Sylar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heroslayer) wrote2009-10-22 09:15 pm
heroslayer) wrote2009-10-22 09:15 pm
for theatrical_muse: write about something you've outlived
The celebration had been over and done with for hours now, Lydia gone from his trailer and to bed not long after that. The rest of the carnival had followed suit slowly but surely, trailer lights winking out one by one as people took to sleep, the day threatening to come to soon, and he knew that he should go the same way. There were chores to do in the morning, after all, and now a formal part of the family, he doubted he'd get to sleep through them. If he could get to sleep at all.
Huffing out a sigh, he rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow with a groan, eyes clenched shut as he tried to will himself to rest. For minutes he lay like that, trying to get to sleep, but his thoughts wouldn't still long enough to allow it. He'd seen too much, done too much, the whole experience equal parts wonderful and terrible, and his head seemed to want to pick the events of the day apart endlessly, with little regard for whether or not it was bedtime. And for all that he was missing of himself, he knew that force wouldn't get him anywhere.
Another sigh, this one frustrated, he pushed himself out of the bed and clicked on the light on his nightstand. He winced into the sudden light, staring into the unshaded bulb once his eyes had adjusted, and then he was pushing to his feet. On a whim and not really sure where he was going, he moved to the door, pulling it open. Heading out, he bounded down the steps, stopping at the bottom to stand there and frown into the dark as he tried to quiet his mind long enough to decide where the hell he thought he was going.
The sound of footsteps behind him stilled his racing thoughts better than anything else could, defensive reflex flooding into the sudden silence.
He wheeled on his heels, a hand raised, and then relaxed as he realized who it was. "Samuel. What ... ?"
Samuel gestured to the glow that bled through the blinds on the window. "Your light was still on."
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking away. "I wasn't -- I didn't mean to keep you up."
"Promise you weren't," Samuel replied, crossing what little distance remained between them so that he could press his fingers to his shoulder, lightly. A thin smile followed, there and then gone, and then he admitted, "I haven't slept much since my brother passed. Too much work to be done in his absence. Too many good memories, hounding at my heels."
He cast a glance over his shoulder, half-confused. "Why would good memories keep you up?"
Samuel didn't answer, instead stepping away from the trailer, flashing him a gesture indicating that he follow. He did, falling into step behind him, and in silence they moved away from the more private areas of the carnival and up the midway, weaving through the sleeping concession stands and games that flanked them. And only when they reached the other side, looking back at the carnival from the ticket booth, did Samuel bother to answer.
"My brother and I -- we spent the better part of our lives here. Standing here, I can almost imagine when we first found this place. We were starving and alone, without hope. I can remember that clearly. But clearer still is Joseph telling me it would be alright, even if I knew he didn't believe it himself."
He paused, pointing back down the midway to one of the games. "We put that up our first week here. It was something new and Elias -- the man who had the carnival before Joseph inherited it -- wanted it running fast as you please, hoping to draw the crowds with something new. Fact of the matter was that the pair of us had no idea what we were doing, though, and Joseph ended up breaking his leg when it collapsed on top of him, half-finished. It was the most terrible thing I'd ever witnessed, seeing my brother in pain like that, but it brought us closer together. I got the chance to be someone -- to be a good brother -- looking after him for those six weeks. I wouldn't have known him like I do if it weren't for that, I don't think."
Gesturing to a few more places, Samuel explained their stories, and then he was turning his attentions back to the man at his side. "A family member passing puts a strange spin on things, I suppose. All the arguments, all the pain -- none of it really matters. What sticks with you is the good times, and when you outlive someone, they hurt more than any unkind word because you know you'll never get that back. You never get the warmth of those moments again. Not in the same way. Not with the same meaning."
Sylar hummed, staring out into the gloom, expression unfocused as he considered what Samuel had said. Then, very slowly and very quietly, not sure if they were his real memories resurfacing or someone else's -- whoever that someone else was -- he started, "I can remember my father."
"What about him?"
