A/N: Only I would suffer withdrawal symptoms for slash after a couple months. Dangnabbit! Oh, well. At least y'all get something out of it. Anyways, this was inspired by the show Grey's Anatomy, which I don't normally watch. But I do remember watching it one time with my mom. This guy had a bomb or missile or some such in his belly, and they had to get it out without disturbing it 'cause it'd blow up. Well, it did blow up (inside or out, I'm not sure. I just know it did and Dr. Grey was covered in dirt and possibly blood). Izzy and one other person, who I can't recall, took her to the showers and scrubbed all of it off gently with sponges. It was very poignant, because Grey had this stunned and numbed out look to her as they did all this. That scene (and one where a kid was stuck in cement) stuck with me, and after watching Trauma several times, I really appreciate Peter's job. I figured this was bound to happen sooner or later.
Disclaimer: I own none of this. BLAME KRING! Though I did once own tea-infused berry shampoo and conditioner and, yes, it smelled of candy.
Warning: I have been off slash for awhile now. I'm doing slash, and there's nothing you can do to stop me!
Rating: This nearly turned M, but I restrained myself. T
Season: I wanna say that this is after Peter bashing Emma's instrument, but before he figured out Sylar was helping her. Also, let's just say that instead of running to Matt after the Claire incident, Sylar goes to Peter.
Pairing: Peter/Sylar (Pylar, Petlar)
Songs listened to: Supermassive Black Hole, Soldiers Poem, both by Muse (thank you, Clare). You Are Loved (Don't Give Up), Josh Groban. Sometimes, Seabird.
---------Peter felt his body shiver as the dragged him away, wide eyed, from the scene before him. He'd given up struggling, simply watched as the poor girl turned her head his way, tears coursing down her cheeks, and gave a shaky smile. The explosion was unlike anything he heard, and he closed his eyes as a scream ripped out his throat and the other paramedics dropped him to cover their ears. The screams of everyone in range mingled in with the sounds of bone crunching and flesh ripping, the smell of fear touching the smell of burnt flesh. He didn't even feel the blood coat his skin, his other senses being overwhelmed.

A couple minutes of after-shock were allowed before the paramedics went to work, running to the civilians and making sure they were okay. One knelt beside Peter, placing a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, Peter gazed at him.

"Hey, we have it under control here." The man murmured, sighing softly. "Go home, take a shower. I'll cover for you."

Peter nodded slightly, allowing the man to pull him to his feet.

"You need a ride?"

Peter shook his head, offering a shaky smile. "Just a couple blocks from here. I'll be fine."

The man looked doubtful but nodded as another paramedic cried out for him. Peter sighed as he struggled through the crowd, intent on making it home before his mother caught wind of everything.

He knew there was some part of him that still blamed Angela, despite his attempt to make such feelings go away. She was his only family left, besides Claire, and he somehow had to make amends before he died—old and alone—in his apartment with too little furniture. And yet, Nathan was a part of him. They were brothers, and they had shared everything when they were younger. They had rough moments—Peter could still remember the Danko incident—but they always made up.

Peter could've dealt with Nathan's death if it hadn't been Sylar whom he hugged, Sylar whom he confided to, Sylar whom he smiled affectionately at, Sylar whom he had looked up to. At night, he shuddered from the messed up dreams and alcohol mixing in his body. He never liked Sylar, that was sure. But his dreams shifted between erotic things that made his shudder in more than just disgust and dreams in which Emma was killing accidently and Sylar was flashing in here and there.

He wasn't sure if the wet dreams were part of the ability he took from Angela or simply his sick mind acting up after Nathan's death and cover-up death, he wasn't even sure which would be better.

Peter stumbled to the door, digging his keys out of his pocket and unlocking the door. A slight tremor of warning ran through his spine, but exhaustion was settling over and at the moment all he wanted to do was get in the shower, sink to the bottom and never get up.

The door slammed heavily behind him as he went into the kitchenette, threw down his medical bag, and leaned against the countertop. He heard movement behind him, yet lacked the strength to turn around.

"Peter," a voice he knew all-too-well breathed down his neck and he suddenly had the urge to throw up. He hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as blackness began to cloud them.

"S-Sylar. Please, go away." He sensed a slight hesitation in Sylar before a warm hand cupped his shoulder and turned Peter around.

Large, brown eyes that nearly seemed black in the light gazed over him, lingering on the specs of blood and dirt and flesh that clung to him. "Peter…what the hell happened?"

Weakly, Peter shoved Sylar's hand away and stumbled back. "None of your business. J-just go away or kill me already." He gasped out as he legs nearly gave out and he collapsed against the counter, the edge bruising and digging into his skin. Two arms grasped him around his waist.

"Come on," Sylar muttered, determination lining his voice, and Peter was simply too tired—tired of everything—to argue with the super-powered murderer.

