Passion's Power

Title: Passion’s Power
Author: sapphire17
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Peter/Sylar
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to 3x05
Warnings: What could be considered as Non/Dub-con, mild violence, some language, the fact that Peter’s kind of evil in parts of this fic, and the fact that Sylar still believes Peter is his brother during the timeline of the fic which makes this somewhat incest.
Summary: One of many scenarios based on what could have happened if Peter had chosen to escape Level 5 and not go to Pinhearst right away. Basically, Peter does escape after proposing a sort of ‘game’ to Sylar, before Sylar is forced to follow Peter and play-along for the time being. In the end, Sylar’s forced to face Peter in the in the most horrid of places, right after Peter gains a new power that Peter can’t wait to try out on Sylar...
Prompt: #17 @ wtf27 – Trading Places
A/N: Written also for the Peter/Sylar Advent Calendar. :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the crap fic, lol...

A/N2 I'm sorry if this is, well, long compared to the other fics for Advent Calander. It wasn't intentional, but once I get to writing, even the PWP's get long. (though the chapers aren't too long. There's three in total). This fic is also un-beta'd so I apologize if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes (if anyone would like to beta my other Peter/Sylar fics before I post them, just give me a shout), and I'm also sorry if anything in this fic has been written before, since I don't copy other people's ideas. Anyways, hope anyeone who reads enjoys the fic! :D


“Well, this is it. Level 5.”

“I know. I fucking hate this place, so let’s make this quick. I’ll get Flint, and you go find the other guy.”

Daphne turned to Knox, and nodded with an inward sigh. Then, Knox turned, and strutted down the opposing end of the long hallway. Daphne couldn’t help but roll her eyes as the former inmate’s back receded. The way he was always trying to act so ‘badass’ really, really got on her nerves. Oh what lovely other joys was she to discover in this place? Secretly, she hated working for Pinehurst, and had a damned good feeling that Linderman knew. Correct that – did know.

But oh well for now. Time to free the infamous ‘Sylar’ and encourage him to kill again.

Yes, she hated this. Especially after what she had witnessed earlier between Hiro and Ando. All of this, just... everything was really starting to make her sick, especially the fact that she was contributing to it all.

Daphne quite literally sped down the hall once she realized she was wasting valuable time, and came to a swift halt when she had reached what she believed to be the designated cell. Daphne peered through the layer of glass before her to see a motionless man lying on his back. It appeared that he was being drugged or something. The company must have realized that they were dealing with something way out of their control to resort to more drastic measures like this, so Daphne figured this was more than likely Sylar in there. Well, probably... Due to the darkness behind the glass, it was really hard to make out the person’s actual identity.

Once again realizing that she had to act fast, much like the way she always did, Daphne quickly unlocked the cell’s door and entered – leaving the supposedly unbreakable door open behind her. Through the dimness, Daphne approached the man. Now standing at his side, she took a closer look at his face.

Damn. This wasn’t Sylar.

“Daph, what the hell are you doing down there, the guy you’re looking for’s over here,” Daphne heard Knox to say, his voice bearing a sense of obvious irritation.

With the now freed Flint standing at his side, Knox continued to remain impatient. “Hurry it up, so we can all get the hell out of here.”

“I agree,” Flint added on, just as eager to once again escape Level 5 as Knox was.

Still inside of what was in reality the cell of none other than Peter Petrelli, Daphne grunted to herself, before she was gone in a flash to join the others.

But not before ripping the tube that was keeping Peter in his medicated coma clear of his face on accident. Having been in such a rush, one of Daphne’s legs had caught itself on the white rubber and jerked it free from Peter’s nose. When the door had slammed behind her, Daphne realized what she had done, but too much time had already passed to look back. If the mysterious person came to, she’d be gone by then, and if Knox and the others had been unable to escape Level 5 on their own, then what made then man she had left behind any different?

“It’s about time,” Knox informed when the incredibly fast woman once again stood before him. “Turn’s out Sylar’s locked in here under the name ‘Gabriel’, but I’m still surprised I figured it out before the ‘fastest person in the world’ did.”

Daphne grinned in response to the rude sarcasm in the man’s voice.

“Shut up, Knox.”


