Everything Goes to Hell on a Tuesday
Peter, Sylar, Zane, Isaac, band!fic. PG
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For Gabriel Gray, everything ends up going to hell on a Tuesday. One Tuesday to be specific.
It all starts with Isaac arriving to practice almost an hour late, after going on an obvious bender, reeking of cigarettes, turpentine, and the stench of perspiration. His hands shake, barely even able to keep the drumsticks in his grip, and Gabriel figures this session is pretty much over before it began. On top of that, Virginia is already calling since practice should be nearly over if it was any other day, and he doesn't even want to try and deal with his mother's insistent demands that her son stop being so foolish by continuing to be a member in an obviously dead-end band at 27, because special boys don't stay in silly childhood bands when they should be CEO's, presidents, or something more than the sole owner of a timepiece restoration shop in Queens and member in an admittedly boring alt-rock band.
But he won't give it up, he likes the rush, the thrill of playing in front of a packed crowd (which has happened, infrequently, but occasionally) gives him an indescribable feeling of elation, of being someone.
Of being special.
Peter has more hope for the afternoon not being already bunk, tries to get things on track and in some semblance of a practice set again for their gig Friday by going over their rather short set list the currently have, as Zane nervously checks and rechecks their equipment in an almost obsessive fashion.
"Your guitar is out of tune," Gabriel comments to him, as he picks up his bass, slides his fingers reverently against the strings and waits for Peter to hear what he knows is the truth.
"I just tuned it," Peter states, frowning while fiddling with the knobs on his strat, but getting nowhere. Gabriel cocks his head to the side, before motioning for Peter to give him the guitar, which he eventually obliges to.
"Whatever, Gabe."
As he tunes Peter's guitar, he realizes he should probably mention Zane's guitar is out of tune as well.
"Zane-" Gabriel begins, handing Peter his guitar back, but he immediately shuts his mouth as soon as he realizes there is no more guitar to tune. Instead he's looking at a viscous black puddle on the practice room floor where Zane's guitar once was.
They all stand speechless, Zane visibly blanching before excusing himself to retch on the ground not far from what once was his glorious Gibson Les Paul, and instead of sadness a thrilling tingle crawls up Gabriel's spine when his mind immediately processes that Zane somehow did that, changed the molecular structure and composition of his guitar instantaniously.
A beat passes and then two, finally Isaac rubs his eyes and stretches out behind his kit.
"What the fuck, man," Isaac blurts out, dropping his drumsticks and shaking his head. "What in the everliving fucking fuck just happened?"
"I-" Gabriel begins before shutting his mouth because, honestly, he doesn't know.
Yet.