As per usual, it didn't take too long for the paralysis to begin dragging its way out of him, pulling down from the top of his head to his lungs, diaphragm, stomach, until his body unconsciously began to breath again and suddenly Peter was dragged hard back into true consciousness.
Scrambling his feet across the ground, Peter's hands instantly slammed up against Sylar's chest as he pulled in a desperately hard breath, almost as if he hadn't breathed for years, his eyes wide with unexpected terror. It was like whiplash, being dragged from death back to life, and there was something inherently exhausting about it; having to do it for the third time in less than as many hours was making Peters head spin, and he had no chance whatsoever to catch his breath. No pun intended.
Staring hard at Sylar but staying silent, Peter keeps waiting for it, the expected to start all over again, and it's evident across his features that he's more than a little bit scared. But he's still heaving breaths like it's the last thing he can do, trying to grab hold of his life while it's still in his clutches
But if he was going to die again this time, it was taking longer to start, and when Peter realized that fact, he relaxed only slightly, his gaze slowly dropping. He wasn't exactly hopeful that it was over, and maybe he shouldn't be because a tremor suddenly worked it's way up his back, making his shoulders quake. It had taken longer this time, and it was definitely less powerful, but Peter suddenly wasn't any less terrified.
"Sylar." It was almost a whimper, not that he thought that the other man could help in any way apart from being comforting, but he had to say it because he had to say something. And Sylar was all he had, and somehow the other man stifled the terrifying ache in the pit of his stomach just enough that he wanted to grab hold and refuse to let go. But the silence after the word was almost deafening, and while his shoulders twitched, it was all Peter could do not to fall apart and say that he just didn't want to have to die all over again. That he wasn't sure he could take it.
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Scrambling his feet across the ground, Peter's hands instantly slammed up against Sylar's chest as he pulled in a desperately hard breath, almost as if he hadn't breathed for years, his eyes wide with unexpected terror. It was like whiplash, being dragged from death back to life, and there was something inherently exhausting about it; having to do it for the third time in less than as many hours was making Peters head spin, and he had no chance whatsoever to catch his breath. No pun intended.
Staring hard at Sylar but staying silent, Peter keeps waiting for it, the expected to start all over again, and it's evident across his features that he's more than a little bit scared. But he's still heaving breaths like it's the last thing he can do, trying to grab hold of his life while it's still in his clutches
But if he was going to die again this time, it was taking longer to start, and when Peter realized that fact, he relaxed only slightly, his gaze slowly dropping. He wasn't exactly hopeful that it was over, and maybe he shouldn't be because a tremor suddenly worked it's way up his back, making his shoulders quake. It had taken longer this time, and it was definitely less powerful, but Peter suddenly wasn't any less terrified.
"Sylar." It was almost a whimper, not that he thought that the other man could help in any way apart from being comforting, but he had to say it because he had to say something. And Sylar was all he had, and somehow the other man stifled the terrifying ache in the pit of his stomach just enough that he wanted to grab hold and refuse to let go. But the silence after the word was almost deafening, and while his shoulders twitched, it was all Peter could do not to fall apart and say that he just didn't want to have to die all over again. That he wasn't sure he could take it.