A/N:The inspiration for this is actually what is inspiring queenoftheoutlands to write a fic, so you could say we both got bombarded by the Bunnies of Plot and had not the ready which to defend ourselves with. Or we're just both predictable. Whichever you prefer. I also wrote this while listening to the song Devastation and Reform by Relient K, which is a awesome song and band. I adore Relient K, and you should definitely look them up. Their songs have inspired many a fic, their songs can range from funny and wtf (Crayons Can Melt On Us For All I Care, Mood Rings, Nancy Drew, Gibberish) or deep and inspiring (Forgiven, Faking My Own Suicide, Devastation and Reform, I Need You). Look 'em up.
Warnings: Mentions of drugs, a hint of crack when Lydia is mentioned. (What? I don't like her...)
Spoilers: I really don't think this would make any sense if you haven't been following season five, so if you haven't you should leave about now.
Disclaimer:I asked for Peter and Sylar on my birthday. I got a Barlowgirl CD and fruit. Is the universe trying to tell me something? Yes. I no own Heroes, me not cool enough.

He dreams in silence.

The images are bared before him, clear and lucid acts. They are memories, perhaps. He's not sure. He wonders at the silence, the utter silence, of each dream and image. Each movement of the lips is met by silence, no words issue forth. His life is based around sound.

Talking, carnival noise, ticking. It's enough for a headache.

And yet, the dreams remain silent.

He worked hard.

Samuel put him to tasks about the carnival, tasks involving hand and mind work. Samuel once spoke of the man he was supposed to be, a watchmaker, so he pretended he enjoyed working the mechanisms of the rides. But, in reality, it seemed so menial. As though there was more, but the thought was hidden from him and only taunted and teased before sweeping away.

Turn cog, replace bolt, flick switch.

Lying was hard.

He ran.

Lydia followed him everywhere. Or took him places. She wouldn't leave him alone, and he didn't like her. It was nice at first, to have a friend, he learned to believed otherwise. So he ran and found a place, behind the roller coaster, where he could take his book and be alone. He suspected that the others knew, but they never came.

Silence, peace, sanctuary.

He never ran so hard.

He's devastation.

He can feel it in his veins, waiting to explode. It settles in him, and he can almost swear he can hear it pounding and rushing in his ears. Eventually it'll pounce, attacking as a lion would its prey, and everything will crumble and he'll be alone. He's waiting, half-afraid to admit it, to self-destruct.

Tick, tick, boom.

He'll destroy all he loves.

He's scared.

He's not sure of what, or why. But he knows he is, because he's felt that fear before. Only not as intense. Or maybe he felt that way when he had his memories, he can't be sure. Eventually, he'll figure it out. He's scared of the normal people. Of what they can do.

Of being drugged, kidnapped, dissected.

And the fear never stops.

He is Sylar.