Participants:
| Scene Title | Descent |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | It's a long way to fall. |
| Date | November 27, 2008 |
Standing in the ruins of Midtown, it's hard to believe New York is still a living city.
There's life enough around the fringes — the stubborn, who refused to rebuild somewhere else; the hopeful, who believe the radiation is gone, or that they somehow won't be affected. Businesses, apartment complexes, taxis and bicycles and subways going to and fro — life goes on. Perhaps more quietly than in other parts of the city, shadowed by the reminder that even a city can die, but it does go on.
Then there is the waste. The empty core for which the living city is only a distant memory. Though a few major thoroughfares wind through the ruins, arteries linking the surviving halves, and the forms of some truly desperate souls can occasionally be glimpsed skulking in the shadows, the loudest noise here is of the wind whistling through the mangled remnants of buildings. Twisted cords of rebar reach out from shattered concrete; piles of masonry and warped metal huddle on the ground, broken and forlorn. Short stretches of road peek out from under rubble and dust only to disappear again shortly afterwards, dotted with the mangled and contorted forms of rusting cars, their windows long since shattered into glittering dust.
There are no bodies — not even pieces, not anymore. Just the bits and pieces of destroyed lives: ragged streamers fluttering from the handlebar which juts out of a pile of debris; a flowerbox turned on its side, coated by brick dust, dry sticks still clinging to the packed dirt inside; a lawn chair, its aluminum frame twisted but still recognizable, leaning against a flight of stairs climbing to nowhere.
At the center of this broken wasteland lies nothing at all. A hollow scooped out of the earth, just over half a mile across, coated in a thick layer of dust and ash. Nothing lives here. Not a bird; not a plant. Nothing stands here. Not one concrete block atop another. There is only a scar in the earth, cauterized by atomic fire. This is Death's ground.
Rain.
Why is it always raining when you don't have an umbrella?
It's like Mother Nature giving the finger in a cold and damp fashion. The weather hasn't been particularly wonderful since Helena was attacked by Sylar, her emotional turmoil and the cold late November weather makes for one disappointing walk thorugh an already disappointing location. Walking through nearly freezing rain through the city is one thing, but having to slog through it on a trek thorugh the already eerily silent ruins of Midtown Manhattan is worse.
When it rains here, espescially in the late afternoon when it's already getting dark this time of year, it's a haunting sight. Building with half of their exteriors missing create the strengest echoes from the sound of falling rain, and the gusts of cold wind that whip between the crumbling hulks of skyscrapers and buckled pavement can sometimes generate a haunting moan-like wail.
At least the Library isn't too much further.
Water shoots off of the sprockets as he pumps his legs on the pedals. The bike shoots a bit of rubble, that used to be the cornerstone of an office building, now its main use is a bicycle ramp. The thin wheels bounce back onto the wet pavement as the man riding weaves around the many obstacles surmounted against him in his quest to get to the library so much faster. Why did he have to let an other self of his take the car. Because Brian, the car can't even make it out here and Helena needed you to— The bike hits a previously unseen jagged piece of something.
Hitting the brakes, there isn't much Brian can do. The front stops short and the back goes up. His speed was too great and Brian goes flying for a little bit.
With a splash the young man lands roughly on his back, letting out a sharp shriek, whatever is under his back. Hurts. The .40 tucked into the back of his pants goes sliding out of its secure location and slides on the wet turf a few feet away from him. "Fuck.."
An opportunity in accident.
"That must have hurt like hell." Something moves in the rain, a strange and distorting presence of running rivulets of water slithering down nothing that approaches across the wet and broken pavement. "Awfully brave to ride a bike, alone, in this part of the city. You're lucky I showed up when I did." The heat-mirage rippling is something Brian's seen before, and it's the same man who did it the last time too. It isn't the first time Peter had managed to sneak up on Brian, but this time at least he seems to be in a slightly lighter mood.
"One of my birds spotted you a block away. He's been following you since." He's Doctor Dolittle now? "Here," Fading fully into sight, the leather-clad Peter leans forward, one foot braced on a rock, a bare hand extended. He's soaked from head to toe by the rain, but either the cold doesn't bother him, or it bothers him a hell of a lot less than whatever he's sick with.
