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thefieryeclipse · 4 years

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Another Merry Christmas from me, Peter and Sylar! Sadly, I don’t think I’ll have time this year to write a new Christmas oneshot, so here’s one of my previous ones to try and spread a lil’ Heroes Christmas spirit here on Tumblr ^.^

(Shameless fluff and sickeningly sweet Petlary goodness within!)

Here’s the Ao3 link if you’d rather read it there.

Then Sylar looked at him with only softness to his gaze. And for a second fear, doubt and uncertainty swaddled Peter so tightly he couldn't breathe.

While the other man memorised his face he wanted to run away, and when those eyes fell on his lips a shiver rolled down his spine like a single drop of ice. Suddenly, he remembered the past. He remembered lost loved ones. He remembered too many feelings at once, some old, some new and some still to be found, and all these emotions were far too overwhelming while he sat here in purgatory with the man who had murdered his brother.

What the hell was he letting himself be caught up in...?

The Tree

They willed it to magically happen overnight, but it didn't. They even hunted down all the individual pieces and left them out in hopes they'd somehow put themselves together. They didn't. So eventually, Peter and Sylar took it upon themselves to break the perpetual nothingness of purgatory. Even if that meant settling for far less than perfection.

“I think it'll be better than the real thing anyway.”

Peter Petrelli shifted on the cold ground, resting an arm over his knees while trying to get comfortable. The mound of spare jackets beneath him did nothing to help against the chill in the slightest, but he didn't want to be the one to admit that. God it was freezing. Definitely cold enough for snow, if only Matt Parkman would grant this realm such a luxury as change.

“Of course you do.”

The droll huff to his right somehow didn't irk Peter. The sound was rough but harmless, quiet over the clunking whir of the old generator set up nearby. Sylar sniffed and shuffled an inch closer to the small, electric heater they had salvaged, although the thing was barely more than a weak glow breaking the surrounding darkness of the park.

Peter watched the other man with amusement: the soft touch of light on his face and the faint clouding of his breath only highlighting the nerves that he was trying to hide behind bravado. Peter let him think he got away with it.

“At least it'll be something though, right?” He chuckled, once more excitedly looking up the height of the tangle of wires before him. He held onto his hat as he did so, even though he knew it looked ridiculous. The time had long past when self-preservation was more important than warmth, and very quickly the red and white Santa hats Sylar had brought along as a joke hadn't seemed so stupid after all. At least to Peter, anyway. Sylar was of course under a different impression.

“Just don't get all gushy on me when the timer goes off. I don't think I could handle you breaking into song or something.” Sylar jabbed a look at Peter, who caught it briefly with only a crinkle of his eyes.

The anxious duo fell silent again, watchful, waiting. Peter could sense the taller man shivering, even through the space between them. He could practically feel a draught from the watchmaker's fingers, even though his own weren't close enough to touch. Almost, though. The grass tickled through the pair's gloves like papery icicles but neither guy moved his hand while the other's was so close.

“Y'know something...” Sylar sighed quietly, and at once Peter felt the prickle of doubt creep over him. He shook the fluffy bobble of his hat out his face, irrationally worried that Sylar had gotten bored of humouring his silly plan and would leave, and that Peter would be left alone in the park at night to see all this hard work fail. Then Sylar's fingers twitched in the grass, and a timid smile caught the light of the heater. “This might actually not be one of your worst ideas.”

Tension left Peter's frame along with the other guy's confession. He laughed then, an echo in the midst of an otherwise empty world.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” He teased, chasing the grin that was trying not to emerge on Sylar's face.

It was a nice feeling to have earned the right to boast for once, but now that he had such a sought-after chance it wasn't what Peter wanted to do. Instead, his blood was pounding much faster than it had any right to in this cold. And he finally worked up the nerve to be the brave one, and touched his hand to Sylar's.

“I wouldn't go that far.” Smirking, the recovering killer avoided his eyes, but his fingers continued to link tentatively with Peter's. It was still so careful between them, this newfound intimacy, so bizarre a thing to let happen. Bizarre but unexpectedly wonderful.

Peter just scoffed in reply and shook his head at himself, at Sylar, and at how strange it was that they were honestly sitting here alone in the park with just a shitty heater, Santa hats and each other. Really though, he didn't mind too much.

Then Sylar looked at him with only softness to his gaze. And for a second fear, doubt and uncertainty swaddled Peter so tightly he couldn't breathe. While the other man memorised his face he wanted to run away, and when those eyes fell on his lips a shiver rolled down his spine like a single drop of ice. Suddenly, he remembered the past. He remembered lost loved ones. He remembered too many feelings at once, some old, some new and some still to be found, and all these emotions were far too overwhelming while he sat here in purgatory with the man who had murdered his brother.

What the hell was he letting himself be caught up in...?

But then the pressure was eased when, thankfully, magically, as if he knew what Peter was thinking, Sylar turned the motion into a more reasonable excuse to hold hands, and lifted Peter's into both of his own. Breaking their eye contact, Sylar rubbed Peter's glove briskly. “You're freezing...” It was a pointless observation, as pointless as attempting to warm up an ice cube in two other ice cubes, but everything about it only increased the whirlwind that was dancing through Peter's ribcage.

He melted, due in no part to Sylar's valiant efforts. More and more, Peter was revelling in his new hobby of uncovering these smallest aspects of this man's personality. Sylar was certainly a lot of things, and forced proximity had brought them all to light... but one thing he was not was evil. Peter was sure of it now.

Not that long ago, he would never in a million years have imagined the fearsome killer had a caring bone in his body. But not that long ago, he would never have imagined he would be camping out in Central Park with his brother's murderer either, but somehow here they were.

