Author: Grasspaw PM
Because tomorrow they'll be left alone again, and she'll cry and he'll rage and they'll both die a little more. But tonight she'll sing and he'll dance and they'll both come within inches of feeling alive for the first time... neither one remembers.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Angst - Sylar/Gabriel G. & Elle B. - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,976 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 4 - Follows: 2 - Updated: 03-27-12 - Published: 02-26-12 - Status: Complete - id: 7873541
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
*Shrug* Figure this one out yourself. I have a vague idea of what's going on, so I may or may not write that up and post it as a second chapter. I own nothing.
They almost wish it doesn't happen. It's amazing, it's incredible, but they almost, almost, wish they never experienced it, because it's even worse to go back after feeling like this.
Because tomorrow they'll be left alone again, everyone else gone, and she'll cry and he'll rage and they'll both die a little more. But tonight... Tonight, she'll sing and he'll dance, and she'll laugh and he'll talk, and they'll both come within inches of feeling alive for the first time in... neither one remembers at this point.
They just know that the worst feeling in their world, which has shrunk down to this tiny room that once felt so large, is to wake up with only each other for company after everything that happened the night before. And she'll cry. And he'll rage. And they'll both beat against the walls, trapped inside by none other than themselves, to protect the other people that still slip in through the cracks anyways, the cracks that the two of them can't fit through.
She killed one of them once, furious at the way they were being used. Shot a bolt of lightening out of her hand, screaming, and all the people faded like mist, leaving just her and him and the body.
They threw it out the window. The glass shattered, and they cut themselves and didn't bleed when they cleaned it up. They ate the glass for supper and went to sleep and woke up alone again.
And then they set about cleaning up the room and preparing for the next night, when the people that didn't exist would treat them like friends until they woke up.
So now here they are. She's just managed to get off the stage, despite the numerous faceless people asking for one more song, and now someone else is singing some beautiful ballad while she twirls in the arms of nameless strangers. And he walks up to her and taps her shoulder, asking if he can cut in, and she laughs and turns around and curtsies...
Then the dream dissolves. The vision melts before their eyes, like water splashed on a painting, colors mixing together and running all over the place, pooling on the floor, and her eyes roll back in her head while a line of crimson slowly etches itself across her forehead as he kills her again and again and again...
And then they wake up. And they are in the room again, alone. And she's covered in blood and he's covered in tears and he screams at her to just die already. And she cries and wishes she would, because she hates him more than anyone she's ever known, and still she loves him with a crazy, broken love, and he idolizes her with a twisted, oppresive adoration. He'll kill her every night while she shoots him and they both yearn for death because the next morning they'll both be as close to living as they can get. But still, even as they don't live, they don't die. They've tried. They try every night. But nothing comes of it.
So every morning she'll cry and he'll rage. That night they'll dance and sing and nearly remember what happiness is, then they'll kill each other. The next morning they'll be almost alive again.
Every night. Every morning. Every torturous second.
They hate this. They hate each other. Every so often they'll kill each other before the Party, as they've started to call it. More for something to do than anything else.
They've been here so long. Neither one remembers when they first arrived, or how they got there or why. There are a few vague memories of life before - of watches and abilities and murders - but they think it's just a dream. It doesn't matter that they don't dream anymore, but the memories can't possibly be memories, because they can't possibly have happened. He suggested once that they were delusions. She asked what wasn't.
After several millions of years, they're still following the same pattern. Screaming and crying and yearning for death. Laughing and dancing and almost having their wish granted.
Until, one night, something strange happens. They're dancing when the hatred spills over and he lifts a hand to slice her head open and then someone says no.
It isn't a voice like the two are used to hearing - or rather, not hearing. They don't use words here. Ideas just somehow gets across. Since this is the first time he's really used his ears in an eternity, he ignores it, thinks he's imagining it, and lifts his hands again. She closes her eyes and waits, electricity crackling on her fingertips, prepared for her counter attack.
Then again, the voice said no. It struck a chord somewhere deep within him, stirring memories - dreams, delusions, whatever they are - from deep within his mind. She feels the same, but the memories aren't as strong, nor are the feelings the voice brings to mind. But still there's something there. Something... strange.
And suddenly, the faceless, nameless crowds begins to disappear, fading the way they did the last time. Within seconds - or maybe hours, maybe years - they're all gone, and they turn to find that one is still there. The man's hair is shorter than the memories of him depict. He's frowning and says that word again, and he lets go of her and walks forward. She stares as well, walking with him, reaching out to touch this man. Once more the scene begins to dissolve, melting colors and blurring lines, and they both scream and jump at the man, desperate for a way out. She cries and he rages and they both want out so badly that they would do anything...
Then they wake up. And she cries and he rages, and they forget the man as though he never existed.