[Closed RP: Sylar and Peter] Five Days Later

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

((OOC: Any and all details about Sylar have been cleared with the mun first!))

For someone who had always said to have 'his head stuck in the clouds too often for his own good', Peter thought his current plan was going rather well.

Then again, 'well' was entirely subjective. Yes, Sylar hadn't been able to terrorize anybody for the last five days. But, in said five days, Peter had been stuck in the same room with only Sylar for company. For the first few days, he'd tried to keep a mental watch on Sylar's thoughts to see if he was planning escape, but the things he kept hearing were enough to convince him never to use telepathy again. Especially what he'd heard on the first day.

Five days. Five days of sitting on cold stone, watching over a serial killer that would do anything to escape. And Sylar had certainly tried - Peter would still wear the bruises from those attempts if he didn't heal so fast. Five days of having to use the Voice on Sylar to make him eat and not try to escape. Needless to say, conversation had been few and far between, for which Peter was grateful. He was doing this to keep people safe, not to make small talk. Five days of trying not to fall asleep so that he could monitor how much sedative was being pumped into Sylar's veins.

And on the fifth day, it wasn't working so well.

Sitting up against the door, Peter struggled to keep his eyes open. He couldn't recall how much sleep he'd gotten, but seeing that he had been keeping a 24/7 watch, he didn't think it was very much. Sometimes, he thought he could hear Sylar talking, but when he looked back up, it was clear he hadn't been. Other times he could swear he heard Nathan's voice outside the door, but he hadn't talked to Nathan since his sorting.

Peter had to wonder if he was going insane, through a combination of sleep-deprivation and being in the company of goddamn Sylar for five days. It was enough to drive anybody up the wall.

Comments

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Sylar didn't sleep.

Or... at least, that would be a cool claim to make. That evil never slept or something like that. Even though Sylar wasn't trying to use 'evil' in a description of himself, other people did, and he'd been identifying with it lately because of them. Or something. Maybe he was just going insane from being trapped in the same room as Peter Petrelli for... God, he couldn't even tell how long now. His only indication was the rhythmic tick tick tick of Peter's watch, marking every second on the nose.

Marking every second a split second late, at least. The watch was running slow. Just that tiny bit. Sounded like Peter'd had it for a while, and was probably too idiotic to even think twice about getting the thing oiled. The gears were going to... So, okay, maybe his not sleeping wasn't so off base. Peter's breathing was just as distracting. His heart rate. Somebody with a hangover bent over a toilet way over in some other part of the castle. When you could hear it all, when your half-fast kidnapper hadn't seemed to have heard of a little thing called an iPod, sleep was kind of out of the question.

Damn Peter, he was drifting off just fiiiine. Look at him. Shutting his eyes and letting them flare open with that sharp intake of breath, as if he was at all convincing. Five days bound to the same chair for pretty much all of his day, he'd lost a lot of resolve. He couldn't even muster up the want to glare at the guy, at this juncture. God.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

The second time that Peter nearly fell asleep, he snapped awake with an ungraceful snort. For a moment, he wondered in a panic about why he couldn't see, until he realized that his hair was just in his face. With a quiet sigh, Peter rubbed his hands over his face and pushed his hair away, absently noting that he should probably have a shave.

A quick glance at the IV line determined that there were still a few hours to go before he had to change it - and Sylar wasn't looking too full of fight, either. That, at least, was reassuring. Not reassuring enough to convince Peter that falling asleep in the same room and the guy would be anything approaching a good idea.

Blearily, he checked his watch. And wondered how he was going to keep this up for any longer, if he was already in this state.

"Don't you ever sleep?" Peter asked, completely out of the blue. If Sylar slept then maybe Peter could too. Just half an hour, that's all he wanted. Otherwise he was just going to ruin this whole plan by passing out and letting Sylar walk free.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

No, he wasn't asking that, was he? He couldn't possibly be shoving that fact in his face, right? Rubbing it in that Sylar hadn't slept for nearly a whole damned week now? Looking up through those horrible bangs, in desperate need of a haircut - Sylar would gladly give him another one if he really wanted it - and staring. Just staring. Sylar would have liked nothing more than to just snap his neck, there. End that staring for good.

"Should be asking you the same question," he griped back in a bit of a croaking voice - in which he meant that, no, he didn't, not without Dr. Dre blaring out the rest of the world - blinking once at the floor, a bit stupidly. Because, really. Five days and Peter hadn't slept either? Unfair. No opportunity for Sylar to just slip by. Unnoticed. It was all he needed, just that five minute window, Goddammit.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

"I'm the human sponge, I don't need sleep," Peter cracked, his grin completely out of place. He laughed once, amused, which soon dissolved into hysterical sounding giggles. Being a nurse, he was well aware of the fact that things seemed to get funnier the more tired you were, but this was just beyond that. This was... probably parts of his brain shutting down from sleep-deprivation.

Still laughing, Peter rested his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. In the five days, he'd never really looked at the ceiling, and it was fascinating, when he really took the time to study it. Slowly, the laughter trailed off, and Peter rubbed at his eyes again.

And he hadn't even had coffee in five days. No wonder he was going round the bend.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

...And people thought Sylar was a Fruit Loop.

Okay, fairly enough, yes, five days. No sleep. No caffeine. It was going to do hell on somebody's mind. Brains were something he just knew. Temporal lobe goes haywire, led to slurred speech and nonsensical words. The parietal lobe makes up new objects, new forms, things that aren't there. Psychosis. Nystagmus. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nystagmus) Decreased immunity. Hand tremors, ADHD-like symptoms, herniating in some bad cases... Yes. He'd spent a long time reading about sleep deprivation, once he learned he'd probably be experiencing a lot of it.

