hh_mirror | [Closed RP: Sylar and Peter] Five Days Later

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[Closed RP: Sylar and Peter] Five Days Later

((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.

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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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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?"

"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.

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.

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?"

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."

"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."

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."

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.

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?"

...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.

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.

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."

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?"

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.

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."

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[Closed RP: Sylar and Peter] Five Days Later

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