When he leans in, Brian can see that Peter looks like shit. It's worse than the last time he saw him, eyes sunken in and surrounded by dark brown-red circles that almost look like bruises. His face is paler than before, veins visible in his skin. He looks like a walking corpse, "Lemmie help you up." But a nice corpse, at least.
A long groan. And then the voice. His eyes immediately dart toward the gun. And his hand flexes as if reaching for it. But he knows that voice. A pause as he looks up at.. nothing. Then the explanation of the birds. Brian tries to surreptitiously slide himself back towards the gun. But then Peter materializes.
"You should know that I'm never alone." Brian mutters as he reaches to take Peter's hand, though the gun is still watched in his peripherals. That stupid STUPID bike, isn't even glanced at yet. "I figure you're not the dick one." He says in response as he looks at Peter's face. A slight frown. But he won't bring that up, not yet. There are more important issues. "You never said sorry for my golf club."
"You never thanked me for saving you from some Company goons." Peter cracks a smile, looking down at the untaken hand, and then lowers it as he stands up straight, tucking it into his pocket. "Yeah, I guess you're not ever really alone…" Peter wanders a bit away from Brian, turning his back partly to him with a swish of his long leather jacket, droplets of water rolling off of the back. "I visited Helena today, heard about what happened." Peter's words come out a bit clipped, shortened and terse, "She didn't look good."
Turning to look over his shoulder, Peter watches Brian's prone form, then motions towards the bike. There's a scraping sound of metal on stone, and it rights itself, flips out the kick stand, and then settles straight for its rider again. "You actually came up in conversation…" He lets his eyes wander the bicycle for a moment, then turns his focus back to the prone man, "I wanted to talk to you about something." In the rain?
One he's completely propped up and standing, he glances at the bike. "Thanks." He mutters as he walks to retrieve his gun and stick it back in his pants. He brings up a hand to wipe through his hair. "Yeah I know." He says in response as he walks back to Peter. He shakes his head at what he says about Helena. "She'll be fine. I won't leave her alone if that's what it takes to keep her safe." He says sternly in response.
"So you absorb powers, huh?" He asks casually. "I hear you're having trouble controlling mine. But the thing is, I don't think you're using mine. Must be someone elses." Comes the simple words as he watches the other man through the falling droplets of water.
Peter watches Brian as he moves over to pick up the gun, craning his head to the side like someone with a stiff neck trying to work out the kinks must, "I absorb powers, that's about the size of it. Sometimes I realize it, sometimes I don't." He pauses at the dismissal, "Why do you think I'm not using your powers, do you know any other duplicating people?" One black brow rises slowly, and Peter starts to meander back over to Brian, stepping up onto a small pile of rubble, the loose concrete clunking as it is shifted around underfoot. "Helena said you get tired when you're apart from your doubles for too long, get sick." He over-enunciates that word, water rolling down his brow from the rain. "That's me, right now. Headaches, nausea…" He squints slightly, "The headache is the worst. Then this…" He waves one hand at the side of his head, "This hissing sound, like radio-static, in the back of my head. It doesn't stop."
"Because. I asked you.. or maybe it was your double. Where you.. or your double was and you.. or your double said you or-" Frustration. "You didn't know. That's why it can't be my ability. I always know everything about my doubles. I know where they are, see where they go, feel what they feel." He explains. "If you don't know where your double is. That's simply not mine." A shrug. "Sorry man." But he listens to what he has to say and finally starts to speak again.
"Alright, well if it is my ability, which I don't think it is, yeah you would get tired, and sick. And weak. Especially without practice. I've been doing this for a while. I can go for longer amounts of time. But sometimes I just need to rest. I can't have doubles running around ALL the time. I would get so weak people would have to drag my doubles together so we could.. Absorb each other." Another shrug. "I guess absorb is the right word."
There's a distasteful look that crosses Peter's face as he hears the explanation, "You know?" There's a twince of curiosity, "Like, telepathicly?" Peter's lips curl sup and he lets out a frustrated grumble, "That explains the hiss in the back of my mind. I already have telepathy, and when you try to read the mind of another telepath, you know what happens?" He lets the rhetoric linger in the sound of only rainfall for just a moment, "It sounds like microphone feedback, that squealing sound? That's in the back of my head right now, all the time."