Essentially, it was a similar effect to being drunk. Which Peter was a prime example of at the moment.

Sylar only shot Peter a bemused sort of half-smirk, eyebrow quirked in light of the man's newfound giddiness. "Looks like the sponge is all dried up," he commented lightly, staring up at him for a moment through hooded eyes before he let his gaze fall back to the floor, almost defeated. If only Peter would give into that. Or, as an alternative, he could just go absolutely nuts in general, hallucinate so many layers of false imagery that Sylar could just walk right out without Peter's being any the wiser. Come on, come on.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

Actually snorting in more inappropriately-timed amusement, Peter drew his knees up to his chest, letting his forehead fall onto one of his knees. "I wish," he replied, halfway between smirking and grimacing. It would be so nice not to even have this power at all; to just go back to being a regular human, go back to nursing where he only cared about his patients, not the entire world as if it were his responsibility.

He thought about looking at the IV line, but that require actually lifting his head, so Peter decided against the effort. It would be fine. His memory wasn't great at the moment, but he thought he'd checked it recently. And if he hadn't done anything then, it should... God, he was tried. Too tired to be thinking properly.

It was hardly the most comfortable of positions, but when Peter felt himself drifting off, he let it happen. Just half an hour, just a few minutes would be good. Sylar could... take care of himself for a bit, right? And for once, the thought of Sylar didn't immediately send Peter jolting awake again - instead, he just let sleep take over, hoping that some internal alarm would wake him later.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

And beat...

Beat...

There it was.

A smile actually crossed Sylar's face as Peter's breathing pattern slipped into that slow, steady rhythm synonymous with someone who'd just fallen asleep. "Nighty night," he cooed under his breath, and glanced over to the IV line that he'd pinched shut a good few hours or so ago. Peter had been off his rocker going on the last day now - it wasn't hard to get anything past him, at this juncture.

The tube jerked free of his arm, falling to the floor as the straps immediately followed suit, and God, standing felt so good after so long. Five days in here, wasn't it? It had to be, about. He'd lost count around three hundred thousand seconds and that was a good few hours into the first day as it was. God, it was insulting for him to have been tied up so long, under Peter's watch.

He even loomed over Peter for a good, few, long seconds, as if he were debating just what to do with the boy.

No, he decided. Peter wasn't all too important enough to deal with anything right now. Peter would get his later. When Sylar could stand without his legs threatening to give out underneath him. Peter could consider himself lucky that Sylar didn't care all that much what happened to him, at least at the moment.

Besides. He was taking the watch. Peter didn't deserve it.

...Sylar could fix it.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

He'd actually been having a rather nice dream. Obviously, Peter was unaware that it was a dream, but it was a place he'd like to stay, anyway - where he didn't have to use his powers and people were safe, a place where Sylar didn't exist, where Nathan was proud of him and didn't use the politician smile so much, where Peter could just go back to his old job.

A slight sound - not consistent with his dream - spun the dream out of control and made Peter's eyes snap open.

Shit.

Scrambling away from Sylar's looming shadow, Peter stared with wide eyes at him, then at the IV, and back at Sylar, everything taking a little too long to process. A pressure at his back alerted him to the fact that he'd just effectively cornered himself. "How the hell did you get free?" He blurted, standing as quickly as he could, more scared than he should be considering.

He tried to gather his thoughts, to focus enough to use telekinesis and give Sylar a good push into the wall, but his thoughts were too scrambled. Too caught up in 'you shouldn't have fallen asleep' and 'you've just failed'. Nothing was working.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

The smile dipped away from Sylar's features before he even had time to enjoy the thing. For a split second, he didn't say anything, his features drawn into a deer-in-the-headlights sort of expression when Peter's breath jumped a bit. "Damn," he murmured in return, and it wasn't an answer to Peter's question, by any means, but it had to be said. Sylar paused again, looking to the watch that he'd slipped from Peter's wrist in his hands to the boy backed - quite literally - into the corner. "And you were going to get away so easily."

With a simple flick of his fingers, the chair went automatically diving for Peter, but for once Sylar wasn't focused on whatever could kill Peter. He just wanted the damn guy out of his way. The legs of the chair slammed up against the stones, on either side of the man, restricting his arms and pinning him to the wall in all the needed places. Sylar tilted his head for a moment, almost as if he was listening for something. Pounding heart rate. Bingo.

"Don't make this harder on yourself, Pete," he replied in a slow, almost soothing tone, eyebrow arching upward at the male. "Make or break time right now." And just how permanently damaged did he want to leave this room?

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

Too shocked to move or even react just yet, Peter just stared, his heart beating so fast that he was almost sure he was going to give himself a heart attack. Something he'd thought ran in the family until mom - Jesus, he couldn't even get his thoughts together. At least he wouldn't be giving Sylar the satisfaction of dropping dead.

Claude. He had to think of Claude, had to get out of this. But invisibility wasn't going to do much good when he was pinned, was it? He needed -- the blonde woman, strength, he needed that. But that wasn't going to do much good when he couldn't use his arms, either.

Telekinesis - Sylar, or whoever Sylar had murdered to get it - that could work, especially when his 'benefactor' was right here. Clenching his jaw, not replying to Sylar's smug words, Peter tried to push back, push up. As soon as wood grated on stone, enough so that Peter could duck down and free himself - leaving the chair still on the wall - he launched forward, a wildly thrown fist aiming at Sylar's jaw.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

That heart rate was driving Sylar absolutely batty. Anybody would ahve been able to hear Peter's pulse going off the charts in panic, never mind the fact that the pounding, to Sylar's ears, sounded like war, and he had to flinch a bit to shake it off. The screeching of wood against stone wasn't really helping, although, at that, Sylar actually shot Peter a scowl. As if Peter were doing this on purpose, as a grievance against him, rather than an attempt to free himself. God, he would just be so glad when he was out of here.

