Sylar

"Mind if I use your phone?"

Bennet looks at him oddly, shrugging when whatever momentary hesitations he has passes, and gestures him behind the bar to the phone on the wall. Sylar offers him a thin smile and slips behind the counter top, pressing one shoulder into the wall to lean there as he picks up the phone and dials. It starts ringing immediately, but the pick up on the other end isn't so quick, and he shifts a bit, looking out over the group as they assemble, drifting in in ones and twos and immediately finding seats to settle.

It's the second meeting of the Midnight Society or the Justice League or whatever cute nickname they're using for their war council this week, and there are more than a few new faces this time around. A dark-haired girl in a leather jacket. Another in leather hot pants. A man with shaggy hair and a suit, a blind man's cane between his legs. And so on and so forth. Dean's word is getting out, their numbers swelling, but it's still not enough. They're still losing the war, and unless something biblical happens, it's likely none of them will live to see next month, if they even make it that far.

He sighs, turning away from the group, and lets his eyes and attentions drift, still waiting on the phone and trying to put thoughts of the inevitable apocalypse behind him. It works for the briefest of instants, everything distant, his mind blank, and then he spots the salt line on the floor in front of the door to the kitchen. It should be nothing out of the ordinary, but it's been disturbed, tiny smeared paw prints cutting a line through otherwise perfect white. It's probably nothing, assuming you're not a health inspector, but it's enough to set the hair at the back of his neck on ends.

( A room full of hunters in the middle of a war, and there's a hole in the proverbial barbed wire.  )


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 1138
Notes: Ruby is ilove_atallman, Faith is msattentionspan, Mohinder is i_wasmistaken, Dean is hasperkynipples and all are used without permission but with love. Bennet is no_crosswordfan and is all mine to use and abuse. Not binding on the verse, because Sylar ... really has no means of knowing Ruby or Faith or knowing about the knife, even all things considered, but ... this scene has been kicking around in my head for a couple of days, so.

Something shatters downstairs.

The sound is faint, not a window breaking but a cup, but it's enough to cut through the haze of faint awareness he's been floating in for the last few days and drag him gasping into full alertness. He lays there for a moment, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to wrap his head around the sound and the odd, displaced feeling that comes with waking up somewhere you can't remember ever being, and then there's another crash from downstairs. He sits up abruptly, glaring holes in the twilight of the room, straining to listen.

He hears voices but nothing else, not even with his hearing, his focus shot to hell and wrapped in cotton, but it's enough to put him on edge. He can remember Samuel now and everything move he's made against them since he and Claire walked out of that damnable carnival, and he's quick to assume that they're under attack again. The barker has sent his cronies after them or come himself again, and he won't stand for it.

He moves to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and winces once he manages, teeth gritting, his muscles crying out from months and months of disuse. He ignores the pain, however, not even sure why it hurts in the first place, and staggers to his feet, a hand going to the nightstand to steady himself. And once he feels certain enough standing, he lets go, pushing away to move towards the door.

He gets exactly three steps away before the IV line tugs at his hand, and the shock of it is enough to send him off balance. He sprawls to the floor gracelessly, a snarl on his lips, and the voices downstairs stop abruptly.

A long, tense moment follows and then the sound of someone coming up the stairs chases the silence away. The door opens cautiously a moment later, and Peter pokes his head in, backlit by strange, flickering light. When he steps into the room, he realizes it's coming from the flames lapping harmlessly at his fingertips. He hums, amused, and tries to drag himself to his feet again.

"Whoa, hey." Peter is by his side in an instant, the fire at his hand dying suddenly, and wraps his arms around his waist. He doesn't even try to claw his way free as Peter hauls him back up to the bed. "Take it easy. You've been out of it for awhile."

Confused, he stares at Peter, trying to work out what the hell he means by that, and it all filters back to him slowly, a chill creeping up his spine as each snippet of memory returns. Giving Peter his original ability back. Passing out afterward. All of it. He opens his mouth to ask the other man just how long it's been, but he misses his chance, Peter sliding away from him to rush towards the door.

He pushes it open widely, yelling down the stairs, "Claire! He's awake!"

And Sylar can't help the stab of annoyance that follows when he realizes he must have been out of play for quite some time.


Muse: Gabriel Gray (Sylar)
Fandom: Heroes
Word Count: 526
Note: Pretty sure the ex isn't stalking me and my muses anymore, so ... Peter is hadtobeahero and all mine to use and abuse.