Dislaimer: I don’t own anything

Chapter Fourteen

“Fight and Flight”

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Peter asked uncertainly, glancing up at the approaching storm clouds.

Claire gave him a confident nod. “What are you so worried about?”

Peter was still staring at his godsend of an excuse, speculating that it might not be such a blessing after all. Both he and Claire were standing near the edge of his roof, high enough to feel the winds of bad weather coming in from the east. After all the plans had been arranged, Claire suggested that they fly to Queens to dodge the hellatious traffic. Peter nonchalantly accepted, but now that the time had actually come…   

“Er…”

Putting on her “pretty-please glasses”, Claire looked up at him with doe eyes. “Why not? You can tell me anything, Peter.”

This, he knew, was fact, so the truth came blurting out of his mouth. “I don’t think I can fly.”

Claire seemed bemused. “But you can do what we can do, and Nathan-.”

“I can’t-,” Peter tried to find the words to describe his reasoning. “I have to tap into my emotions to use people’s powers and…I can’t fly because…I don’t know what emotion to think about Nathan.”

Claire cocked her head frankly and sighed. “Why can’t you just…..pick one or something?”

“Because it’s not that easy!!” Peter snapped back and Claire flinched as though she’d been slapped. At once, he looked to the ground in shame and mumbled a weak apology. Claire sighed again, walked closer to him, and took his hands in hers.

“Listen, I know that you’re going through something right now that’s hard to control. But you can’t just say you’re sorry every time and think that’s gonna fix it. My dad did that all the time, like ‘sorry’ could make everything be okay.”

Peter finally looked her in the face and saw a taut irateness edging her vibrant features. She was talking about the man they were about to go rescue in vain, and it reminded him of how much of a grudge Claire still harbored. She loved Bennet enough to go save him, but she detested him enough to still recognize that this traumatic situation did not push the past away.

Just like with Peter. He may have come back, at least 90%, from the dark end of the spectrum, but the deeds were still demons keeping his footsteps warm. Forgiveness was about repentance, not overshadowing one sin with twelve attaboys. Claude had been wrong again, and now Peter wondered if perhaps his mentor was often wrong on purpose, to get Peter thinking. To make Peter figure out the truth on his own.

“I’ll never yell at you again,” Peter swore, tightening his fingers around hers. Claire gave him a disbelieving look.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not,” was his soft reply, and all she did was shudder and step away.

“Try to figure out Nathan’s power so we can leave already,” she said emotionlessly. Peter frowned slightly and closed his eyes, trying to focus on Nathan. But his mind kept meandering to the little blonde in front of him.

What had happened to the gentle Claire that had pulled him from his Baptism and taken care of him last night? Ever since he’d woken up, there was this overly polite awkwardness between them; the same overly zealous friendliness that they treated each other with at the beginning. All this time, and they were back to where they started.

Right now, she was suddenly cold and raw to him, which was even worse. But maybe that’s what he needed. A firm hand to beat the last of this out of him. Love was a powerful force, but tough love came in as a close second. Nathan could vouch for that, as a veteran of practicing it. Practically everything he did for or pertaining to Peter, it was out of said affection.

Get your life straight.  [I don’t want to see you fail.} You are forbidden to go out with that girl, because she’ll look bad in my campaign [and she’ll break your heart, and nobody’s allowed to hurt my baby brother]. God, Peter, you want to be a hospice nurse? Good luck on making minimum wage [but I’m still proud of you no matter what, and if you ever need money, just ask, okay?]

Unsaid words, but the feelings and intentions were nonetheless there.

“Peter!” came a shriek to his right.

Peter opened his eyes to see his feet hovering a couple inches off the ground. Claire was grinning at him, back to her normal good-nature, and he finally understood what she had been doing. I needed Nathan so she gave him to me. You’re brilliant, Claire.

“C’mon, before I lose it,” he instructed hastily, beckoning her over to him. Claire did as he suggested, hooking her arms around tightly around his waist and pressing her face against his chest. Peter shivered, but still rested his chin on the top of her head and splayed his hands across her back as planned.

“There are more convenient ways of doing this,” Peter admitted bluntly, “but if I carried you then your hair would get all in my face and I’d end up flying us into the Empire State Building or something.” Claire merely snorted in reply.

Gripping onto the girl a little more tightly, Peter shot up into the sky, evoking a yelp from Claire. Peter chuckled shamelessly at her expense.   

“Show off,” Claire grumbled, still shivering in his hold.

Peter grinned, but took it at a moderate speed from then on, for her sake. As they flew over the river and Brooklyn Bridge, Claire, who seemed to have calmed down considerably, looked up at him.

“Aren’t they gonna find it weird that there’s two people flying across New York?” she asked, her eyes closed languidly as she listened to his heartbeat. His chest vibrated under her cheek as he replied.

“Oh, I’ve got us invisible right now. The only things that can see us are rats and three types of monkey.”

“Mmm,” Claire murmured, not even bothering to point out the ridiculousness of his claim. It felt like being on a roller coaster when she couldn’t see what was going on; swoops downward and the wind whipping through her hair. Of course, she wasn’t quite as cozy as this on Space Mountain.

