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Chapter Twenty

“Judgment Day”

Peter Petrelli, Claire Bennet, and Gabriel ‘Sylar’ Gray

Peter’s Apartment, Lower East Side

Sylar was going to kill Claire Bennet and Peter Petrelli and there was nothing anybody could do about it.

But at least Peter could try.

‘Matt’ still stood leering at him, and then turned back to Claire. The girl was acting oblivious, but Peter could sense a caution flag buzzing in the back of brain. Sylar was acting relatively natural towards Claire, making Peter’s stomach boil. He took a deep breath, still trying to remain in control, for that was the key.

It was essential to do this carefully. Leaping up and attacking with brute force would be suicide for the both of them. Peter had to play the ignorance card this time. Stand up, act casual, and pretend that he had no idea that he was about to die.

“Hey Matt,” he smiled offhandedly, getting up from his bed. “What’s goin’ on?”

Before Peter could even inhale another breath, Sylar lazily threw a hand forward, sending him careening backwards, smashing right through his own atrium window. Claire cried out his name and tried to rush into the bedroom, but barely made it two feet before she was pinned to a wall.

“Not so fast,” Sylar grinned, his hand raised in her direction. The heavyset form of Matt Parkman gained three inches, spiky brown hair, and a lean, lanky frame. One month ago, Claire would have freaked out at seeing one person shift into another, but nowadays, nothing surprised her. She was much too preoccupied with seeing her life flash before her eyes, and all the other stuff that supposedly happened when you die. This was the real thing though, she knew, not temporary death like all those other times. Isaac’s paintings had foretold it all along, yet even preparation could not stop it. Claire, however, had no regrets. The last night of her life had been spent with the man she’d grown to love more than anything.

After all, even though Claire was crucified to the living room partition with invisible nails, all she could think about was Peter.

Sylar was mildly disappointed in the loss of the empath as well. He had, in actuality, no intention of throwing Peter fourteen stories, but that’s when you get throw telekinesis all over the damn place without aiming. But it’s not like Peter would die, or anything, so it really wasn’t a loss. Just another hunt for another day.

Why cry over spilt milk when you had a bowl of ice cream in front of you?

Claire was shaking like a leaf, her world turned instantly upside down like a snow globe. Sylar approached her, a nasty, hungry, smile across his face. With each step forward that he took, Claire recalled another memory that altered her life. Five feet away. “You’re adopted, Claire.”

Four feet away. “Your mother is pregnant. You’re gonna have a baby brother! Isn’t this exciting?”

Three feet away.  Peter. “Hey, uh…do you know this girl? Jackie Wilcox?”

Two feet. She could feel Sylar’s body heat now, feel his bloodlust, but the images and memories played on.

Brody’s car smashing into the wall. Jackie waving that stupid cheerleader outfit in her face like a popularity flag. The first time she ever saw The Haitian.

“Your name is Zach, right? Could you help me with something? I need a cameraman for something…”

Laying eyes on Peter Petrelli. “You’re totally my hero.”

Hands on her waist, wrenching her out of the truck’s path. That voice rasping her name.

Peter asking her what her favorite color was, on the rooftop. Yellow.

Taking that blow from Claude’s bowstick for him. Talking all night in the ‘secret clubhouse.’

Pulling him out of the bathtub as he breathed life again. Flying over New York and feeling his muscles.

Sobbing in his unconscious arms. The first kiss against the moonlight... Every single kiss since then.

Peter’s warm, bare body hovering over hers and admiringly kissing her neck. They felt ecstasy as one.

“I love you, Claire.”

Though it had taken barely a couple seconds for Sylar to push her against the wall and walk over to her, all the thoughts and comprehensions made it seem like infinity. Claire’s eyes were glistening now, knowing that she’d never see Peter’s crooked smile, that silky hair, that lovely face, ever, ever again. Perhaps only in heaven, with an eternity to wait. Sylar’s hand was now clenched around her throat, a pointer finger directed at her skull.

Sylar tutted. “Shame I have to kill you. What a lucky guy Peter was. You really are a pretty girl. Just like the girl I took the illusion power from when you all were playing X-Men.”

Claire ignored him, and was now getting to a point where she wished that he’d just get it over with. For a second, she was fearful he got to Matt too, for he seemed to have read her mind. A sharp feeling began on her left temple…not quite pain, since Claire couldn’t really feel pain…but more like a scraping sensation.

Claire screamed Peter’s name, because she wanted that to be the last word out of her mouth, for the entire world to hear.

