watchmakersylar | I Hate Bridesmaids

Title: I Hate Bridesmaids
Rating: R - violence
Genre: Gen
Wordcount: 960
Pairings or Characters: Sylar, some soon to be dead girl
Warnings: None
Prompts: [the Sheriff has said he'll cut out Robin Hood's heart with a spoon]
Guy of Gisborne: Why a spoon, cousin? Why not an axe?
Sheriff of Nottingham: Because it's DULL, you twit. It'll hurt more. for

scifi_muses
Summary: AU 'Verse created by

futurepurfect and RP'd with

maxxpotential. After Peter and Claire's wedding, and Peter's brutal beating of Gabriel, things change. Continued from HERE.

My life comes back in a rush of blood and breath. Curling into a ball, I wait for the muscle spasms to stop. Dying saved me from the pain of my bones knitting, I might be thankful for that if I wasn’t too angry to think. Hate filled me. The need to destroy and hurt burned in my gut, sending cold shivers down my spine.

It was dark. The sun had gone down while I lay in a puddle of my own blood on the terrace after Peter beat me to death for daring to touch his wife. One kiss, a few words, and he decided that I was prey. I’d be proving him wrong soon enough.

My watch broke in the fight when he had his two no-neck friends hold me still while the Haitian blocked our powers. The crystal was cracked, the hands stopped, it’d been my project for so long, hiding in the attic while I worked on making it run and keep time. It never would again.

“Gabriel?” I tilted my head at the sound of a female voice. “Are you still out here?”

For a brief moment I thought it was Claire come to check on me. The hope was squashed quickly; the rational part of me knew she was on her way to her honeymoon with Peter. No one in my family had come to find me, not Nathan, not my mother, certainly not my father. Peter said I was the Petrelli garbage, and that was fine with me. I’d never use the name again. I was done with them.

I had one goal now, and that was to get stronger. Peter had advantages I didn’t. His ability to copy any power without even trying, but most of the time he didn’t know what he had. I was better at using what I’d learned, but it was so much harder for me to get the empathy to work that way.

“Gabriel,” she crouched and touched my shoulder. “Are you OK?”

It was one of Claire’s bridesmaids. Some little thing who got to wear the ugly dress because it was a political advantage. She wasn’t one of Claire’s real friends like Elle or Candice. She’s not even my date, wherever the hell that little bitch is. She probably went home with one of Peter’s friends after fucking him in the coat room.

“I’m fine.” I get up slowly. Her eyes are huge as she watches me use Peter’s discarded shirt to wipe what blood I can from my face. There’s that spark in them that sign that she’s special, one of us. “Did everyone leave?”

“They’re throwing rice on the happy couple now,” she said, coming closer and grimacing as one of her dyed orange shoes lands in the puke from when I got punched in the gut. “I was worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” I don’t even know her goddamn name, and she’s the only one who was worried about me. “Thanks. Peter decided to teach me a lesson.”

“He was so pissed when he came inside. He and Claire got into it too, but your dad stopped it. Gabriel we should go inside. You don’t look good.”

Every time she said my name it grated on me. I wasn’t just sick of being a Petrelli. I was sick of being pathetic, puppy dog, Gabriel too. “That’s a good idea.”

I let her get close to me, let her take my hand to tug me toward the door to the main house. In the distance I can barely hear the sounds of car doors closing and engines starting. Twisting my hand, I grab her wrist, yanking her off balance. She falls to her knees, the hideous orange dress ballooning around her like a broken flower. She tries to pull away, but I’m stronger than she is. Then I feel the searing pain of ice and cold working through my flesh and bones. Instead of crying out, all it does is make me smile.

“That’s a nice power you’ve got, thanks for showing me.” The ice girl hits the wall with the force of my will, knocking the wind out of her. She tries to scream for help, since she can’t use her power on me if I’m not touching her. My regeneration quickly repairs my frostbitten flesh as I step closer to her.

“It’s been years since I’ve done it this way, not since I took Claire’s ability when she was little. But it is so much faster than buddying up to you to get inside of your emotions to copy it, and after the shit day I’ve had I really want to kill someone.”

“I came to check on you. Please Gabriel!” She’s sniffling now, begging, her fear tastes so good. It reminds me so much of when I bashed in little Claire’s skull.

“Shut up! Gabriel is dead.” I snap as I started slicing open the top of her head. “Telekinesis is such an incredible power. I’ve learned to use it for so much over the years. I could stop your heart. I can make a box of pins dance like the fucking New York Ballet. But I think this will be my favorite use for it.”

She’s still screaming as I cut, the blood spraying along the walls, hitting me in the face. A torrent of crimson running down her face, making her sputter and choke as it fills her mouth. Her feet, one shoe on and one gone, beat a tap dance on the wall as I finish the cut.

I let her body slide down the wall, straddling her legs as I start looking for what makes her special, digging my fingers into her still warm brain. “I’m Sylar.”