In recent days, her feelings for Peter had been like a thrill ride too, only with more stress then amusement. First there had been a shy hero-worship, then that ever-trusting bond of real friendship, and then an absolute worry for Peter and the people around him. However, she hadn’t quite felt the same after yesterday evening. It wasn’t her actual attraction to him…as her school counselor would say, the “unresolved sexual tension” was still in tact. But before, there was one thing about Peter that no one else could quite duplicate, something that made him different from the other guys Claire had liked: he made her feel completely safe.

Now, that that was pretty much gone, Claire had no idea what to think anymore.

She let her mind wander to fantastic places, sunk deeper into his embrace and tilted her nose to inhale his scent. Claire’s mouth turned into a small smile when she recognized it. Peter actually had an entire Calvin Kline gift set (given to him by, of course, Nathan) and couldn’t pick his favorite. Claire, being the only female around at the time, tried them all and decided that Eternity was the most Peter-esque of his compilation. The fact that he was wearing that very cologne now spoke more than just 1000 words to her.

It wasn’t enough, though. No matter how much she forced herself to find these good little Easter eggs, it still didn’t make her feel any more secure in his arms. That would come when it was ready, and with The Fates just itching to snip their threads of life, Claire was getting rather impatient. She truly wanted to trust him again, but her heart just wouldn’t let her.

Contrary to Claire’s bottomless and frustrated musings on their flight, Peter’s were much more breezy and intoxicated. Mostly, they were just a rehash of his thoughts from the previous night: he was in too deep with this girl, but did he really care? So what if he’s nine years her senior? They weren’t “the seventeen year old and the twenty-six year old”, after all. They were simply Peter and Claire. The dreamer and the cheerleader. Rapunzel and the Prince. Besides, with their powers, they were probably immortal anyway. This was an observation that gave Peter an epiphany that completely obliterated any doubt in his mind.

Claire was to live forever, alone, meaning that she could never be in a true relationship with someone, never get married, have children, or anything that God intended for every human. The only way that Claire could fulfill her natural feminine duty to the universe would be to find a male immortal. And Peter, of course, was the one person that could provide this. The one person. And if that wasn’t destiny, then Peter would gladly take eternal beatings from Claude.

He touched down in an ally, shifting them into the visible spectrum when they were entirely on the ground. Oddly enough, he waited a few seconds before letting Claire slip out of his grasp. She could feel Peter’s face buried in her hair, and his lips just barely grazing her cheek as he pulled back.

“Er…c’mon,” he rasped, attempting to clear his voice. “The café’s right across the street.”

Matt Parkman was already seated at a large round table in the back corner of Lazeeza Coffee Shop. When he heard the ding from the door chimes and saw Peter and Claire walk into the restaurant, he quietly hailed them over.

Peter approached behind Claire, his eyes so downcast that he nearly bumped into a waitress. He didn’t need to be a super human to sense the weariness that was radiating off Matt. The nurse and his roommate slid into the round booth, and faced Matt.

“You said you sensed him here in Queens?” Matt asked civilly. Peter was thankful for the other man’s efforts to not start something, and Matt must have overheard this particular train of thought.

“Listen, Peter,” he sighed, after Peter didn’t answer his first question. “You messed up big time, man, but save the guilt for tomorrow. We’re…we’re all fighting the same guy, here, now, remember?”

“Why are you trying to reassure me?” Peter replied grimly. “You’re the one that’s shaking in your boots.”

“I don’t know what to believe out of you,” Matt shrugged. “You’ve done some bad stuff, Peter, and I really can’t trust you. But to get back Claire’s dad, I’m gonna have to. Can I trust you with this?”

Matt brought up an excellent point. They were on a mission, and if Peter didn’t get his head in the game, if he let himself be distracted by the dark emotions within, they would surely fail.

Peter nodded solemnly, feeling like a little boy being punished. “I understand. Hold on, I’ll try to get a better feel on Sylar from here, okay?”

Claire and Matt didn’t protest, and Peter closed his eyes in concentration. There was nothing to be seen from a bystander’s point of view, but inside of Peter’s head was a maelstrom. He felt Matt and Claire beside him immediately, and then tried to branch off a little wider. Not far away from the coffee shop was a large beige- Peter didn’t even know what to call it- thing advancing in their direction. That wasn’t Sylar though; it had a sense of purity and innocence about it that could not be matched with their nemesis.

Then, he felt it. The first waves of Sylar, a barely- there sensation that he was just sensing the edges of. Peter strained himself to expand his radius even more, and Sylar spiked, making Peter wince at the sudden onslaught of power. Claire almost reached out to touch him in concern, but Peter’s breathing steadied and she pulled her hand back. There…just a little bit away, in a general…northeast-ish direction. The core of Sylar could be felt by Peter, and it was the most raw, potent aura that Peter and ever sensed.

“He’s really close,” Peter managed to whisper to Matt and Claire. “I can almost feel him at my fingertips.”

“Where is he? How do you know it’s him?” Claire asked frantically.