Clever boy. He could almost be considered something approaching intelligence at this point.

Nevertheless, he lunged towards Sylar, and he raised a simple hand to stop it, narrowing his eyes at the Petrelli as Peter's fist met what had to feel the rough equivalent of a brick wall against his knuckles. He just loved it when Peter used his own powers against him. There was some kind of sick poetry to it. "Ouch. That's gotta hurt," he hissed, and gave Peter's hand a good, sharp twist with invisible fingers, arm send punching towards the floor and probably sending the boy entirely off-kilter - if not dislocating his shoulder completely.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

Peter had been expecting the block, but not the rest, and the crack of his shoulder popping out of his socket was almost enough to make him scream. No matter how much he healed, the pain was something he'd never get used to. Staggering back a few steps, Peter roughly shoved his shoulder against the wall, forcing the joint back to where it was supposed to be. The sickening sensation of bones grinding together made him want to pass out.

But he couldn't, he had to stop Sylar, and goddamn, why wasn't the pain stopping? He had to think of Claire, of her ability, but a stable thought was almost impossible right now.

So Peter, desperate to end this, grabbed the closest thing on hand. The IV pole, with everything still connected. His good arm still wasn't co-operating too well, so he used his left, swinging wide and going for Sylar's knees. If the bastard couldn't walk, he couldn't get out of here.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

And he had so many damn choices to stop the guy, but he had to be limited to the few he'd exposed to Peter so far. Cryokinesis was a no-go. Liquefaction was entirely out of the question. Sylar swept his hand over again, that same invisible wall stopping the pole before it smashed rather painfully with with his kneecaps.

"This is getting kind of old," he automatically prompted in return, eyes needling towards Peter before they rolled over in his sockets. This was just... sad. He was swinging around like a madman with no country to his name. Of course, it was just sad now. And Sylar didn't want to test just when Peter was going to come to his senses enough to use that handy power of persuasion on him again. "It's going to end. Now."

The IV pole swung back around, sharply, going right back to Peter's own shins and fully intent on taking him down before Sylar was.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

The hit to his shins sent Peter falling to his knees, taking a sharply indrawn breath as the jolt to his knees seemed to travel right through his nervous system. Breathing deeply, but too quickly, he thought about getting up. But didn't.

He just wanted this to be over. Not just this fight, but... this whole thing. Sylar was stronger than he was, than he'd ever be, but people couldn't die here and that knowledge reduced Peter's plan to uselessness. He just wanted to lie on his couch and watch awful soap operas, and leave it to somebody better than him to be a hero. It wasn't a death wish, he was just too goddamn tired.

"So finish it," Peter snapped. Just put something through my head so I can have an excuse not to try be a hero anymore. But he wasn't going to let Sylar just walk out of here, that would be too much failure for him to cope with. He didn't get up, but a thought sent the chair flying towards Sylar.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

'So finish it'? Was he really...? No, it couldn't be that easy. Could it?

Oh. And there he went. Of course it couldn't.

The chair was discarded with a simple step to the side, as he watched the thing soar past him with an arched brow, something resembling amusement crossing his features. Right. This was just getting insulting, by this point in time. That had kept him tied up for almost a week? He was slipping. Sylar took a few long seconds to stand there, looming in all of his height and his creepiness over the boy with an odd sort of pity.

"You're pathetic, Peter Petrelli," Sylar crooned with a frown, crossing an arm across his chest and tapping his free fingers against his chin, as though he were an art critic in a moment of scrutinizing a piece of work. "I couldn't do you the favor, sorry. But feel free to do so on your own part. I wouldn't stop you."

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

For a moment, Peter seriously considered just going nuclear. Just a little explosion, enough to wipe out Sylar but not to tear the whole castle down. But that wouldn't work, he couldn't control it enough - knowing his luck, he'd end up tearing the whole castle up and some of the nearby villages, too.

A tingling in his hands made him look down, and panic tore through him. "Shit, shit, this can't be happening," Peter cursed, wide-eyed. It was faint, but he could almost see the bones in his hands, the radioactive power lighting up from the inside. This was all Sylar's goddamn fault, getting him worked up.

He didn't even hear Sylar's mocking words, too caught up in staring at his own hands. Maybe he could use this. A punch backed up with radioactive skin probably hurt - and telekinesis was working so well for him right now. Thinking quickly, Peter pushed himself up and aimed a fist at Sylar's stomach, ignoring the twinges from his still-healing shoulder.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Peter's hands flared to that florescent shade of orange and Sylar quirked an eyebrow, an expression of... almost glee crossing his features. Because there it was. Everybody was oh-so convinced that Sylar was the villain, and Sylar was going to be the end of them all, eventually, and oh, Peter was such a sweetheart, when here was their little hero, seconds away from going nuclear onto the entire school. Hundreds of people. Dead. Poof.

So much for Peter's little idealistic dream of this school, huh?

"What are you going to do now, Pete?" he shot back, something of excitement flashing in his eyes. It didn't last long - his face was already contorting into a scowl, irritated. "Who's going to fly you out of trouble now, huh? Who's going to correct YOUR mistakes?" He'd been so caught up in the moment that Peter's fist sunk right into his stomach, effectively knocking the wind out of him and burning a hole straight through his shirt - and, consequentially, probably a few layers of skin, judging by the flare of pain blossoming in his abdomen.

