Slave Verse 2, between Death Before Dishonor and Resurrection
A/N: This is what happened while Sylar was dead between Death Before Dishonor and Resurrection. I don't intend to write anything else in Slave Verse.
Peter reached back, gasping with pain. He turned his head so his nose reknit from being broken when he'd fallen on the floor. He touched the back of his head, feeling the skin slick and new where the implant had been. A moment later there was an itchy prickle as the hair extended from it and grew to the previous length. He had his abilities in full immediately, as his memories were intact this time around.
He raised himself to his hands and knees. Something he saw to his side caught him by surprise: Sylar lay dead in a slowly widening pool of blood. If Sylar hadn't still had the knife clutched in his hand, Peter would have thought someone had killed him. Even so, he reached out to touch the knife and confirm it, pulling the memory from the blade. Peter felt like his heart fell out of his chest at seeing that. He'd committed suicide at the moment of their success. Peter's eyes filled with water. A motion caught his eye as Nathan rose to his feet and staggered.
Peter rocked back onto his haunches, balancing on knees and toes. He looked up at Nathan, who stopped at the realization that Peter was alive, awake and aware of him. Nathan's eyes dropped to the inhibitor implant on the floor, then went back to Peter's face. He knew there were few limits to what Peter could do and any yell or other attempt to summon aid was futile. He was breathing a little fast and shallow, Peter could see. His fear was palpable. Peter stood.
Nathan started to retreat, but he only made it two steps before telekinesis caught him. "Pete…" he said, looking at his brother and struggling with his broken face. Nathan looked from Sylar's body to Peter, brows pulled together. He was upset and confused. How had all this happened? Why? Why had he said he loved Sylar?
Peter opened his mind to Nathan, listening to his thoughts and making it known to Nathan that he could hear him. I'm here. You don't have to speak out loud. Peter manipulated Nathan's mind slightly, dampening the sensation of pain and leaving only numbness in place of his injuries.
Nathan relaxed a little at the cessation of hurt. He felt a surge of cautious gratitude and equally cautious hope. Pete… he's dead. You don't have to do this. There's no reason to - not anymore. If he… controlled you… that's over now. This was a mistake. I'll forgive you. Just like I always have. Peter's next words chilled him to the bone.
No one controls me now. Peter looked down at Sylar, tears falling down his face as he thought about what might have caused the man to choose death over a life with Peter. Had he misread Sylar so badly? He remembered the ability he'd learned from that old Mexican and scanned Sylar's body with it. There was no life. He was dead, which meant he couldn't bring him back with mere healing. It would take other methods, the easiest of which was the serum derived from Claire's blood. He didn't have time for it though - not yet. At any moment, Erica or Dwayne, both of whom could neutralize abilities, could come through the door and then it would be all over.
Why? Nathan thought to him. He wants to be dead. He killed himself. I want to be with you, Peter. Come to me, Pete. Come to me. I need you. Nathan's thoughts were gentle, though Peter knew from long experience the degree of manipulation was under them. He didn't need to probe deeper to know Nathan was trying to save his own life, though it wasn't entirely unfeeling. There would be, as there always was, a thread of love for him - which was why Peter didn't look.
No, Peter thought, but he walked around Sylar's body and the puddle of blood, going to Nathan anyway.
Seeing his sad, withdrawn expression, Nathan stiffened against the telekinesis. Pete?
Peter reached out and touched Nathan's left forearm, the one he was using to hold his broken right arm. The room vanished and they were in a cloud, surrounded by grey vapor. Peter was unsatisfied with where he was, so he teleported again and this time they were hanging in the air under the stars, the ocean rolling slowly a few hundred feet below them.
Peter felt Nathan's flight kick in, supporting himself, and he withdrew most of the telekinesis. All he needed to do was anchor his brother in place. A single ankle was tethered and it was enough. Peter drifted away, out of arm's reach and gave Nathan a moment alone.
Nathan looked around at where they were. Anguish, regret and desperation washed through him. The desperation was last. He let it go, but kept the others. He turned his eyes to the stars and then the faint curve of the horizon, so distant it was almost lost against the night sky. It's beautiful out here, Pete. It was a better place to die than the bunker. After a long pause, he added, Thank you.
I don't have much time.
I know. And Nathan did know. He knew what Peter was saying. He was saying he was going to kill him and that under other circumstances he would have done more to allow Nathan to come to terms with his last moments. You were always considerate, Pete. I love you. Even now.
I know. Peter came closer, resisting the ingrained habit of telling Nathan he loved him in return. He didn't think he did love him anymore, or at least not the same way. He grieved for that lost love, even though it had been dead and gone for a long time. He reached out his hand for Nathan's forehead, but the older brother shook his head.