“I think he’s just a few blocks away….up the street and to the right, maybe. And he’s so powerful; it’s like he’s washing out everyone else. Besides, I think I can only sense people I’ve met before. Like it’s an extension of my empathy. And Sylar’s definitely the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

Peter opened his eyes, blinking to clear the stars in front of his vision, and continued his train of thought. “Whenever I take someone’s power, it creates this irreversible bond. Maybe it’s so strong, that I can actually feel them from then on.” He then remembered that other, unknown person that he had sensed. “The only weird thing was-,”

A chime from the café entrance interrupted him, and he turned around in his seat to find three people standing in the doorway. One was a short, cheerful Japanese guy with a sword, another he recognized as Ando Masahashi, and the third was a stunning blonde woman in a black suit.

“Never mind,” Peter announced. “I just got my answer right there.”

Hiro, Ando, and the blonde made their way over to the table of “superfreaks.” Peter was right away cynical that this tiny, thin blonde could be of any real strength. But when he got a closer look, he saw a cockiness and dangerous quality about her just in the way she carried herself.

“Jessica,” she introduced herself coolly, extending a hand towards Peter. He shook it and said his own name, grimacing at her iron clutch. She released him and he rubbed his hand, dumbfounded.

“Strong grip,” he told her lamely, and Jessica smirked in return. She went to shake Matt’s hand as well, but he coughed, and awkwardly just waved at her, mumbling his name.

Hiro wasn’t nearly as suave in his introduction. He jubilantly plopped down next to Peter and shook his hand vigorously.

“Petah Petrelli-o! It is very good to meet you! Your brot-tah is b-erry nice!”

Peter snorted. “Are you sure you’re talking about Nathan?” he asked, giving Claire a significant look. She smiled back slightly, but Hiro honestly didn’t get it.

After everyone was gathered around the round table, Matt was the one to get the ball rolling.

“Alright, first off, we need some sort of attack plan,” he began, and it really sank in to Peter and Claire how violent and deadly this could actually get.

“I’ll go in with Matt and we can fight Sylar,” Peter suggested. “Jessica can protect Claire at the door, and-.”

“Whoa, rewind,” Claire disrupted him. “What do you mean 'protect me by the door?' I’m not even allowed to go in and save my own father?! I’d like to remind you that I can’t get hurt.”

Her eyes blazed in fury at him, and Peter reconsidered.

“Fine, you can come in,” he restated reluctantly. “But stay close to me.”

On any previous day, Claire would have been flattered and calmed by his condition, but not today. She didn’t need his protection, if any at all, and this was her idea in the first place. Still, she sat back in the leather booth and kept her mouth shut lest Peter changed his mind.

Hiro looked at the group and valiantly declared, “I have my sword now. I stop time and kill brain-man.”

No one made any objections to this option, but Peter was stroking his chin in thought.

“Well, we know we’re gonna need two groups,” Matt acknowledged. “One to kill Sylar, and one to save Bennet. Then, we’ll need one person to be some sort of distraction if required.”

Everyone’s eyes eventually ended up on Peter for some reason that he couldn’t quite fathom. He sat up and addressed them all when he had the schematics for a reasonable plan drawn out in his head.

“How about this? Matt and Claire go to save Bennet, since technically they’re the two least powerful when it comes to fighting…no offense, guys. Plus, that’ll let Claire save her father, and it’ll provide a strong person to protect her and Bennet.”

There were murmurs of approval throughout the group, and even Claire found it decent. However, Ando pointed out:

“But I am the least powerful. I don’t have a power at all, so…why don’t I help save the man?”

Peter seemed to have taken this into consideration. “You can be the distraction, Ando. Distract Sylar so that Hiro can get him with the sword.”

“Wait,” Claire remembered. “Can’t Sylar survive, like, anything? Peter, he fell of the roof with you at Homecoming and got back up.”

“Uh-huh, and I put three bullets in the bastard and he didn’t even leave blood behind,” Matt agreed.

 Jessica sneered at the motley crew. “Oh, trust me. He won’t be around when I’m done with him.”

Hiro and Ando both nodded enthusiastically. “Jessica is very strong,” Ando told them. “She helped us get the sword as revenge on Mister Linderman. We told her to come with us, to New York, to be a hero.”

Jessica looked at Ando boredly. “At first, I said no, but then I remembered that heroes get well-paid. Save a guy’s life and you’ll get Ellen and Oprah giving you shit. It’s stupid, but since I’m down two mill because of Niki…” Her face turned sour and she didn’t continue, merely glaring at her reflection in the window.

Peter reorganized his mental map and decided, “Okay, so, Jessica can take down Sylar while I use telekinesis to hold him? That’ll allow Hiro and Ando to follow Claire and Matt. They can use the sword to break any bindings, then Hiro can teleport them out of there.”

“I’m not-o sure that I can teleporto more then justa me,” Hiro cringed sheepishly. Peter moaned and buried his face in his hands. Matt stepped in sympathetically.

“Once Sylar’s dead, we can just walk out the place anyway, so it really doesn’t matter. We don’t have to have Hiro be able to teleport.”

Peter looked up and shot Matt a grateful look. “Yeah, good point. And if we have to teleport, I might be able to mimic it or…”

“Just, whatever,” said Claire tiredly, holding her palms up. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

A loud thunderclap suddenly sounded and shook the whole coffee shop. Expectant tension filled the air, and a couple seconds later, the rain started to pour from the sky. Claire groaned and slumped against the red patent leather.

“As if things couldn’t get worse,” she muttered.

