-1Chapter Four
By Revengehero
Sylar sat upright on the couch and waited for Peter to return. He knew that Petrelli was just in the kitchen, but it made him nervous to be alone with even that much space.
Sylar scoffed in his mind.
What? And when he gets back with the food would you like for him to come and set on your lap? Or sit on his lap like a good little boy so maybe you'll feel safe? He was used to the inner voice that told him he was a loser. He was shocked by how little impact that voice was having tonight.
He didn't feel one bit guilty for wanting Peter to come back. And the idea of Peter sitting in his lap made things stir that shouldn't even be awake. What the hell was going on here?
Peter interrupted his thoughts. Poking his head into the living room but still standing in the kitchen, he called out his name. "Do you wanna come in and eat? Do you feel up to sitting at the table or do you need me to bring it in to you?
Some of Sylar's strength had returned. "I'll come in." As he rose, he found that he was still weaker than he'd thought. He stumbled a bit but found that falling wasn't an option...Petrelli had rushed to his side to stabilize him.
"Still a bit shaky there. Let's get you into the kitchen." Peter looked up when he realized that Sylar wasn't moving. Sylar was just looking at him with those intense, dark brown eyes. Peter found for a second that he couldn't breathe under such gentle scrutiny. His eyes really were captivating.
Then, the spell broke. Sylar muttered a tiny laugh. "Sorry. Guess my third foot tripped me up." His eyes went to the floor. Peter forced a smile in return. "C'mon. You'll be steady on your feet once you've had a bite or two."
Sylar sat down to a dinner of steak, potatoes, and green beans. He felt his hunger return. He paused a moment to look at Petrelli as he was doing the dishes.
And felt an overwhelming image flood his brain. Petrelli smiled a crooked smile as he lay under him in bed. "Touch me." The vision said. "I need you." And he did. He ran his hand down Petrelli's back and down to his backside. Where a small tattoo sat just above his buttocks.
Sylar felt a hot rush of arousal as he snapped back to the present. His little vision didn't exactly help him feel more steady. He heard a tiny moan escape as he refocused on dinner. Peter noticed that Sylar's face looked flushed and his eyes were shining.
What on earth is going on with him? Peter wondered. Maybe it was a fever, or maybe such a heavy meal was too much. For being so hungry, he hadn't eaten very much. He finished washing the last pan and put it away.
He laid his hand on Sylar's forehead and felt that it was warm, but not necessarily feverish. "You okay there? You look like you're having trouble breathing?" His face was frowning with concern. Sylar struggled to speak. "Yeah. 'M okay." He took a bite to prove it...and to distract himself from Petrelli's hand which wasn't so much feeling of his face now was simply rubbing it lightly.
A gentle touch.
Peter realized how weird that must have looked and stopped, jerking back his hand in what he hoped didn't look like too embarrassed of a gesture. Sylar realized that he was very disappointed...the feel of Peter's hand on his face was so nice. Just like the hug.
And what about the vision? The little voice asked. Where did that come from? Are you that desperate for contact? Since when?
Sylar couldn't stop himself. He reached his hand out and began rubbing Petrelli's hand, the one Petrelli had jerked away too quickly. "Thank you. I don't know what's wrong. But I'm sure that I can finish this meal in no time. Get back on my feet and out of your hair."
Sylar squeezed Peter's hand and then let it go. Just as if it were the most natural thing on earth. He deliberately avoided looking at Petrelli so he wouldn't have to react to the look of astonished fear in his eyes. If he had looked, he would've seen those things...and another emotion that wasn't entirely clear.
Peter stepped back a bit from the table. "I'll let you eat in peace, okay? I'm just gonna go get your room ready. You can call me if you need anything."
Sylar looked up. "My room? No, it's okay. I can leave. You don't have to keep me here. I'll be all right. I-I know you don't want me here." There. He'd refused. He didn't want to, but he knew that he made Petrelli uncomfortable.
"No. You're staying here. You're sick and you don't need to travel." His face suddenly tugged up into that crooked smile that hit Sylar like a punch to the stomach. "Better do as I say."
Sylar chuckled. "Is that your professional medical opinion, dear Nurse?" He didn't expect Peter's reaction. Instead of smiling, alarm crossed his face. It took him an extra beat to voice a comeback. "Sure is. I'll be back in a bit."