He was keenly aware of Samuel's eyes on him. "He always expected so much from me, and sometimes it felt like I wasn't good enough for him. Like nothing was. Not me. Not my mother. Not -- "
He cut off abruptly, finding it difficult to recall if there had been someone else. If he'd had a brother, like Samuel, or a sister. One half on him wanted so badly to say yes (a brother named for a saint), the other half said no (that wasn't real; they were lying). He couldn't decide which half was right, though, and he didn't dare close his eyes and take a moment to let it come to him for fear of the same disapproval he'd seen in Samuel's expression when he'd told him his name was Nathan, and so he didn't try and nail the truth down. Instead, he shot a dark look at the ground beneath them and stuck with what he knew was fact, no questions.
"I always thought he hated me -- he was so distant -- but in the summers, he'd take me to work with him. He wouldn't let me touch anything, but it was something." Shaking his head, he sighed. "I don't know. I guess it was just one of those things that made me realize he really did care. And when he died ... " That was another part of the memory he wasn't sure was real or imagined, but he couldn't stop it from slipping out. "I guess you just never expect to outlive your parents."
He tried not to think about what he'd seen in the House of Mirrors and the fact that he'd willfully chosen to bury his mother. While he managed, however, it seemed he couldn't keep his thoughts out of the shadows, and so when he continued, it was darkly, his fingers curling into fists at his side. "You know, even if I don't ever remember who I was, even if I make new memories here, I'm going to have to watch you die, too. I've gotten killed twice now; it doesn't take. I feel like I could live forever."
Again, Samuel's hand was at his shoulder, squeezing lightly, trying to be reassuring. "I wish I could tell you that wasn't the case, but I can't say for sure. The things you're capable of ... " He popped his eyebrows, impressed. "But as much as the good memories hurt, there's something else you should know about them."
"What's that?"
"No matter how long you live, no matter what you did or do or will do, those sorts of things? They bring hope." He flashed Sylar a small, crooked smile. "After all, it got you to give me a genuine memory, didn't it?"
In spite of the terrible things he'd seen -- the terrible things he'd done -- relief flooded him, sudden exhaustion on the heels of it, whatever had plagued his subconscious placated now. And that in mind, he couldn't help but mirror the other man's expression, albeit tiredly. "I guess it did."
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1385
Note: Samuel is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
offering_hope and is all mine to use and abuse.
Huffing out a sigh, he rolled onto his stomach, pressing his face into his pillow with a groan, eyes clenched shut as he tried to will himself to rest. For minutes he lay like that, trying to get to sleep, but his thoughts wouldn't still long enough to allow it. He'd seen too much, done too much, the whole experience equal parts wonderful and terrible, and his head seemed to want to pick the events of the day apart endlessly, with little regard for whether or not it was bedtime. And for all that he was missing of himself, he knew that force wouldn't get him anywhere.
Another sigh, this one frustrated, he pushed himself out of the bed and clicked on the light on his nightstand. He winced into the sudden light, staring into the unshaded bulb once his eyes had adjusted, and then he was pushing to his feet. On a whim and not really sure where he was going, he moved to the door, pulling it open. Heading out, he bounded down the steps, stopping at the bottom to stand there and frown into the dark as he tried to quiet his mind long enough to decide where the hell he thought he was going.
The sound of footsteps behind him stilled his racing thoughts better than anything else could, defensive reflex flooding into the sudden silence.
He wheeled on his heels, a hand raised, and then relaxed as he realized who it was. "Samuel. What ... ?"
Samuel gestured to the glow that bled through the blinds on the window. "Your light was still on."
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking away. "I wasn't -- I didn't mean to keep you up."
"Promise you weren't," Samuel replied, crossing what little distance remained between them so that he could press his fingers to his shoulder, lightly. A thin smile followed, there and then gone, and then he admitted, "I haven't slept much since my brother passed. Too much work to be done in his absence. Too many good memories, hounding at my heels."
He cast a glance over his shoulder, half-confused. "Why would good memories keep you up?"
Samuel didn't answer, instead stepping away from the trailer, flashing him a gesture indicating that he follow. He did, falling into step behind him, and in silence they moved away from the more private areas of the carnival and up the midway, weaving through the sleeping concession stands and games that flanked them. And only when they reached the other side, looking back at the carnival from the ticket booth, did Samuel bother to answer.