“We’d better go,” Peter recommended seriously. “The less time we waste the better.”

“Are you kidding? You want to go out there in that rain and try to find the guy?” Matt said incredulously.

“Trust me, I will keep us from getting wet,” Peter explained, exasperated. “Now can we leave, already?”

This time, the band of ordinary people with extraordinary abilities actually decided to listen without protest. All six pushed their way out of the café and headed out into the streets of Queens. Jessica, Hiro, Ando, and Matt all frowned as they walked through the pouring tempest, to find that not a droplet of water ended up on them.

“You’re doing this?” Jessica asked Peter dubiously. He shrugged and pointed up, where all of the rain was being blocked by an invisible force.

“Telekinesis,” he exposited tersely.

“That’s what you can do? You move things with your mind?” Jessica surmised. Peter arched an eyebrow.

“One of a couple dozen,” he replied pointedly, and then walked ahead, leaving Jessica stopped in her tracks. Claire caught up and walked alongside the taller blonde. There was no effort from either woman to make small talk.

Peter led the group down a crosswalk and right turn. He strode ahead some more before coming to an abrupt halt on the left side of the street. Luckily, his chosen spot of delay was under an overhang, and the five others huddled together underneath it.

“Why have we stopped?” Claire inquired breathlessly. She watched on as Peter closed his eyes and raised his arm vertically. Slowly and carefully, he reached out, and turned to his left until he was stretching towards the door. Peter opened his eyes and nearly froze to the core in the cold rain.

The others were totally clueless, but it all was coming back to Peter now.

“Gray and Sons Watch Repairs,” he gasped, running his slender fingers over the black text on the glass. “This was the place in my dream; I’d forgotten about it! Sylar’s in here!”

“Sylar?” asked Matt. “I’m gonna need a little more proof then a dream and a hunch, buddy.”

Peter’s dark eyes flitted across the words on the door, and came to one that sent him reeling even more.

“Right there,” he murmured, pointing to it. “That’s…that’s it. You can ask Claire for proof on this one.”

Claire followed his finger to the words Head Repairman: Gabriel Gray and her heart almost stopped as well.

“He’s right Matt,” she choked. “Before Peter knew Sylar’s name, he thought about the murderer and decided to call him Gabriel. Peter said it felt right and…” She was out of words. There was no denying that this was, without a doubt, where Sylar was keeping her father. To be so close to rescuing him made Claire’s stomach flutter in fear, excitement, and borderline elation. But there could never be true happiness within her being until she saw him, touched him, again.

Peter gulped and grasped the doorknob. “Is everyone ready?”

Hesitant nods all around, except from Jessica, who was leaning confidently against the window. 

“Here goes nothing.”

He twisted the handle, pulled the door open, and stepped inside. Peter’s only hope was a solemn prayer to God that this would not be the last time that his allies felt the rain.

Part Two

A/N I tried my hand at a little Japanese and know I totally spelt it wrong, but I tried to write it out as how it sounds to my ear. If anyone knows the correct spelling, please tell me, and I’ll correct it.

Gabriel Gray’s watch shop had an odor to it that tempted Peter to sneeze upon entering. It wasn’t a particularly dusty smell, but the atmosphere of old, rotting, antique time pieces; former glories that had been shelved and abandoned.

The most bizarre thing was, though the shop had an aura of death and muskiness, it was impossible not to hear all the clocks ticking, and chiming, and ringing. How could a room full of decay and disrepair be so alive?

Behind Peter were his five comrades, all following him slowly until everyone was in. None of the lights were turned on, save for a couple oil lanterns on the side table. Using telekinesis, Peter gently turned on the electric lamps, casting a dim, eerie, yellow glow across the shop.

Matt looked around candidly. “No one’s here.”

“Shh,” murmured Peter, putting a finger to his lips while gradually extending a hand outward. He was getting an incredible sense of Déjà vu and knew it had to be from his dream. If only he could remember! He could recall the bomb dream in almost perfect detail; why not this one?

Because you watched that one for two straight weeks while in a coma, he remembered decently.

“Hey, hold on a second,” Matt said, squinting and cocking his head. “I hear someone’s thoughts. Claire, I think they’re your dad’s!”

Claire was at his side instantly. “Where is he? What is he thinking?”

However, no matter how hard Matt pressed on his temples, he couldn’t get anything that clear. “I’m not sure; we’re too far away. Follow me. I’m gonna trail his thoughts.”

“Check the basement. Brown door in the back,” Peter instructed absently. Claire whipped her head around and stared at him, aghast.

“H-how did you know that? Have you been here before?”

Peter frowned, running a hand through his hair. “I think…it was from my dream.”

Matt nodded and clasped his hand around Claire’s arm. They stumbled to the door together, and the honey-haired young woman kept her eyes locked with Peter’s the whole time. It was the first time it really sunk in…the fact that their current lingering gaze could be their last. Once she and Matt descended down the stairs, all hell was bound to break lose on the ground floor. Sylar was going to be after Peter, and there was a chance that he could die in the fight. Claire’s limbs were shaking from anxiety and Matt tried to pull her stubborn form through the basement door.

“Come on, Claire!” Matt hissed, tugging on her wrist.