Fun time was over. They needed to end this fast.

The IV pole swung around a second time, base going straight for Peter's head as Sylar clutched an arm around his stomach and stumbled back a few feet. Damn, that hurt.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

Peter's victory over finally managing to get a hit on Sylar was short-found, and a little painful, considering the the rather sharp smack of the IV pole into his forehead. He'd been too distracted, too slow to see it coming - but even though it sent him tumbling, he was up a second later.

This room was too goddamn small. But even though his head was pounding - was that blood he could feel? Bastard - Peter wasn't going to give up so easy. At least the knock to the head had sent the radioactive power short-circuiting, the glow dimming and easing his panic.

"Guess you fixed it," he grinned recklessly, flexing his fingers. But his temporary relief was cut short by the question of how to take Sylar down. He knew he didn't have a chance in the world of trying to stop time right now, his brain was too scrambled, thoughts not connecting properly. This probably wasn't going to end well.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Yes, there it was... The radiation sucking back into his fingers, almost as if someone had just flicked off a light switch. As if Sylar had flicked off a light switch. "Looks like I did fix it," he murmured in response, the IV pole still raised behind Peter, unwavering, as Sylar cocked his head at the other man. "Lucky us, that I kept you from blowing up the entire school." His voice was pure poison as he narrowed his eyes onto Peter, everything just spitting hate.

"And they say I'm the villain," Sylar seethed, advancing onto Peter a few steps and looming over him with a kind of ominous homage to death, his fingers flexing at his sides. "But who's the hero now, Pete? The one who just almost took out a couple hundred people in one go?" He crouched in front of Peter, dancing smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. Anybody else, it might have seemed friendly, but on Sylar... it was just like a promise of impending doom.

Finger to his lips in contemplation, Sylar just shook his head, standing again and taking a step back. "Maybe I should just fix it for good," he finally decided, nodding once, and the IV pole came back a last time, like a javelin, goring straight through the back of Peter's head.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

If it was one question in the world that Peter really wanted answered, it was why Sylar insisted on some kind of strange, semi-meaningful words of wisdom right before something happened. Unfortunately, it just seemed to make him that much creepier, that more more unhinged, and Peter couldn't stop himself from backing up a little.

At least this time he was actually paying attention. The last words Sylar spoke - fixing it for good - set off an eternal alarm, and Peter squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, Sylar was still, the tip of the IV pole was lightly pressed against the back of Peter's head, its momentum frozen.

But he didn't move. It was an odd sensation, stopping time. The feeling of seconds ticking by was something a person never noticed until it wasn't happening anymore. Peter took a breath, and closed his eyes. If he moved, the fight would continue, and he wasn't deluding himself that he'd actually win this one, no matter how long he strung it out. He could move, and run, but Peter never could back down from a challenge.

The people here couldn't die; they were safe. They didn't need him right now.

Peter shifted his head slightly, angling so that pole would directly through the back of his brain, where it needed to go. He wasn't suicidal, he just wanted a break for a few days. And this was just one way to get it. One corner of his lips turning up in a satisfied smile, Peter let time resume ticking.

[mmm-brainz.livejournal.com]

Sylar watched Peter's body slump, IV pole protruding a good two, three feet from his forehead, hands still twitching a bit at his sides, in anticipation. There was that weird kind of rush that came with something like this, randomly. He eyed the few tendrils of blood oozing up from the gouge in his forehead, beading up around the metal pole and sliding down his pale skin... There was almost a chill that ran down his spine, pleased.

Not that it could last. Hogwarts had the no-kill spell still in hold around it, Peter had... Claire's damn power. Sylar wouldn't be surprised if he was awake again by the end of the week. He lingered for a few long seconds nonetheless, studying the picture in front of him with a strange sort of look in his eyes, and as he started for the door... he just couldn't help having a sick, pleased sort of satisfaction in having watched the light finally slip away from Peter's eyes.

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

Okay. Slytherin? Way more intricate than Nathan had given it credit for.

After he'd gotten sorted to this Godforsaken place - at least the same house as Peter, according to the roster - he'd definitely started poking around. Getting a feel for Slytherin. Making careful note of the fact that half of this house was made up of dungeons. Taking a bit of advantage of the house elves. ...Seeing if Peter had really made do on that threat to attack Sylar, and if he was going to actually turn up somewhere around the school with something shoved inside of his skull.

Dungeons. He still couldn't believe this damn school had dungeons. He had to have spent at least two hours already searching through this labyrinth, tie and jacket abandoned back in the dormitory. His shirt was rumpled, undone at the color, even his hair wasn't its normally perfect coif right now. It wasn't often Nathan Petrelli could be found too disheveled, and... well, this was the closest he got to it, really. ...Pajama pants and lack of a shirt not counted in the equation.

Last room at the end of the hallway. And then the whole rest of a school to...

"Oh, Jesus fucking..."

This was never going to get old. A fucking IV pole through his forehead and Nathan was... very close to losing his breakfast all over the floor. "Peter," he breathed, automatically swooping in towards the boy and... What did he even do here? He had to pull it out. Obviously. But, God, it was all the way through his skull and Congressman weren't exactly built for this kind of shit. "All right, all right," he mumbled to himself, and he would deny if anyone tried to say that his voice was shaking. "Hang on, Pete, I gotcha."

He hoped.

