A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading, I didn't expect any interest in the story at all but i may be determined to finish now. I will update as often as i can hopefully ~800 words per week, but this is my first fan fiction so i'd appreciate constructive criticism and input in the reviews. Please follow review and enjoy.

Warning: Language

Sylar walked out of Peter's apartment feeling immensely deflated, and a little conflicted. He winced as his feet pounded down the concrete, the soles of his black leather shoes the only sound to his ears. He headed toward the nearest park because it was really the only place that came to mind that he knew would help him think. He stopped and sat on a bench with a beautiful view. The view almost made him sad, it was still and perfect and peaceful because there was absolutely no one the disturb it. No one in the world.

Except Peter

Sylar was not sure what the weirdest part of it all was. First he was alone for days, then those became months, until he counted three long, long years. He searched at first but after scouring all of New York he had dismal hopes. This was his nightmare that had become a reality and Sylar was stuck in it. The worst part was that he believed he deserved it, believed it whole-heartedly. With every day that passed in absence of another person whose life he had taken came back to haunt him. All those special people The Hunger drove him to kill, they came to him in his dreams and vanish slowly until he was alone again. He tried not to sleep, tried not to eat, tried to die, but he couldn't. Sometimes he wouldn't remember how all the people had vanished and had panic attacks when his mind took him into visions of him raining destruction upon all the people.

So he holed himself up in his workshop, resigned to the fact that he was going to live forever, alone. The watches helped a lot; they filled the silence with sound that reminded Sylar of when he was happy. He frowned, he actually couldn't remember the last time he was happy. Well the sound was comforting if nothing more. Until he heard the pounding in the streets it was the only sound at all. The day Peter came, he'd hammered away at the pavement in steady timed beats, just like the clocks only with a different tone, fiery, alive. He didn't believe it, that there was finally a person after so very long.

Peter had very different beliefs about the world around him, and at first Sylar couldn't believe the nonsense that Peter spouted. But the more Sylar sat and pondered- not just this day but all of them since Peters appearance- he started to see how Peter's story would make sense. He said they were in his mind; well this was his worst fear. He said Parkman put him here, and that made sense because Parkman hated him. But then he said that he could help Sylar escape, and that he wanted to because he was meant to save someone that Peter cared about. Peter. Petrelli. Whose life Sylar had effectively fucked up on multiple occasions, stated with certainty that Sylar would save this woman, this Emma.

That would be the weirdest thing of this all. That anyone, least of all Peter fucking Petrelli, would believe that Sylar could be good. After all that he's done? After everyone he killed, and the turmoil he caused anyone who loved them, how could he still be good? The memories start to flash now, like they always inevitably do. Elle. Isaac. Those two specials he killed in California, they'd had a daughter didn't they? Didn't he hear about her? Claire. Nathan. He pressed his cool fingers against his eyes and they alleviated some of the pain, some of the horror, some of the sins. He was sweating and shaking and his breath came in uneven rasps. Tears stung at the back of his eyes. He focused on his breathing but really there wasn't much else for him to think about. Now there's only Peter…

The next breath he released was much more even than the last, and a little of the tension fell from his shoulders. Minutes later he felt the pit in his stomach loosen considerably. He looked around at the abandoned park, at the beautiful trees and the still water. He wasn't shaking at all anymore. Peter was always good, Sylar couldn't promise he could be good, but at the least he would stop being evil. Not a monster.

He walked out of the park feeling as if he were on auto pilot. He felt numb, neither happy nor sad but more confused than anything. Because he couldn't remember the last time he was this at peace. He thought of Peter and smiled, because who would ever know.

Not alone.