Xoxoxoxoxo

It took Peter three seconds to even realize that he’d just gone through a window and was falling to his death. Brief death, but still.

Once Peter had regained his thought process, the world started to move in slow motion. A million trains of thought launched in one instant, rushing along their tracks. Human instinct was taking over Peter’s brain, and all he could do was sit back and watch.

Sylar is up there with Claire. Alone.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, no. This couldn’t be happening. But it was just like in Isaac’s painting, so it HAD to be. Peter would make it back up to his apartment to find the broken glass window, and a beheaded Claire lying in a pool of her own blood. The very vision made Peter want to vomit then and there, 100 feet off the ground. Now it was just a war between his consciousness as he plummeted closer and closer to the pavement.

That painting’s about to become a reality if you don’t do something! Fly back up there and save her!

But…but I can’t fly!

Yes, you can. You know how you feel about Nathan now.

Peter concentrated on those feelings, fought against his racking nerves, and twenty feet before he hit the ground, he found himself slowing to a stop. Eventually, he was just hovering, levitating parallel to the second story.

Grinning, Peter uprighted himself so that he floated more or less a standing position. He internally thanked his older brother for begging him to watch that press conference, for that speech had solidified Peter’s feelings about Nathan. The congressman proved himself a good man, and Peter was proud to call himself Nathan Petrelli’s little brother.

“PETER!!!!!” came a yell from above him that sounded more like a war cry then a distress call. He immediately shot up in the air to go to Claire’s aide, slowing until the shards of broken window outlined his frame.

“Get the hell off of her!” he snarled, tearing Sylar away from Claire with a flick of his wrists. The villain fell backwards over a couch with a loud “Oof!”, and Claire slipped down the wall into a heap on the floor.

“Claire!” Peter breathed, sprinting over to her. The bloody gash on her forehead healed quickly, leaving only a streak of red behind. She squinted at him through bleary eyes.

“Peter? Are you…?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he sighed and smiled in relief, trying to help her up. But the battle was not over yet. Sylar got up like he hadn’t even been hit, a still-smug smirk on his twisted mouth.

“Thanks for saving me another hunt,” he sneered, glee twinkling in his eyes. Anger raged in Peter, and this time, he didn’t even give Sylar a chance to throw a punch. As soon as the words were out of the fiend’s mouth, Peter had him dangling over the edge of the broken window. If Peter let go, Sylar would fall to the ground with unpleasant consequences.

The rage and power that coursed through Peter’s veins was just like when he trashed the Deveaux building. However, it was being channeled now, controlled. Peter no longer let reckless fury take over his body; he used it to defeat his enemies.  

With no Hiro or sword in sight, Peter would have to end this himself. He moseyed on over to the edge, where floor met freefall, and stared at Sylar bitterly.

“Any last words?” he growled. The soulless mask on the watchmaker’s face contorted back to its original smugness.

“I’ve got a trick for you,” Sylar husked, breaking away from Peter’s bonds and shooting up into the air.

The first thing that went through Peter’s mind was that Sylar had snatched Nathan. But Sylar wasn’t flying nearly as fast, and his movements were much more rigid. Peter experimentally pushed against the ground with telekinesis, and to his emotional liberation, his feet lifted a couple inches off the ground.

Sylar “flew” off as best he could, throwing a taunting look over his shoulder. Peter headed to where Claire was, words coming out of his mouth so fast that she barely heard him ask if she was okay.

“Call everyone, okay? Tell them to follow me and Sylar from the ground. I’ll try to contain him to one spot, and then we can all bombard him at once.” He hastily licked his thumb and rubbed it across Claire’s forehead as he spoke, wiping away the blood there.

“You’re going after him?!” Claire exclaimed shrilly. She’d just gotten him back after thinking she was going to never see him again. There was no way she could handle Peter’s life at risk again.

“I’ll be fine,” Peter assured her as tenderly as he could in the hurriedness of the moment. After pressing a soft kiss to her lips, he grabbed his trenchcoat, and started sprinting towards the opening in the window. As soon as the ground ended, Peter’s body soared into the air, shooting after the villain they all feared.

Claire still shook from the pure rush of all that had just happened before her eyes. She’d had several brushes with death itself, but it was the near-death experience she’d just confronted that scared her the most. Swallowing the past two minutes and picking herself up off the floor, Claire whipped her cell phone out of her pocket and punched in the real Matt Parkman’s number.

Nathan Petrelli and Mohinder Suresh

Petrelli Mansion, Manhattan

Peter seemed to be touched by an angel lately, having been able to save Claire and himself. Because of this, if his speculations were correct, he wouldn’t explode either. It only got better, as Nathan was at the first place Peter looked: their family mansion.

