seekevolution | The Storm

The Storm

"Mohinder! Mohinder! It's too much!" the little girl protested from her bedroom after one of her adoptive fathers (paper work having gone through thanks to Matt's singular talent) nearly tackled her to rub sunscreen into her fair skin. "I can't breathe! It's in my nose!"

Mohinder more or less ignored her cries, rubbing more of the white cream into the areas behind her ears. "You'll thank me when you're not a lobster tomorrow."

"But we're wasting time! Matt's already pulled up the car and packed it!" She might be young, but that didn't mean she wasn't already imagining herself like the girls on the Disney Channel with tanned skin and sun-bleached hair. It'd started with lipstick and red nail polish and a two piece bathing suit he'd given into only because he's force her to wear a little jacket when not in the water. And a hat.

"He'll wait for us," Mohinder said as he clucked his tongue, dressed in white shorts and an orange collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up, though left open with his chest bare beneath. He had on a pair of sandals too, certainly looking ready for the beach. If only Molly would cooperate!

"And if he doesn't?"

"We'll think of a proper punishment. All right, there you are, bring a change of shoes in case the car gets too cold on the drive."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Matt." Mohinder stared up at the larger man and shook his head. "Not without you." But the protest was ridiculous. Mohinder knew that Matt wasn't strong enough yet. Who knew how many people he would have to keep controlling, if any of them would be like the Haitian, or worse, like Bennet. Getting Molly out safe was the priority.

Should always be the priority.

It didn't mean that Mohinder had to like it though. His protests died when Molly came trudging out of the far back room, shoes already on and hair pulled back in a sloppy bun. "I'm ready," she told her parents. She had only heard part of the conversation but it was enough.

Enough to leave Mohinder's chest aching as he watched Matt scoop Molly up.

He was use to leaving the other two alone, not the other way around. To say that this was distressing was an understatement. Don't be reckless. Don't do anything to jeopardize yourself. Hide all of your supplies. Get in touch with Peter as soon as you can--

Matt was looking at him and Mohinder cleared his throat and glanced downward.

"Please." Just promise him.

Oh, Molly. She threw her arms around Matt's neck when he picked her up and he closed his eyes for a short moment to just hold her, the I love you immediately put into her head, a soft reminder that he hoped she'd never forget, no matter what happened. She nodded mutely against his shoulder and hugged him a little tighter.

When Mohinder thought at him, he looked him in the eyes as he stroked Molly's hair. He did listen. These were things he already knew, but he did listen even if he didn't say anything. It struck him how much of a family they really were and how much they all mattered to each other and when Mohinder looked away and his plea became verbal, Matt went up to him still with Molly in his arms, unfolded one and hugged him.

Molly followed suit. There was something melancholy about it, but it was a group hug they all needed. Just the moment of physical connection.

"I'll be fine", he assured them. "Just take care of each other for me, okay?"

There was something slightly hollow about that. It seemed emphasized when the CDC lady and her military buddies entered shortly after that and Matt let his family go to give them the mental order. He tried to root it deep, leaving no room for arguments or doubts. That'd come later, but never from these three.

There was a short moment of silence before she spoke. "Ready, Doctor? We got to go."

Hopefully, when that moment did come, it would be decided that the matter no longer made a difference. Molly was there already, it's not as if they could send her back. "I suppose so."

How long would they be gone? As Mohinder was ushered out, taking Molly by the hand, he looked over his shoulder at Matt and kept eye contact as he turned down the corridor. There's always too much to say and never the time to say it, he directed at the telepath. Be sure to stay safe so I can say it all the next time we meet.

Mohinder hardly needed to say it. He loved fast and hard and this was no exception. The last look he gave to Matt for the next few months was desperate with love. At least it would give Matt something to go on. Something to go for too.

A moment later and his family was gone.

Matt would be more or less left alone for a little while, though gear and research and samples would be taken from the room by young men and women in protective suits within half an hour. The CDC was pulling out. The sound of helicopters taking off from the roof in succession was proof of that.

After? It was just quiet. So long as Matt didn't dial in to the people dying below him.

He did, eventually. He couldn't ignore them this time when he went down the stairs and besides, sending calming notions to them left him with something to do. He already felt the loss of the other two settling somewhere in his ribs and he fought it with action.