There's a strained look on Peter's face for a moment, "Maybe if I could get that half-wit to turn off his telepathy somehow, I might be able to fix this without…" Dark eyes flick back over to Brian. "Absorb? So you've practiced with this, then. How do your doubles get themselves back together." He steps down off of the short pile of rubble, boots splashing in a puddle of cold water.
"Yeah man, you know. I guess it is its own telepathy in a sense. If you try to read my mind I don't think you'll hear just one set of thoughts. Because right now there are three of me. One, is with Helena. One is here talking to you, and one is in a warm, comfy, cozy, car, out of the rain." A hand comes up to flip some of the moisture out of his hair.
"So.. It could be my ability. You just got your receptors jammed." Brian says with an arched brow. "Well.. He is you man. So, you're calling yourself a half-wit." Brian points out, palms up as if that is a bad idea. "Killing? Is that what you were going to say? Because that's what you… Or your double said last time. Find the other you and kill you. That's retarded." Brian mutters, the expression on his face makes that obvious. "I wouldn't do that, unless, you know, you're retarded." Then he nods. "Yeah dude. Absorb. You gotta be touching. And you.. just do it." He makes a slurrping sound. "Like that. And.. only one left. But if you can't find him.. I mean.. well. Someone will have to find em for you. Too much longer and you're gonna be barely moving, bro."
Peter listens, inquisitively, something clicking into place with each word Brian says. He takes a few more steps forward, boots splashing in the water until he's over by the bicycle, rather than by Brian. "Find him, yeah…" He brushes his fingers over the handlebars, expression somewhat vacant until he lifts his head up again, focusing on Brian once more. "Have you ever died before? You know…" One hand motions in the air, "With one of your doubles, I mean." In his expression there's an almost insatiable curiosity about the ability, learning its particulars, trying to put two and two together.
"Helena said…" He reconsiders interrupting the question, but continues anyway, "She said you'd all die. Is that… true?" One dark brow rises slowly, "I really don't feel like my life should be in his hands." There's no acceptance that they're the same person, his attitude seems wholly assured about his own originality, despite the evidence presented.
"No I haven't died before." Brian murmurs, starting to walk around in the rain a little. Maybe warm himself up. "People ask me that a lot. When they find out what I can do. Kinda creepy." He rolls his head around on his neck, and circles Peter a bit. Then he eyes him closely. "How would she know that? That's kinda scary. I hope not.. I feel kinda.. invincible. Knowing I have spare lives, you know? But.. even if all of me don't die.. well. I'm sure it's not good. Nothing good can happen from death. Fuck. When one of me got shot, it hurt like a motherfucker for all of me. Not physically but.. I don't know. You know the kinda pain you get when you get dumped, or someone else dies or something? The heart pain? That's what it feels like. But fucking intense. You know?"
With his back to Brian, Peter nods slowly as he listens, looking down at the bicycle chain. "Pain…" His fingers trace over the brake handle, "Yeah I… I know what that feels like, though, I guess…" He turns to look at Brian over his shoulder for a moment with one brow slowly rising higher than the other. "You and your doubles probably all share the pain because of your telepathy, there's a route open to share the feelings through." He turns his shoulders now, watching Brian in an inquisitive manner. "But, you've never died, so you can't be certain…" His eyes track across Brian's many reflections in the rippling water pooling in the low spots of the uneven pavement underfoot.
"I guess…" His brows knit together, eyes lifting up peer at the duplicator more intently, "I guess the only way to be certain would be to find out first hand, wouldn't it?" Pieces falling into place one by one, is this what it's like for Sylar?
"I guess I mean.. it makes sense that if one dies all die. But maybe it would just be that heart pain. Like severe depression or something. I don't know. Maybe it would be like losing a loved one." Brian murmurs in speculation. He pauses. "How can you not like your double so much man? He's you? There's no difference. At least between me and mine. It's pure copies of me. No different personalities or whatever the fuck. That would get real stupid, real quick." Brian insists as he watches Peter turn.
"Yeah I guess so." He mutters then matches Peter's gaze. "But.. I mean. We couldn't actually find out first hand unless.. I donno. Somethin happened." A light shrug of his shoulders as he goes to tuck his hands into his coat.