***


Meanwhile, back in his cell, Peter Petrelli was, in fact, starting to re-enter reality. Whatever reality it was... He let out an inaudible groan, and ever so gradually, cracked open his eyes. He felt drugged, dazed, dizzy, but most of all, confused.

Where.. was he..?

As he made way to sit up, Peter’s blurred vision began to steady itself with every breath of pure oxygen that he took in, and when he closer examined his surroundings, he more than realized exactly where he was...

Level 5. A cell. Imprisoned in solitary confinement by his own mother.

Then again... he had tried to slice her head off... but Peter knew he hadn’t cut through more than an inch’s worth of her skull before he had been telekinetically slammed into a wall and knocked unconscious. This was all after he had snapped Sylar’s neck, after slamming Sylar into the wall, after having taken a rather nightmarish trip to the future by his future self where he quite literally saw himself killed by Claire, after he had found out that the person he despised more than any other in the world was his own brother while gaining Sylar’s insatiable hunger in the process, and finally, after he had been imprisoned in another man’s body.

Peter had been through hell.

And this was what he got?

Fuck. What he had done to his mother hadn’t been his fault... no. No, it was Sylar’s, and now, Peter was locked-up while Sylar was probably roaming the streets like the innocent man he most certainly wasn’t. So what, his mother had made a switch? Imprisoned him, her own son, and freed that sadistic, monstrous killer in his place? Oh, that’s right... now Sylar was her son, too.

And this disgusted Peter.

He would never accept it.

Never.

It had to be a lie. Somehow... it just had to be.

An angry, hate-filled expression washed over Peter’s face as he made way to stand. If he could break through that colossal safe in Odessa, he could most certainly break a petty little door down. Then, he would kill Sylar. Sylar had given Peter this hunger, so it was only fair that Peter use it against him. Even though Sylar now bore Clare’s power of cellular regeneration, there just had to be a way to end his life. Maybe Peter could slice off Sylar’s skull, rip out his brain, and radioactively disintegrate it? Hmp. That should do the trick... As Adam Monroe had once put it: ‘there’s no coming back from that one’, despite the fact that Adam had been referring to a bullet to the head as opposed to something as utterly sadistic as what Peter had in mind.

Without any further ado, the former nurse stood, and steadied himself. He then felt as an uncontrollable feeling once again began to overtake his entire form. It was a need to make people suffer, to scream, and a need for blood.

And most of all, a need to kill.

And Peter hated it.

In a mixture of anger and the sheer impact of desperation his newly-acquired hunger was having on him, Peter held out either of his arms before him, and forced all his concentration into breaking down the bolted door before him.


***


Shit, Peter had escaped. Sylar had escaped, or rather chosen, to leave his own cell in order to inform whom he believed to be his brother of his strange visitors, along with their mother’s current state. Apparently, however, whoever those people were had released Peter as well; rather it was on purpose or not didn’t matter. Now, though, Sylar would have to prevent Peter Petrelli from leaving the building. Sylar had seen him jogging his way down the hall and towards an elevator, so this is where Sylar went.

A few moments later, Sylar stood just outside of his mother’s office, hearing that somebody was definitely inside.

Peter.

Sylar quickly rushed into the company’s CEO room – only to see Peter sitting in the very chair where their mother Angela had been found sitting, motionless, the previous night. Peter didn’t utter a single word; sitting before the desk while holding what appeared to be a file of some sort in one hand. The small lamp nearby gave Peter’s upper form a dimmed, half-lit appearance. One side of his face appeared light, the other... dark.

A moment of silence set in, as Sylar paused in place in order to study Peter from a few yards a way. The sheer expression on Peter’s face was almost maniacal. Just... seeing Peter Petrelli like this, for some reason, made Sylar want to take an involuntary step backwards.

It was like Sylar was staring at the part of his own self that he was trying to forget, or rather...

“That I have become the monster you used to be?” Peter finished for him, smirking. “Oh I don’t think so. You’re still a monster.”

Sylar, momentarily, said nothing. He knew Peter was reading his thoughts, trying to get into his head and fuck with his consciousness.

“You have no conscience,” Peter continued, rising from his mother’s leather armchair.