“Peter…” Claire whispered fearfully, speechless other then that. Peter didn’t need to read her thoughts to tell exactly what was going through her mind. It was identical to his own worries; he might never see Claire again.

“Go, get your dad, Claire,” Peter replied softly, swallowing the lump in his throat. Eventually, she gave in, and the last thing he saw before the creaky wooden door slammed shut was a flash of blonde curls.

Jessica, Hiro, Ando, and Peter moved closer together, into the center of the room.

“Sylar’s probably upstairs,” Peter said quietly. “Jessica, Hiro, and I will go look. Ando, wait down here and make sure Claire and Matt get out alright.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary,” growled a voice behind them that turned Peter’s blood into the River Styx.

“Sylar,” he breathed, turning around. “How did you just-,”

“Hear you?” Sylar was perched at the top of the staircase, the one that led up to his loft. His tall, lanky, figure was silhouetted by dim light, and he traipsed down the stairs, one little footstep at a time. And with every foot forward, Peter’s sixth sense wound tighter, and tighter…

“Nice lady I met in Montana on my way back up from Odessa. Wonderful ability. Took a while to get used to, though…” Sylar reached the base of the stairway and stopped, just…staring at his company. “I’m sure I know why you’re here.”

Jessica was the one that spoke up with a smug scoff. “If you knew we were here to kick your ass, why’d you come down the stairs?”

Sylar’s sneer matched hers and he chuckled, shaking his head. “I hope she’s not your leader.”

While Sylar was bantering, Peter gave Hiro a significant nod that implied a change of plans. Stop time and kill him while he’s distracted. However (and even later they still weren’t sure if Sylar did it because he understood their plans, or if he just had bad timing), they themselves had a little disruption on hand when Sylar telekinetically threw Jessica into a wall.

“No!” yelled Peter, rushing over to the fallen blonde. She appeared to have been knocked out as soon as she hit the surface, possibly even worse. But before the nurse could reach the woman, he felt and force holding him back, then shoving him against the far wall.

Hiro and Ando were quivering under a workshop table, protected from the chaos. Ando was of no use, but Hiro desperatly tried to stop time several times, to no avail.

“I can’t do it!” he cried in Japanese to his friend.

“But you have the sword,” replied Ando, surprisingly calm. Hiro shook his head vigorously.

“I am too nervous!”

“You can do this, Hiro-kun.” Ando put his hand on Hiro’s shoulder. “A hero never runs.”

Sylar had Peter pinned against a wall with his mind by now and was walking over hungrily. His eyes were pools of brown animalism, a thirst for the ultimate power that nearly made Peter sick to his stomach with rapid fear. He managed to keep down the bile, but his whole body was shaking like a leaf (a feature that he wasn’t too proud of showing to Sylar). Peter recalled his conversation with Claude in Columbus Park. He ingests their DNA somehow, maybe their brain…

Dear God, Peter did not feel like having his brain cut out and eaten today.

Sylar’s large hand flew to Peter’s throat, and the victim’s empathetic senses exploded. Sylar’s touch felt like it was leaving burn marks all across Peter’s neck, while sucking the life force right out of him at the same time. His entire mind was blank, he couldn’t focus, there was nothing he could do except-

“Hiro!!!” he screamed, trying to wiggle out of his invisible bindings with no dice. The round-faced Japanese man stood up from under the table, a “brave face” washed over his features. Hiro squenched up his face so tightly that Peter was afraid he’d have another concussion victim to deal with, but it was successful. The next second, Hiro Nakamura was gone.

*

In the meantime, Matt and Claire were clambering their way through one lean-to of a basement. They were forced to walk single-file in the tight space, and Matt’s wide frame barely fit through at all. Luckily, it there was on chance of getting lost, for the hallway was straight like a desert road. Unluckily, Matt felt like he was walking down The Green Mile with the sheer length of the thing. There was no light, but illumination wasn’t needed to feel the corridor go on for ages.

Claire suddenly ran head first into a soft wall. Matt had abruptly stopped, closing his eyes and looking around. He began running his hands over the walls, looking for some sort of handle. Or at the very least, something that resembled a doorway.

Claire caught his drift and started examining the other wall. After a few seconds of blind groping, she felt something cold, metal, and round slip into her grasp.

“Matt!” she gasped and the officer pressed his ear to the door.

“He’s in there,” Matt confirmed. “But I think he’s really weak. Get ready to help me carry him.”

Claire would have agreed to anything at that point. She turned the doorknob with the force of a madwoman, even though it was unlocked, and had to stop herself from falling right into the brig.

Sure enough, Bennet was tied to the wall in minuscule, closet sized compartment. This must be how Harry Potter felt in Privet Drive, Matt heard the older man think. Parkman chuckled grimly, and followed Claire, kneeling beside her father.

Bennet was barely awake, and most likely dehydrated. Claire fought back tears as she threw her arms around her dad’s neck. She felt him stir against her and she pulled back. He blinked through foggy eyes, for his signature horn-rimmed glasses were lying crumpled in pieces on the dirty concrete floor.

“Claire-bear?” he whispered hoarsely, squinting. “That’s it, I’ve gone crazy.”

“No Dad, we’re really here,” Claire beamed in pure relief and elation. “It’s me and Matt, we’re gonna get you out of here. Peter and the rest are holding off Sylar. Let’s go.”