"Unless something happened." Peter echoes for a moment, then lets his eyes flick up to Brian. Then in that moment, there's a sudden and violent thrust of telekinetic force that lashes out from Peter, strong enough to create a dividing ripple in the water sending splashing waves to either side of Brian a split-second before the brint force impacts him and sends him flying off of his feet across the street. The telekinetic blast smashes Brian back-first into a flat and upright piece of concrete as Peter moves to tuck his hands into the pockets of his rain-soaked pants.
"Think about it this way, Brian…" He starts to walk across the broken ground in the rain that falls even harder, "You're going to find out the limitations of your power, it's going to be scientific." A smile creeps up on Peter's face, "If you're right, no harm done. Then I know I'll be able to kill the other one and remain me." The smile grows a bit wider, "If I find out you all croaked…" His head tilts to the side, "I'll feel very bad about it…" He pauses his approach, shrugging both shoulders, "Honest."
"Yeah.. unless something happened." Brian murmurs softly. He turns his back to Peter for a moment. "You know what dude, I'm going to go ahead and forgive you for breaking my golf club. Even though it was a dick mov—" And with that Brian is flying through the air. A shocked yelp is let out as he gets hit then another louder, more frantic yell as he crashes against the slab. "Oh God.." He lets out as his shoulders slump against his new resting place. "Father.. Give me strength." His head comes forward as he sifts through the massive amount of pain he so very suddenly finds himself in.
"I didn't think you were this type of guy, Peter." Comes the very pained voice. "You know.. Murder is usually considered a bad thing. And.. Science is good and all. But I tend to rely more on Heavenly Wisdom. Faith." And with that, the young man has his gun in hand. He had slipped it behind his back whilst talking and is suddenly on his feet, unloading three shots at Peter. He's not a great shot, but given the close proximity. He might have a better chance than he usually does.
And then.. There is more. Another Brian is suddenly present. Naked, and he looks to be just as labored from pain as the first one. But no matter, he is off and running through the bitter wet and cold towards the library..
One bullet whizzes over Peter's shoulder, another zips close enough to his right trmple to leave a long and dark red gash across his brow, spinning Peter around from the impact. He stumbles back from the shot, only to find the third one punching a hole through his chest with a spray of blood out both sides. "Nnhh!" There's a wet, gurgling choke that comes with that shot, and Peter straightens after a few moments, the holes working their way closed slowly as the blood slithers back inside of the wound like some crimson serpent.
His eyes flash to the one running, naked, then back to the Brian with the gun. "You're a good shot," Peter notes with a grimace, "Here," He motions with one hand, and there's an unseen grasping force that clamps around Brian's right arm, wrenching it back and then forcing it upwards, "Try a closer target." He sneers slightly, walking forward as he wrenches the hot barrel of the pistol beneath Brian's jaw.
"This might not be a nice thing to do, Brian…" He starts approaching, one hand held out, a single finger curling forward, "But you know what, it's me or him." The telekinetic force squeezes down against Brian's trigger finger, trying to force the gun to fire. "Unlike you, we're different people. I would never work for the Company." He tilts his head to the side, "I don't want to disappear." Squeeze.
A sense of victory surges through him as the shots land home. "Thank you Father.." Brian whispers, inaudible under the sound of the pouring rain. But then the unthinkable happens, Peter is still going. His face contorts in confusion, and then horror as his arm starts to move towards him. Growling, the young man's face goes red as he exerts his strength into forcing his arm back down. But that gun comes closer and closer to his own chin. "You don't have to do this Peter!" Brian yells. "Helena's gonna be fucking pissed. So just get the fuck out of here, and we can pretend it never happened." A breath. Father.. Please, God. Help me. I don't know what to…
Squeeze
The shot goes off, and though Brian trembles at the sound, there is no gory wound, and no blood leaking from his face. That's because the gun is no longer in his hand. It has been swatted away. Rather.. punched away. A naked Brian stands behind his more clothed duplicate, his arm still in the follow up of knocking the gun away. And in that instant, there are even more Brians coming.
Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.. Punch. Brian's duplicates popped out in the direction of Peter. Closing the distance rather quickly. And soon, Peter is under assault from an army of naked young men. Though the ninth and tenth are closest, and thus the quickest to attack. One goes in for a tackle, the other to simply smash Peter's face with a solid punch. A feral cry is let out from all of them.. Creating ten duplicates is difficult..
Numberfour is still naked and still running his little heart out to the Library for help…
"Helena will learn to deal with it." The numbers keep piling up, one after another after another, and Peter is suddenly inundated with multiple men charging in through the rain. A punch sends him stumbling back, too many things to consider on top of his pounding headache, if he were feeling better this would already be over. Another punch sends him stumbling back, and the one running to tackle finds home, knocking Peter over and on top of Brian's bicycle. The crash of metal from the bicycle, leather from Peter's jacket, and water from the puddles all comes at once. Too many people, so many different fists, feet and hands, too much to — Woosh
In an instant the telekinesis is forgone, because Peter has finally, through the haze of his migraine and the fists pummeling at his body, realized he's not surrounded at all. Brian has provided him with a target rich environment. There is an instantaneous burst of air and water as Peter graps on tightly to the Brian that tackled him, and rockets up into the air like a bullet, launching himself out of the dogpile of men and up towards the darkening skies over Midtown as fast as the flight he learned from Nathan can carry him.
Clothed Brian scrambles for the gun. Picking it up he passes it off to a naked Brian, then to another. It's easy to do these things when you are perfectly in synch. Finally one of the punching Brians has the gun, and bringing it down he is ready to take the shot on Peter.. but then.. Peter is moving.. Pointing the gun up.. Brian can only pause. No way he can hit Peter now..
"FUCK YOU Peter!" Comes the yell as the wind and watter wips into his eyes. His head goes backwards then propels itself mighily forward into Peter's face. "You better hope all of me die. You fucker! Because if I don't, I'm going to kill you!" Comes the shouted words. A kidney shot is taken, another punch, but Brian's strength is not much in it.. He can't fly.. All Peter has to do is let go..
A troupe of Brians stand below watching helplessly. Though the Brian at the library enters quickly, shouting passwords and shouting for help.
Each punch to the side causes Peter to waver in the air, flying crookedly and then spiraling out of control from a headbutt and then another punch. Blood runs freely from his nose now, the blinding dizziness of being struck in the head by another man's forehead blurring his vision. Through clenched teeth, Peter snarls out, "This isn't murder, if you're right, you'll be fine." Peter struggles with the writhing man in his arms, gaining altitude further as he punches up through the swirling clouds drizzling rain down from above. The temperature drops considerably, freezing wind blowing hard and fast as the pair blast upwards out of the cloud cover as the warm orange glow of late afternoon sunlight shines across both of them.
There's something serene above the gray clouds, where the skies are blue once more, and everything is a dappled blanket of white and gold from the setting sun. Peter's ascent stops as the light shines across he and Brian, and he looks over at the struggling young man with a furrowed brow. "It's him or me," he says with a grunting voice, "It's nothing personal, but I have to know." One hand presses against Brian's chest, trying to push him away, and then one strong telekinetic shove is all it takes to finish the job.
"Father.." Comes the whisper almost into his ear. His punches stop.. His eyes close. Maybe it's the serenity of what the two men come upon over the rainclouds. Maybe it's the fear of inevitable death, maybe it's something else.. a bit more divine. Grey eyes flash open to look up at the Heavens above. He licks his lips of the moisture.. Something calming, something not so crazy.. something normal. Brian's hands clench on Peter's back one last time. "Forgive him."
And with that, Brian lets go, a shove, and then a telekinetic shove… He's always heard a lot of amazing stories about those who serve God. Miracles. People fired upon by bullets who received no harm. People who consumed poison that did not get sick. Even people who fell hundreds of feet and lived.. He has faith that he could be one of those stories. He could live to tell the mercy and power of God..
"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire; you will not be burned."
Everything is passing by so quickly. Though what is it exactly that is passing by? Air.. and now water. Water.. this might be the last time he feels the rain on his skin. You take everything for granted until you face something like this..
"For I am the Lord your God."