After dinner, Sylar washed his dishes and put them away before Petrelli could get back down. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his host a mess. And he found that he was feeling a lot better. As long as he didn't think.
When he tried to remember where he had been or why he was here, he found that two frightening things happened. He couldn't remember why he was at Petrelli's house, and he could think of anywhere else he wanted to be. He kept having visions of Peter that made it uncomfortable to be anywhere near the youngest Petrelli...and pleasurable.
"You didn't have to do that." A gruff voice came from the door. "Here, go to bed. I could've cleaned up." Peter tapped Sylar on the arm. "Off to bed with you." A tightening sensation in Sylar's stomach nearly knocked him over as he pictured Peter leading him to a bedroom and being tossed on the bed.
"I'm sorry. Not like you know the way." Peter led him to an unused spare room, full of odds and ends and a tiny bed. "I'm just across the hall. There's a small bathroom in the back furnished with everything you need for tonight and in the morning. Need anything else just come get me."
Peter nodded a goodnight and started to slip out of the room when Sylar grabbed Petrelli's shoulder. "Pete I don't know what to say. I can't believe how nice it's been to be here tonight." Petrelli almost jumped back.
"Don't say anything. No need. You needed help so here it is. Simple as that." His voice softened just a bit since Sylar looked a little hurt from the harsh tone. "Hope you feel better in the morning. Goodnight." And with a small smile, Peter shut the door.
It was far into the night when Peter thought he heard the sound of someone shouting. As Peter listened closely he realized it was Sylar. He was crying and begging his mother to let him into her room.
Thunk. It sounded as if Sylar had just fallen out of bed. Peter slipped off the cover and ran to the guest bedroom. "Sylar?" He saw the dark muscular form lying on the floor, muttering incoherently and crying in his sleep.
"Sylar! Wake up!" Sylar stopped mumbling but still hadn't fully awoken. Peter felt strong arms embrace his torso and pull him down. "Hold me." The sleeping form begged. Peter leaned into Sylar and hugged him back. Just to get him to stop crying." After a few minutes, Sylar woke.
"What?-What's happened?" Peter stroked the side of his face and brushed away a few tears. "You had a nightmare and fell out of bed. Are you okay?" Sylar pulled Peter tighter for a moment and nodded yes. Peter began to slowly push away. As if asking for permission before sitting up.
"Here. Let me help you back into bed." Peter helped Sylar rise to his feet and get into bed. Tucking him in almost like a brother. "I'm sorry." Sylar said, voice still strained with the need to cry. "Why? It's okay. Just go back to sleep." Peter turned to leave. He had been sitting on the bed, he on top of the covers looking down at Sylar's covered form.
Sylar reached out and clasped Petrelli's arm. Without even knowing what he was doing almost, he leaned up and planted a soft kiss on Petrelli's lips. Peter kissed him back. The feeling was almost familiar. Why? Sylar was just as shocked as Peter and was not surprised when Peter pulled back wordlessly and almost ran out of the room.
The next morning, no one spoke of the kiss. No one spoke at all. Breakfast was eaten, cleared away, and the two sat in the kitchen without knowing what to do. No longer busy with breakfast, the tension in the room grew stronger and stronger. Where was his brother?
Why had Nathan looked at him with Sylar's face? Why had Sylar spoke in Nathan's voice? If he called his brother right now, would he be home, wondering why Peter had not talked to him in weeks? He had a feeling that he would be, that seeing Sylar where he couldn't possibly be was just his intuition telling him that Sylar was not really gone from his life. That he was sticking around to play games.
He looked up at Sylar, who was so very carefully looking at his fingers, examining the nails closely. Studiously looking at anything either than Peter. But not looking as if he meant harm. Not looking as if he wanted to play games. What did he want then? And why had Sylar kissed him? No matter how uncomfortable this might get, he needed answers.
Peter scooted his chair over to Sylar. "Hey. Look at me. We need to talk." Sylar looked up, rising from the chair simultaneously. "I'm sorry Pete. About everything. It was my fault. But I can't talk about it. I gotta go." And with that, Sylar was out of the door and gone. Peter called Nathan's and got the answering machine.
Peter called in sick at work. There was no way that he could be of help to anyone as rattled as he was. His boss just chuckled.
