. He follows it. His anger is simmering, suffocated by confusion. There were times when seeing how things worked did not help him.

_-_-_

Claire lays her head in her hand. Peter had drifted back into sleep a few minutes after walking up. Though her mind could not reason why, there is part of her that understood. There were times when she wanted to curl up inside herself, it only reasoned that Peter—who felt things more completely than anyone—would be able too.

She hears footsteps behind her and does not turn.

"He has a fever," she says quietly. "He's getting worse."

"What happened?"

The voice steals her breath and she turns slowly, the hair on her neck standing at full attention.

"You're dead." It fell from her lips like a whisper. Sylar does not smirk, or mock her. He barely seems aware of her. With a swipe of his hand her chair flies back into the wall so hard she sees stars. The killer walks toward Peter's limp body, staring down at him with an unreadable expression. "Stay away from him," she hisses, attempting to stand only to find his telekinesis holding her in place. "DAD!"

Sylar stoops beside her uncle, eyes fixed on the lax face.

Heavy footfalls on the steps announce Noah before he turns in the doorway, gun trained instantly on the murderer. His eyes widen, then narrow. His finger flexes on the trigger.

Then Angela is there beside him, her delicate hand on his gun stopping the shot.

"What happened to him?" As Sylar turns Claire sees a look in his eyes that was never there before. They were soft. Concerned?

"He tried to kill himself," Angela answers, blunt. Sylar's eyes travel slowly back to the young Petrelli.

"Why?"

"He wasn't strong enough," she replies.

"You don't know anything about strength. I saved his life when I thought he was my brother, he came back for me even when he wasn't convinced," Sylar says, "I was selfish, I saved him because I thought he was family. He was selfless, he saved me because I was in danger." The killer turns to Angela, dark eyes flashing. "I asked you if there was any good in this world. Now I wonder how you could be so close to that kind of good all these years and never let it affect you." He shakes his head, "Why did you save me?"

"I may not be your mother, but I knew your parents. I cared for your father very much."

Sylar huffs. "I know how you care for people."

Angela walked toward him, coming to stand by his shoulder. "There is one thing I never lied to you about." Sylar's eyes flash up to her, narrowed with doubt. "Peter is your brother." Shock washes across the killer's face. "Your mother died when you were born. Your father was a man named Daniel Linderman."

"Peter?"

"He is my son…and Linderman's."

Sylar turns back to Peter, his eyes widen as he takes in the form of his brother. In one move he swipes the young Petrelli up, holding him with almost reverent care.

"What are you doing?" Claire asks, pulling away from the chair as the power releases her. Angela catches her shoulder.

"He won't hurt him."

Noah looks at her questioningly, but steps aside as Sylar passes him.

"I feel like I'm letting the lamb go to the slaughter," the company man says, turning to Angela, "I hope you know what you're doing."

_-_-_

Gabriel stares down at his brother. Peter is incredibly hot to the touch, and his face is drained of all color. Gabriel wonders if moving him has only made things worse. He isn't sure what compelled him to take Peter out of there. He isn't sure of anything. But there are instincts deeper than understanding, and he is starting to realize that protecting Peter is one of them. He doesn't want Peter around those horrible people one more second. Doesn't want Angela's manipulation, or Bennet's twisted morals to affect the younger man.

"Can I really do a better job?" Sylar asks the air, he watches Peter toss restlessly and notices the shaking. "You're burning hot and shivering from cold. Does that mean I leave the blankets off or put them on? Claire had you under a pile of them. Does that mean that's what you're supposed to do or just her backwards teen logic?" Gabriel sighs. He realizes now that he should have left Peter there, or should take him back now, but something in him can't. The same thing that had him rescue Peter from Pinehearst, and throw him out a window away from Arthur's murderous gaze.

He realizes that all his life people have been trying to tell him what to do. The Greys, the company, Angela and Arthur. Even Elle. He rebelled against each of them. Now however, he had no one there to tell him what to do and he felt lost.

Deciding to go with the cheerleader on this one, he drops two blankets on his brother feeling weirdly compelled to tuck them in. The shaking slowly subsides. Gabriel hovers, fidgety. He tries to remember any of the times he was sick as a child. He remembers soup and tea, but both require the partaker to be lucid. And he doesn't think being sick is really Peter's problem.

Sylar sits on the floor and leans his head against the mattress. "I tried to kill myself once," he says conversationally to his unconscious sibling. "But I never thought you would. What kind of a world is it when Peter Petrelli gives up on it?"

"I didn't give up on it."

Gabriel turns instantly to Peter. He doesn't have to know much about medicine to understand what unfocused eyes mean.

"The world can survive without me." The words are less clear this time, trailing off at the ends. Sylar opens his mouth to speak, when Peter's head lolls to the side. "Nathan…" the call is breathy and quiet, but the desperation is clear. Gabriel presses his hand against his brother's brow and feels Peter lean into the comfort of it. Gabriel's never had anyone turn to him for comfort.

Then Sylar knows exactly what he needs to