Pop,pop,pop. The Brian's meld back together into the one, clothed young man. Gun in his hand as he watches helplessly and possibly hopelessly. Up at the sky. To be fair, it's an exhiliration that he has never felt before. Maybe never feel it again. He watches..
"The Holy One of Israel, your Savior.."
From afar Helena, Abby and Brian would only see a dot, though most certainly not rain falling from the clouds. And as quickly as he pops out of the skies, just as quick does he make his descent… Brian was not one of those miracles that he had heard about.
And here he comes. The last twenty-four or so hours have not been kind to Helena, but they're about to be a hell of a lot more cruel to Brian. There's nothing she can do - no force that she can command that is strong enough to stop gravity, and she's not even sure that the people she knows who might be able to could do anything for someone falling at such a fast rate. One thing's for sure - when that body hits the ground, Helena's on her knees, and the last thing she ate is no longer in her stomach.
No stomach emptying for Abby. That's left for Helena becuase quick as she can, the redhead healer is putting on speed and running for where the body's going to impact. But then she stops, skidding slightly to a halt and looking back to their clothed brian. Does what happen to his copies happen to him. Suddenly Abby's about facing, and rushing back to Origional Brian. "Give me your hands. Give me your hands Brian, is it going to hurt you?" she's not waiting for the answer, better safe than sorry and she's latching onto him, hand to flesh and the requisite prayer being spoken unless stopped.
It's shock that has him first.. Brian's double is with Helena. Though she's only on her knees. He's on his back. Convulsing. His features are blank, his eyes are wide. Reminiscient to someone who had just been shot in the head. Though he's still alive.. that much is evident. He's breathing. Though it's slowly turning into a blurr.. Grey eyes vaguely take in Helena vomiting.. they barely notice the blood that has been splattered.. everywhere, they barely even notice Abby latching onto him. His eyes are wide, and even though his throat is trying no sound is made. Though his eyes are wet, not just because of the rain.. red rimmed eyes, his silent tears are quickly washed away by the rain. Though he is still alive, he is simply a breathing body that is being clinged to by Abby..
Through the wreckage a harsh cry is let out. A wailing sort of yell, one that bears the deepest type of pain. The other clothed Brian is on his knees. He finds that his ability to make noise is quite accessible. Screaming at the sky, Brian slams his own fist into his chest.. It hurts, badly, but it doesn't matter. His fist flies at the ground as he thrashes, around in a raging trance. That gun is still in his hand.. And then it's brought to his head for a moment. Another cry.. The pain is so immense, so intense.. Just end it.. JUST END IT.
The gun is thrown down as the young man swings another fist at his own chest. "HELENA!!!" Comes the anguished cry across the rubble of Midtown. Brian's still alive.. but he doesn't sound happy.
The voice screams out as Helena's picking herself up. She turns an alarmed gaze toward Abby and the Brian that's with them, with an apologetic glance, she turns and starts to run. As she does so, she's fumbling her arm out of the jacket, ripping off the splint and throwing it away - she doesn't need it anymore, and it was just a pretense. Depending on how close Peter's monitoring he can see her making her way to what she believes to be the origin point of the shout.
High above the impact sight, through the drizzling rain, Peter floats in the air silently. He watches the rushing about on the street below, the movements of the various Brians. The rage, the anger, the sadness and the pain all together makes him press his lips tightly into an expression of uncertainty. His eyes follow Helena's running form, then to the other girl unfamiliar to his eyes.
Brian lives, and that for now, is exactly what Peter needed to know. Now he doesn't have to wonder, he doesn't have to worry. He can remove the other him, and he'll still be. Rising up through the cloud cover, Peter takes flight once more. He's seen what he needs to see here, and did what he needed to do. He's done more than enough.
This brian's fine, she can feel the absence of pull, and blinks. "You're fine…" But then Helena is taking off and in a split second, Abby's following her, winter scarf flapping as she goes, and red hair billowing her wake as the healer follows the blonde across the space, still churning prayers in her mind so that there's no wait when she, if she reaches someone who's hurt.