The eldest Petrelli brother was in his peach-walled study, speaking about their latest agenda, when a harsh rapping came from behind them. Peter stood outside, in the rose bushes, desperatly banging on the glass with his fist.

“My God,” Mohinder cocked his head. “What on Earth is going on?”

Frowning in bewilderment, Nathan unlocked the clasp on the casement and pushed the window open like a saloon door.

“Peter, what are you doing? Why didn’t you just use the door?”

His brother was out of breath and gasping out a reply. “It’s Sylar. He came to the apartment and tried to kill us, and he got away. I’ve been chasing him, but look- Nathan. You’ve gotta…you’ve gotta fly to my apartment, and get Claire, okay? She might have left with the others by now, but she’ll be following me from below.”

Nathan was still utterly confused. “What the hell about Claire? So I find her and then what?”

“Get her away from this mess. Take her to Isaac’s loft, and stay there, both of you. You both need to be away from us and Sylar. If I lost either one of you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“And the others? They’re just going to fight?” Nathan asked incredulously, and Peter was slightly surprised by his sibling’s selflessness.

“That’s what they’ve been trained for. And listen, Claire’s going to say anything to change your mind, but ignore her. She’s stubborn, and she’ll want to help me. But you have to promise me that you’ll keep her safe. Nathan. Vow to me that you’ll do this.”

The congressman nodded slowly. Here he was, taking orders from the little brother that he held a good decade on in age and wisdom. Yet, the headship, confidence, and desperation in Peter’s being all mingled together to form a man that was meant to be a leader. It was always his destiny, but he was too overshadowed by Nathan for anyone to notice.

“Be careful,” Nathan whispered, resting a palm against his brother’s face. Peter and Nathan were always more physically affectionate then most siblings, even for Italians, but the tenderness of this gesture made both of them shiver a little.

“I love you, Nathan.”

“Love you too, Pete.”

Mohinder stood back, feeling out of place while watching their familial interactions.

Peter sniffed, hardly audible, and he slipped out of his brother’s arm length. It felt like all he was doing today was saying goodbye the ones he loved, off to a war that could not be won. It was most assuredly paranoia, seeing as they were all trained, they outnumbered Sylar, and Lady Luck was on Peter’s side. But the last battle was still embedded into Peter’s brain; more burned then the body of Claire’s father, Bennet.

Peter flew into the clouds once again, leaving his brother staring at sheets of blue and pillows of white above him.

“Mohinder,” Nathan announced, turning around and facing the professor. “Get in your cab and drive to Peter’s apartment. Pick up everyone, and trail Peter. You’ll all be faster by car.”

“But Nathan-!”

Mohinder’s protests were overlooked. Remembering what Peter had instructed him to do, Nathan followed suit, flying into the air. Protecting the object of Peter’s affection was now a mission that Nathan had every intention to execute.

Claire

Centre and Canal Street, Lower East Side

Having exposited Peter’s intentions to Matt on the phone, as she impatiently rode the elevator towards the ground floor, Claire was now ready to search the skies for Sylar and Peter. Parkman was staying in the same hotel as Niki, and they were to meet Claire together. Just as Claire was about to call Hiro, the Japanese man teleported beside her.

“Whoa,” Claire reeled back, suspicious that he may have been Sylar in disguise. “How did you know to come here?”

“You call me,” Hiro said cheerfully. This was actually five-minutes-in-the-future Hiro, so in that moment, there were two Hiros walking the planet. In a few minutes, everything would catch up to itself. Claire didn’t really care how the time-space continuum worked, though. All that mattered was another helper by her side. Unfortunately, all the help in the world couldn’t save her from the next crisis.

Nathan Petrelli landed softly in front of her.

“Let’s go,” he said immediately, wrapping his long arms around her frame. Claire pushed him away indignantly.

“No way! I’m helping them! Peter told me to!”

“He said you’d say that,” Nathan replied bluntly. “He told me to get you out of here.”

Claire’s jaw dropped. Offense and annoyance washed over her features and the name of the one she loved came out in a hiss. How dare he control what she did? If she wanted to help him, she should be able to!

“He’s trying to protect you,” Nathan sighed. “Don’t make this hard.”

Fuming, Claire tried to turn away, but Nathan was quicker. In one fluid movement, he picked her up off her feet, and shot up into the air.

Hiro looked around, having no clue where to go from there, when a yellow cab pulled up in front of him. An Indian man poked his head out of the window.