Okay, jeez, this was gross. Nathan cradled Peter's head in his arms, bracing his fingers against his brother with an increasingly strange feeling in his throat. He was trying to think of it as something entirely different, at least, rather than concentrating on the fact that he was removing a giant metal rod from the center of Peter Petrelli's skull. Really trying not to think of how easily the thing slid out, and that it was probably Peter's blood and brain tissue making an easy passage for the thing. Fucking Jesus God no, this was just... wrong.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

Passage of time clearly meant absolutely nothing when you were dead, because Peter could have sworn that it had only been a second ago that Sylar was shoving something into his head. It was like a blink, and suddenly he was coughing lung-rattling hacks and trying to gasp for breath in-between. Peter would never get used to the feeling of his brain and skull knitting back together, much less the crack-and-squish sound he could hear, amplified because it was coming from inside his own head.

"Nathan, what...?" Peter blinked heavily, noting absently that such an action was a little harder when blood had partially dried over his face. Attempting to focus, he squinted.

Nathan was here? ...That didn't make sense, he'd just... been fighting with Sylar and now everything was different. Same room, though. God, his limbs felt entirely too heavy to move. Getting up to get a better idea of what had happened just wasn't an issue right now.

"When did you get here?" He asked blearily. He didn't often see that look on his brother's face, and it was a little alarming.

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

There was definitely that patch of seconds - just a few of them, ten, maybe, stretched out to the span of half of Nathan's lifetime - when he was absolutely certain Peter was going to not come back. He knew Peter had that healing power, and he knew that this school had a supposed... charm on it or something that meant people couldn't actually die here (God, this place just got weirder and weirder and he had to be going fucking nuts), and yet there was that paranoid sort of feeling that, shit, he'd just lost his brother.

Peter sputtering back into life, almost like an engine turning over or something, was like freaking music to Nathan's ears, and Peter barely had time to get out his sentence before Nathan was pulling him into a hug, both arms clasped around him so tightly he had to be nearly suffocating the poor kid. "Just a minute ago, yeah? And let's not make so much with the talking when you were just dead five seconds ago." And freaking the shit out of his older brother, thank you.

"What the HELL, Peter?"

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

'Just a minute ago' meant that at least some time had passed, but it just confused Peter more. He could have been lying there for days and he wouldn't have felt the passage of time. God, he really had to stop dying so much, it was causing havoc with his perception of time.

"How long have-" He started, only to be cut off by Nathan's rather crushing hug. Not that Peter minded, except he couldn't return it because his arms were being squished and his shoulder still kind of hurt. "I hear that whole breathing thing is kinda important," Peter wheezed, but otherwise didn't protest. After blowing up and coming here, spending a week listening to a serial killers thoughts and then dying, he really needed a hug.

Okay, maybe how long he'd been dead wasn't such an important issue. "Sorry," he said, probably muffled, but he really was sorry that Nathan had just had to pull a pole out of his head. It couldn't have been pleasant.

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

And... no. Nathan gave Peter one final squish, not quite letting go yet, as if to say, 'shut up, you do not need to breath as much as I need to hug you right now'. But, really, breathing was kind of a necessity, even when you were Peter and you could heal a freaking gouge in his forehead, wide enough for Nathan to see straight through before it had started healing.

"Shut up," Nathan automatically griped once Peter apologized, and why the hell was he saying he was sorry when he was the one that had ended up with a pole through his head? Granted, this never would have happened if Peter just hadn't gone after that Sylar guy in the first place, but... never mind.

If he didn't remember anything... Peter had gone off to 'handle' Sylar almost six days ago, Nathan had just gotten sorted earlier today... He didn't want to think about how long Peter had been sprawling across the floor, a few feet of metal protruding from his forehead.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

Despite the situation, Peter smiled slightly at Nathan's rather insistent hugging. He definitely wasn't going to complain, and if Nathan needed to squeeze the air out of him to make himself feel better, then that was okay. He could hold off breathing for a few minutes.

And typical Nathan, not even accepting his apology and - shit. Shit Where did Sylar go?

Prying himself away from Nathan and awkwardly finding a sitting position on the floor, Peter looked around the room hurriedly. Battered looking chair, check. Medical supplies... mostly check. But if Nathan was here, Sylar had clearly gone. Confused, Peter looked back over at his brother. "Did you see where Sylar went? I have to stop him, I have to-"

Oh. He remembered now. Not just Sylar escaping, but that he'd practically let it happen. Peter snorted softly, raking a hand through his hair and grimacing slightly when it came out caked in blood. "Guess I should probably look into ways of how to get blood out of clothing, huh?" He commented, smiling slightly in self-depreciation.

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

Peter was jerking away and... huh? Was he kidding?

Nathan blinked once, looking at Peter for a moment like he had a few extra chromosomes, and automatically started rubbing at his forehead, furiously. Why, Peter? Why? Peter shows up, dead - even if it was only for a while, dead - and he automatically starts in with the Sylar business? That had to have been who had done this, right? God, Nathan was going to kill this asshole himself, if it came down to it.

"Sylar? Are you for serious?" Nathan automatically blurted, gawking for a few seconds in a rather domineering manner. He grabbed Peter's shoulder, staring him in the eyes with that matter-of-factual look that only a US Congressman could pull off. "You just woke up with a fucking steel rod through your head, and you're worried about Sylar right now?" With a roll of his eyes, he released the Peter shoulder death grip and clapped a hand on his knee. "Do you want to give me a heart attack? God!"

Nathan sat back on the balls of his feet, finally standing with a huffy sort of breath escaping his lips. Just... great. No, really. "It just..." Shit, there was a lot of blood. Nathan had to wonder for a moment how the hell Peter was even conscious. Unless this... regenerating business did the same thing with his blood? ...God, he didn't know.

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"Well it's not like it's still through my head," Peter protested half-heartedly, even though he'd already abandoned the idea of going after Sylar. People would be okay, they couldn't die here. And if he went down the optimist route, then that would stop Sylar from getting anywhere near their brains.

