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Title: Sounds of Silence
Fandoms: Heroes
Rating: PG
Genre: Sci-fi, Angst, Horror
Details: Gen. Phobias, paranoia, nightmares, emotional trauma, creepy behavior (because it's Sylar).
Wordcount: 730
Characters/Pairings: Sylar.
Summary: Sometimes it was hard for Sylar to believe he had escaped. Oneshot.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
terror_scifi's Multifandom Prompt Fest. Title shamelessly ripped from Simon & Garfunkle.
What if I wake up and it's all gone? What if I'm alone again?
He knew it was irrational. He knew that, but knowing never seemed to help. Every night, when he lay down to sleep, the same thought passed through Sylar's head.
It was as if some damaged, masochistic part of his mind refused to believe he had truly escaped from the hell he'd lived in in his head: the lifeless city with its emptiness and its silence. It was a part that liked to remind him of how, time and again, it had been proven to him how fragile his grip on reality really was. A part which taunted that, if his mind could be fooled into believing he was someone else, if it could be fooled into believing he was somewhere else entirely, then he could just as easily fool himself. After all, that been his first thought that day he'd followed the sounds of clanging metal and shouting. Impossible sounds in that dead place he had inhabited. And even when he'd found Peter, he'd refused at first to believe he was real.
That same, doubting part refused to trust that any of this was real—that the fight at the Carnival had happened, or that the world now teemed with life all around him. And even as he lay at night, windows opened wide on even the coldest nights to admit the comforting sounds of traffic, that part whispered the word illusion in his ears. It whispered the word lie.
And all too often those whispers managed to drown out all other sound so that those thoughts took over his dreams.
Many of those dreams were simply repeats of the nightmare Parkman had trapped him in, but some were far more creative. One of the worst had left him wandering the streets that were apparently deserted, save for the fiendish knowledge, of the type that often came in dreams, that the people were all there. He just couldn't see them, and they couldn't see him, and he was helpless to try and reach them...
Somehow, that had been worse than being alone.
When he woke in the morning from dreams like that, it felt like he could never dress himself fast enough—as if he raced against some nameless force to reach the street in time, before it could all be taken away.
The staff at the cafe down the street had long since gotten used to him arriving very early, looking disheveled and a little bit desperate. Most of the time he just sat in the corner with his coffee and whatever was good that day and watched the other customers file in and out in their endless dance. It was soothing, losing himself in the chaotic hum of humanity, breathing it like air. If he had nothing else pressing—and save the occasional lunch with Peter, he very rarely did—this was often what he did with most of his day.
Sometimes, when he was dying for more interaction, he would leave and come back as a different customer, and he savored the wide variety of flavors it afforded him. He had flirted with the pretty blonde barista, both as a man and a woman, and gleaned enough evidence he was sure she preferred the latter. He'd argued both sides of numerous political issues with a college student who often visited in the mornings, and discovered a shy young man who became shockingly articulate when he had someone to debate with.
In one persona, a few conversations with the shop's owner had earned her pity. She thought he was a war vet, returned with some trauma. While the scars she saw hadn't been gotten the way she believed, they were still very real, and he'd played along with the assumption for her company. She never seemed to mind it when he struck up some bizarre conversation.
Yet it didn't seem to matter what he did, where he spent his time, or who he met. When he went home at the end of the day it was always alone, and the doubts would begin to return. And Sylar knew his fears were irrational, that the world around him was real, and it wasn't going anywhere...
But still there was a part of him that had never escaped that empty city, and he was starting to think it never would.
Fandoms: Heroes
Rating: PG
Genre: Sci-fi, Angst, Horror
Details: Gen. Phobias, paranoia, nightmares, emotional trauma, creepy behavior (because it's Sylar).
Wordcount: 730
Characters/Pairings: Sylar.
Summary: Sometimes it was hard for Sylar to believe he had escaped. Oneshot.
Notes: Written for
terror_scifi's Multifandom Prompt Fest. Title shamelessly ripped from Simon & Garfunkle.What if I wake up and it's all gone? What if I'm alone again?
He knew it was irrational. He knew that, but knowing never seemed to help. Every night, when he lay down to sleep, the same thought passed through Sylar's head.
It was as if some damaged, masochistic part of his mind refused to believe he had truly escaped from the hell he'd lived in in his head: the lifeless city with its emptiness and its silence. It was a part that liked to remind him of how, time and again, it had been proven to him how fragile his grip on reality really was. A part which taunted that, if his mind could be fooled into believing he was someone else, if it could be fooled into believing he was somewhere else entirely, then he could just as easily fool himself. After all, that been his first thought that day he'd followed the sounds of clanging metal and shouting. Impossible sounds in that dead place he had inhabited. And even when he'd found Peter, he'd refused at first to believe he was real.
That same, doubting part refused to trust that any of this was real—that the fight at the Carnival had happened, or that the world now teemed with life all around him. And even as he lay at night, windows opened wide on even the coldest nights to admit the comforting sounds of traffic, that part whispered the word illusion in his ears. It whispered the word lie.