“Are you with the others?” Mohinder asked quickly, and Hiro’s clueless expression turned to one of confidence and serenity. He pushed his glasses up his nose coolly.

“My name is Hiro Nakamura, and I am here to save the world.”

Peter and Sylar

Somewhere over Manhattan

It wasn’t long before Peter caught up to Sylar, a few thousand feet above Central Park. The upper hand that he had on his opponent was hypersonic speed, a talent only accessed with real flying. Now, he just had to usher Sylar to wherever their team could meet the quickest.

“I was gonna give you a chance, you know?” Sylar taunted over the howling wind. “Live a couple more days with your girlfriend before I come back and take your abilities. But since you’re so persistent…”

His large hand was clutched around Peter’s throat in the blink of an eye. Fighting against the searing dizziness, Peter concentrated all of his negative energy into one burst. Hate, anger, fear, adrenaline. It all was mixed into a ball of fire and fury in the pit of his stomach. With a loud yell, he let it all out, pushing Sylar out of the sky with a huge blast of telekinesis in every direction.

Sylar’s eyes widened as he plummeted towards the rapidly approaching earth, and he managed to catch himself before impact. Now, it wasn’t just about getting Petrelli’s ability anymore. The silly brat thinks he has what it takes to kill me? What a fool…

Peter watched Sylar shoot back up to his level with anticipation. The trash talking was over; time to lead the horse to the glue factory.

“Hey Sylar! Catch me if you can!” Peter hollered, jetting off as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He zigzagged through skyscrapers, Sylar unable to keep up the pace. But he wasn’t quite trying to evade his enemy, so he slowed his speed by just enough to equal Sylar’s own.

The landing spot Peter was looking for came into view. A pile of broken wood and wire was still piled in the back corner, but the Deveaux Roof was otherwise intact. He detested the spot, and it reminded him that he was a murderer, but that was what he needed right now. Rage, wrath, passion. He didn’t even worry about exploding anymore, because Claire was alive, and safe, and that could keep him grounded in even the most dismal of circumstances.

His feet touched down on the concrete roughly, and he looked over the ledge to see if his peers had arrived. Not quite yet, unfortunately, and Peter wondered if he’d have to do this alone. It couldn’t be that hard to take Sylar’s brain, could it?

A rough club on the head broke him out of his reservations. Sylar made his landing as well, already trying to beat Peter to a pulp with the broken pieces of bird cage. Blow after blow slammed the empath in the face, stomach, arms, everywhere. Perhaps the hardest part of killing Sylar alone would be actually getting to the madman in the first place.

Once he was able to think straight, Peter started blocking some of the hits with his mind, much to Sylar’s infuriation. The watchmaker fought back with an even stronger fervor, and the bruises started to take longer to heal. Peter had gone from confidently powerful to heinously losing, and if his allies didn’t arrive soon…

Rather he didn’t think about that.

Mohinder and Hiro Nakamura

Manhattan Streets

Mohinder Suresh was the most unpopular taxi driver in New York, mostly because he was a ‘five miles under the speed limit’ kind of guy. But on November 8^th, he seemed to be channeling Mario Andretti.

Swerving through nearly empty streets, for Nathan’s evacuation orders had left the city about seventy percent abandoned, Mohinder murmured apologies to Hiro for all the near-misses. It wasn’t a ghost town by any means, but there were luckily enough people off the roads for him to make his way around with almost no accidents.

Sylar and Peter were visible from the ground, and Mohinder assigned it as Hiro’s “job” to watch after them. Yet they came to a disagreement when they spotted the brawling men landed on the Deveaux Building.

Hiro ordered for Mohinder to go get Niki and Matt, who were still at their Brooklyn hotel. Mohinder, however, said that was much too far away, and if they went to go get the others, Peter would be a goner. Hiro slumped in his chair, wishing he hadn’t sent Ando back to Japan. Sidekicks were good to bounce ideas off of in a time like this.

“Do you know where they are, exactly?” questioned Mohinder rapidly. Hiro shrugged.

“Rose Mar-kwee hotel. I don’t know where dat is.”

“5^th and Chestnut,” replied Mohinder automatically, his Brooklyn living arrangements coming in handy. “Can you teleport there and pick them up?”

Hiro was reluctant at first, but realized what Ando would tell him. A hero never runs.

“I try,” Hiro said, and he dissolved into thin air.