It left him a little light headed, but it was all he could do for now. They were gone. No one were left to care for them except one or two hospital staff who were going to succumb to the virus soon anyway. On the off chance that someone there was immune, they still wouldn't be able to save everyone else.

It was a big hospital. Triple digits worth of people. He walked the halls with all his mental shields up and tried to radiate calm before he left. There was no way he was staying.

Find Peter, Mohinder had thought. Peter. He had no idea where he might be - last he heard, he did live on the island, but whether he'd be there at all ...

He shook his head and went to see if the closest bridge was still guarded. He felt both hidden and exposed in the darkness between the buildings, but he had a gun and his mind, so he was fine.

Military was still there. No surprise there. Matt half expected them to destroy the bridges at some point and leave them to fend for themselves - it wouldn't surprise him, given the way they'd torn up the roads in Texas.

His thoughts turned to Molly and Mohinder again when people started waking up, when voices were raised and the quiet broken. Would remember the way Mohinder had looked at him for a lifetime. He hadn't answered, hadn't been sure what to say, but he'd looked back. Nodded.

He knew that from now, it was a waiting game.

As the sun rose he went back to the car and moved it elsewhere, not wanting it that close to the hospital anymore, and after that? Well. He kept an eye on the main road off the island. People would try to leave and there'd be trouble, but no one should have to die.

It took two days before the riots started, a somewhat long stretch of time for the affected boroughs incidentally when little things like gas prices or a traffic accident had historically done so much, much more quickly. Stores and bodegas were bought out of the essentials by then. Trucks weren't coming. Police couldn't manage. A great deal of people were dead or dying.

Though the city's population had been reduced by half in that period of time, the living and the sick were twice as determined to escape the early summer heat from high rises fifty or sixty stories high. Without power, a great deal of the apartment dwellers of the city were also unable to make the climb back to their lofts and penthouses once they did descend to the street.

Once the military were attacked, face masks and protective suits ripped and torn into, Matt's effort to subdue the masses ended up being futile. He was caught in the crossfire, bullets sprayed in all directions. After one scraped his arm, however, he found himself from the middle of a refugee gooseneck to a dark alley several blocks away, a longer haired Peter Petrelli standing in front of him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry it took so long. Dreams a little hard to decipher, no matter what my mother says."

Matt almost stumbled because thinking you're one place and then suddenly being somewhere else is incredibly disorienting, and not at all easy to handle when you were feeling lightheaded yet again. But once he found his balance and the recognition hit there was a very, very brief smile.

"Right. Nice of you to show, Petrelli."

He ran a hand over his forehead, grimacing faintly, but clapped Peter on the shoulder a second later in an appreciative gesture. He didn't quite realize he was bleeding. Dull aches had quickly become something to get used to, and the bullet hadn't pierced through muscle. He wasn't paying it much mind.

Listening to the distant gunfire had his expression set pretty quickly, however. There was so much blood on everybody's hands - he hated it and the whole thing left a bitter taste in his mouth. That was admittedly eased by Peter's company already - gave him something new to hang onto, in a way. He'd felt lonely, cut off. Had probably gotten a bit more aggressive than he needed to be because of that.

"Do you know what's going on outside?"

A serious question and an answer he needed. New York was lost. Likely would remain so.

The smile on Peter's face immediately faded. He looked so much older with his lips pressed together like that, grim. He looked like his brother, really, a staunch reminder of one of their first casualties. "It's bad," Peter said. "But they have it contained so far. New York is the worst hit from what I can tell. Queens is all right, but Manhattan and Brooklyn and Long Island have all been sectioned off. They evacuated everyone else within a ten mile radius not separated by water."

Being able to teleport was definitely a plus during this particular trial and Peter had done the best he could with it in an attempt not to spread the virus on the off chance that he did carry it with him. Popping up in the middle of nowhere and hoping to steal Wi-fi was the best he could do, but it gave him enough news (or lack there of) to piece the rest together.

"They're calling it a terror attack, Matt. Biological warfare. Towns are closing themselves down and whatever hits the internet kinds goes crazy. Let me look at your arm."

"My-?"

Looking down, Matt saw the blood, the graze, and that's when the pain hit. Typically. He actually rolled his eyes but turned slightly to give Peter better access to do whatever it was he wanted to do. It stung. He'd live.