Rubbing the back of his head, Peter slowly stood up. He didn't want to give Nathan a heart-attack over these things, and maybe it would be better for both of them if Peter just... stopped trying to save the world. Honestly, he didn't know if he had any energy left to do it with.

At least it didn't look like the room had been damaged - Peter didn't want to be guilty of property damage on top of everything else. For a moment, he stared at his blood on the floor, contemplating how to get rid of it. "Guess you were right. Maybe it's time that I recognized that... life is bigger than I am," Peter reflected, a bitter half-smile twisting his expression. Maybe Nathan would actually like an idea of his, for once.

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

And... no. That was not an arguable point. At all. Nathan clapped a palm to his forehead in frustration, gritting his teeth together and, Peter. God, freaking Peter. Not in your head because I took it OUT of your head, you little shit, he wanted to seethe in return, and just... didn't say much of anything. Other than a strange sort of irritated mumble that, under his breath, came out to a word roughly the same sound as 'mimblewimble'.

All that frustration, and yet Peter mentioning something about... that... possibly freaked out more. Peter, the dreamer. Nathan, always telling him to snap out of it. To jump off the Brooklyn Bridge, or how much easier life would be if Peter had snapped his neck. The last thing he wanted was Peter to follow the path of their father.

"What're you talking about, man?" he asked slowly, eyebrow gradually quirking as he fixed Peter with a look that... probably would have pierced straight through his skin, if he had more than one characteristic in common with Clark Kent.

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Peter didn't really know what he was talking about. He did, but from Nathan's point of view it had to be pretty random. Peter shrugged slightly, crouching down to sort out the box of medical supplies. There was still a sizable amount of sedative in there, which he should probably get rid of, or just donate to the Hospital Wing.

"I don't know," he muttered, fidgeting with a spare hypodermic needle, his back to Nathan. Compulsively, he rubbed the back of his head again. "I'm too tired for this." It wasn't like he was going to make a difference, anyway. "Everytime I try to help, I just end up screwing up."

At this rate, more people were likely to die because of him. He'd nearly blown up New York, nearly blown up this castle just because he got a little angry. Maybe if he just went back to nursing, kept a low profile. He could intervene if Sylar was trying to kill somebody, but... his plans just weren't working at the moment. So much for saving the world.

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

For the first time since he'd come in here, Nathan was actually paying attention to just what the hell Peter had set up here. A box of medical supplies, an abandoned chair in the corner with restraints still attached to the thing... What the hell did he do, anyway? Kidnap this Sylar guy, tie him to a freaking chair and... What was all of that anyway? Tranquilizers or sedatives or something? Jesus. Didn't work so well.

Nathan crossed to Peter, frowning, and reaching out to clap a hand onto the guy's shoulder. Christ, here they go. "Pete," he reasoned in a flat sort of voice, furrowing his eyebrows at his brother with a sigh. "You just... exploded a week ago. Remember that?" Eyebrows jumping nearly to his hairline, he rubbed at Peter's shoulder a bit, in a manner that might have been consoling. "Just... give yourself a break, man, seriously. Not everything has to be about saving the world with you, you know."

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Mollified, Peter nodded once, wondering why the fact that Nathan was rubbing his shoulder was making him sway slightly. God, he was tired. Claire's regeneration didn't make up for the sleep-deprivation, and he was probably still short on blood, too. He'd tested what powers he could, but when it came to purposefully injuring himself for study, Peter was a bit too chicken to try. Something about tempting fate, maybe.

"Yeah," he agreed quietly, closing the lid of the supplies box and staring at it. He really did need a break. Preferably one that involved doing absolutely nothing and not having to worry about Sylar. But if he did absolutely nothing, then he'd have to think, and he really didn't want to ponder anymore on what he'd heard in Sylar's mind.

Bracing one hand on the wall, Peter stood slowly, tucking the box under his arm. He'd come back for the chair later. "When are you leaving?" ...He hadn't meant to sound quite so dejected over that, but Peter never could hide his emotions very well.

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

Peter didn't look so hot, at all, and, no, not just because of the whole... blood streaked across his face and caked in his hair thing. He was wavering all over the place and, for a minute, Nathan almost didn't release his shoulder, in case the kid collapsed right there or something. "Jeez, Pete, did you even sleep at all?" Beat, furrowed eyebrows. "Eat? Did you... shit, when was the last time you ate? God." He was so going to kick his ass once he was done here.

At least until the anvil of a question hit again. When was he leaving. Oh, interesting question. He'd already been stuck here a week, hadn't he? Heidi had to be freaking out by now - he just took off with barely a word breathed to his entire family. Nobody knew where he'd gone, nobody knew how long he was going to be there, how he GOT there... Christ. He had to go back soon. He had to.

"I... I don't know, man, okay?" he replied, a bit curtly, tugging at Peter's shoulder a little and frowning. "I said a week. And let's just... let it play out the way it's gonna, yeah? Just, shit, can you not be covered in blood for us to have this conversation? Please?"

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"What?" For a moment, it sounded like Peter had forgotten what the acts of eating and sleeping actually were. He blinked owlishly, trying to get his brain to catch up and remember the last time he'd actually done these things. At times like this, he really wished his brain were bionic, that way it could actually give him an error message when searching for something, instead of struggling to remember. That would be so useful.

Well, obviously it hadn't been recently. "I... don't know?" He replied, a faint grin forming in his expression. Sleep deprivation made everything so much funnier.

