My not so fake death

Our death was a rather untimely one. Dying on the battlefield. There was too many of them. Too few of us. Peter and I died on August 4^th, 2013. This is the truth. Would you rather I tell you otherwise?

As many of you have already figured out, I don’t lie. However my job sometimes requires me to alter the truth so as to keep the people I love safe. This is the truth. Would you rather I tell you otherwise?

On August 4^th Peter and I found ourselves in quite the predicament. We had gotten a call from our captain saying that we were supposed to report to our stations immediately. So…we did. I am unable to recall most of what happened during our time there. This is the truth.

Peter and I were accidentally dropped in the wrong drop off zone and landed in the village. We ran for cover in a nearby building. It was, coincidentally, a church. I had never really believed in God but I found myself praying anyways.

Peter suggested that we crawl through the underbrush until we reached our campsite. I for one did not find that this was a good idea for we had been informed that there was an enemy camp somewhere in the surrounding forestation. We remained at the church until the tank’s playground became the village.

Somehow Peter and I had separated and I wanted him to stay with me. Always. I had to get out of there. I made my way through the jungle as fast as I found physically possible dodging branches and tree roots that were spread out like the many courses I had trained on during Hell Week.

Thoughts ran through my mind, thoughts that kept me moving, thoughts that kept me alive. Sylar. Sylar needs me. He needs me to make it out of here. He needs someone to tell him that everything will be okay. That somebody still loves him. Peter. I have to find Peter. He better be okay. He has to be okay. He is okay. I need him. Need him to make it out of here with me. Alive. Somehow I’m still alive.

I could hear someone in the distance. Someone. Someone singing. Where did it come from? Peter. Peter’s blood is singing. Where’s Peter? He has to be okay. Please let him be okay. Your breathing sped up as you began running with renewed vigor.

No. Nonononono…this can’t be happening. You were surrounded. Peter’s battered body stood before you, as though giving you your last chance to make something of it. SAVE HIM. You ran right in front of him.

Bang. Bang. You were shot. You fell down alongside him. The fallen soldier. Gotta get back up. I always get back up. The hero in me didn’t want to give up now. I have to keep fighting. If only I could pick myself up off the ground.

“Peter.”

I can tell that Peter can’t really hear what I’m saying. And it doesn’t help that weapons are going off all around us, from handguns to automatic weapons and tanks rolling down the street. A few gunships crossing the sky above us adds to the chaos of noise.

“Peter,” I say again. My lips are now against Peter’s ear, making it easier for him to hear me.
 

Peter closes his eyes. Every breath hurts, shifting around the pieces of metal in his body that don’t belong there.

“Not yet,” I tell him, insistent, and I slowly move closer. When Peter opens his eyes, my face is blocking the sun that’s attempting to pierce the sand and smoke floating in the air.

Peter can’t help but smile at the saintly glow around my head. 

My body is resting partially on his now, creating new waves of pain, but Peter doesn’t care. Not this close to the end. It would be rude to complain after I stepped in front of him to take the mortar shots meant for his already battered body. 

I know now that Peter isn’t going to be getting up anymore; that he isn’t healing right. After months of getting torn to pieces and putting himself back together again, it’s getting harder each time, and now it’s failing completely. His body is tired. Peter knows I’m not feeling much better.

I smile down at him and bow my head, resting our foreheads together. Peter wants to kiss me, one more time, but he isn’t sure if he wants to taste the blood and sand. As he contemplates that, my hand finds his, fingers entwining. I’m missing a few of mine, Peter notices, and there’s warm blood everywhere.

Peter squeezes my hand anyway, and briefly regrets ever coming to this battle zone. What were they thinking? 

“We are heroes.”

My thoughts echo in his head, feeling familiar, and Peter looks at me, eyes locking.

 

“Heroes aren't supposed to die,” Peter ponders. It feels wrong.

I stay quiet, but my emotions are clear. My feelings and last thoughts… Peter reaches towards them, and comes to a wonderful conclusion:

“Of all the people who have died, we’re the ones who don’t have to do it alone. Because we have this…”

Our eyes close at the same time as our minds meld together. Every feeling, every memory, every shared experience; no words compare to a simple shared sensation.

