likedillinger | sixwordstories : I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

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sixwordstories : I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

Who: Dean and Sylar (

intuitivelyapt )
What: Dean and Sylar have a lot of manly issues to work out in a manly matter. So they kick the shit out of each other. It's how real men resolve things.
When: Thursday night. Immediately following this.
Where: NYC, an alley behind a bar.
Verse: Brave New World

If Sylar didn't have a clear idea of how pissed off Dean was from the way he banged the back door of the bar open hard enough to send it crashing against the wall, then he might have gotten a hint when he ignored Sylar's verbal jab and marched in silence down the steps.

He ran a hand over his face, taking a few paces down the dingy alley way. Something moved inside a dumpster, and he heard a cat rrowing. In the distance, there was the muted noise of traffic, and street bustle. Everything else in the world just moving along, all hunky dory, even if a couple days ago there were giant rocks of fire that killed people, destroyed property, wrecked cars. The city didn't seem to give a shit. It was like New York was daring the Apocalypse to try and touch it.

Dean had no doubt that if they didn't act soon enough, the Apocalypse was the one who'd win that game of chicken.

The city seemed just as oblivious now, to the fact that this guy who'd killed several innocent girls off the streets was just walking free. That he was rooming with the demon who'd screwed over him and Sam royally.

New York didn't care.

But he sure as hell did.

He turned back to face Sylar, fixing him with a baleful glare.

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't kick your ass all the way back to the Company myself, right now."

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He'd expected Dean to be pissed off, to put it lightly. But... they were like brothers, right? Ever since Sylar got the idea in his head, it had never went away. Dean was his best friend, as hard as it was to admit that he cared about anyone-- anyone who wasn't Claire or Peter, anyway-- that much. So, no, this level of pissed off wasn't the reaction he had expected or wanted. He didn't know what he had been expecting, though. Dolphin was upset, but she still handled it fairly well. He hadn't felt like he disappointed her.

The cat noise echoing in the alleyway made him frown. Even in the midst of everything that was going wrong in his life, he still missed the little things. He missed Killer. He missed ordering Chinese food on Thursday nights with Peter. He missed having the change his face to avoid the FBI, not his own friends and family.

The amount of lying he was forced to do ever since breaking out was immense and unbearable. Maybe that's why he'd stopped for awhile. First on Father's Day with Sydney, a relative outside who wouldn't know any better, and now tonight.

And now Dean was going to make him pay for it. But why did it matter? What difference did it make? What did he even have left? He stood out in the rain of fire a few days ago and wondered that, and he was still wondering it now.

He leaned against the brick wall of the alleyway, arms crossed and eyes averted to the side like a child who knew a scolding was coming. "You know, when normal people try to say 'I missed you', it usually comes out more like 'I missed you' and less like ... that."

Dean actually chuckled at that, a dry, empty sound as he looked down, shaking his head.

"You just think you're real cute, don't you?" he asked, and there was a dangerous edge to his voice that clearly stated his laughter didn't stem from merriment. He looked back up, shrugging his arms out. "It's all just one big joke. 'Ruby made me run away. Ruby's holdin' me hostage in her damn apartment. Ruby made me lie to everyone about where I've been all this damn time." He spit the last one out angrily, his jaw clenching.

"You know, I was stupid enough to believe you when we talked in person last time. That you wanted to be different. That you wanted to change. That that thing with Peter and those girls was some freak backsliding incident and it cleared your head up real fast of ever doin' it again."

The words hung there in the air, bitterly for a moment, as he glared at Sylar.

"Guess it just goes to show. You know what they say about leopards and spots."

Edited 2010-06-26 20:22 (UTC)

The way Dean was lashing out at him made Sylar recoil internally. This always happened, didn't it? No matter who he trusted, he just couldn't win. Everyone turned against him in the end. But whatever. If he knew how to do anything, it was to take hurt and turn it into anger, so his response was even more barbed than usual.

"You're wrong! Maybe not about the whole thing. Maybe I could have went back. Maybe I could told the truth." He closed the distance between the two of them, already in monologue mode. "But I didn't want to. Would you? I tried, for Peter, for everyone, but nobody cares anymore."

He was circling Dean like a vulture, ranting frantically. His voice was starting to crack, if only because this was an outpouring so many things he'd kept inside since Ruby dragged him out kicking and screaming, things that he had to keep inside and wouldn't dare reveal to her, and like hell he could have told anyone else. "You're wrong. I'm not going to do it again. But it doesn't matter, because he doesn't believe me. Do you know what that's like, Dean? To have the one person you care most about let you down?" He came to a stop in front of him, so he could grab Dean by his wrist and jerk him forward.

