Author: Del Rion
Era: Post season 4
Genre: Angst, drama
Rating: M / FRM
Characters: Peter Petrelli, Sylar
Summary: Normal people die alone, yet in a few rare cases, it doesn't have to be like that.
Written for: Heroes_Contest's Drabble Challenge 27: Sense
Warnings: Character death, implied gore/violence/war, mild slash.
Disclaimer: The show, its characters, the places, and everything else belong to Tim Kring, NBC, and the other respective creators and owners of the TV show 'Heroes'. I have made no profit by writing this story, and make no claim over the show.
About Dying: As I'm writing this story in February 2011, there is a lot going on in the world (people dying on the streets in other countries, attempting to overthrow their governments and achieve a new, free world for themselves). It is hard to keep track of all that's going on, and I'm not really a person to get into that stuff, because frankly, it's upsetting, there's nothing I can really do about it, and it is a natural order of things when it comes to humanity.
That doesn't mean it won't influence a little piece of writing. And here it is.
I hope you won't enjoy this (well, maybe enjoy it just a little, but it's not supposed to brighten your day).
Story and status: Below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title, then it is finished and checked. Possible updates shall be marked after the title.
Written for Heroes_Contest's Drabble Challenge 27 (Sense).
He senses the end coming, finally. It's like a truth glaring down at him, letting him know that it's time to prepare himself for the final journey.
The hero in him doesn't want to let go, though. There is still work to be done. If only he could pick himself up off the ground…
Sylar's voice comes through a thick fog; like Peter's underwater and can't really hear what he's saying. It doesn't help that weapons are going off all around them, from handguns to automatic weapons and tanks rolling down the street. A few gunships crossing the sky above them just add to the chaos of noise.
"Peter," Sylar says again. His lips are against Peter's ear, making it easier to hear him.
Peter closes his eyes. Every breath hurts, shifting around the pieces of metal in his body that don't belong there.
"Not yet," Sylar tells him, insistent, and moves closer. When Peter opens his eyes, Sylar's face is blocking the sun that's attempting to pierce the sand and smoke floating in the air.
Peter can't help but smile at the saintly glow around the other man's head.
Sylar's body is resting partially on his now, creating new waves of pain, but Peter doesn't care. Not this close to the end. It would be rude to complain after Sylar stepped in front of him to take the mortar shots meant for Peter's already battered body.
Perhaps Sylar knows Peter isn't going to be getting up anymore; that his healing power isn't working right. After months of getting torn to pieces and putting himself back together again, it's getting harder each time, and now it's failing completely. His body is tired. Peter knows Sylar's isn't feeling much better.
Sylar smiles down at him and bows his head, resting their foreheads together. Peter wants to kiss him, one more time, but he isn't sure if he wants to taste the blood and sand. As he contemplates that, Sylar's hand finds his, fingers entwining. Sylar's missing a few of his, Peter notices, and there's warm blood everywhere.
Peter squeezes his hand anyway, and briefly regrets ever coming to this battle zone. What were they thinking?
"We are heroes."
Sylar's thoughts echo in his head, feeling familiar, and Peter looks at him, eyes locking.
"Heroes are not supposed to die," Peter ponders. It feels wrong.
Sylar is quiet, but his emotions are clear. His feelings and last thoughts… Peter reaches towards them, and comes to a wonderful conclusion:
"Of all the people who have died, we're the only ones who don't have to do it alone. Because we have this…"
Their eyes close at the same time as their minds meld together. Every feeling, every memory, every shared experience; no words compare to a simple shared sensation.
When the impact of the last shot comes down on them, it isn't so horrible when it all disappears because during that last fraction of a second, they have each other.