Mohinder closed his eyes and counted to himself, hoping to God, or Vishnu, or Allah, or whoever was out there that this would work. One…two…

He felt the cab jiggle a little, and when he opened his eyes, Hiro was back in the passenger seat with an accomplished grin on his face. Two people Mohinder had never encountered before, presumably Matt and Niki, were in the backseat looking slightly bewildered.

“You might want to buckle your seatbelts,” Mohinder muttered, and he slammed his foot on the gas.

Claire, Nathan, and Isaac

Isaac’s Loft, Lower Manhattan

Isaac didn’t exactly seem happy to entertain visitors when Nathan came storming in with Claire, but when he heard the situation, he gladly invited them in with open arms. In fact, on sight of seeing Claire slightly bloody, but alive, he beamed and clutched her shoulder tenderly.

Claire, though grateful for Isaac’s care, had other things on her mind.

“Nathan, you have to take me back to them!” she cried fiercely. “I’m indestructible, I’ll be fine! If Peter starts exploding, he needs me!”

Nathan did not reply, but just stood there, staring out the window. His eyes hadn’t left the horizon since they walked in.

“But I thought if you were saved today, he wouldn’t explode. Save the cheerleader, save the world,” Isaac frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don’t think that’s why,” Claire whispered. “I don’t know; I just have this awful feeling that something bad is still gonna happen to him.”

“You’re just anxious, Claire,” Nathan replied, forcing himself to remain calm while his emotions were equal in gale. “He’s got back-up to help him with Sylar. You’ll see him again soon.”

“He’s your brother!” Claire screeched, grabbing Nathan forcefully by the arm and turning him to face her. The older man looked surprised at the violent gesture. “How can you just look out the window and hope it’s okay? Don’t you even care about what could happen to him?!”

Nathan turned to her and sighed, considering putting his hands on her shoulders. But he refrained, for he knew Claire would just push him away.

“I love my brother just as much as you do, Claire. And that’s why we need to respect his wishes.”

“And since when do you take orders from him?”

Nathan’s strict features hardened even more, and he did not answer her. Instead, he turned his eyes back to the New York skyline, hopeful that Claire’s paranoia was in concern rather then foresight.

Mohinder, Niki, Matt, and Hiro

The Deveaux Building, Central Park

The four strangers, forced together through fate and disaster, emptied out of the taxi cab in the front of Charles Deveaux’s apartment complex. Niki, Mohinder, and Matt stared up at the high walls hopelessly, but Hiro was already in motion.

“Teleport-o to roof!” he exclaimed, grabbing the other two metahumans on the arm. Mohinder was left by his cab, pulse racing.

He barely heard Hiro ask, “You come too?”

“Uh…,” Mohinder shook his head. This was the stop for any simple geneticist/cabbie. He’d fulfilled his role in the grand design of things, and it was time to let the others take over.

Hiro nodded once, and the three allies disappeared.

Once up on the roof, they were immediately caught in a maelstrom. Peter lay crumpled on the ground, still fighting back, but losing quickly. Niki approached Sylar and pulled him to the ground. It wasn’t much; without Jessica’s super-strength, Niki wasn’t exactly a weight lifter. But the distraction allowed Peter to at least get to his feet.

However, Sylar now approached Niki with an angry desire. The thin woman’s eyes widened as Sylar’s tall frame blocked out the sun from her vision, eclipsing light with his silhouette.

“Hi there,” he smirked.

A sharp sound cut through the thick, slow motioned silence. Hiro held his gleaming katana in confident hands now, as Peter caught Matt’s mental cue to pin Sylar down.

Sylar fought against Peter’s telekinesis as he saw Hiro and the blade rushing speedily towards him. White noise flooded his mind and he roared, turning harsh eyes towards the telepath whom he’d taken the form of earlier that day.

“Do it!” yelled Peter to Hiro, grimacing against Sylar’s defiance of his powers.  His sneakers slid backwards against the concrete, failing the game of mental tug-of-war.

Hiro took a deep breath and held his sword like Tiger Woods getting ready to swing at a golf club. On swift movement, and the top of Sylar’s head would slide right off.

But Hiro hesitated, and Sylar seized the opportunity.

With a vigorous bellow, Sylar lifted his arm and pushed all of Peter’s energy against Hiro. The sword, followed by the Japanese man himself, went soaring over the side of the building. Hiro barely managed a surprised squeak before he was thrown into peril.

“No!” Peter cried, jumping over Sylar to fly after his friend. It was just Matt and Niki now, against an extremely miffed bad guy.