Knowing it would be wise not to trigger Peter’s anger at the moment, Sylar had to choose his next words – and even thoughts – wisely. The important thing was that Peter was still in the company building. For the time being, at least. If he escaped the premises... hell. Hell exactly. In his present condition, there was no way Peter would be able to control his newly-acquired power of insatiable hunger. If he’d try to kill their mother... he’d kill anyone, wouldn’t he? Even Sylar himself had chosen to feed his appetite on only others like him who bore special abilities, but Peter... from the horror show he had earlier performed, well, he’d probably settle for any person at this point.

“Pete...” Sylar began, trying to sound as calm as he possibly could, “We need to get you back to Level 5, before you hurt someone else the way you hurt your mother. Our mother.”

At this point, Peter seemingly snapped like an angry twig. He stood, slammed his fists down against the desk, and telekinetically launched the small desk lamp in Sylar’s direction. Quickly, Sylar held up his right hand, and used the same power – his power – to stop the lamp from making a direct impact upon his face. Momentarily, the broken object dangled in midair, before Sylar allowed it to drop carelessly down to the floor with a light thud.

“She’s not ‘our’ mother!” Peter exclaimed, his voice full of detectable disgust, “And don’t you ever, ever call me ‘Pete’. Nobody calls me that except for my brother, and you are not my brother!”

Sylar abruptly found himself knocked back into the wall behind him with force, as the many papers and files that had been lying atop Angela’s desk filled the air in a distorted muddle. It was as if Peter’s very voice had sent a miniature, horizontal tornado through the air. Sylar more than recognized this power, for he himself had it, too.

“Jesse Murphy,” Peter hissed under his breath, “Another of your countless victims.”

Sylar rose from the floor, straightening his back with a few audible cracks. At least several vertebrae had been fractured due to Peter’s screaming-session.

“Fine,” Sylar replied upon standing, “Just—”

“Shut-up,” Peter said with harshness, “I’m not going back to Level 5. Unlike you, I am not some animal to be tamed. Instead, I want to play a game... One I think you of all people should enjoy, Sylar.”

“I don’t like being called that anymore, least of all by you,” Sylar informed, his voice now bearing the same harshness as Peter’s own. “And what are you talking about? What ‘game’?”

Standing, Peter turned, before the top drawer of one of many file cabinets opened from afar. Then, Peter began to steadily approach them.

Appearing reasonably bewildered, Sylar gradually began to move toward the other man, observing when Peter began to brush his finger tips over the numerous collection of company files. Seemingly amused, Peter then removed a single file from the open drawer.

“What are you doing?”

Peter once again began to make his way towards the desk, file in hand. Meanwhile, Sylar remained perplexed as ever.

Peter’s face was expressionless when he made eye-contact with Sylar and held up the closed file. “This is one from the local area. The information inside contains everything about this person, including their whereabouts, and their ability...”

Sylar’s eyes widened to a small degree. He... had a rather good idea of what Peter had in mind already...

“This isn’t you, Peter. You don’t know what you’re doing,” Sylar insisted as he approached the younger man, “Please, just come back to Level 5 with me and I can help you get this under control before it’s too late.”

It’s already too late, Peter thought, forcing himself to believe what he felt to be nothing more than a cruel, unalterable reality.

Acting as if he hadn’t heard a single word Sylar had said, Peter merely shook his head – as if to mock Sylar for how pathetic Peter felt him to be in comparison to his own self. Then, Peter opened the file and began to read. As he did so, an expression once again surfaced on his face. It was one of... hunger.

Now knowing exactly what Peter seemed to be up to, Sylar used his ability of telekinesis to snatch the file out of Peter’s grip, wondering why he hadn’t done so sooner.

“Go on and read,” Peter stated, briefly laughing, “It’s all part of the game. We’ll just see who gets there first...”

As Sylar did as Peter had previously suggested, and read through the file, a sudden look of what seemed to be a mixture between shock and alarm painted its way over his facial features.

“I know, interesting, isn’t it?” Peter said, then glaring into Sylar’s brown eyes with his own. “I can’t wait to try that one out. Can you?”

Sylar looked up from the contents of the manila file, only to see that Peter had already teleported out of the building in the blink of an eye.

Shit.

What was Sylar to do now? Inform the company? Contact Noah Bennet? Security?