Sylar—though his demeanor at the moment reminded him more of the future Gabriel that could've been—led him to the bathroom, seating him down on the toilet. Peter watched through hooded eyes as Sylar slipped off his shoes and socks, stood up, and helped Peter out of his shirt. He helped Peter stand and striped him of his pants and boxers. Peter tried to feel embarrassed, but was unable to as Sylar began repeating the actions to himself.

"W-what are you doing, Sylar?" He gasped out, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair.

Sylar sighed, glancing at Peter as he removed his jeans. "You can support yourself for longer than five minutes, but you need to get that stuff off of you before it dries. I'm going to help you."

Peter stared at him bewilderment, looking away respectfully when Sylar removed his own boxers and turned to help Peter into the shower. They stepped in, Sylar turning on the water. Peter gasped as the cold water hit him, moaning slightly as it warmed up quickly. Before him, Sylar smiled grimly and grasped Peter's shampoo. He turned Peter until his back was pressed against Sylar's chest, massaging the shampoo into Peter's hair. The tea-infused berry—a girly scent, if Sylar ever heard of one—let out a sweet smell that reminded him of candy.

Peter moaned slightly at the fingers digging into his scalp, removing the blood and pieces of flesh that stuck to the black clumps. Sylar finally removed his fingers, earning an unhappy grunt from Peter, and allowed the man to step under the heat of the water and wash away the shampoo. Sylar reached forward, assisting Peter's hands in the quest, before grasping the conditioner and repeating the actions he had with the shampoo, the scent of candy stronger than before.

The task of hair done, Sylar grasped the washcloth and bar of soap, lathering the washcloth up. Gently, he grasped Peter's waist and began running the soft cloth in circular motions on Peter's shoulders and upper back. Peter let his head fall back, resting it against Sylar's shoulder.

The cloth slipped around to cleanse his chest. Peter gasped slightly as it passed over his nipples, and Sylar hesitated before doing it again. Peter groaned and Sylar bit his lip as a twitch arrived in a certain place he wished it hadn't. Peter was flush against him, and Sylar wondered the consequences of taking the man then and there before restraining himself and moving to wash Peter's arms.

Peter watched as the man did his job, gently massaging against the skin with a care Peter had never imagined to see. The cloth swept across his belly, and Peter bit back a groan as Sylar knelt down and leaned so close that his breath tickled Peter's skin. He moved to Peter's back, finishing the job there before continuing lower. Peter leaned heavily against the slick wall as he felt Sylar move down to his thighs.

Already, erotic images had swept through his mind in this intimate act. Images that should've remained in his dreams, but popped forth nonetheless and gave off a pleasantly…unpleasant effect.

Sylar turned Peter around, and Peter nearly groaned out his name at the nervous look that passed Sylar's features. The man glanced upwards, locking eyes with Peter. Peter smiled softly before bending down, hand grasping Sylar's shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?"

Peter smiled again, lifting his hand to touch Sylar's cheek. "Helping me. I try to kill you, you try to save me…it's not right and you do it anyhow."

Sylar finally smiled, albeit shakily. "Well, I tried to kill you before as well. You've had the chance to kill me several times, Peter Petrelli, but you haven't. I'm returning the favor." Sylar glanced at the shower curtain, a nostalgic look coming across his face. "I'm changing, Peter. I talked to Claire, and I've talked to Hiro way in the past, and a woman named Lydia. I've found what's wrong with me, Peter, why I'm the way I am."

Peter said nothing as he traced Sylar's cheek, completely ignorant of how intimate the act was.

"I'm afraid."

Peter looked up suddenly, as though being snapped out of a dream. "Afraid? Of what?"

Sylar shrugged slightly. "A lot of things. Of people catching me, dissecting me. Of what my mother always wanted of me, and that I could never match that. Of-of being alone."

Peter frowned, leaning back slightly and turning Sylar's head to face him. "You don't have to be."

It was Sylar's turn to frown, not entirely sure what Peter meant. "I've murdered so many, Peter. Who could possibly love me—much less stay five minutes with me if I tell them the truth."

Peter smirked, "I do believe I've stayed much longer than five minutes in your presence."

Sylar rolled his eyes, "You've also tried to kill me in as much."

"I'm not now."

Sylar turned back to him as he felt a hand trail down his cheek again. "Why? My guard is down, I killed your brother, why don't you just kill me right now?"

Peter sighed, leaning forward so their foreheads were touching. "I don't know, Gabriel. All I know is I can't. For so long, I've blamed you for everything wrong in my life, but before that I blamed anyone around me. II think it's time I took some of that blame. And to do that, I need to let go of whatever happened in the past. And that includes forgiving you."

"You called me Gabriel…" Sylar smiled shakily. Peter grinned back, nodding slightly. "I guess we're both changing, huh?"

"We could change together, y'know."

Sylar furrowed his brow. "How?"

Peter smiled knowingly before leaning forward all the way, arms slipping around to hold Sylar's neck, and gently kissed him. It was sweet and chaste, but it told everything.

And, suddenly, Sylar understood.