He was quiet for a moment as Peter looked at the wound and he planted his other hand against the brick wall behind him for added stability. Several blocks away, the gunfire was dying down. They'd have to check it out later.

So, the Company's lost control of the situation, he figured. It was a reasonable conclusion given how they wanted to operate in secret. But it wasn't a calming thought and Matt's mind was unhappy. He didn't like or trust the Company, but if the situation had turned as desperate as the impression he got ...

"What about the other places? Atlanta?"

Please let Atlanta be mostly fine.

"Atlanta? I don't know, man. I wouldn't go near any major city if I didn't have to." He had no idea that Mohinder and Molly were there. "Even the medium sized cities are probably hunkering down. Looked like the West Coast was doing all right but who knows." He didn't mean to be cold. Peter couldn't even manage that particular mindset for longer than a few minutes and the sigh proved it. "Your arm will be okay. It's already clotting on it's own. What happened to the old apartment? I went there to find Mohinder but all of the carpets were ripped out and the walls were painted over."

Peter, for one, would rather not go back and investigate where they'd just left. Seeing so many people dead was just weighing down on him. His nephews and their mother were safe, at least. Far away, up in Maine now at the family house. He'd made sure to stock it up before he left.

"And he wasn't at Isaac's either." C'mon Matt, tell Peter where he can find their only hope.

Or so he thinks. Truthfully, Mohinder doesn't believe he has the answer...just the ability to save those not yet infected.

"Yeah, that's why I asked." Matt pulled his sleeve down over the cut with a huff of air, finding a sudden reluctance to say it out loud. Talk about solidifying the uncertainty. He didn't want to, but he said it anyway. "He's, uh - last I heard, that's where him and Molly are. Atlanta."

He wound up saying it with a lot more bitterness than intended, but you know what? He kind of was. And if that made him spit the name out, so be it. He looked darkly at Peter for a moment but then he made to move away from the alley, back towards the street. Seemed deserted in this area of town. Peter had picked a good spot.

"The CDC", and he drew the initials out a bit in a way that almost sounded sarcastic because nope, he didn't feel particularly friendly to them either, "decided that they needed him here. Chopper picked them up. That's two days ago."

It's for their own good, he reminded himself, pulling the gun from his belt to check how many bullets he had on him. He hadn't fired many shots the last few days and hadn't had an opportunity to hurt anyone before Peter grabbed him and took him from the chaos just now, but he made sure to check over the weapon every now and then regardless. You quickly learnt with all the chaos around you.

"Oh. Oh." Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and wet his lips, head bobbing a little bit like a chicken. "Good. Actually, really good. They'll have the best minds there. He'll be fine there. Okay, so now we just have to wait, right?" Wait and not get killed.

Peter was pretty sure he couldn't be these days but Matt was another story. The pair locked eyes for a moment after Matt finished going through his weapon checklist. They shouldn't need that, if Peter was quick and careful enough. A little telekinesis could go a very long way.

"Where are you staying? My old apartment--" Filled with broken mirrors, with pictures of himself, with Nathan's discarded liquor bottles. "--is easy to get to. Sixth floor. It might be safer there."

The sound of two pop-pops from gunfire a block or two away made Peter frown. Small firearms. Not military.

He'd seen people kill each other over a gallon of milk just yesterday. It was not a good time to be a New Yorker.

They shouldn't need the gun, no, but it made Matt feel better to have, especially if he'd wind up on his own again. His power was not naturally offensive. He'd been considering this some, lately - his power was mostly about understanding and manipulation. That's what he'd concluded. And that manipulation that he'd been incredibly uncertain about a few days prior was quickly becoming an asset and a tool, and although he hadn't been outright cruel to anyone he was starting to see how he could be.

But unlike several of Peter's amassed abilities, telepathy still wasn't ... a weapon, not in the bluntest sense of the word. It was about ideas and having them take effect. Granted, those ideas might be anything, but in a tight spot it wouldn't be nearly as effective as electrocuting someone or flinging them away with your mind.

Matt paused for a moment at the shots, ten took a left turn as opposed to a right.

"We got a new place after you got rid of Sylar", he said. "Too many ... memories, I guess. It's not far. Third floor. I've got supplies." He thought briefly about Mohinder, the hurried way he'd written down that note, the concern but not-yet-fear in his eyes when he'd sent him to fetch Molly. He put the gun back in his belt.