Oh no... in his current state of mind, Peter was sure to kill anyone else who came after him. That left only one alternative. Sylar would have to temporarily play along with whatever this ‘game’ of Peter’s was, and from the information in the file Sylar held, he knew exactly where Peter was going... and worse, what Peter was more than likely going to do once he got there. If Peter wasn’t there already...

Sylar read over the file’s contents one more time, before slamming it down onto Angela’s rosewood desk. He knew what his mother would want him to do, and that was to go after Peter and stop him before he did something so irrevocable that he’d never be able to live with himself again for the rest of his life. A feeling Sylar knew all too well, and didn’t want Peter to be forced to endure. This only meant one thing.

Game on.


***


Though there was a long line waiting to get into what was obviously one of the more lavish strip-clubs in town, Peter Petrelli didn’t have to wait in any line to make his entrance. Invisible, he walked right past security and into the building, even bumping one of the suited men in the side. The guard spun around, a plastered look on his face that clearly read ‘what in the hell was that?’

Peter walked down the small flight of red, carpeted steps – abruptly greeted by the obnoxiously loud music and flashing lights that filled the entire club. He continued his current pace, ambling around various booths and tables in search of his designated target. When he found no target to be in sight, he instead made his way over to the bar with the hope that he could acquire some information from one of the employees. Upon finding a vacant stool among the many, Peter immediately took a seat. When he noticed the several bartenders and every other drooling idiot in here was either too drunk or fixated on the female dancers to notice him, Peter relinquished his state of invisibility and made his presence known. Hmp. As he had figured, no one had even noticed.

How pathetic.

For several minutes, Peter just sat in silence. He was dressed in all black, his overall look completed by the long, ebony trench coat he wore. All in all he looked just like his future self had, minus the scar. Peter already had a number of theories regarding how he would eventually obtain that diagonal scar across his face, if ever. But back to the clothes, oh, that’s right... he had paid a little visit to a rather expensive men’s clothing department before coming here. Not to mention a little visit to Chase International... Damn, Claude’s teachings had really paid-off after all. Besides, he had all the time in the world. Oh Sylar would get there, eventually, but Peter knew he still had at least a half hour’s worth of time on his side.

That’s right. Peter didn’t have anything to worry about.

I’m the special one now.

When one of the various bartenders finally noticed Peter sitting at the end of the bar, all alone, the bartender made his way over to him. He stopped before the mysterious man, eying him from the opposing side of the bar. Peter was just... sitting there by himself, fondling a book of matches in one hand.

I don’t even need matches to make a fire anymore.

“What’s the matter sir, out of cigarettes?”

Peter looked up to face the man, and smiled sarcastically. “No. I don’t smoke.”

The lithe, well-dressed bartender then removed a pack of cigarettes from his pant’s pocket, and removed one, extending his arm in offering.

“Well, it’s never too late to start. C’mon, one’s not gonna kill you.”

Again, Peter smiled. “A million wouldn’t kill me. Anyhow, I think I’ll pass, thank you.”

“Well, anything to drink?”

Peter nodded, catching a glimpse of the man’s nametag. “Yes, Brett. Bourbon, straight up, and make it a double.”

“Coming right up,” the bartender replied, picking up one of the many assorted liquor bottles before beginning to poor the alcohol into a crystal glass. Then, before he could slide the glass down the bar to Peter, it was as if... as if the glass itself had slid down the bar’s wooden surface all on its own... Huh. Brett knew he was probably seeing things... either that or he’d had one too many himself. He wasn’t about to ask Peter if he’d seen such a thing, since having more than three beers while on duty was strictly forbidden. Well, that and he didn’t want to appear as if he’d lost his lights.

“Something wrong?” Peter promptly inquired when he caught the look on Brett’s face. Peter, on the other hand, appeared just as amused as ever.

“Uh... yeah,” Brett finally responded while scratching the back of his head, observing as Peter quite literally began downing the glass of dark liquor in his hand. “So, I haven’t seen you here before.”

Peter sat down his half-empty glass, feeling the harsh burn of alcohol coating his throat. “Oh just because you haven’t seen me here doesn’t mean I haven’t been here.”

Brett’s brows furrowed. This guy was... relatively creepy for some reason. “Well excuse me for asking, but why are you just sitting here staring down at the bar? I mean, most guys come here for the eye candy.”