Matt had already freed Bennet from several cloth bindings, as the haze over the father’s eyes cleared.

“Wait!” he shouted. “Did you say Peter? Peter Petrelli?”

“Yeah, Dad, he-,”

“No, no, no…” Bennet said frantically. “He can’t be here, you have to go!”

Claire gently put her hands on her father’s shoulders, tears of relief morphing into hot droplets of anxiety.

“Dad, Dad, look at me. What’s happening, what’s wrong with Peter?”

Bennet coughed as Matt and Claire hoisted him to his feet. Claire was still firing hysterical questions like a machine gun, when Bennet interrupted her.

“You need to get out of here, Claire-bear! Just leave me, and run. Sylar wants Peter right now, but once he’s done, he’ll kill you too in an instant.”

Claire and Matt looked at each other in horror, and then turned back to Bennet. Had they heard correctly? The man nodded grimly, as though he was the telepath.

“This whole thing…it’s a trap.”

*

“Yatta!”

Hiro threw his arms up in the air in joy when he saw the frozen, silent figures around him. The time freeze had finally worked. He’d have to go buy Ando a nice stack of waffles later for believing in him.

His chipper mood at accomplishment vanished faster then Claude when he remembered why he was trying to stop time in the first place. Sylar was still holding Peter Petrelli by the throat, pointing his finger at the empath’s forehead. If Hiro had stopped time any later, Peter would have been a goner.

Hiro tiptoed over to the brawling duo, removing the ancient katana from his back sheath. Even a few deep breaths later, he was still no calmer. Hiro had never killed anyone before, let alone chop off any heads. In fact, gory movies gave him nightmares. Ando had once talked him into seeing Kill Bill (“Sword fighting and hot women! It’s awesome, Hiro!”), and simply the animated bloodshed made Hiro turn green.

But this had to be done. If he let Sylar live, then Peter would die. Next, Sylar would turn on Hiro, and then kill the rest of them one by one until misshapen, scalpless bodies littered his shop floor.  Hiro could almost hear Princess Leia saying “Help us, Hiro Nakamura! You’re our only hope!”

Steeling himself for what he was about to do, Hiro pressed the side of the sword against Sylar’s neck.

“Itch…knee….sun!!!” Hiro hollered as he slung the blade down. Even though he wasn’t exactly an experienced executioner, the cut went slickly through, severing the head from the neck in one good slice. Hiro backed up as speedily as his little feet could take him, covering his eyes with his forearm, and trying not to breathe in the coppery scent of liquid evil. The ticking from all of the various timepieces in the shop resumed, and Peter hit the ground with a loud thud, as Hiro started time again.

“Oh my…” Peter wheezed, having fallen face-to-face with Sylar’s lifeless, severed head. Peter shut his eyes, disgusted, and scrambled up as quickly as he could. Judging from the instantaneous, at least by Peter’s view, decapitation, and the bloody sword in Hiro’s hand, Peter connected the dots pretty swiftly. They had finally done it. Sylar was dead as a doornail at their feet, and not even Claire could come back from a death like that. Peter probably would have done a jig had he not been already exhausted.

Stepping over his rival’s body, he crossed over to Hiro and thanked him. Hiro bowed politely in acceptance, and sheathed his sword, off to help Ando out from under the table. Meanwhile, Peter paced over to Jessica, who, as he kneeled beside her and gave her a quick vitals check, was going to fight another day. Just not tomorrow.

“C’mon, get up,” Peter gently shook her. Her eyes fluttered open, but they show’d no recognition for the man hovering over her.

“W-where am I?” she asked, wincing as she touched the bleeding mark on her forehead.

“Grey’s Watch Shop, but we’re leaving now, Jessica,” Peter replied softly, pressing a hand on her back to help her sit up. The woman turned her head to him at breakneck speed, eyes wide in fear.

“Jessica? No, no, she was…did I…did I hurt anyone?”

Peter reeled back, totally puzzled. He gulped, trying to think up a reason for why this was happening.

“Er…you must have had a concussion when you hit your head. Temporary amnesia, I guess,” he murmured, but knew that this wasn’t true. Jessica didn’t just have a memory hole; her whole personality had done a 180.

“Pet-ah?” asked the timid voice of Hiro from behind him.

“Little busy now,” Peter snapped back, not bothering to see what was the matter.

“Pet-ah! Look-o…”

Peter rolled his eyes and granted Hiro’s request. He shot the Japanese man an annoyed look. “What?”

Hiro said nothing in reply. What he was pointing at spoke enough words already.

It had to be, by far, the most revolting thing Peter ever had the misfortune to see. Even worse then a badly made Sci-Fi Channel Saturday Night movie. What was unfolding before Peter’s eyes paralyzed him with grotesque, and he distantly felt Jessica faint beside him again.

Sylar’s body was on its feet, the veins in the neck still shooting out blood like Old Faithful. As though he’d done this a thousand times, Sylar picked up his head off the floor, planted it back on his neck, and twisted it with a satisfying crack. He took in a large lungful of air, then cracked his neck some more before looking upon his horror-struck company with lucid eyes.