When the impact of the last shot comes down on us, it isn’t so horrible when it all disappears because during that last fraction of a second, we had each other.

I woke up. In my mind I could feel Dexter starting to stir.

What the…?? Where the hell are we?! I thought we were dead.

Zane looked around the room frantically.

G-gabriel?

What?

I…I thought you left me.

I won’t leave you Zane. And Dexter’s here too.

Don’t scare me like that.

I ignored the smaller thought and wondered what had happened to us instead.

Our arm was in a cast, hanging from a clip on the ceiling, our fingers were mostly gone, and there were stitches running from the top of our shoulder blade to the small of our back. Examining further, I noticed the bullets had been removed and the wounds were closing up nicely.

I’ve seen this on a movie once.

Yeah so have I. Dexter twisted our body around.

Ow. You idiot.

How are we going to get out of this thing?

Why the hell would we have to get out?

Because we’re trapped, Dexter thought, as if it were completely obvious and that we were both morons for not thinking of it.

Let’s just calm down and think this through.

CALM DOWN?? WE’RE TRAPPED IN SOME HOSPITAL GOD KNOWS WHERE AND YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN???

Zane started sobbing in our head and I clenched my teeth at the sound.

Now look what you’ve done!! You idiot! You scared Zane!

Shit. I’m sorry Zane. Are you okay buddy?

n-no.

Guys, let’s all just take a deep breath and figure out what day it is.

I don’t wanna know what day it is.

Come on guys. We could’ve been asleep for years. Wouldn’t you want to know?

I guess.

I’m pretty sure they would’ve redesigned their hospital gowns by now…

Shut up and click the blue button over there.

Dexter looked where I was pointing and froze.

I followed his gaze.

There was a man was on the hospital bed next to ours, unconscious. He looked...familiar. Like we had known him for years. He looked worn out and aged beyond his years. His hair was a darker shade of brown, and he was wearing an army green jacket over his regulation hospital gown.

Hey, what does his uniform say?

I turned our body a bit to get a better view of the last name that was bound to be on his jacket.

It looks like it says G-A-B something.

Probably Gabara or Gabriels.

Probably. You two should get some rest.

Okay.

Yeah, sure. I suppose.

They retreated to the back of our mind and I was left alone.

So I laid there. Thinking. What would I tell the people back home? Would they be understanding? I hoped to god they would. If they weren’t…what would I do then? Sylar would understand. Wouldn’t he? What will I do if they hate me for putting them through this? Would they think I should’ve stayed dead? They probably will. How long have I been asleep? I looked around the room until my eyes were fixated on a calendar on the far left wall beside the door.  

August 31st.

I had been asleep for twenty-seven days.

I reached over to the right side of me. The button was barely out of reach. I leaned as far as I could without falling…click…..WHAM.

That ought to send the nurses running.

Every bone in my body ached. I was afraid that if I moved I would fall apart. Please don’t let me fall apart.

Peter. I could hear Peter’s blood singing. Please let him be okay. Running. No. Please no. Peter. SAVE HIM.

I remembered, and suddenly I realized why I had forgot.

Blood, our blood, had sung one last time.

We stayed at the hospital until we had fully recovered.

Our captain had given us a really important job. One that could only be done by someone like us. Someone forgotten. So I couldn’t tell anybody I was still alive quite yet...and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. Because I was still scared. Scared of how they’d react. Scared that they would leave. Scared that no one could possibly ever care about us anymore. Scared. I was scared.

I was now a Navy Seal with a mission, a goal, a purpose. This was the life I had grown accustomed to. No reason to be scared of the familiar.

I agreed to take on the mission and it was finally completed yesterday.

So it’s now safe for you guys to know that I’m okay and so is Peter. He woke up on the 12^th and is now ALL MINE (and Sylar’s).

Sylar is now going through Hell Week so if he’s kinda cranky you know why.

SO YEAH.
 

If you’re going to be a bitch about us being alive don’t waste your precious time talking to us…cause I guess we aren’t worth a second of it.