It was the most reasonable choice, but Peter was free to discuss pros and cons if he wanted to. That said, that's where Matt was instinctively headed.

It went as Mohinder had predicted. Day two, riots. They were in full swing with people collapsing and either dying right off or being trampled in the street. Day three, there was silence in much of Brookly, where Matt and Peter were. They were the only two in the entire apartment complex, all four floors empty, or perhaps filled with people that had gotten sick.

Peter was unable to sit still on that third morning, teleporting to hospitals, fire departments, churches-- He just wanted to find people. What he found instead were people shooting at him from high rises or so much military activity that he had to hide or risk being detained.

He came back with probably questionable food from a mostly looted McDonald's just after noon and found Matt in the back room. "You're going to pace holes in the floor," he mentioned and dropped the burgers, cooked in a microwave at a generator-powered hospital's break room on the counter. "Listen, neither one of us are good at waiting, right? And there's a lot of people stuck in the top floors of the buildings here that aren't infected. I think we should do what we do best, Matt. Let's go help these people. Bring them food. Water. You know-- Stuff the military doesn't care about."

It's either that or he knows Matt is going to stew in here, worried about Molly.

Worried, yes. Worried even more since he was trying not to think about it. But it was in that silence those thoughts and feelings were the loudest, and he hadn't realized he was pacing again until Peter appeared and pointed it out.

Well, at least he was getting used to the younger man appearing and disappearing the way he did. He ran a hand through his hair, made a noise that probably sounded like "Yeah", and after eating some they were more or less on their way.

There was the notion of what if they were carriers - but Matt dismissed it pretty quickly. No one was likely to come back for survivors for days, and during that time those people would get infected anyway. If him and Peter weren't contagious they had a chance to help.

Almost all the stores were looted, but not all very thoroughly, and scavenging for some additional canned goods and bottles of water took a while. Neither of them complained since it was something to do that had a goal in sight.

Still, the sun was on its way down when they set out. Matt had given Peter one of the flashlights for later. Most of loot was in the apartment - it was too risky to carry around with so many people desperate for it - but Peter could teleport back and forth for it as they went. Having an intensely superpowered friend had its advantages.

Cause yeah, Matt would probably count Peter among his friends by then.

They'd worked themselves up to the tenth floor of the first building they chose to enter when they had their first real encounter with someone else, having managed to stay below the radar for the most part, and it was a tense one.

Matt reached out, pulled Peter back. "There's someone here", he whispered, motioning for him to stay quiet, and they both heard the fractured thinking further down the hall. Who's there, go away, I'll kill you, fucking conspiracy--

Telepathy was not a power Peter used often. Trying to tap into Matt's feelings when he used it were more confusing than Sylar's when he accessed his telekinesis ability. Besides, they crossed streams too often when they did and the feedback could cause nosebleeds. Peter wasn't fond of it and he knew that Matt wasn't either.

Picking their way through empty...or not so empty...apartments wasn't exactly one of the highlights of the day. Peter knew better than to try and bury the dead this time. Reconstruction from this disaster was a national effort. He just didn't have the time to do it, no matter how much he'd like to keep these people from rotting in air conditionless studios and one bedrooms.

They came across some goods in those places, too. Toilet paper, water, packages of cereal not yet opened--

Peter didn't really think he was infected any how as he followed Matt up the stairs. Going down was going to be so much simpler. They could teleport after all! He'd been reading up on it. Airbourne viruses lived in the lungs but if the virus couldn't latch onto cells and replicate, there was very small chance they could pass it on.

Besides. If they just left supplies in the hall, everything would be all right.

Or that was the though, at least, before Matt stopped him.

Peter scanned the walls with his eyes and nodded. Yeah, he heard a voice too. Mental disconnects. Parsing issues. Fear. "I'll go." What's the worst that could happen? Peter held a bottle of water in one hand and the other lifted as he rounded the corner. He didn't even get a word out before he was shot in the center of his chest with a shotgun.

This wasn't a good start.

Matt reacted immediately and on instinct. Drawing his own gun, he stepped out from behind the wall, took aim and yelled "Drop your weapon!" at the young woman who was staring at Peter, flat on his back in a pool of blood.

