This is very silly
Gen (utter crackfic)
Sylar and Peter, with cameo by Mohinder
rated PG
326 words
I was attacked by an utterly ridiculous plot bunny while in the shower one morning. After autumn_whispers's very excellent beta, I now present it to you.
Samson’s Opposite or:
How Sylar’s Reign of Horror Was Ended by One Tiny Mistake
The lone lock of hair fell to the floor slowly and gracefully. A resounding thud reached Sylar’s new hearing as the forelock hit the floor, and he smiled. This was all going so splendidly.
All of his focus was on the dark man, Peter, held against the wall before him. On the slender red gash on his forehead. Had he paid attention to Peter’s eyes as they followed the lock’s fall, Sylar would have seen the wave of rage and power wash through them over the pain. This would prove to be his downfall.
"You...," Peter sputtered, and Sylar was abruptly tossed across the room as easily as a child’s toy, only to crash into a brick wall. His leering smile had vanished from his face, and he was now completely dazed and more than a little surprised. Peter stalked towards him as Sylar’s carefully placed incision zipped itself back together.
"You cut my bangs," growled Peter. "No one cuts my bangs." Sylar could now see Peter’s bare fury, all of it directed towards his own stunned form. For the first time, Sylar was afraid.
"You will pay for this," Peter said, his voice wavering and deepening, and Sylar knew it was true. He struggled to get up, to push Peter back, to do anything, but Peter commanded, "Hold still," and it was done.
"I can see you now. You’re like a leech, a parasite, a cancer. You just consume and destroy. Not anymore." And with a slight twitch of Peter’s fingers, Sylar felt suddenly empty. He could no longer keep Mohinder mentally pinned to the ceiling, and the doctor fell gracelessly to the ground. He could no longer hear Mohinder’s panicked, weakening heartbeats from where he now lay sprawled on the floor.
Sylar could only lay there and stare, gasping. He could only wonder at how his careful, perfect world of order and significance could so easily break apart like the most fragile of clocks.
Sylar and Peter, with cameo by Mohinder
rated PG
326 words
I was attacked by an utterly ridiculous plot bunny while in the shower one morning. After autumn_whispers's very excellent beta, I now present it to you.
Samson’s Opposite or:
How Sylar’s Reign of Horror Was Ended by One Tiny Mistake
The lone lock of hair fell to the floor slowly and gracefully. A resounding thud reached Sylar’s new hearing as the forelock hit the floor, and he smiled. This was all going so splendidly.
All of his focus was on the dark man, Peter, held against the wall before him. On the slender red gash on his forehead. Had he paid attention to Peter’s eyes as they followed the lock’s fall, Sylar would have seen the wave of rage and power wash through them over the pain. This would prove to be his downfall.
"You...," Peter sputtered, and Sylar was abruptly tossed across the room as easily as a child’s toy, only to crash into a brick wall. His leering smile had vanished from his face, and he was now completely dazed and more than a little surprised. Peter stalked towards him as Sylar’s carefully placed incision zipped itself back together.
"You cut my bangs," growled Peter. "No one cuts my bangs." Sylar could now see Peter’s bare fury, all of it directed towards his own stunned form. For the first time, Sylar was afraid.
"You will pay for this," Peter said, his voice wavering and deepening, and Sylar knew it was true. He struggled to get up, to push Peter back, to do anything, but Peter commanded, "Hold still," and it was done.
"I can see you now. You’re like a leech, a parasite, a cancer. You just consume and destroy. Not anymore." And with a slight twitch of Peter’s fingers, Sylar felt suddenly empty. He could no longer keep Mohinder mentally pinned to the ceiling, and the doctor fell gracelessly to the ground. He could no longer hear Mohinder’s panicked, weakening heartbeats from where he now lay sprawled on the floor.
Sylar could only lay there and stare, gasping. He could only wonder at how his careful, perfect world of order and significance could so easily break apart like the most fragile of clocks.