There had been a commotion outside. Footsteps, sirens, voids, and Sylar couldn't feel his powers but he could feel the heaviness of the voids in the street, and he rose slowly, calmly from his place on the couch and found his way back out into Peter's room. He closed the door, carefully, and moved over to the window to look down into the street.
Peter had gone without any kind of explanation, and now Sylar suspected he had found something up on the roof, heard something or perhaps been called, because the police were pointing up, and the heaviness still lingered. The voids. Did Peter know they were there? Had he stumbled off to blind heroism under the influence of those voids, and if so, who had taken him there?
Sylar was careful not to twitch the blinds, not wanting to draw attention to himself, listening as best he could, but his ears seemed dull without his power to back them. He could hear a few dull shouts, but nothing else. Nothing useful.
He considered going to the roof, finding out for himself, but with the police attention there he didn't plan to actually go ahead with it. But he did worry about Peter, and worry was all he could do.
And then there was a scream, and a thump, a crack like a skull opening up, and someone had hit the pavement outside.
Sylar stared down into the street, but it was not Peter who lay there, and even if it had been, he knew, as soon as the voids were gone he would be fine. But the police still were pointing up, which meant something was still going on on the roof, and he waited quietly to see what would happen.
Another body struck the ground.
This time it was Peter, which meant that whoever was on the roof had thrown him off. There would be a delay--perhaps they were coming for him, and wasn't that clever? Put Peter out in a way that he couldn't heal, then come after a powerless Sylar. Clever, but Gabriel was clever too. He knew what was happening, and that was more than enough. The chair from beside the bed broke into useful pieces, and Sylar made a club from one of the legs and moved to stand beside the bedroom door. And then he waited, waited to hear feet in the apartment.
There was a clatter and a bang - a laugh - and his blood ran cold. He knew now what this was.
Sylar moved through the door now, because that was Peter. Peter laughing. Peter, who had run through the apartment into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut behind him, and Gabriel followed with his makeshift club, and rapped warily on the door.
<3
Peter had gone without any kind of explanation, and now Sylar suspected he had found something up on the roof, heard something or perhaps been called, because the police were pointing up, and the heaviness still lingered. The voids. Did Peter know they were there? Had he stumbled off to blind heroism under the influence of those voids, and if so, who had taken him there?
Sylar was careful not to twitch the blinds, not wanting to draw attention to himself, listening as best he could, but his ears seemed dull without his power to back them. He could hear a few dull shouts, but nothing else. Nothing useful.
He considered going to the roof, finding out for himself, but with the police attention there he didn't plan to actually go ahead with it. But he did worry about Peter, and worry was all he could do.
And then there was a scream, and a thump, a crack like a skull opening up, and someone had hit the pavement outside.
Sylar stared down into the street, but it was not Peter who lay there, and even if it had been, he knew, as soon as the voids were gone he would be fine. But the police still were pointing up, which meant something was still going on on the roof, and he waited quietly to see what would happen.
Another body struck the ground.
This time it was Peter, which meant that whoever was on the roof had thrown him off. There would be a delay--perhaps they were coming for him, and wasn't that clever? Put Peter out in a way that he couldn't heal, then come after a powerless Sylar. Clever, but Gabriel was clever too. He knew what was happening, and that was more than enough. The chair from beside the bed broke into useful pieces, and Sylar made a club from one of the legs and moved to stand beside the bedroom door. And then he waited, waited to hear feet in the apartment.
There was a clatter and a bang - a laugh - and his blood ran cold. He knew now what this was.
Sylar moved through the door now, because that was Peter. Peter laughing. Peter, who had run through the apartment into the bathroom, and slammed the door shut behind him, and Gabriel followed with his makeshift club, and rapped warily on the door.
"Peter?"