By the way, guys, thanks for the reviews! I really appreciate them. :) And also, I'm re-watching the first season, so hopefully some early-Sylar oneshots will pop up soon!
Takes place between "Dying of the Light" and "Eris Quad Sum"
"I'm the most special," Peter growled- then everything went black.
When had he become so… passive?
Somewhere, deep in his subconscious, he knew that he didn't need to stay in this state. He was more than able to break out of it. There was no physical impediment, merely a psychological one. He understood this, as he understood everything; so why wasn't he snapping back to life?
There were things that needed to be done. Peter was going to get himself hurt. His… mother, she was in trouble, and he needed to help her. And somewhere out there, there was a job for him to do, villains he needed to bring in.
Villains. He had been one of them, once. What had happened to him? Why was it that now, as he lay inert with vague thoughts swirling through his head, he could only think about helping others? He had wanted that, before, to be the good guy, but he wasn't sure that he liked it, now that the change in his personality seemed to actually be taking place.
Such odd thoughts he was having, too. Reflections on reflections. He had been more aggressive, before, and had acted on impulse. Where had that gotten him? This new state of mind, contemplative, hesitant, could it possibly be better?
Brief flashes of memories, snatches of speech, floated around his mind as he tried to focus. The most recent memories dominated the scene, and he recalled his brother's parting words. Had Peter thought he'd touched a nerve? He could almost laugh; Peter didn't understand what it meant to be special, not truly. The words meant nothing, coming from him.
But in the past, he would've killed his own brother for saying such a thing. Back in those days, he had been touchy, and sensitive even to such immaterial things as names. Strange, strange.
He didn't want to wake up, that was the problem. He didn't want to face a world where his family was more convoluted and dysfunctional than any soap opera's and ninety-nine percent of the people who knew him hated his guts. Normally, when faced with such a world, he'd make a prompt decision to tell them all to go to hell, then find his own path. He couldn't, now. His mother actually cared about him, and… he couldn't let that go.
Was he acting weak, scared? Perhaps. It was a pity; those were qualities he despised. Nevertheless, he wouldn't wake up. Not until he had to.