Sylar’s voice pierces the surrounding darkness, a second consciousness of words echoing inside the doctor’s skull. It’s difficult for Oliver to fully make out what he’s saying. The sentences are confusing and fragmented, reverberating like listening to his twin through a weak radio signal. Something about Primatech. An experiment when they were children? Unfortunately, Oliver can’t recall his memories. This would have been a surreal experience had he not wanted anything more than to strangle the life out of Sylar for doing this. But he’s so goddamn impulsive rather than implement proper planning!
Sprawled over the soiled carpet in a growing pool of his own blood, the doctor stares blankly into nothingness while his twin rambles on. Signals fire messages at random, twitching the fingers of Oliver’s right hand, a similar twitch to his left leg.
As the thick and heavy haze of the liquor Oliver drank earlier begins to fade with the excessive blood loss, a brief thought swam in the back of his head. Did anything Sylar said earlier hold any truth or was it just bullshit? He’d sworn there was another way, a method that didn’t potentially put his life at risk. And here they are, lying over the floor as his brother claws through his head with a fine-toothed comb. Unable to draw a breath, Oliver’s mind goes silent, his body beginning to tremble from the shock and blood loss as the shadow of death closes in when he’s suddenly bestowed the ‘gift’ he was promised.
The cloud of darkness gives way and his vision gradually begins to return. Unsure of just how long he’s been lying here, Oliver shifts and draws an engulfing breath. At first, his living room is a mix of smudgy earth tone colors, splotched and blurred.
“—ylarrrrr,” he slurs. Stumbling and fumbling to pull himself up from the floor like a foal attempting to find his legs, a hand accidently pulls down his liquor cabinet with a crash by mistake. “Sylar!”
Finally rising to his feet, his vision clears just in time to spot the dark stain of his carpet. The sound of running water sends him rushing into the kitchen, bursting through the swinging door to find Sylar looking right at him. The doctor’s vexation is so overwhelming and uncontrolled that he’s forgotten Sylar’s purpose of doing this in the first place. Immediately his body weight is thrown into the lunge. Oliver’s hands grasp for Sylar’s black t-shirt, ramming him backward into the sink’s basin with a bang.
“You son of a bitch—“ Oliver growled, eyes wild as his knuckles crack against Sylar’s jaw with enough brute force to jar his body and bend the faucet’s spout at his twin’s back. “You may be my brother… but it won’t stop me from putting your face through this wall. You almost killed me, do you realize that?”
Sylar’s eyes roll when he hears the muttering in the living room followed by the crash of glass and the stink of alcohol wafts into the kitchen overpowering the scent of blood. He smirked as he continued to scrub his hands clean. He much preferred the smell of blood to booze, and then he let out a sigh.
Oliver would be in a rage. That was to be expected. He didn’t need his ability to figure things out to know that. He’d attacked him, pried his skull open, and then played connect the dots. It’d be awhile before his twin calmed down and realized he’d been given a gift. Until then, Sylar figured he’d live with a little damage. It wasn’t as if he’d stay dead after all.
But that didn’t mean he was too thrilled when Oliver slammed into him, driving his kidneys into the edge of the counter top. If he was still human, he’d be pissing blood for a week after that. Thanks cheerleader.
Then Oliver slugged him, snapping his head back, and Sylar’s mouth filled with his own blood. His lips curled back from his teeth, leaving smears of blood across the white expanse. He listened to Oliver rant, holding back on his powers, because until Oliver understood what was going on, the last thing Sylar wanted was him accidentally using empathy to copy his telekinesis.
“Can’t kill you. Even if you’d died, all I had to do was inject you with my blood.” He accented his words by shoving the palm of his hand against Oliver’s chest, pushing him back a few inches. The desire to hurt him was burning in his gut, but he wouldn’t do that. “You were acting like a goddamn pussy, and I had enough of it. No more of you bitching that I can do things you can’t, because now you’re like me. I fixed you, you ungrateful son of a bitch.”
His hand darted out and gripped Oliver’s, and Sylar twisted his wrist around until he knew it hurt. “Want me to show you what you can heal from, or do you trust me?”