“You fools,” he grinned wickedly, shaking his head in delight. Hiro and Ando were fighting not to take a leaf out of Jessica’s book and just pass out like Elvis fangirls. Sylar’s gaze fell to Hiro, and Ando nearly had to help his friend stand.

“You.”

Hiro’s hands went to grip his sword, but Sylar’s trick was faster. With a flick of his wrist, he had Hiro pinned to the floor with his mind. Thankfully, he didn’t even come close to Peter’s predicament, because Hiro, unlike the raven haired empath, had a sidekick for times like these.

“No!” Ando yelled a samurai war cry that Hiro had taught him, and leaped onto Sylar’s back like an Olympian gymnast. There was really no explaining it logically, as Sylar was a good head, maybe even ten inches taller than Ando. But he was still there, surprising the BeJesus out of Sylar enough to distract the watchmaker. Hiro was free now, leaping off the floor and preparing to stop time again. But Peter returned the favor, and saved both their hides this time, freezing Sylar’s feet into the ground.

Ando fell off of Sylar’s back and rushed over to his best friend. Peter was on his feet, on the other side of the room, pointing to Jessica.

“Ando, Hiro, protect her!” he instructed, then shot glowering eyes to their enemy. “I’ll take care of him.”

The two businessmen did as they were told, creating a human barrier between the unconscious woman and the action.

Getting out of his cold feet was easy enough for Sylar, being Peter’s benefactor for that particular power.

“So you can do what I can do?” Sylar surmised, seeing the way Peter’s head was pieced together like he was looking at one of his familiar watches. Peter made no reply but a scowl, which Sylar took as a yes.

“Then I guess that I’ve finally found something that we can agree on, Pete.”

Don’t you call me ‘Pete.’ My brother calls me that. As much as Peter would have liked to rip the man in front of him up into little tiny Sylar pieces with Jessica’s power, he knew that would be reckless and stupid. Peter was holding up a strong act, but his insides were panting in weariness. Between the sensory overload he’d just suffered, along with the rain and being thrown around, he wasn’t feeling too hot at all.

“And what would that be?” Peter eventually decided to grit out, bracing himself for an object to be thrown towards his head. But Sylar didn’t move anything; not this time. The smile that crossed Sylar’s otherwise handsome face turned Peter inside out, and his instincts knew that this wasn’t go to be good in the least bit.

“That super-hearing is a hard one to get used to.”

Before Peter could react, Sylar had turned all of the large grandfather clocks in the broad room to exactly midnight. The power that Peter hadn’t even noticed he’d absorbed went haywire, vibrated his very organs with its force. Sheer volume poured into Peter’s ears and sent him to his knees with erratic screams. Ding… dong….ding….dong…

*

Not long after Bennet made his grave affirmation, throaty screams saturated with absolute agony came echoing down the basement hall. Claire recognized them immediately and those tears she was fighting back pushed forward even harder.

“Peter!” she cried, taking one step towards the small steps before stopping and turning guiltily back to her father.

“I told you! Leave me here!” Bennet insisted. “Peter must live! Without him, Sylar can never be killed.”

“I-…Dad…” Claire moaned, shaking her head in conflict. Matt wrapped Bennet’s arm around his neck.

“Go help him, Claire. I’ll take care of your dad,” he assured her.

Claire sniffed back her consent, and wrapped her arms around her dad’s waist one last time.

“I love you, Dad,” she whimpered into his dusty blazer. Bennet pressed a kiss to her adopted daughter’s temple.

“I love you, Claire-bear,” he returned, in a blend of half-affection, half-haste. “Now go!”

So she did as she was told. Claire turned on her heel and sprinted into the darkness, which turned out to be a safer place then the light above. Soon, the sound of cries and chimes mingled with the slap of her sneakers, and once she got there, Claire actually hesitated before opening the timber door.

*

On the eighth pulse of torture to his now-bleeding ears, Peter felt his eardrums explode, temporarily putting him out of his misery. His whole body melted onto the floor, and if he had his way, he would have broken down and weeped, right there, like he had in the shower. But this was in Sylar’s lair, and he’d be damned before showing any sign of weakness in front of that odious killer.

Not like he needed to keep up an act though. As soon as Claire pushed her way through the basement door, Sylar’s attention was diverted right away. Peter saw him lick his lips in glee, or he was just imagining it, the mix of the pain and the pure unadulterated fatigue weighing him down.

What he knew wasn’t him imagination was the danger that Claire was in. She backed into the door, not even needing to be held down. The poor blonde was utterly trapped, and Sylar was advancing towards her. Peter pulled himself to a kneel, and summoned up power from the very base of his skull. I just need one shot, just one…right…now!

With a roar worthy of a Spartan warrior, Peter practically threw his whole body forward, sending a vast burst of ice right at Sylar. The gust threw the murderer back, and froze solid just in time to pin him to a wall. Peter’s one moment of happiness was getting his hearing back in time to hear Sylar’s shocked and pained yelp as he hit the sheetrock. Then he collapsed.

“Peter!”

He felt tiny hands pulling him and using a table leg to help him sit. Claire’s fingers brushed the hair from his face and cupped his cheeks, insisting that he get up.

“I…I can’t move…” Peter managed to breathe out; even his blinking seemed slow and lazy.