Let me kiss you one last time.
Peter blinked and sighed, chest heaving.
Please? Nathan asked.
Peter wiped at his face, then cupped one hand on the uninjured side of Nathan's face. He shut his eyes and pressed his lips to Nathan's gently, on the better side. It was the best he could manage. Nathan's hand brushed his hip and he moved his lips slowly against Peter's, oh-so-familiar to him after all these years, the golden child, his baby brother who was everything. He thought about apologizing for all he'd done, but there didn't seem to be a point. Peter knew his heart. He always had. Until today, it had always been enough.
Are you sure about this? Nathan asked. Peter nodded. Nathan considered the declarations of love he'd heard Sylar and Peter give one another. Peter had found something else, someone he wanted more than Nathan. His heart was empty and desolate at that. It had been a mistake to send Peter out to deal with the resistance, but clearly Peter had been miserable being with Nathan before that. He'd hoped the time away would heal him and apparently it had. His brother hadn't healed the way Nathan had expected.
More tears fell silently from Peter's eyes. He moved the hand from Nathan's cheek up to his forehead. Nathan pressed forward into it, his eyes steady on Peter, making him the last thing he knew while alive. He'd died many times, but he knew this would be the last. A moment later, the light died behind his eyes. Peter caught the body with telekinesis and disintegrated it. He watched the ashes fall, scattering in the breeze.
Peter wiped his eyes angrily, sniffling and wishing he had kept Nathan's handkerchief at least. But no, he wouldn't have used it. He shook his head and turned invisible, then teleported back. He tapped into the security system, checking the hallway outside the room they'd been in. As he'd expected, people were swarming the room. He went to security and pushed the thought that Nathan had ordered the room emptied prior to cleaning and that he'd give a briefing within an hour. Security passed along the orders.
He went to the special lockers, teleporting past all the locked doors and telling the security systems not to go off once he was within. They obeyed. He phased his arm into the storage containers, pulling out what he needed. Then he went back to the room where Sylar was.
Noah Bennet was still in the room. Given his position in Nathan's inner circle, orders from security, even if supposedly coming from Nathan himself, weren't necessarily binding on him. Peter dropped the invisibility and the illusion, appearing as himself: naked, blood-spattered, tear-tracked. Noah jumped and looked at him, then looked at him again, very intently. He looked around the room as if with new eyes. He turned back to Peter and said, "Nathan's not coming back, is he?"
"No. Not the Nathan you knew," Peter said, going to Sylar. He lifted the body from the floor and laid him on the couch. He looked at Noah and said, "Clean him."
"With what?"
"Find something." Peter didn't bother to look at Noah, as his eyes were still on Sylar. He slowly wiped the blood from his lover's face, feeling his eyes water again. He shook his head. He had things to do. He walked over to Blake and picked him up. He teleported out, disposing of the corpse much as he had Nathan's. When he came back, Noah was wiping determinedly at Sylar's face with a shirt he'd removed from Trevor and water from a pitcher that had been to one side in the room. Peter disposed of Trevor's body as well.
He returned and nudged Noah away. The man walked off, doing his best to wash off his hands. He kicked the dirty shirt under the couch. Peter lifted Sylar's head and slid himself in so Sylar rested in his lap. He pulled over one of the syringes and hesitated, looking at the man, replaying in his mind where Sylar had said he'd rather die. Peter had thought, at the time, that he was saying he'd rather die than perform sexually for Nathan's amusement. He also hadn't thought Sylar was serious. He bent and kissed his forehead, still warm, but cooling. He'd been serious all right.
Sylar had killed himself after they'd won, when victory was theirs. True, Peter hadn't shared the whole plan with him, but he couldn't be sure if Sylar's mind would be scanned for threat or deception. It hadn't happened, but it might have, and if he'd told Sylar everything and he'd been checked, then it would have been a disaster. Peter looked up at Noah and said, "I don't know why he killed himself."
Noah's lips pressed together slightly, taking in Peter's tears and his gentle cradling of Sylar's head in his lap, his subtle rocking in distress that Peter himself didn't realize he was doing. "Bring him back and ask him."
"I think I might know," Peter whispered, staring forward at the second syringe on the table. He hoped that was the reason. He hoped Sylar had left him because of his abilities. That was something Peter could give back to him, if he'd accept it. He'd always planned to. He worried that Sylar wouldn't take it, that now that he'd seen how damaged Peter was, that he wouldn't want him. He sniffled and looked at the needle in his hand, full of resurrection serum. There was only one way to find out. He used it.