She shivered for a moment before she aimed the shotgun at Matt, who reached out to her mentally. She was scared, he could tell even without reading her mind; it was evident in the wide eyes, the pale face, the slight shaking in her hands. Matt didn't dare look at Peter despite his own racing thoughts. For a moment, he'd forgotten that Peter could heal. That he'd be okay.

For a moment, he was seriously ready to shoot down a twenty-something girl who had maybe three other names in her head, people she was trying to protect. She'd killed Peter. But he didn't get to think about that.

"Who are you?" she demanded, loudly. "Go away!"

Matt grit his teeth. "We're- we're just trying to help, alright? What's your name?"

Kayleigh. She didn't say it out loud.

"You want to help us help out? Huh?" He had that voice - trying to talk someone down, urgent but soothing, reasoning. Despite not really feeling those things, he'd done this a few times and the tone came naturally. She gave him a wary look and he slowly opened his hands up so that he was no longer aiming at her. "Want to tell us how many else are in here? We just want to help. I promise. We don't want anybody to get hurt."

She looked down again at Peter, looking scared and torn, and then she let out a small scream when the buckshots were spat out of his skin.

Dying didn't hurt as much as coming back did. Sucking in that first breath was like being dragged over hot coals, singing his very bones. It was over in an instant, however, and Peter put his hand to his bloody t-shirt, giving the woman and then Matt a somewhat sheepish grin as he sat up. "Sorry, my fault," he groaned, as the gun barrels were shoved against his face.

"Get down! What is this!?" There were other, more choice words in her head. Peter wasn't about ready to find out what they were and Matt probably wasn't surprised anymore than young ladies could talk that way...even if Molly might get her mouth washed out with soap if she ever tried.

"I'm wearing a vest," Peter lied poorly. "Ugh, that hurt." There was truth to that at least! "I'm going to get up, all right? I have a backpack filled with food you can take to your friends--"

"You're trying to kill us!" she screached and Peter looked back at Matt one more time as if to ask the larger man to take care of the mess before she alerted anyone else.

Of course, that was too late. The others, just one floor up, were already on the stairwell headed their direction, alerted by the shell fired. Peter frowned. He really didn't want to have to teleport them to safety. These people needed their help.

"Matt--"

A few thoughts did finally hit him and Peter flinched in surprise. Capture. Keep. Could people fall so hard, so fast?

The moment Matt was clear on the fact that right, Peter healed, Peter was fine, his attention was again on Kayleigh who had been contemplating at least not shooting them but now felt like it was the only choice she might have.

Since, you know. Clearly Peter was ... she didn't know what to call him but it wasn't good in any way, and she was even more scared at what she'd just witnessed. Because no matter what Peter had said, she knew she'd seen the wounds disappear. His blood was everwhere, his shirt was shredded up, and there were no wounds. There was no vest. He was a freak.

He had to be connected to what was going on. To all the dead people. No one could explain the dead people, and she couldn't explain this.

Matt had his gun on her again since she'd picked up the shotgun and was just about to feed her some suggestions when he heard the steps coming down.

"You don't have to hurt us", he barked at her, verbally to help his own focus. "You don't want to hurt us. We're here to help."

She looked at him for a moment but when he turned his head and there were others - three right now, probably the names in her head, another younger woman, a teenage boy and a harsh looking man who looked a bit older than Matt - when they showed up and stared the two of them down, Matt knew there was a risk that they'd be in trouble anyway.

The older guy had a rifle. The younger two had melee weapons. A knife, a bat. Matt registered this quickly.

He slowly held his hands up in a show of good faith and since he knew the woman behind him wouldn't shoot him in the back, he turned towards them, keeping a line open for Peter just in case. Telepathy and telepathy didn't mix well but they could battle the feedback if it meant safety, if they had to.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm a cop. We just want to help. Kayleigh was going to help us do that."

"A cop? Where were you when my boy died?!" the old man said immediately and took a position in front of the younger children. They were on the edge of the river of blood that had spilled from Peter's body, but if the man noticed it, he said nothing. "Where were you when they kicked our doors down and stole what little we had yesterday?!"

Peter kept his own hands visible, fingers spread and palms down flat. He liked to think himself good at negotiations, but no matter what he was at heart, his skill was that of a hospice nurse and his heavy losses with his brother and with Katelyn and then Adam left him with no other recourse but to step to the plate...and when that happened, people got hurt.

He was tired of it and looked instead towards his friend for cues. For a moment at least. Peter couldn't keep his mouth shut.