And Nathan had a point - if he wanted to talk, the least he could do was actually wash the blood off. A childhood in the Petrelli household had at least taught him some manners. "Yeah, okay," Peter muttered, sounding dazed. "I think I need a shower or something. And after that we can talk. And you'll give me plenty of warning for when you leave."

Doorway... doorway, aha, there it was.

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

Had Nathan heard the... strange thoughts going on in Peter's mind about bionic brains and all that, he probably would have been worrying a bit more for his brother's mental health than he was right now. Which was possible, promise, especially when bionic brains were being mentioned.

As it was, though, Nathan was just clapping a second hand onto Peter's other shoulder, entirely confident that he was going to have to steer the other Petrelli around the school as a precaution that the poor guy didn't just collapse in on himself halfway to the Slytherin dorm. "Jesus, Pete, you're weaving more than freaking Ted Kennedy," he grumbled under his breath, furrowing his eyebrows.

So, yes, couldn't have slept for a few days, at least, considering how quickly Peter's expression slipped into bemusement. Sleep deprivation definitely made everything so much funnier, and Peter was... cracking up at the mention of not eating and sleeping. Right. Absolutely going to kick his ass later. "Shower. Right. Good freaking plan, Christ."

He bit his tongue so hard it was practically sawed in half, something about how Peter wasn't a kid anymore and he really couldn't do this crap, Nathan wasn't always going to be around to take care of him, ready to spring out. But he stopped himself. For whatever reason. Just steering Peter towards the door.

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Well, that was fairly insulting. At least Peter hadn't killed anybody, so the reference to Ted Kennedy was completely meaningless. Peter frowned in annoyance, but nonetheless let Nathan steer him towards the door. He probably wouldn't have been able to walk in a straight line, otherwise.

Wait, no. He could. He didn't need Nathan's help. He could practically feel the disapproval radiating from Nathan, the same kind of disapproval Peter used to get when he was six years old and tried to make Nathan carry him everywhere.

"I don't need your help," Peter said huffily, trying to remove Nathan's hands from his shoulders and walk at the same time. It was hard, trying to multi-task. "Besides, you'll be leaving in a few days anyway, like always," he rambled.

Pause. Take a quick break from speaking to veer over the wall of the hallway, and use his shoulder to stay upright for a bit before continuing to walk. "...Where's my room, do you know?"

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

Actually, Nathan had been going more for the whole drunken thing - look at him, he could barely keep a freaking straight line unless Nathan steered him around like a five-year-old that needed to be dragged out of the playroom in McDonald's. Which Nathan had definitely had to do with Peter before, so don't laugh - but as it was, Peter probably wouldn't have listened to any reason he had to offer anyway.

Good God, the second he let go, the kid smashed into the wall. Okay, so they hadn't quite worked up from training wheels to the regular big boy bike yet.

"Shut up, Peter, Christ, I swear, I'm gonna kick your ass," Nathan automatically griped under his breath, grabbing at Peter's shoulder again and smushing the younger Petrelli against him in an effort to keep the poor guy on his own two feet. "Don't think you're up for the whole walking straight and breathing at the same time thing yet." His fingers grabbed at the material of Peter's t-shirt, at his shoulder, a bit protectively, and frowned. "Come on, we're gonna find..." Where WAS Peter's room? Nathan didn't even know where HIS room was right now. "A room."

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"You always win when you try to kick my ass," Peter frowned, dispirited, and then took a moment to wonder if Nathan would actually try any time soon. Probably not, but if he did try, Peter really wouldn't put up much of a fight. He grinned suddenly, and laughed slightly. "Even with my super strength you'd still win. Big Brother rule."

What was he talking about? Peter wasn't entirely sure, but there were words coming out of his mouth. He never stopped and thought before he said most things, but this was just more random than normal. Hopefully he didn't fall over anytime soon; if he did, he'd go to sleep on the nearest horizontal surface.

Trapped against Nathan's side, Peter couldn't be bothered making a second escape attempt. They were going to find a room, not his room? Oh. Peter hung his head, blowing uselessly at the hair in front of his face. "How's Heidi and the kids?" Speaking of completely random topics. But Peter wanted to know that they were alright, at least. "Guess I'll be sending Christmas presents at international rates, now."

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

Not that Nathan would actually kick Peter's ass unless he absolutely had to. Jeez, the last time they had got into any semblance of a fight, it had just been Peter punching Nathan, anyway. ...Twice. So who knew who could kick whose ass anymore? Especially... yes, with the super-strength. Nathan wasn't going to think about any of the implications that went with that, because the outcome didn't look too pretty on Nathan's part.

"Damn straight I'd still win," he mumbled nonetheless, smirking a bit. Big Brother rule was right. Nathan would totally kick ass. Skepticism? Never! Besides, Peter sounded pretty much delirious right now, worrisome enough to make Nathan not particularly care about who could take who in a fight, if it came down to it.

Well... whichever freaking room. Nathan didn't exactly know where the hell he was going here. It was going to be a miracle if he could even remember his way out of these dungeons, never mind where Peter's room was, considering Nathan had never visited, mind, making it a bit difficult to remember the location of the thing. "They... I don't know," Nathan admitted as he started down another hallway, frowning a bit. His voice had gotten a bit strained in light of the conversation, and his rubbed at his forehead. "I haven't spoken to them since I came here."

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Huh, Nathan didn't sound too happy about answering that question. Peter didn't really blame him; it had to suck, trying to take care of your little brother that apparently had a death-wish, and spend time with family, too. He couldn't relate to the whole wife-and-kids thing, but he missed them as well - he liked being an Uncle.

So he just made a quiet sound of agreement, trying to keep an eye out for a familiar door. Not that he'd actually been in his room all that much - maybe for an hour or so, before he promptly devoted the rest of his time to capturing Sylar. But... trust Nathan to lead them down the right hallway.

