Sylar

He grit his teeth, eyes watering as pain flared across his forehead, and tried to ignore it all well enough to hold off on healing. He'd done it for Bennet when he'd shot him in front of Danko, trying to make him think he had the wrong man, he could damn well do it now, and under the force of his will, his skin stopped knitting itself back together abruptly.

"Should be easier now," he rasped, closing his eyes. This had not been his best idea ever.