Maybe this was what today had been all about? Sure, their finished project would hopefully be worth the effort involved, but what if this, here, had been the reward all along? Sylar had been out here all day working with Peter. He hadn't needed to. He hadn't complained about it – too much, anyway. He had helped and he had hoped, secretly or otherwise, and now he was freezing his ass off and still trying to keep Peter happy? It was a feeling like no other the empath had ever known.

He wasn't even sure what he was going to say right then. Just that he was going to say something. But as soon as he opened his mouth, he was gently interrupted by a series of pings ricocheting from above, each one tapping more pure joy into his heart than the last.

Sylar's hands fell still around Peter's as both men stared up in awe, holding their breath as precisely five hundred and fifty hand-placed lightbulbs flickered to life in the branches of the tree before them. The generator clunked and complained but it held steady, feeding power into multi-coloured lights that clicked on one by one on perfect cue, like windows illuminating a mighty skyscraper. And then finally, after hours of planning and crafting and slaving away, Peter and Sylar sat under the fuzzy glow of their shared achievement, lost for words.

It had been worth it.

It had absolutely been worth the adventure involved in building this haven – this tiny speck of cheer and hope that rebelled from the rest of the mundane. It was the one spot in the entire city where perpetual nothingness ceased, and such a thing as potential could shine through the darkness.

It wasn't perfect though, by any means, however Peter was so glad they had decorated the tree blindly in order to preserve the grand unveiling. The thing was shabby and messily done, draped asymmetrically and neglected in parts: it was pathetic and ugly compared to the vision they had first set out to complete, but that didn't matter at all. It was still the most beautiful thing either man had laid eyes on in years.

They turned back to each other, heated to the core, more from their shared endeavor than from the jackets and measly electric heater. Peter couldn't help but grin wider than he thought possible, a phenomenon that appeared to have claimed Sylar as well.

The vastness of night clung to the two lost souls like frost, only it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. That smile, the tender hold on his glove and the glow from the string lights seeped comfort through Peter like honey, pacifying the snowstorm inside as if the sun had broken through clouds. He didn't care that it was sappy and ridiculous and would earn him a lot of teasing if he were silly enough to say so aloud – but he knew it was the lights that had done it. Or the tree. Or something that was wrapped up inside the existence of the thing, collected and presented in the best gift he could ever have hoped to receive.

He couldn't help that he suddenly felt choked up to be able to bask in tones of red and blue and green and gold when the rest of his world was in greyscale. Or that he was immensely grateful to be able to share it with someone. He could, however, do something about the pink state of his companion's ears.

There was only a moment of hesitation before he pulled his hand free, scooped up Sylar's abandoned Santa hat and plopped it down upon the man's head with the bobble stuck up straight in the air. Peter chuckled, adjusting the angle while deliberately ignoring the furious look he knew was being directed his way. “I'm not gonna break into song or anything.” He defended himself, unable not to smile when he leaned back to admire his handiwork. “Just making sure you don't fr-”

He was cut off when something soft and clumsy brushed his lips. Sweetly. Suddenly. Surreally. And then Sylar was pulling away, blinking those rich, dark eyes at him.

“...eeze.” The rest of Peter's sentence left him only as a surprised cloud of breath.

Somehow the guy tasted like snow, although the sky was clear and empty as ever. Somehow his lips were warm although he was still shivering. And somehow, for this brief moment, Peter didn't care that he should have been repulsed at himself for doing what he had, and wasn't.

Sylar's kiss prickled on his skin as the cold air pressed upon it, imprinting the touch into his person forever. It felt like a flashing red tattoo that could surely even be seen from space (if space even existed in Matt's nightmare), and Peter was sure he turned bright scarlet to match it while his heart squeezed in his chest. The gesture affected him just as much as their very first kiss had. Maybe they always would? Maybe he had gone so long without such sweet touches that he didn't remember how to handle one when he got it? Or maybe it just had something to do with this intense, raven-haired man being the engineer behind them all...

Suddenly Peter forgot all about the lights he had painstakingly waited on for hours. Because Sylar was still watching him. “I didn't know you cared.” The watchmaker purred, taking it upon himself to fix his hat over his ears while Peter stared at the curve possessing the mouth that had just encased his.

Sylar's eyes roved over every inch of the empath's face, then a scratchy glove sought out and ghosted across his crimson cheek. Probably his pulse could be felt racing through the touch but Peter didn't care, for he sure as hell could feel Sylar's in return. He tried so hard not to blush further under such warm scrutiny, but of course he failed. He would have failed even if there weren't beautiful holiday lights etching sincerity into every feature of the only other person in the world.

Face burning, that blizzard of feelings inside flocking to life once again, Peter couldn't have not smiled if his life depended on it. “Don't you go getting all gushy on me.” He said hoarsely, making as if to pull free before he could erupt into giggles or something equally as embarrassing, but Sylar wouldn't let him.

Deep chuckles rumbled out of the man's chest, the bobble of his Santa hat drooped down adorably and his thumb traced lightly over Peter's chin, now that he'd braved it so far. Then a glint of malice tore across the angles of his face. But Peter wasn't afraid, or appalled, not even when the murderer broke into quiet song, as innocently as innocent could be. The fucker.

“It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...”

Both men burst out laughing, two sparks of festivity that transcended this tree and carried into the furthest corners of the city where even the lights couldn't reach. They shouldn't be so merry while in hell. Peter shouldn't have felt such happiness to be sat here being serenaded by Nathan's killer. But despite all odds, and even just for one night, they were. And he was.

Shivering on the ground, bathed entirely in soft colours and questionable singing and every inch of Sylar's full, undivided, attention, Peter took back what he'd thought earlier. There was definitely still an evil streak in this man, after all.

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