Helena would be able to find him easily.. He's not exactly hiding himself. Brian is an emotional and passionate person. DYING can make an emotional person flip their shit quite quickly. She will find him inflicting pain on himself… A punch is sent into a cement slab, and something snaps in his hand. Blood begins to gush out as the man recoils back, letting out another anguished cry. He staggers around to spot Helena coming into view. And that's when he crashes to his knees, sobs racking his body. "He killed me… He killed me, Hel.." Comes the weak words, as his head slumps forward and his whole body shakes.
And the Brian of silence was left… He simply lays on the ground and stares up at the sky. His own blood from another body still fresh on his skin…
Helena skids to a halt in front of Brian. What else can she do? She bends down, she puts her arms around the sobbing man, but her face is turned to the sky. Peter's up there somewhere. The sting of his betrayal is minute in comparison to the pain he's inflicted on Brian, and for a moment, Helena feels sick all over again.
But she only says, "I'm sorry, Brian. I'm sorry." even as she puts a hand to his hair while her gaze still tries to pierce the sky for a small dot of a figure. But the experiment answers questions for her too. And now she can go to the other Peter, and she can offer to help him kill this one with a clear conscience. She looks down at Brian, puts her hand on his head as she has so many times, and straightens her gaze, her eyes flicking over to Abby. Helena's eyes are hard. If Abby's an extension of God's mercy, Helena's just become an extension of something else entirely.
Abby's not far behind Helena and stands over the pair for a moment. "This one?" Though again, she's already kneeling. Hand touches flesh, taking copy brian's hand in her, making well sure that if it's broken to try and get some semblance of it being set before she pours on the healing. This time, her blue eyes are closed, blonde eyelashes resting on her cheeks as she starts to pray quietly beneath her breath.
His face buries itself into Helena's shoulder, as his trembling arms wrap themselves shakily around Helena's tiny frame. His body quakes as he tries to control himself, but he isn't having much luck. The young man practically clings to the woman. "It hurts… Fuck it hurts…" The man cries as he holds onto her as if for dear life. "Fuck…"
His knuckles and back starts to heal under Abby, though that won't keep him from crying, from clinging to Helena. The pain that he is imprisoned by is not physical. Physical pain he can deal with. He pulls Helena even closer and continues to cry, though now he speaks directly into her shoulder. "I'm gonna… I'm gonna fuckin' kill him…"
Abby's eyes open. "It's… better that I don't. That was an FBI agent back in the diner, Hel. He knows where I work, my name… better if I don't know where you took him so that when he comes for me, I an honestly say that I don't know where you two went." She's still healing, working her divine magic upon Brian.
His body slows down, though his breathing is labored. "I… I can walk." Brian says ever so quietly. And most likely only Helena can hear him. Though he doesn't release Helena yet. But then, ever so slowly does his hold on her relinquish and he releases, letting his arms fall limply at his sides. "We.. we need to get the other me's. I'm having a hard time controlling myself." Brian says weakly, nigh pathetically.
"I don't think you should be alone." Hel says, "We'll go back, and people will stay with you." She waits for Abby to finish, though her smile is edged. She keeps darting glances to the sky. "Let's go."
"There is another me… over there. I need to absorb him." Brian points slowly across the rubble. He slowly shoves himself to his feet and looks down at Helena. "Will you stay with me, Hel? Please?" He asks softly. "At least for a little?"
One, two, three and then Abby pulls her hands back, weaving a bit as she rises. The Brians and Helena don't seem to have been the only benefactors of God's work today it seems. She steps back though, a glance to the other Brian in question, unsure of whether they're needing her to heal another or not.
Helena nods. "Of course." It's tired, and awkward, but she won't turn him away. She looks over to Abby, to see if the other woman is alright. "You going to be okay? Do you need an escort or anything?"
"Go, help him. I can make my way back to the diner. Help him." Abby waits until she's sure the others are good before she makes her way to grab her purse from the car. Walk, find a bus, and then see about falling asleep… somewhere and soon.
After a little bit Brian has wandered off through the rubble to collect said motionless Brian. The man melds into the former. And then he makes his pathetic way back to Helena. His gun is forgotten. As he staggers slowly towards the library. He will let Helena deal with Abby. He forgets to thank her… but hopefully she will be able to forgive him.
 November 27th: For The Children |
Previously in this storyline… Next in this storyline… |
 November 27th: Don't Talk About... |