[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.

[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.