“In that case, maybe you can help me out,” Peter suggested in a casual voice, “I’m only looking for one woman in particular. One by the name of Erin Riley.”

Again, the bartender quirked a brow. “You mean Passion? Damn, you must know her pretty damned well for her to have given you her real name. Hell, I didn’t even know her last name until now. She’s the hottest act here, but she’s always paranoid all the time. Keeps thinking that someone’s out to get her. Nah, I think it’s the ‘big H’, though. None of her ‘customer’s seem to care about her drug addiction, however. Once she takes someone into one of the backrooms... they don’t come out without coming back. Again and again, if you know what I mean,” Brett informed, chuckling as he did so, “I mean, I haven’t been that close to her personally. You’d have to be rich. I also hear Passion runs her own escort service or something. The men and even women that have been with her act like she’s addictive or something...” he said, then lowering his voice as he leaned down towards Peter, “The sex, I mean.”

Not that I’d be interested in that slut anyway... Having to stare at these tits all day makes me sick. I can’t fucking wait to get off of work so I can hook-up with Joe again.

While partaking of his drink, Peter overheard the man’s private thoughts, and partially spit some of his bourbon right back into the glass.

Peter tried to control his laughter, and eventually did when he put his hand over his mouth.

Brett shrugged lightly. What he had said hadn’t been that funny.

Peter finished the remaining portion of his alcohol, before eyeing the standing man once again. “So where can I find ‘Passion’ anyway?”

Just then, the lights dimmed, and the crowd went utterly wild – gathering around stage until there was no room left.

Right over there, pretty boy.

Peter turned to look towards the stage, having ignored the last part of Brett’s insulting thought.

The DJ announced Passion’s stage name, before she made her appearance. Of course, she was wearing hardly anything. Nothing but a tight, glittering green top that barely even managed to cover her breast, along with a matching thong, near-to-transparent skirt, fishnet stockings, and a pair of platform, six-inch heels. Even so, Peter had to admit she was quite attractive, and her long, red curls added a nice contrast to her choice of green attire. Still... Peter very well knew it wasn’t her appearance itself that was gaining her so much undivided attention, but rather her secret ability... And just when Peter thought he had already seen and experienced the strangest ones out there. Telekinesis, telepathy, invisibility, superhuman strength, flight, time traveling... these were all things kids could read about in every day comic books or see on the sci-fi channel, but this one – the ability this ‘Passion’ had – was definitely something fresh.

With his undivided attention directed towards the center stage performance, Peter made way to rise from his seat on the burgundy stool.

“Going in for the kill, huh?” Brett said, more in the form of a statement than an inquiry. “Like I said, you had better have at least a grand in your pocket if you plan on spending any time in the VIP room with that one, and even if you do have the money, she’s still not only pricy, but picky. Though... from the looks of you, I’d say you definitely have a chance.”

Peter temporarily gritted his teeth, wanting to slice this irritating man’s skull clear open then and there.

Tick.. tock..

Resisting the urge, Peter merely turned his head over his shoulder in order to face the annoying bartender for the last time.

“Why don’t you stop thinking those thoughts of yours about me, and go back to thinking them about Joe,” Peter rudely instructed, “As for money, I have it, but I most certainly don’t need it to ‘go in for the kill’.”

With that said, Peter began a slow pace towards the stage without looking back, leaving Brett frozen in place with a dropped jaw.

Upon reaching the colossal crowd that had gathered around the stage, Peter did well in pushing his way right through it. Numerous men, even ones with wedding bands still on their fingers, were holding up hundred dollar bills in their hands. Peter observed as Passion did a rather impressive spin around the metallic stage pole, but then, she ceased her dancing altogether when she caught her first glance of Peter’s face. Unlike the rest of the men, he wasn’t bouncing around, hollering, or jumping up and down, he just stood there. Stood there with one elbow resting on the stage’s smooth surface, while his free hand revealed itself to be holding what appeared to be a very large sum of hard cash.

On her hands and knees, Passion sensually crawled her way towards Peter, before green eyes met brown.

“Meet me in my personal VIP in five minutes,” she stated with a predominately Irish accent, “And you won’t be disappointed.”

She ran her right hand back through Peter’s hair, before she then stood back up and continued her daily routine.

Peter half-smiled.

This was all too easy.