"My brother and I -- we spent the better part of our lives here. Standing here, I can almost imagine when we first found this place. We were starving and alone, without hope. I can remember that clearly. But clearer still is Joseph telling me it would be alright, even if I knew he didn't believe it himself."
He paused, pointing back down the midway to one of the games. "We put that up our first week here. It was something new and Elias -- the man who had the carnival before Joseph inherited it -- wanted it running fast as you please, hoping to draw the crowds with something new. Fact of the matter was that the pair of us had no idea what we were doing, though, and Joseph ended up breaking his leg when it collapsed on top of him, half-finished. It was the most terrible thing I'd ever witnessed, seeing my brother in pain like that, but it brought us closer together. I got the chance to be someone -- to be a good brother -- looking after him for those six weeks. I wouldn't have known him like I do if it weren't for that, I don't think."
Gesturing to a few more places, Samuel explained their stories, and then he was turning his attentions back to the man at his side. "A family member passing puts a strange spin on things, I suppose. All the arguments, all the pain -- none of it really matters. What sticks with you is the good times, and when you outlive someone, they hurt more than any unkind word because you know you'll never get that back. You never get the warmth of those moments again. Not in the same way. Not with the same meaning."
Sylar hummed, staring out into the gloom, expression unfocused as he considered what Samuel had said. Then, very slowly and very quietly, not sure if they were his real memories resurfacing or someone else's -- whoever that someone else was -- he started, "I can remember my father."
"What about him?"
He was keenly aware of Samuel's eyes on him. "He always expected so much from me, and sometimes it felt like I wasn't good enough for him. Like nothing was. Not me. Not my mother. Not -- "
He cut off abruptly, finding it difficult to recall if there had been someone else. If he'd had a brother, like Samuel, or a sister. One half on him wanted so badly to say yes (a brother named for a saint), the other half said no (that wasn't real; they were lying). He couldn't decide which half was right, though, and he didn't dare close his eyes and take a moment to let it come to him for fear of the same disapproval he'd seen in Samuel's expression when he'd told him his name was Nathan, and so he didn't try and nail the truth down. Instead, he shot a dark look at the ground beneath them and stuck with what he knew was fact, no questions.
"I always thought he hated me -- he was so distant -- but in the summers, he'd take me to work with him. He wouldn't let me touch anything, but it was something." Shaking his head, he sighed. "I don't know. I guess it was just one of those things that made me realize he really did care. And when he died ... " That was another part of the memory he wasn't sure was real or imagined, but he couldn't stop it from slipping out. "I guess you just never expect to outlive your parents."
He tried not to think about what he'd seen in the House of Mirrors and the fact that he'd willfully chosen to bury his mother. While he managed, however, it seemed he couldn't keep his thoughts out of the shadows, and so when he continued, it was darkly, his fingers curling into fists at his side. "You know, even if I don't ever remember who I was, even if I make new memories here, I'm going to have to watch you die, too. I've gotten killed twice now; it doesn't take. I feel like I could live forever."
Again, Samuel's hand was at his shoulder, squeezing lightly, trying to be reassuring. "I wish I could tell you that wasn't the case, but I can't say for sure. The things you're capable of ... " He popped his eyebrows, impressed. "But as much as the good memories hurt, there's something else you should know about them."
"What's that?"
"No matter how long you live, no matter what you did or do or will do, those sorts of things? They bring hope." He flashed Sylar a small, crooked smile. "After all, it got you to give me a genuine memory, didn't it?"
In spite of the terrible things he'd seen -- the terrible things he'd done -- relief flooded him, sudden exhaustion on the heels of it, whatever had plagued his subconscious placated now. And that in mind, he couldn't help but mirror the other man's expression, albeit tiredly. "I guess it did."
Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1385
Note: Samuel is
offering_hope and is all mine to use and abuse.
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I loved it. I totally heard both voices in the narrative.
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... but seriously, I dunno. I'm glad you could hear the voices, though -- I still feel a little iffy writing Samuel. I'm not as comfortable with him as I am with Sylar.
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YOU ARE AWESOME!
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It's well done, hon. You are word!ninja.
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Immortal soil? That's a bit disturbing. :P Never mind the fact that Samuel is intrigued.
Again, thank you. *loves*
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