“No, you have to get up! That’s not gonna hold Sylar forever. Hiro! Help!”

Hiro got up from his place beside Jessica, and told Ando to go ahead and get her out of there. As Ando was gathering Jessica into his arms like she was made of porcelain, Hiro walked over to help Peter and Claire.

“Claire, I…I…” Peter’s chest heaved, gulping in breathes. His eyes were far off and dreamy, and he brought cool, icy fingertips to her cheek. Claire gazed at him intensely, when suddenly, the look in his eyes morphed to one of dread.

“I…am going to be sick.”

“Uh-oh,” groaned Hiro. He and Claire barely were able to pick Peter up and lean him over the table behind them (so clumsily, in fact, that they knocked two lit oil lanterns right onto the floor) before Peter was retching from pain, and God only knew what else.

Claire’s heart went out to him a hundred percent. To ease his suffering, she brushed his bangs off his sweaty forehead and stroked his back soothingly while he got sick. When he was done, which really didn’t take long considering he had nothing to be sick from, he wiped his mouth on the elbow of his sleeve and looked at her gratefully.

By this time, Matt had already brought Bennet up from the lower chambers, and Sylar was nearly done breaking out of his frozen chains.

Hiro caught sight of the rapidly growing fire from the oil lanterns. The wooden floors were dry and rotted, a thriving environment for fire and grease. Both lamps exploded from pressure, and he took a giant step back.

Claire was too busy trying to keep Peter with her to notice. Peter was only half awake, leaning on Claire and the table for support. Claire kept patting his cheeks and gently rocking him, stroking his hair, anything that would keep him conscious.

“Fire extinguisher!” yelped Hiro to Matt, pointing at the blaze that now covered a good five foot diameter.

“Don’t have one, I’m afraid,” a voice behind them faux-pouted. “I’m just a poor timepiece repairman after all.”

“Why won’t you die!” snarled Matt, nearly dropping Bennet to body slam Sylar. But he was stopped in his tracks by telekinesis, as were Hiro, Claire, and Peter. Sylar moseyed over to where Claire was cradling Peter’s dazed form in her arms.

“How sweet. The cheerleader caring for her hero,” Sylar cooed, cocking his head. With a mere blink, he tore them apart, throwing Claire to the floor.

“Stop!” she screeched, as Sylar gripped Peter by the jaw, that last scalding touch shutting down Peter’s mind all the way. But there was one person Sylar had neglected to restrain. One he overlooked.

Bennet grabbed two fistfuls of Sylar’s trench coat from behind and, with the force of a little old lady lifting a tree off her grandson, threw the sociopath into the roaring lantern fire.

“Go, now! All of you! I’ll hold him off!”

Matt was already starting to sling Peter across his shoulder as Hiro went to fetch his sword from off the ground. Claire was the only one protesting and it sickened her.

“No! We came all this way! We’re not leaving you!”

“I told Peter I owed him for saving you. When he awakes, I want you to tell him-Claire, you need to listen to me! Claire, I need you to tell him that my last wish was for him to protect you with his life once more.”

“No!” screamed Claire, pounding on his chest. “Come with us, I won’t let you die! I won’t let you-,”

But her pleas were futile. Arms reached out of the fire, flames licking all up and down them, and they grabbed Bennet’s ankles and pulled him down into the inferno as well. No good deed goes unpunished.

“DAD!!!” Claire shrieked, sobs racking her body in disbelief. It wasn’t fair, that she could walk through fire and not get burned, while here it would be the death of her father. And this is what he wanted? To die in front of her eyes, when he had the perfect opportunity to escape?

“Come, Cheerleader, we go!” Hiro respectfully put a hand over her eyes, because watching her father get engulfed by flames was like a train wreck: she was aghast and wailing, but she couldn’t look away. Hiro pulled her along, her bones and muscles weakly obliging. Pity and heartbreak was obvious in his solemn tones, and Claire smelt burning hopes as she passed through the front door.

A group of civilians was already starting to stare at the fire licking through the shop. Matt was tiredly telling them that it was a kitchen fire, and they barely made it out. Someone call the cops. Innocent bystander sort of things.

Ando wrapped Hiro into a hug as soon as his friend emerged; the one cheerful moment in this chaos. Jessica was still knocked out, and Claire had made her away to the ground, crawling over to Peter’s lifeless body. It didn’t matter if he was dead or just down for the count, for he’d come back anyway, but she still sobbed in his flaccid arms, tears sticking to his bare, ashy, jaw. At that point, her heart, her soul, her very being, had been ripped from under her skin and stomped on, and she didn’t care who saw anymore. She just needed Peter again, and didn’t realize how much she did need him until he was half-dead and not there to help her grieve. Claire wept, and moaned, but even lying against Peter’s unaware figure, she still felt one thing return to her: the sensation of being safe again.

“We need to go,” Matt announced to them gravelly. Hiro said that he could try teleporting them all. The New Yorkers would be too distracted by the fire to notice. Not wanting to risk losing anybody, Hiro made two trips to wherever he decided to take them; one with Ando, and Jessica, then another with Matt, Peter, and Claire. Hopefully, wherever they ended up would be out of harm's way and quiet.

Then again, compared to the firey house of Grey and Son’s Watch Repairs, anything looked like heaven.