"I bet you do. And now? You're just like them."

"No maybe about it. You think nobody fucking cares about you?" Dean spat. "Well, boo frickin' hoo. We've all got problems, and if we didn't care, we'd have stopped callin' you, or visitin' you or hopin' you'd get your head on straight. You think somebody held a gun to my head and made me keep talkin' to you after that?" But it wasn't about him, was it? It was about Peter. He was willing to just give up on himself, and how far he'd come because Peter couldn't look at him the same.

His teeth grit together as Sylar yanked him unexpectedly, the accusation flying off his lips. All he could think of at his words was Brooke - and the way she'd looked at him when he'd told her the truth. The way she hadn't believed him, and what it had done to him, and how fucking stupid he'd been going and giving up on everything just because everything kept letting him down.

He knew now exactly what he'd needed somebody to do to him at the time, and well, here was his chance to at least try to set Sylar straight before it went past the line where he couldn't go back from.

"You know what? You're gonna thank me for this some day."

And with that, he just hauled back and swung.

Peter didn't. He didn't say it out loud, but that was all that was running through Sylar's mind for the duration of Dean's rant. Peter didn't call. Peter didn't visit. Peter stopped hoping. He had to have. Why else would he be doing this? Sure, it mattered to him that he had people who cared about him, like Dean and the Claires, but it wasn't enough. He wasn't what was supposed to matter most to them. He wasn't their number one. And that was what was most important to Sylar. But he couldn't say that to Dean. Even with his stunted social skills, he knew better than that.

"Wh--"

That was all he could get out in response before Dean's fist met his face. Colors blurred, and he reeled back, reflexively covering his face with his hand.

There were a lot of things Sylar could have done after this point. He could have replied to Dean, going on some quasi-philosophical tangent. He could have used his powers on him-- not killed, but maimed a little. Enough to hurt him. To show him who the one in control really was. But neither of these options seemed particularly appealing.

None so appealing as winding his fist back and punching Dean himself. That fight they kept idly chatting about? He was going to make it a reality. The pent up tension was there. Just because he'd stopped talking about what Dean did to Claire what seemed like ages ago didn't mean he ever understood or forgave it.

None of that was actually going through his mind now, though. The summation of his thoughts at the moment was a much more succinct "fuck you."

It wasn't until Sylar's fist connected with his face that he realized someone had done exactly this to him back then. After all, Cas had given him a regular beatdown, and what good had that done?

But it was too late to turn back now anyways. There was enough adrenaline and emotion driving him that it didn't really matter to him whether he accomplished anything or not, other than doing some damage to Sylar's face.

Extensive damage.

It was only more annoying knowing the marks wouldn't stick around. He slammed both hands against Sylar's chest, driving him backwards as hard as he could.

"You're just fucking giving up then? Is that what this is?" he asked. "You sorry sonuvabitch."

He went back a few steps, but managed to keep his balance. He didn't see it as giving up. He was still trying, wasn't he? He hadn't killed anyone. That counted. That mattered.

But instead of arguing with words, Sylar came back towards Dean, this time yanking him down by grabbing his collar and then punching him. He wanted him to hit the ground; to have the advantage. Using his powers didn't even occur to him anymore, he was so caught up in the adrenaline rush that came with duking it out in an actual fistfight.

"Do you really think it's fair to lecture me about giving up?"

Sylar was trying to knock him down, so Dean twisted his leg around the others ankle as he brought an elbow up and rammed it into his shoulder, so that he could take control when they fell towards the ground. He brought his fist down along with the momentum of the movement, straight towards Sylar's nose as they crashed against the pavement. He hoped his head smashed against the concrete.

"I learned my lesson," he yelled. Well, more or less. He was here, wasn't he? And trying? Even though he'd fucked everything up anyways, he wasn't going to give up this time. "What have you learned?"

The loud smacking noise said that Sylar's head did indeed smash upon the concrete, giving him the fortune-- or misfortune-- of blacking out while Dean's fist simultaneously rammed into his face. When he came to a few seconds later, it was with the uncomfortably familiar feeling of the cartilage in his nose being smashed out of place and not being able to breathe properly through it.

"I learned that people," He shoved Dean to the side via shoving and kicking while he spoke, so that he could be the one on top of him. "can't be trusted." He jammed his forearm against the other's neck, trying to cut off his air supply. Blood from his nose was dripping onto Dean's face, but he found himself not really caring. "Every time I try, it's just a reminder not to bother."

Edited 2010-07-01 12:54 (UTC)

Sylar blacking out for a moment gave Dean a few seconds to actually register the way his own face was just plain throbbing with pain, but he pushed that thought into a box. It was just pain. Sure, he wasn't gonna look very pretty tomorrow, but he didn't really fucking care.

He wasn't expecting the sudden violent tussle when Sylar's eyes opened again, and he wrestled for supremacy but the fight was short-lived when he found himself gasping for breath. His fingers scrabbled for purchase around Sylar's arm, even as he released strained noises from deep in his throat, and he put all his strength into resisting the weight bearing down on it. His eyes alternated being squeezing shut and bulging open against the pressure.

That dick.

He found enough strength to shove twice as hard, pushing Sylar's arm away as hard as he could and twisting his elbow up sharply in the direction of his head.

Sylar hadn't planned on keeping Dean in that position for too long, anyway. He wasn't trying to suffocate Dean out of existence, and he just plain expected more out of him. He could feel how badly Dean wanted to fight him pulsing just underneath his skin. It made him feel hurt, and the easiest way to combat that hurt was to turn it into rage and aggression. He'd give him a fight.

Dean fought back. That was more like it. He grabbed Dean's elbow with the arm he just shoved away, and used the other to land several punches in rapid succession, mainly in his chest area. Forget hitting his face. Those kinds of injuries were petty. Superficial, made to agitate. He wanted him to hurt.

"You all out of words already?"

One of the hits to his chest threatened to knock the wind out of Dean, but he managed to gather it back enough to say: "Oh boo friggin' hoo." The hits might have been solid, they might have hurt, but Dean had a pain tolerance built out of three decades on a rack in hell.

This was just a walk in the fucking park.

Dean's free hand came up and caught the wrist of the hand that Sylar was driving against his chest before he could land a third hit. The other was still holding on to his elbow, so Dean yanked both of Sylar's arms apart by snapping his in opposite directions, bringing his forehead up to crash against the other man's as it was pulled down abruptly.

The head trauma was getting really old right about now, he decided. But at least it wasn't another concussion. He tried to break free of Dean's grip on him, but his definition of "trying" was a directionless struggle. For someone so all-powerful, hand to hand combat was kind of a weak point, as Peter and Noah, and even Mohinder would be able to vouch. Sylar was in denial about it-- every fight he lost, he would have one if it weren't for some minor detail or another. He just had bad luck.

The truth of it was something closer to no matter what he tried to do to prove himself otherwise, no matter what lengths he went to, he was still some spoiled watchmaker from Queens.

Since he was getting nowhere, he decided to do what seemed perfectly logical at the time: headbutt Dean again.

Dean was expecting the retaliation this time, because he'd deprived Sylar of his other immediate limbs, and he was ready. He looped his leg through the other's and used the momentum of Sylar's movement to roll them again, even as their heads collided once more. Everything was spinning as Dean landed once more on top of the other man. His hands moved from their grip on Sylar's arms to roughly seize him by the collar, and he rose up to his feet, dragging him along. As soon as they were standing, he hurled all his weight against Sylar, ramming him towards the old dirty dumpster parked beside them.

"Do you even regret what you did, you sonuvabitch?" he spit.

He stared up at Dean in a dazed stupor as he somehow found himself under him again. Everything was a blur as Dean dragged him upright. He tried to throw a punch at him again, but his sense of balance was off, making it more of a vague swipe. As he was rammed into, he crashed against the dumpster, making a loud clanging metallic noise that scared off the previously lurking alley cat.

"How can you say that?" Sylar stared at Dean with an expression that made clear his words hurt him more than any of his displays of violence had. "Of course I'm sorry! I've spent this entire time being sorry! I don't remember what it's like to be anything else anymore."

"Don't you pull that melodramatic bullshit on me," Dean said, accentuating it with another violent shove, keeping him pinned in place. "Moping around feeling bad for yourself? Isn't what I'm talkin' about. I'm talkin' about wantin' to really change. Part of you was glad when Ruby busted you out of there, wasn't it? Because you were free from takin' responsibility for what you did, and you could blame it on her, and hope that everything would somehow just go back to the way it was."

His hands tightened around Sylar's collar, face held close so that he had to look him in the eye.

"Tell me if that wasn't it."

Brown eyes searched hazel for some kind of understanding, some kind of sympathy... and found nothing. "Maybe you're right." He admitted, breaking his eyes of the other's gaze. "But it's not-- it wasn't like that. I was tired of that option. It wasn't working. So yeah, part of me was glad she busted me out," he made an attempt to shove Dean away from him, "because I hated it there."

"I still want to change. I just need a Plan B."

Dean wasn't about to be pushed off that easily. He grabbed Sylar's right arm as soon as he extended it, and attempted to twist him around into a lock.

"Fine, so think of one. Right now," he demanded.

It was hopeless to just think that he was going to violently threaten some kind of miraculous solution out of Sylar. He knew that, somewhere, deep down. But the whole situation had him on edge for other subconscious reasons. Because if there wasn't a Plan B, wasn't a real way to absolution for guys like him...

Guy like both of them...

He didn't want to let those thoughts rise to the surface, and so his hold tightened.

"We got all night."

Instead of struggling when Dean pulled him into a lock, he let him. "I don't know." He hissed from behind clenched teeth. "I'd probably be able to think if you weren't still assaulting me."

That was when he made his move, and tried to pull away from Dean with a sharp jerking motion.

Sylar's accusation actually did give Dean momentary pause and his muscles slackened up just enough so that Sylar was able to shove out from his grasp. He didn't move after him this time, just stood staring at him, tasting the blood in his mouth and turning his head slightly to spit some of it out. At least there weren't any teeth in the mix.

On his guard still, he stared him down. "So fine. Think."

Now that Dean wasn't trying to end his immortal life, Sylar had time to attend to his needs. Like popping his broken nose back into place. With an irritated grunt, he wiped the blood that had amassed on his face off on his sleeve and spat blood out of his mouth, almost mirroring Dean. His ability to regenerate had already done its work; he knew as soon as he got a chance to properly clean off, he'd look like tonight had never happened. The feelings would remain, though. Fighting with Dean left him with an uneasy anxiety that welled in his stomach, an anxiety that was far from leaving because there was a chance that this could only be a brief reprieve from violence.

"I... need to talk to Peter and Angela, obviously." He started, tone unsure. "Tell them what really happened. Come clean."

Yeah, there was a little bit of jealousy there that his bruises were gonna blossom and stick around for awhile whereas Sylar could just clean up like he was washing off a stain.

But at the same time, he liked carrying the badge that he'd been in a fight. He had a lot of scars, but they all told a story.

Both of them carried a lot of those scars on the inside, but at least those emotional ones didn't leave outside indicators. Not if you played it right.

"Yeah, alright. There's a start," he said. "Keep talkin'."

Sylar stared pacing again, but not at his frantic monologue speed. This time he was calm. Deliberate. Well, not really calm. Inside he was panicking, because he was being forced to come up with a solution on the spot and if he didn't, it could cost him one of the few people remaining who still cared about him in some shape or form. He just hid it well, that was all.

"I could keep taking the pills. That way I wouldn't be a danger to anyone because of my powers." He didn't like that idea, but it was all he had short of shipping himself back to the Company.

"What pills?" he asked, though what Sylar said about them made it pretty clear.

Power suppressors. "They make pills for that? Does it do anything for your... you know..." Yeah, Dean had never heard anyone say the phrase 'the Hunger' and he would think it was pretty gay anyways.

But if this was a solution, how had people been letting Sylar walk around without them all this time? It showed just how much faith they'd had in him, and made it all the worse for everyone else that he'd fucked it up. Dean wondered if they were feeling as guilty about this as Sylar was, Peter and Angela and whoever else was involved with him bein' where he was.

Sylar realized that Dean couldn't just read his mind and automatically know what he was talking about, so he backpedaled a bit to explain. "They call them Haitian pills. I've never heard anyone use the official name, if they even have one. But, yes, they block out powers. I wasn't sure they still made them after the Company went under, but I guess Angela got it done."

He tilted his head and squinted at Dean, not sure what he was asking at first. "My...? Oh." There was a shrug, then a reluctant nod. "It's part of my ability. When that's gone, then... well. You get it."

As he finally started discussing this, guilt he had been trying to push away and suppress started seeping in.Everything he'd done since breaking out, it'd just been avoidance. Dancing around the inevitable.

"I was getting better, though. I can control it. It's not like I killed those girls for their powers. It was just--" He shook his head. "A lapse in judgment."

sixwordstories : I want you to hit me as hard as you can.

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