Veering sharply and trying to take Nathan with him, Peter slapped a hand against a door they nearly passed. "I think this is it," he grinned crookedly, as if he expected Nathan to be proud of finding the right door as he fumbled with the doorknob. Stupid... thing wasn't goddamn working.

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An uncle three times over, yeah. Claire was... kind of another person Nathan missed, not that he'd admit it out loud. Shit, being in Scotland even made him miss his mother. And anybody who knew Angela Petrelli knew that it took quite a bit to miss her. He was trying not to think about Heidi or Simon or Monty, but, damn, it was hard. Especially if, well, Peter purposefully brought them up in the middle of a conversation.

Peter was nearly knocking him off-kilter, then, over sideways, and Nathan went reeling a couple of steps, an odd sort of frustrated grunt sounding in his throat. This is what Peter would be like if he was wasted, wouldn't it? Or... he'd just be incredibly emo. Whatever the case, this was... mildly horrifying. And he had to resist the urge to slap a palm to his face.

"Ah, no, Pete. That's the bathroom," Nathan replied curtly, tapping a finger against the 'WOMEN'S' sign tacked just by Peter's line of sight. "Close, though, definitely." It had to be around here. Somewhere. "I think it's more down the end of the hall. So. Stop breaking into the girl's bathroom, yeah?"

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...Oh. That giant sign might have been a clue.

"Oops," Peter snickered under his breath, trying to keep his eyelids open. It was getting to the point where his brain was trying to equate 'not moving = a great chance to sleep', so Peter continued trudging along, leaning on Nathan more and more heavily.

Well, at least one of them knew where they were going, because Peter sure didn't. And Nathan sounded like he at least had some clue - Nathan was always right (except for the few times that he wasn't), so Peter thought it was fairly safe to trust in his navigational skills.

"I think my brain is disintegrating," he mumbled. Not the best choice of words for trying to communicate that he was so tired that his brain was going haywire, but Nathan would understand. ...At least he couldn't think about Sylar right now, or anything meaningful like his greater purpose in the world.

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Not that Peter was exactly the biggest of guys ever, obviously. Kind of scrawny, and physically kind of a pushover, but a hundred and something pounds of Peter Petrelli were still going to slow Nathan down a little. His arm still around Peter's shoulders, he grabbed at the front of his brother's shirt with his free hand, grunting a bit in light of the moment. Great.

"All right, we're almost there, jeez," he muttered, and half-glanced to Peter at his words. With the kind of expression that showed just how much he agreed with Peter right now. Disintegrating brains. "Oh, yeah?" he prompted right back, almost as if he were talking to a nine-year-old spouting off crazy, dreamed-up plans.

"Brain disintegrating, huh? Y... why's that?" he added vaguely, only half paying attention as his eyes scanned the... There. He'd never been happier to see a door. This had to be it. Jiggling open the knob, Nathan sighed at the sight of the Slytherin common room. Right. Awesome.

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Not answering right away, Peter was more focused on looking around the Slytherin common room and trying to remember exactly where his room was. He thought he had a vague idea, so he began trying to lean on Nathan and act as a slightly-weaving rudder.

Right, and then left, and Peter suddenly wondered if he was getting blood all over Nathan's clean shirt. There'd been no protests yet, so maybe Nathan didn't mind so much.

"Yeah. Bits of my brain falling to... bits," Peter continued, not even really aware of what he was saying. "Too tired. And Sylar's thoughts keep... rattling around. Shouldn't have listened."

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

What the... hell?

Nathan settled Peter onto one of the leather sofas, fixing him with the strangest look from all of forever. Bits of brains? Falling... what? He was just babbling on, like, he wasn't even aware of what he was talking about. "Did you get a few screws knocked loose when you got that pole through your head or something, Pete? Jeez," he muttered, clapping Peter once on the shoulder and straightening.

He couldn't help but scratch at his forehead and keep on looking at Peter with that strange sort of questioning look. Almost as if by reading his mind, a house elf - he was never going to get used to those things - ran in with... he was pretty sure it was some kind of cola, but whatever. "Sylar's thoughts, what... what are you talking about? What did Sylar think?"

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Sinking back into the leather couch felt like heaven, considering Peter had spent the last five days (or more? he wasn't sure anymore) standing or sitting on the floor. His ass had to be permanently flat by now. Leaning back against the cushions, Peter closed his eyes and smiled stupidly. The only thing that could possibly feel better than this was... well, he couldn't think of anything right now.

"Thoughts," he repeated, as if it were perfectly obvious. Why didn't Nathan understand him the first time round? "'Bout his mother, and... he flipped out, and... he thought about the people he... killed... and..."

Peter promptly tipped over and landed face-first on the couch cushions, already asleep. The dangers of sitting down when sleep deprived.

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Nathan had settled onto the arm of the couch, rubbing at the back of his head, back faced to Peter as the guy started in on his babbling again. Christ, he was barely even making actual conscious thoughts anymore - he was just... talking. Random words that, like, didn't even go together in any semblance of a sentence.

"Thoughts? ...About his mother?" Nathan repeated, a bit stupidly, with the kind of outrage that made him sound skeptical that Sylar would even have a mother. He was probably born in a petri dish. In a lab. Or something. "Why? What kind of...?"

Did he just...

Nathan turned around, looking at Peter's face smashed into the cushions, eyebrows jumping up a little. "Peter." He grabbed at Peter's shoulder, shaking it a little. "Peter?" Great. ...At least he was sleeping. "Right. You just... stay there. Good idea."