"We're here to give you food and water, to make sure everyone here is taken care of until--"

Yeah, he should have gone with his first instinct to shut up. "Until what? The sickness takes us? More bandits come? The soldiers kill us?!"

They were all very good questions and the worry was understandable. Peter's eyebrows bunched up. "We're in this together, sir. All of us. We need to help each other out."

Matt agreed. "Sir! Sir, please. Look- you can either keep to yourself and wait for those things to happen to you, or you can let us help you." The man looked like he was about to snarl something, but Matt interrupted him. "You're still hoping, right? You are. If you're so sure you're going to die here you wouldn't still be fighting or looking out for these people. Come on. Stop ... pointing the weapon at us and let us help you. Okay?"

For a moment it looked like he'd gotten through, but the man eventually snapped, "What's the catch?"

Matt blinked. "Sir?"

"You're not just going around handing out treats out of the goodness of your hearts, you're not", the man growled, fixing them with a stare. "So what's your game? Huh?"

He used the rifle to emphasize his point and Matt breathed in to restore some patience. Then he pushed at him. There is no catch. We're being honest.

The man remained skeptical, but when Matt said, "There isn't. We just want to give you a few things and then leave. Alright?", he seemed to accept it.

Matt glanced at Peter but didn't relax even when the rifle was partially lowered.

"Thank you, sir", Matt said tersely.

Somewhere behind them, Kayleigh went up to the man Matt felt fairly certain was her father. She didn't want to hurt them, but she still gave them a wary, scared look, and it was mostly fixed on Peter.

Well. Looked like Matt would get to find out if he could make people forget something, if they couldn't come up with something convincing.

Peter still wasn't sure how they came out of that one without anyone getting permanently hurt. Sure, most of his bloody was all over the hall floor, but at least they'd left food and water with those poor people...even if it only extended the inevitable. A city this size? It could be months without help. Peter was only thinking realistically. He'd seen the future, hadn't he? He knew what this could become--

No. He knew what this was going to become. It scared him. He hid it well.

"Mind if we stop at the Gap or American Eagle on the way back?" the younger man asked, smiling though he looked like a zombie, flecked with blood along his chin and ear. "I'm going to need some new clothes."

Keeping Matt busy was as important as keeping himself busy. His toes dug into the soles of his shoes as they stood in the shadow of the building's broken doorway, glass spread out under their feet. There was no sound at all, just litter and bullet casings. Had the military moved off? Moved on? He wasn't sure what was worse.

"And...your nose is still bleeding." Whatever Matt had done up there-- Peter hadn't asked, all right? It seemed to have hurt him.

Matt pressed a few fingers to the blood and was surprised to find that Peter was right. He felt a little (quite a bit) shaky - it had taken a lot of effort to filter through memories alone. To then try to alter just one ... He leant back against the wall to the building for a moment and wiped the blood away with his hand, shooting Peter a vague look.

"Yeah", he agreed after a moment. "Yeah, you look like shit. Good thing you can heal."

It really had been, because Matt had been pretty scared for that short moment there. But at least it had served as a pretty solid reminder and Matt didn't think he'd be likely to forget again that his friend was practically immortal.

He smirked suddenly, however tired-looking the expression was, and clapped a hand to Peter's arm. His own ached a bit if he lifted it too high, the small wound from earlier making itself known, but Matt just considered himself lucky to not have had taken any more bullets to the chest. Unlike certain people. "Okay, let's get you some clothes. Next building, let's just ... do some Robin Hood moves. In, out."

Which was admittedly what they'd tried here, it just hadn't gone over very well.

Maybe they should leave some things outside apartments, knock on doors, and turn invisible. That'd be a strategy.

It was getting increasingly darker outside and Matt was wary of trouble. Riots happened any time, but thieves and robbers still much preferred the shelter of the night to operate. Plus it had an intimidation factor that was invaluable when your primary tactic was to scare people into submission.

And despite the silence surrounding them, that eerie silence that didn't belong at all in a place like New York, after a time there were sounds as well, magnified by the alleys. Echoes, whispers, footsteps. Most people kept to themselves but Matt tried to stick the main roads, not wanting to risk it. Peter was probably fit for fight but he wasn't sure about himself for a little while, and besides - it'd just be so incredibly unnecessary.

