Author's Note: Hello everyone! This is what I get for watching Heroes for the past three days straight. The desire to write a new fanfiction. And this picture didn't help at all either. .com/art/Just-a-little-closer-103700870 You all should look at it cause it's amazing! Anyways hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of the characters. At all. (Nor do I own that picture I linked, that's the property of the artist)

You can't run from your past, you can't hide, nor can you forget, it will always catch up to you. The memories of events long since over never die for it is with remembrance that they will live on. A horror, a nightmare, a painful memory can be tucked away, but it's not hidden, it's not forgotten, just laying in wait for the perfect moment to resurface and bring back the pain. That is the truth, which you can't forget. From your memories, there is no escape.

Chapter One

Snow danced down from the dark sky, falling into the lights of the city. The air was cold, nipping and biting at any bare skin it could find. The sounds of the city were a constant drone to those trying to drift off to sleep. A peaceful night in New York City, or at least as peaceful as the city could be around Christmas time. But for some reason, one person alone in his apartment could not bring himself to fall asleep. The tiredness was there, but he could not sleep. He had found his way to the roof and was sitting on the ledge.

Peter Petrelli's eyes stared out over the lights that dazzled and dotted the city below, his mug filled to the brim with hot steaming coffee kept his gloveless hands from freezing. The coffee had come after three hours of trying and failing to sleep, and by his side was his old high school yearbook. It had been so long since he had looked at it last, that he could barely remember the names to go with all the faces, one in particular had been haunting him. The reason for his sleep was the face of this boy who he could only remember the face, and not the name, but vague memories from his senior year of high school.

He set his cup down with a soft clink of the ceramic mug against the stone railing of the roof where he sat, and picked up the book. His fingers quietly turned each page, eyes glancing at each picture, at every face trying to find his, but the boy wasn't in there. A sense of disappointment washed over him, turning his lips into a frown. How could he not be in the yearbook? Everyone had his or her picture in the yearbook, it was the reason why Peter had decided to look in there, he had hoped that the boy's was, but he was wrong. With a soft sigh, he closed the book, picked up his mug and went back inside. Whatever answers he had been searching for were lost to time and in his past.

All he could remember was a touch, a look, and a soft fleeting kiss. The confusion that he had felt, but pieces fell into place like they always did. He had cared about, even loved the boy of his memories, but would probably never see him again. That boy had been his guardian angel, protecting him from the jocks who thought it'd be fun to 'kick the fag' in the locker room. The protection kept him safe, and made him feel special. And now…he was special, very special. A person with abilities, a hero. There was no way that even if that boy were still around, that he wouldn't be completely scared of Peter, and that thought made his heart hurt.

There was much more he had to worry about more important things than some random memory. The notion that Sylar was even still alive was frightening, scaring him to the very core, but he would never let that show. How could he when so many people looked to him for help, for protection, for guidance? Well, not so much guidance as protection. It was so much pressure, so much strain that he was surprised he could get even an hour of sleep. But it was almost morning, and it was time for him to get ready for work.

"No big brother to protect you this time Petrelli." Peter's eyes snapped up from his locker and turned to see one of the football players standing next to him. It was just after gym class, and Peter was already dressed again, and, much to his dismay, so was the football player. No easy escape by yanking off a towel this time. Tears came to his eyes as he felt a sharp kick to his knee, painful enough that he dropped to the ground, clutching his bag to his chest. There would be no sympathy this time. "Aww look at the little pussy, crying for his brother. Well he's not here. Tough luck."

Peter shut his eyes tightly waiting for the next bolt of pain but it never came. Slowly, cautiously, Peter opened his eyes to see a hand in front of his face, he glanced up into the face of a boy with short dark hair and dark eyes with the gaze of someone who was always calculating a next move, to find out how something would work or play out. Peter bit his lower lip slightly and took the boy's hand that helped him to stand up. "Thank you," he said softly, his eyes landing on the football player who was sprawled on his back on the floor. "How did you…"

"Does it really matter?" The boy asked with a smirk that made Peter's heart flutter as he led him from the locker room. "Why do you let them beat you up?" The boy asked, pushing Peter down onto the bench in the hallway, sitting beside him. He said nothing as the boy gently touched his cheek. "They really did a number on you last time, what on earth did you say to them?" Again, Peter didn't answer him. The boy laughed and shook his head. "What's you're name?"

"Peter, Peter Petrelli," Peter said softly, glancing down at the ground, until the boy tilted his chin up. "There's no need to be afraid anymore Peter, I'll keep you safe. My name is Gabriel, Gabriel Gray."

The night fell again, what snow had stuck to the ground, sparkled like stars in the city lights. Peter was actually tired, for once, as he put the key into his apartment in the lock and opened the door. His mind was on thoughts of pajamas and sleep, but suddenly he paused, one hand on the doorknob, the other holding the strap to his messenger bag. Something didn't feel right; there was someone in his apartment. The logical, and probably smarter, side of him screamed at him not to go inside, but he went in anyways. He closed the door, locked it, and put down his bag. As he took off his coat Peter moved further into the apartment. He said nothing, his eyes glancing around the dark rooms that he called home, his heart pounding in his chest. All right Peter, calm down, there's no one here, and he told himself after he had checked each room, every corner in his apartment. You're probably just so tired that you're hearing things, he thought as he made his way for his bedroom.

There was no time to react as he felt something slam into his chest, throwing him back against the wall and pinned him there. Panic fluttered through Peter's chest as a chuckle reached his ears and he could only watch as Sylar stepped from the shadows, his hand raised keeping Peter pinned against the wall. "Silly Peter should have run when you go the chance. But now there is nothing you can do to stop me. You're mine Petrelli." His voice was cold, his eyes fixed on Peter, making him shiver.

Peter tried desperately to speak, yet his mouth and tongue would not move, the words that he wanted to say would not form. And the tears that threatened to fall glistened his eyes as he tried to blink them back. "What's the matter Peter? Can't speak? Can't lash out with that sharp tongue?" Peter bit back the tears; his teeth grinding together and he shut his eyes as Sylar's hand reached towards him. "Don't worry this won't hurt a bit." A single tear fell down his cheek, and then… nothing happened. Slowly Peter opened his eyes, meeting Sylar's gaze and his hand that was inches from his face. Sylar had frozen for a moment. "You're…crying…" The words sounded so strange coming from him. "Don't cry Peter," Sylar whispered softly, his fingers stroking Peter's cheek. "Don't cry…" The fingers left his cheek and peter fell to the ground with a thud and he glanced up, his eyes darting around the room, but Sylar was gone.

What the hell just happened? Why had Sylar…but as Peter touched the place where Sylar had, his eyes widened. That touch had been so familiar, so… No, it couldn't be. There was no way that Sylar could have been that boy he knew. His whole body shook as he grabbed his phone and called his brother. Maybe, just maybe, Nathan would remember that boy's name. He prayed that his fears were not true.

Reviews are loved!