"I'm not surprised. As hard as you've been working of late, kid, no one could keep that up unless he had super powers. Just stay home and rest." No one else but Petrelli could've gotten away without a lecture for calling in.
But Peter had a way of getting to anyone. Apparently, even Sylar. He hung up the phone thinking of the kiss. He tried calling his brother again but no one answered.
Finally at noon, the phone rang and when Peter picked it up a frantic Nathan was on the other end of the line. "Pete. I need you. Get over here. You've been avoiding me and I understand that. Especially now-but please, get over here. Right now." Peter heard Nathan hang up. He did just as Nathan said and left immediately.
Peter thought he would pass out when Nathan opened the door and was standing there in pajamas that looked exactly like the ones he had laid out in the guest room last night. Sylar's. Sylar hadn't even put on his regular clothes in the morning before leaving.
These pajamas, a little too big for Nathan, hung loosely on his thin frame and too long for his height. They had been just big enough, though a little snug, around Sylar. Peter's fear was mixed with something that he couldn't identify. He was definitely going to throw up.
He pushed past Nathan, ran to the bathroom, and his stomach gave up the contents of that morning's breakfast. When he thought he could look at [Nathan? Sylar?] without passing out, he left the bathroom and went into the living room.
"Pete, I'm so sorry." Nathan had clearly been crying. "I don't know how to tell you..." His voice trailed off. Peter couldn't stay away. He sat on the couch by Nathan, rubbing his shoulders. "Nathan, what is happening here? Do you know something I don't?" Nathan looked up into his eyes. "Yeah Pete. I can't believe it myself. But you deserve to know." Not turning away, Nathan held Peter's gaze. He loved him so much, and had to have Peter's support to face the truth. And his own fear.
"Pete, you wouldn't believe what I saw. I went to your house last night to wait on you. At first, I thought I'd fallen asleep-" Here Nathan broke off and had to search for the strength of his voice again. "I thought I'd fallen asleep and was dreaming. I was seeing things, memories, that weren't mine. At first they seemed random, like an excited child telling a story that goes all over the place. But as I looked closer, certain memories fit together, created a chain. The organization of memories that went back neatly for decades. But the contents of the memories were horrifying. Sylar's memories. Body after body being cut, blood drained away. You. Others. And finally me." Nathan's voice faltered, but regained its volume.
I was gone for what felt like forever but I did some searching. These "files" opened easily for me, as if I were the one who'd created them. I could access any memory, and the one with my face in it came up for me quickly. Maybe part of Sylar can't remember anymore, but this part knows." Nathan softly tapped his own chest. "He killed me, Pete. He slit my throat in Washington and left me to die. I did die, and-" Peter turned away. "This doesn't make any sense. You've gotta be wrong. It's just a dream!" He looked at the floor, refusing to accept it. Refusing to meet Nathan's eyes. Nathan's voice settled at his ear softly. "Peter. Just listen." He continued.
Ma had Matt purge "Sylar" from his body. And here I am. But I'm not me. I'm Sylar. My voice and face different, yes, but it's him underneath. My hands, my eyes don't look like mine and I knew it right off. These hands—they've killed dozens of people, Pete. People close to us. Whoever Nathan Petrelli is…was…he's gone now. Just some random thoughts in a mass murderer's head. You wouldn't believe the things that go through my mind every time I look at you…do you honestly think all of those sick thoughts could ever leave my mind? At this point, Nathan's tears returned. Peter couldn't think of what to say to make it better, to make it go away. But he knew this couldn't be the truth. He'd never let his brother go. "Nathan, I love you. You aren't Sylar. This is crazy. Don't let him win. I don't care what body this is. You are Nathan. My brother, my lover for God's sake! I can't lose you." Peter paused to kiss Nathan. Nathan started to return his kiss, but pushed him away. Peter looked up at him, confused and afraid.
"To the rest of the world, I'm Nathan Petrelli, Pete. But every time you look at me, the way you're looking at me right now, you're gonna see Sylar. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm wrong, Pete."
"I should never have called you to come over here," Peter couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him. Nathan's form was turning into Sylar's as he spoke. "But I couldn't stay away. I love you , Pete." Sylar reached over to kiss Peter, and Peter flew to the door.
Peter didn't have to look behind him as he closed the door to know that the gaze of dark, pain-filled eyes watched him close the door.