Even that didn’t last very long. Niki was pulled into the cracked greenhouse, leaving Matt and Sylar one-on-one. The fiend was too happy to lose another opponent that he didn’t give much thought into what actually happened to Niki.

The blonde’s cry was muffled against the unseen hand clasped across her mouth. After a few moments of contact, the hand materialized in front of her and relaxed its grip.

“Claude?” she breathed, turning around to face the mentor. “What’s the deal?”

“They’re dying out there, just like I thought they would,” Claude declared bluntly. “It’s time to use your ability.”

“I can’t! I couldn’t ever channel anyone, remember?” Niki hissed back. Claude looked at her cynically.

“Times of stress bring out unknown intelligence. Pretend that’s your son out there getting pummeled. Would you be able to do it then?”

Claude was not kind to her as he usually was; he was stern and non-nonsense, the same as how he treated his other pupils. His words stung her, as she imagined Sylar coming even within ten feet of Micah Sanders.

“I’ll try,” she muttered desperately, and Claude left her to go help Matt.

“Get up,” snarked a familiar voice from beside her. Jessica glared from one of the small greenhouse windows, dressed in sleek black.

“Leave me alone!” screamed Niki, slamming her hand against the glass. “I know why you’re doing this!”

“Oh really?” Jessica arched a challenging eyebrow. “If you really knew, you’d be able to use your stupid power by now, Niki.”

“Shut up,” Niki shook her head, backing away. “You’re trying to hurt me.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “Figure-it-out!”

“I can’t!”

“Stop saying that you can’t and just do it!”

Niki slammed her hand against the reflective surface again, and it shattered, cutting her hand. She winced, and brushed tiny pieces of glass out of her wound, slowing as it dawned on her.

The mirror.

That was it. Jessica had been trying to tell her all along, but she was too afraid and too stubborn to listen. The mirror, or glass, or whatever surface she could see herself in was some sort of portal. A portal to the other world, where she could access the souls of the dead.

Niki inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and pressing both palms against the greenhouse wall. Several dusty panes stared back, and she pressed her forehead against them. Niki Sanders was not the type of woman that anyone ever depended on. She wasn’t important. This type of pressure was heavier then any burden placed upon her frail shoulders, and all she could really do was implore.

“Please,” she begged, and stared into the surface, watching her own beseeching eyes gaze back.

Meanwhile, Peter was having an internal battle of his own while trying to save Hiro. The time stopper himself was falling headfirst, reaching longingly for the sword, with Peter right behind him. If that blade hit the ground, there was a chance that it could break, and their entire plan would go ka-boom (hopefully not literally). But if Hiro wasn’t caught, then they’d have a death of a kind-hearted, innocent young man on their hands.

So Peter was unusually quick and crafty. Zooming down to grasp Hiro around the waist, he opened a palm in the sword’s general direction, pulling it into his hand.

“I think this is yours,” Peter said dryly, awkwardly handing Hiro back his samurai sword. Hiro took it gratefully, almost giddy after being unpredictably saved.

Peter shot back up towards the roof with Hiro in tow, landing gracefully in the middle of the porch. Matt was trying to hold Sylar off with mental static, but it quickly became an inadequate defense. Instead of collapsing under the telepathic pulses, Sylar was giving Matt a taste of his own medicine. Soon, all Matt heard was ticking, chiming, clockwork in his head. He collapsed onto the ground, groaning and pressing his temples.

Then, Peter spied Claude emerging from the greenhouse, only half surprised that the invisible man joined their company of misfits.

“Claude! Where’s Niki?!”

Before Claude could answer, the blonde emerged from the greenhouse, looking slightly bewildered but tough all the same. At first, Peter’s gut wrenched and he assumed the odious Jessica had returned. But there was something different about this version of Niki. Strength burned through her pale blue eyes, and when she spoke to Peter, it was in a thick, New Jersey accent.

“What the hell is going on?” she demanded. Her face softened as she took in the sight of Claude. “Claude? Whatcha…”

“Tammy,” Peter gasped. “Niki did it! She figured it out too!”

“Figured what-,” Tammy began, but she was cut off by a scrap of flying wood that nearly hit her in the head. Hiro had Sylar distracted by teleporting to different spots around him, inciting a frustration in the killer.

“I’m an empath, like you,” Peter exposited hastily, pulling her aside. “That guy is Sylar. We’re trying to kill him, but we need your help. Absorb his telekinesis and help me hold him down. I’m not strong enough to do it alone.”

Tammy seemed willing, though dazed. “Why are you trying to kill him? Why should I even help you?”

Claude crouched beside them, touching his last student on the shoulder. “Trust me, love. We’ll explain everything later.”