And all too often those whispers managed to drown out all other sound so that those thoughts took over his dreams.
Many of those dreams were simply repeats of the nightmare Parkman had trapped him in, but some were far more creative. One of the worst had left him wandering the streets that were apparently deserted, save for the fiendish knowledge, of the type that often came in dreams, that the people were all there. He just couldn't see them, and they couldn't see him, and he was helpless to try and reach them...
Somehow, that had been worse than being alone.
When he woke in the morning from dreams like that, it felt like he could never dress himself fast enough—as if he raced against some nameless force to reach the street in time, before it could all be taken away.
The staff at the cafe down the street had long since gotten used to him arriving very early, looking disheveled and a little bit desperate. Most of the time he just sat in the corner with his coffee and whatever was good that day and watched the other customers file in and out in their endless dance. It was soothing, losing himself in the chaotic hum of humanity, breathing it like air. If he had nothing else pressing—and save the occasional lunch with Peter, he very rarely did—this was often what he did with most of his day.
Sometimes, when he was dying for more interaction, he would leave and come back as a different customer, and he savored the wide variety of flavors it afforded him. He had flirted with the pretty blonde barista, both as a man and a woman, and gleaned enough evidence he was sure she preferred the latter. He'd argued both sides of numerous political issues with a college student who often visited in the mornings, and discovered a shy young man who became shockingly articulate when he had someone to debate with.
In one persona, a few conversations with the shop's owner had earned her pity. She thought he was a war vet, returned with some trauma. While the scars she saw hadn't been gotten the way she believed, they were still very real, and he'd played along with the assumption for her company. She never seemed to mind it when he struck up some bizarre conversation.
Yet it didn't seem to matter what he did, where he spent his time, or who he met. When he went home at the end of the day it was always alone, and the doubts would begin to return. And Sylar knew his fears were irrational, that the world around him was real, and it wasn't going anywhere...
But still there was a part of him that had never escaped that empty city, and he was starting to think it never would.
no subject
Date: Saturday, 2 June 2012 12:19 am (UTC)From:I love Matt, honestly, but he's fucked Sylar up pretty badly.
I do think he'd actually do...things, I just can't imagine what an actively heroing Sylar would even look like. I can't see him doing what Peter does.
Actually, if I had to picture it, Sylar's "heroing" would probably be very subtle. Sylar understands things, he seemingly likes to work people, and he has some excellent tools at his disposal to do it.
no subject
Date: Saturday, 2 June 2012 12:52 am (UTC)From:He's been betrayed so badly and so many times, I think he'd be very comforted to interact with people from behind a mask, so they never knew the real him, his horrible past, or his inhuman abilities. Instead, they'd see him as just another normal person.
I think Peter would check. He spent 5 or 8 years trapped with the guy. He knows Sylar's problems and his powers. I don't think he'd let Sylar be unattended. Or too lonely, although Peter does have a tendency to get tunnel-visioned. Ha - I can see Sylar keeping up with Peter for the same reason as the other people - keeping Peter 'fixed' and working right.
no subject
Date: Saturday, 2 June 2012 01:31 am (UTC)From:Of course, there's also the sillier part of my brain that thinks Gabe would make one hell of a detective, his abilities basically make him a walking crime lab, but that's a bunny for another day.
no subject
Date: Saturday, 2 June 2012 03:29 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: Saturday, 2 June 2012 03:50 am (UTC)From:Gabriel Gray as a noir detective who works random cases while trying to solve the murder of his fiance, Elle, by a serial killer known only as Sylar. The story was going to have him being contracted to rescue a young woman—the daughter of a District Attorney—who was kidnapped by a gangster named Linderman.
There was going to be all this crazy stuff about the Illuminati (taking the place of the Company), Claude was going to be a spy for British Intelligence, the German was going to be part of a pre-war Nazi super-soldier project, and everyone's trying to grab Petrellis because their blood contains the key to unlocking the formula.
Oh, and Gabriel and Heidi are having an affair, and it only becomes more confusing as Gabriel starts to put the pieces together that he, the DA, and Sylar are actually the same person...
My brain. My brain gives me these things.
no subject
Date: Saturday, 2 June 2012 04:01 am (UTC)From:BTW, I hate to ask this, but could you go back and fill in the header line on your reply, please? Fandom, Character, Rating, Warning? Just, since it's the first one and all...
no subject
Date: Saturday, 2 June 2012 04:09 am (UTC)From:Yeah, I love using minor characters. In my crossover that I'm now writing, Zimmerman is the victim in the murder case central to the fic, and I use the suspect to tie together a bunch of the Company's past, from Adam during WWII all the way up to present.
It includes references some well known minor ones, like Hana Gitelman and Martin Gray, and some really obscure ones from the comic, like Ruth Meisner (Hana's grandmother) and Claude's old partner Haram.
no subject
Date: Saturday, 2 June 2012 06:19 am (UTC)From:Are you talking about Zeitgeist?
no subject
Date: Saturday, 2 June 2012 04:36 pm (UTC)From: