Calming Down

My stomach churned, my head spinning as I soared through the air and landed on the rooftop of my house. Nausea hit me suddenly, and I quickly descended, slipping, into the house.

Reaching the first-floor corridor, I struggled to move my increasingly sick body and phased through the bathroom wall into the room.

With a thought, I canceled my power the moment I reachedthe white toilet. I bent down as my legs finally gave in, my stomach gurgling, and my nausea peaking.

A huge blob rose from my stomach into my mouth, and I held onto the toilet seat with both hands, bowing my head into it, vomiting the morning's food.

Afterward, I took a shaky breath, raising my head from the bowl. The awful smell triggered my nausea again, and my head went back into the bowl, emptying my insides once more.

I held my breath this time, rose my head, and flushed the toilet, erasing the mess. Groggily and a bit out of breath, I stood and went to the sink, turning on the tap. I washed my hands, face, and hair and took a sip, trying to calm my stomach.

Glancing at the mirror, I noticed how pale I looked and how tired my eyes appeared. I sat on the closed toilet lid, bowing my head down in thought.

...My plans had completely failed. I had everything meticulously planned, even the smallest details, but it all went wrong.

Why? Well, for starters, my blind rage and hatred for Sylar clouded my judgment with overconfidence as an aftereffect, thinking everything would just go exactly as I planned because I knew the plot.

I hated to admit it, but Eden was right. Sylar had messed me up, both physically and mentally.

I was so focused on killing him that I didn't consider smoothing out my plans or the possibility of things going terribly wrong.

What if Eden disagreed? What if instead of listening, she ordered me to harm myself? What if, just as I was about to kill Sylar or even during it, Mr. Bennet and the Haitian showed up, intending to confront Sylar?

There were countless "what-ifs" that became clear as I sat on the toilet, making me feel disgusted by my foolishness and recklessness.

In short, I was foolish, overconfident, reckless, and more today. I had even been nearly semi-mind-controlled, and that was the best-case scenario.

...Sigh, I didn't even want to dwell on how my power resisted her control when it failed the first two times. That was just how my ability worked.

One minute you've got it grabbed by the balls and in the next, it suddenly flips and kicks you in yours, and then finishes with a middle finger to your face.

So, for now, it was best not to dwell on it and be grateful that it was unique enough to counter mind control's collateral cousin with a few attacks.

...It was the only thing I could consider a victory today.

A self-mocking sigh escaped my lips, and a self-deprecating smile played on my lips. Strangely, I didn't even feel angry.

All that rage and anger seemed to have mixed with the food I'd thrown up, leaving me with a quiet calm that cleared my mind. It was funny when I thought about it.

Sylar's name crossed my mind, but I felt annoyance, not hatred, especially after seeing how damaged he was.

He was no longer a threat in that condition, especially not to me, even if he somehow escaped. This didn't mean I forgave him or anything.

He had to go, there was no doubt about it, but he didn't seem like the problem I had blindly believed him to be. He seemed... small, like a sick child, considering how weak and pitiful he was in that bed, completely at my mercy.

If there was any silver lining, it was that Eden had promised to end his life sooner or later, which eased my mind.

After all, I had altered the plan so much that there was no guarantee he'd survive. There was simply no chance. Sylar would die, hopefully, by the end of this week, and that would be the end of it.

There were more important things to worry about and more important tasks to accomplish.

...Perhaps, in the unlikely event he escaped to evade his fate, his anger might lead his injured body straight to me, and then... well, let's just say, I'd aim better next time...

---

"...Hey, do you remember your big Uncle Theo?"

"...Not really,"

"That's a shame. It means you don't remember that crazy story he told when he came here eight years ago for Thanksgiving." My father chuckled with a reminiscent smile, taking a sip of his beer.

"True, but I know you'll tell it anyway," I said with a knowing smirk as I cut a piece of grilled steak and took a bite, relishing in its rich and strong umami flavor.

"Exactly," My father nodded with a grin. He continued after another sip of his beer, "That day, your big Uncle Theo was so drunk, he told this ridiculous story.

"Here it goes. One day, he was hanging out in a forest in Ohio with a couple of friends, getting wasted on beer and vodka, and somehow, he got lost in the woods.

"So, he did the most reasonable thing any man could do in such a situation, according to him at least, and placed his bottle of beer down to take a leak on a nearby oak tree.

"...Don't laugh just yet; that's not the crazy part. He said when he turned after finishing, he saw a moose, a full-grown adult male moose, chugging down the bottle of beer he had set down on the ground.

"He was outraged, of course, seeing someone or something drinking his last bottle of beer, so he did what any sensible man would do...

"He ran?" I snickered, leaning forward with interest, as I eat the last piece of steak.

"...No, my dear son, he howled in rage and tackled the moose to the ground! From there, he and the moose wrestled for hours until he won, thoroughly beating the moose up!

"Afterward, he took the beer, poured a little down the moose's throat since he felt pity for it, and then had a heartfelt conversation with the moose, both of them sharing their heartbreak stories.

"They've been best friends ever since. He even has the moose's phone number... though, somehow, the call never goes through.

"He believes the moose changed its number, but he assured your mother and me he'd get it again. We haven't heard from the moose since." My father recounted the story with a straight face, but then he burst into laughter at the end.

I joined in the laughter, almost choking on my meal.

"...Haha, that is a good one. Please remind me never to get that drunk." I said with a toothy grin, coughing to ease up the minor blockage in my throat. "Where is Uncle Theo now, anyway?"

"Oh, Theo? Last I heard, which is like a year ago, he was in Esbjerg, Denmark. Something about tracing back our roots," My father replied with a scoff. "Archaeologists, am I right?"

Chuckling, I pushed my chair back, stood up, and took my empty plate to the kitchen sink.

"Don't worry about this, bud," my father waved it off as I turned back to clear his plate. "Just go get some rest. I'll finish up here later."

I looked at him for a moment, sighed warmly, and nodded. "If you say so, Dad. I'll be up if you need me." I walked out of the kitchen, where the television in the living room was tuned to the evening Channel Five news.

"...Oh, and don't forget to call your sweetheart before you sleep. It's very important!" My dad teased loudly and playfully as I reached the stairs.

I sighed, shaking my head with a smile, and climbed the stairs to my well-lit bedroom.

Approaching my bed, dressed in dark blue sheets, I picked up my phone and raised an eyebrow when I saw it displaying missed call notifications from an unknown number.

"An unknown number?" I muttered upon seeing the unfamiliar phone number. After a few seconds of contemplation, I pressed the call button.

The call dialed, and as I sat on my soft bed, it eventually connected.

"...Is this Xander from Odessa, Texas?" a clear, confident voice asked.

"Depends on who's asking," I responded, suspicion furrowing my brow.

"My name is Nathan Petrelli, Peter's brother," he introduced himself calmly, but then his voice turned somber. "...Something's wrong with him."

"Something's wrong with Peter?" I muttered, surprised at the identity of the caller and what he said, frowning at the note of concern in his voice. "What happened to him? Where is he?"

"...Peter is uhm...Peter is in a coma."