The word of a friend persuaded her, and Peter pulled her out with him to face Sylar.

“Now!” he ordered, thrusting himself forward and holding Sylar down with all the strength he could muster. When Tammy understood what he wanted, she pressed forward as well, making Sylar utterly pinned down. Unluckily for them, Murphy’s Law had to come into play yet again.

Peter saw a glowing redness out of the corner of his eye and glanced at Tammy. Though she was successfully helping in the effort to restrain Sylar, she had a little problem of her own. Niki’s body glowed and burned, throbbing like the core of a bomb, and that’s when Peter finally understood how it was all going to go down.

His body was on fire too.

“What are you doing?!” he screamed at her, and Tammy glared back, that annoyance in her gaze again.

“You think I’m doin’ this on purpose? It’s that bastard of a boy that my daughter left with. I absorbed his power before he killed me with it, and I never learned how to control the damn thing!”

The color drained out of Peter’s face, and he remembered the story Claire told him weeks ago. How her house burnt down, and the ‘exploding man’ responsible for it.

“What was his name?” Peter bellowed over the roar of radioactivity.

“WHAT?”

He shouted out the question again, and Tammy answered just as he suspected she would.

“Ted Freaking Sprauge, that was his name!”

Meanwhile, Hiro was trying to approach Sylar and cut out his brain, but the burning heat from both Tammy and Peter kept him away.

“I cannot get close enough!” Hiro cried. “Pet-ah! Kill Sylar!”

He tried to hand Peter the katana, but the tip of the sword softened and bent as soon as Peter took it in his hand. Letting go immediately, as to not damage the sword even more, he turned back towards Tammy and Sylar.

“Keep holding him! I’m going in!”

Tammy nodded, and Peter took step by strenuous step towards their nightmare. It could all be over in one quick slice…

“Get out of here, both of you,” Claude ordered Matt and Hiro. “This could get mighty ugly!”

He waved away both of their incensed protests, and after seeing how close Peter was to finishing Sylar off, Hiro grabbed Matt’s shoulders and teleported him away.

Peter forced his arm up and stretched out his fingers towards Sylar’s forehead. The watchmaker sat, wordless and dumb, his chocolate eyes never blinking as Peter Petrelli drew a sharp line across his forehead. It was the ultimate karma, to die the way his victims had. Added to Peter’s scorching glow burning the flesh right off of his bones, Sylar was in more excruciating pain then he’d ever experienced. Yet, Tammy Gallagher’s hold was too strong, and he couldn’t even scream.

Peter fought back disgust as Sylar’s skull was finally separate from the rest of his body. Closing his eyes, he jerked his fingers to the side, focusing on removing the brain from the rest of the monster. And right after, when Peter felt Sylar die, saw his bright grey aura flicker into nothingness, he knew they’d finally won.

Until he was reminded of the little exploding problem.

Isaac, Claire, and Nathan

Isaac’s Loft, Lower Manhattan

“Claire,” Nathan began quietly. “Come over here. I think you need to see this.”

He hadn’t left his spot by the windowsill, and it finally earned its worth. Out to the north was a gleaming patch of light, slightly hard to see in the morning sun, but still visible. It was pulsing, on top of a building most likely, and Claire knew there was only one possibility for the phenomenon.

“Oh my God,” Isaac whispered, gawking at the spectacle. “He can’t be-,”

“Peter,” she choked, pressing a hand against the glass. “How can this be happening?”

Nathan moistened his lips. “I dunno, he said he’d have it under control.”

“Well I guess not!” Claire spat hysterically. “Now will you take me to him?”

It took Nathan a New York minute to make up his mind.

Niki, Claude, and Peter

The Deveaux Building, Central Park

“Thanks a million for your help, but you really need to let Niki come back now,” Peter stammered at the woman, knowing they could get at least one radioactive person off the charts.

Tammy bowed her head once in acceptance of his plans, and Niki came back with a large intake of air. She fell to her knees in exhaustion, prompting Claude to rush over and carry her to the back corner of the rooftop. He held an arm up to his face to shield his eyes from Peter’s glowing radiance.

Peter turned to face his comrades. “I don’t know how to control this,” he said softly, shaking his head and clenching his white-hot fists to try and stop.

“Calm down! Think of Claire!” insisted Claude. “That always helped before, didn’t it?”

Not this time. Rather then the sweet musings of a lovesick puppy like most of the Claire-centric thoughts had their basis in, now, they were worries of death and despair. Claire burnt to a crisp from the radiation, all of her new allies dead. Buildings in the city blown out like milk bottles at a carnival game.

So Peter tried another tactic by using his own power against himself. He tapped into Sylar’s cryokinisis and tried to freeze his skin, but fire conquered ice this time. The layer of frost barely stayed solid before it melted and blew away, off to be acid rain somewhere. Those intense thoughts he had to churn up to be able to kill Sylar were sticking around, and until he could calm them, the burn would remain.

Then, the deus ex machina that Peter feared finally arrived. Nathan landed in front of him, with Claire in his arms.

“I told you to stay away!” he snapped at his older brother.

“Claire’s the only one that can end this. You know it, Peter,” Nathan replied smartly. It was, indeed, fact. Claire was the sole person that could soothe his soul, make him feel truly cared about.

Nathan turned away, stepped over to Niki, and cradled the half-awake blonde.

“Nathan?” she asked in disbelief, peering up at him with fatigued vision. The congressman nodded tersely.

“Let’s get you out of here,” was all he said before bending his knees and flying off, Niki held in his strong embrace.

And then there were three.

Claire wasted no time in throwing herself into Peter’s arms. She ignored the tingling feeling of pain, the blindness, the heat. She ignored the knowledge of her clothes being melded to her skin, and her hair burning away like fuses. She simply lost herself in the same plane as Peter, where they both used to roam alone and bumped into each other in between slipstream. Two souls finding each other in a big dimension, but they knew they were meant to be together from the very beginning. It wasn’t hard a hard thing to realize when they lived in their two person world.

Peter pulled her away so he could see her at arms length, and his heart nearly shut down. All her skin was peeling away, fresh patches regenerating, burning, and then regrowing again. There was no way she could last forever like this; Claire was undoubtedly dying.

Save the cheerleader, save the world.

And then, it all clicked for real.

He had to save Claire one last time: for the world, for New York, and for him. Ironically, the only thing that could allow him to do so was Claire herself. It was a perfect circle, and thinking back on providence, and the events that led up to midday on November 8^th, fate’s schematics were a flawless design. If Peter didn’t fall in love with Claire, New York would be doomed.

It was destiny in her most complex, but basic form.

Peter fell to his knees, still ablaze. Claire held him to her breast and pressed charred lips into his hair, bending to whisper endearments in his ears.

“Claire,” he moaned, clutching onto her for dear life. “I can’t-,”

“Shh, just breathe,” she whispered, stroking his back relaxingly, just like after their union the previous night.

Everybody had a part to play in this game. Niki, Claude, Isaac, Nathan, even Mohinder! Unfortunately, some people’s roles were to die, like Simone or Mr. Bennet. Yet Peter was certain, that if he had the chance to look back on it later, a seemingly meaningless and ordinary event could be the last supporting piece on the unstable Jenga tower of time and space.

Save the cheerleader, save the world.

She was more then just a cheerleader now. She was more then just the girl that hadn’t been watching her way on Homecoming night and bumped into the boyishly-haired stranger in the hallway. Claire had a name and a personality, but most significantly…

…she had love, and that was Claire Bennet’s act of contribution to God’s plan.

Her devotion tamed the fire inside Peter’s soul before, and today it tamed the inferno licking across his physical being. Peter’s breathing returned to normal and the radioactive glow withered away like Sylar’s life. But Peter was still here. Choking and shivering before passing out on the Deveaux building’s roof, but he still was, unlike the decapitated mongrel behind him.

All Claire could do was wrap her arms around his wiry frame, and weep in silent happiness, for it was over. There were no more twists, or unseen predicaments. The world was finally saved, Sylar dead, and Claire could go back to just being a girl.

Well, just a girl with superpowers, mutant friends, an invisible bio-dad, and an adoring lover. But different wasn’t necessarily bad. It was just like Zach told her an hour before Peter Petrelli walked into her life. You have to embrace your inner freak.

Claire felt warm arms wrapping around her, and Claude’s image glimmered into the visible spectrum. He stroked her hair and held both Peter and Claire in a loose grip. Though she loved Lyle and Sandra, this was her family now.

It was her dad’s last word of advice: Don’t put the ones you love at risk. Of course, Peter had tried following the same advice, which would have been dire, but Claire was already involved in the chaos. Lyle and Mrs. Bennet were innocent, and didn’t deserve to be pulled into Claire’s extreme life. Who knew when the next Sylar could come pop up? No, Claire’s life was changed forever now, and there was no turning away from who she was- from who any of them were.

It was time for all of them to start anew, together.