Chapter 1 - The Beginning
Submitted January 7, 2010 Updated January 20, 2010 Status Incomplete | Heroes fanfiction. I always wondered what might have happened if Syler hadn''t killed El... if they''d gotten married, maybe they would of had a child- which is what this is about.
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Chapter 1 - The Beginning
Chapter 1 - The Beginning
I told him we shouldn't've done it. We never should have even entered that gas station. It would blow up in our faces. But he didn't listen to me. He never did. He was the leader, the one with all the experience, the one who knew how not to get caught stealing. So we did. And now I was facing the consequences, something I knew my immature, slightly child-like father would understand. No, he wasn't child-like, not really. He just had never had anyone to tell him right from wrong. So he chose wrong.
My father always said I was the best thing that happened to him. I couldn't help feel I was the worst. He had pushed all his memories of my mother into my head so many times, under my request, that I couldn't help remember them. El. My mother. And my namesake. She hadn't lived to name me anything else. My father instantly knew, with a little girl, he could no longer be who he had been for so long. A killer. A monster. At least, that's what he had called himself. It's difficult for us, with these... these abilities, for lack of a better word. We couldn't control them sometimes. As my father had pointed out the first time I asked why we always ran. And he had killed many people before realizing he could absorb their abilities without killing them. Which is what I do. There is a single stain on my life, a time I couldn't control it. I will never forget it.
We finally settled down, in a small town in Texas, and for the first time in my life, I attended school. Gabriel (my father) always had homeschooled me in the past, reassuring me that school was no fun anyway.I had friends, we had a home. But he worried. His job wasn't giving him enough money, and his ailment was getting worse. He would suffer from a form of depression, with three stages, A being the worst, C being the most mild. He would remember how it felt, to kill someone, how much he had enjoyed it, and in stage C he would depend on me, like a child on their parent. Stage B he would curl up on his bed, or where ever he was at the time, and not speak, not eat, nothing, sometimes until I had to force feed him. He always told me it was too great of a burden for me to bear, but I didn't mind. I knew he was a good man, and I forgave him for his past actions. Stage A was the worst. Father was so much more powerful than me, I couldn't stop him. He would go somewhere, a supermarket, Target. And he would kill. When I was young it scared me when he would do this, and I didn't have the abilities I did later. I would follow him, everywhere he went. Later I could stop him, sometimes. I got a power, from a talented man, the ability to take away powers. I would use it on him, and nail him to the wall, or the floor, or anywhere I could. To stop him. He would groan, and moan, but I wouldn't listen to him. Sometimes, I would miss days of school at a time, with no explanation, holding my father there and healing him enough so that the wound wouldn't fester. His job was being impacted by the form of disease, and I searched desperately for a way to help him be in peace with himself, but nothing worked. Finally, with no more food in our cupboards, he decided it was time to take action.
The robbing didn't work. I had to use the power I had gotten from my mother to stop a man from shooting my father, and Gabriel had groaned and glared at me. I suppose it was my fault also, what was happening. We got food, but we knew they had been alerted to our presence here. We were in danger. We had to leave. Gabriel gave me one day to say goodbye to my friends. We were already packed when I headed into school.
My father always said I was the best thing that happened to him. I couldn't help feel I was the worst. He had pushed all his memories of my mother into my head so many times, under my request, that I couldn't help remember them. El. My mother. And my namesake. She hadn't lived to name me anything else. My father instantly knew, with a little girl, he could no longer be who he had been for so long. A killer. A monster. At least, that's what he had called himself. It's difficult for us, with these... these abilities, for lack of a better word. We couldn't control them sometimes. As my father had pointed out the first time I asked why we always ran. And he had killed many people before realizing he could absorb their abilities without killing them. Which is what I do. There is a single stain on my life, a time I couldn't control it. I will never forget it.
We finally settled down, in a small town in Texas, and for the first time in my life, I attended school. Gabriel (my father) always had homeschooled me in the past, reassuring me that school was no fun anyway.I had friends, we had a home. But he worried. His job wasn't giving him enough money, and his ailment was getting worse. He would suffer from a form of depression, with three stages, A being the worst, C being the most mild. He would remember how it felt, to kill someone, how much he had enjoyed it, and in stage C he would depend on me, like a child on their parent. Stage B he would curl up on his bed, or where ever he was at the time, and not speak, not eat, nothing, sometimes until I had to force feed him. He always told me it was too great of a burden for me to bear, but I didn't mind. I knew he was a good man, and I forgave him for his past actions. Stage A was the worst. Father was so much more powerful than me, I couldn't stop him. He would go somewhere, a supermarket, Target. And he would kill. When I was young it scared me when he would do this, and I didn't have the abilities I did later. I would follow him, everywhere he went. Later I could stop him, sometimes. I got a power, from a talented man, the ability to take away powers. I would use it on him, and nail him to the wall, or the floor, or anywhere I could. To stop him. He would groan, and moan, but I wouldn't listen to him. Sometimes, I would miss days of school at a time, with no explanation, holding my father there and healing him enough so that the wound wouldn't fester. His job was being impacted by the form of disease, and I searched desperately for a way to help him be in peace with himself, but nothing worked. Finally, with no more food in our cupboards, he decided it was time to take action.
The robbing didn't work. I had to use the power I had gotten from my mother to stop a man from shooting my father, and Gabriel had groaned and glared at me. I suppose it was my fault also, what was happening. We got food, but we knew they had been alerted to our presence here. We were in danger. We had to leave. Gabriel gave me one day to say goodbye to my friends. We were already packed when I headed into school.
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