"All right, let's see where Matt is tonight," Mohinder said as he settled beside Molly. He was working double shifts and while the girl understood why he had to be at the lab so much, Mohinder knew she had to be lonely. There were other children here, mostly very young children. She helped out where she could, the CDC compound very large and very secure. Though the infrastructure of the United States had started to crumble drastically in the last three weeks since he'd been airlifted out of New York City, for the most part, the virus hadn't spread.

The cities were lost, being reported to news media that everyone inside of them was dead from biological, terrorist weapons. That the zones were unsafe. The military controlled all access into and out of them.

Of course, that didn't mean it was true, just that Mohinder had to work on his inoculation all the faster...and that checking up daily on Matt was so essential.

The man seemed to move around. Patrol? He would be on the streets one night, East Side Manhattan the next, back in their flat the night after--

Mohinder was going mad not knowing what was happening.

He'd likely have been even more mad if he did, however.

Peter was exhausted when he popped back into their newest safe room, falling on the egg carton foam 'mattress' he was using. The survivors, immune, perhaps, or simply having survived the dissipation of the virus from the city streets, had started to band together. After Hurricane Katrina, dogs had gone feral in a matter of weeks. It seemed that people were capable of it too. "That large group took over Times Square," Peter grumbled at the back of Matt's head. "I think they saw me."

Matt groaned and covered his face with his hands for a moment. The gang formations were no surprise and the brutality and desperation of their actions weren't either, but that didn't mean that it was any easier to deal with.

Him and Peter had stuck together solo mostly because of their abilities. Joining another group would be risky for both of them given what they could as people grew increasingly scared and aggressive. Although they could probably manage a situation if they got into one, they'd both agreed to lie low as much as they could - if the knowledge about their abilities spread they'd likely become some kind of target.

They didn't want to live with that.

Having spent the last few weeks trying to help out behind the scenes, keep track of the situations and gangs around them and just keep surviving. Matt was thankful for Peter's company and he'd said as much on at least one occasion, but things were also getting more ... strained. Not between them, necessarily.

Just people. And the diminishing supplies.

"Okay", he muttered, sitting up to look at Peter. He was thinner, perpetually with small scratches or flecks of dirt or blood on him. Looked like something out of a bad action movie. Then again, that's what their lives had become. "Right. The loft?"

They'd slowly set up a few places that they could move between. Isaac's loft was one of them and would have a better vantage point than this place, but wasn't close to as many good raiding points. If there was much left anywhere, but him and Peter had ways of finding things that normal people hadn't, so they were at an advantage.

Matt didn't want to take any chances. The group in question was aggressive. Not to the point of murder (yet, that they knew of), but they were fiercely territorial and would likely try to steal from them. That's how it went these days.

But it might not be necessary, it all depended on where they'd spotted Peter. He trusted Peter's judgment, and he looked at him in a way that spoke of that. He got to make the call. Either they moved out now, at least temporarily, or they kept up the routine. Temporarily.

It was all temporary.

But there was one routine that Matt had latched onto, and although he couldn't be sure, there were those small moments of being aware of another mind. At first it had alarmed him, but as time went on and it was never harmful, he told himself it had to be Molly. He hoped it was Molly. He wanted it to be Molly.

But he said nothing about it, just anticipated it every night and needed it to mean that his family was safe.

He never stopped missing them.

"Yeah, the loft. I'm going to drop off one more supply bomb in Brooklyn where the abandoned military garrison is and then we'll move. Just..." He needed a minute. Abilities cost energy. Energy had to be made up some way. It wasn't like Peter could just eat enough to fill what his brother use to call hollow legs any more. They had to be careful. Crafty. "Tomorrow we'll need to raid a pharmacy. I was thinking--"

Always bad. Peter only 'thought' when things were desperate. He didn't run anything else by Matt unless he wanted to be talked out of it in some small way.

"I was thinking that we go to other cities. Towns. There are a load of pharmacies all over the place and the big chains won't miss some of the drugs if I'm careful--"

But it was still stealing. Even if these people needed it. Raiding rich penthouses without people living inside of them for the contents of their medicine cabinets just wasn't doing it any more.

"And I could maybe get a message out. Like... If I were to go to Atlanta--" Peter wasn't an idiot. It was more than just Molly that Matt was missing. He sometimes spoke in his sleep.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject