Fic: The Long Crawl of Hugh Glass
Title: The Long Crawl of Hugh Glass
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers through 2x04: Kindness of Strangers
Summary: After disposing of Candice, Sylar is alone in the jungle.
Author’s Note: Written for heroes_las Round 1, Challenge 4: Gabriel Gray or Sylar. The title is lovingly borrowed from the short story by Robert Zelazny (published in a neat little anthology called Superheroes) which is itself a rendering of the legend of Hugh Glass.
Gabriel had slept through most of the day. The heat made him sleepy, but now that the sun had set, it was almost pleasant to stand outside the shack, feeling the jungle breeze on his face. The wound was no longer an angry, screaming hole inside him. In the past few days the pain in his chest had receded to a dull throb. He was mostly recovered. Except for a few things.
Let’s go, Sylar whispered to him. We’re well enough to go. Start walking.
A few things. Like still having a killer inside of him. A killer who was very angry about his continued lack of abilities.
Gabriel pressed his cheek against the peeling bark of a tree and stared out at the dark jungle. Moonlight glittered off the tin roof of the shack, but the depths of the jungle were pitch black and frightening. Scared. Weak. “Shut up,” Gabriel muttered. He had no wish to go out there, but whether Sylar kept taunting him or not, he would have to venture out soon. There was no more food or water in the shack. There was probably fresh water out there in the jungle, and food too.
You grew up in Queens; you wouldn’t know a papaya from a hole in the ground.
True. Gabriel knew he couldn’t stay in the middle of nowhere. He had to find help, find people. Without his abilities, there was no way he could survive on his own.
Worthless. Starving to death. What a stupid way to die.
“Shut up,” Gabriel yelled, and struck out at the tree.
He was instantly sorry: his wrist throbbed and-had he heard something crack? His watch. The face of the watch was smashed. Quickly Gabriel held it up to his ear, but there was nothing to hear. The watch had stopped, some part of its delicate workings jarred or broken in Gabriel’s tantrum. The hands were frozen at eleven fifty-three. His first reaction was to take the watch back inside, to crack open the back and tinker the little machine back to health. But no. There was no light, no tools. A slight jar of the table could send any one of a thousand pieces dropping between the shack’s rough floorboards, lost forever.
Are you happy? Can we go now? Gabriel looked at the watch, then out into the jungle. There was civilization out there, somewhere. There was a way back to New York, a chance to get away from the maddening solitude, from Sylar’s voice in his head.
“Let’s go,” said Gabriel. He walked into the jungle.
************
The dust was unbearable. As Gabriel walked, jungle had quickly given way to desert. It hadn’t been so bad while the sun was down. Now the light reflecting off the sand hurt Gabriel’s eyes, and his lungs burned with each choking breath. He’d had a long drink last night from a trickling stream in the jungle, but now it was as if that water had never been. His tongue felt swollen, too large for his mouth, and he was too dehydrated to sweat. Gabriel had no idea how long he’d been walking, or where he was going. He only knew he had to keep plodding along. Each time he stopped, Sylar goaded him on. Move, he whispered. Don’t stop again.
A stone caught his foot, and down he went, barely catching himself with his hands to avoid getting a face full of dust. He slumped to the ground, too tired to start walking again. Dust settled on his face, and Gabriel thought how peaceful it would be to lay here and be buried in sand, like getting lost in a blizzard and covered with snow. Get up, the voice in his head demanded.
“Leave me alone,” he said, words rasping past dry lips. Sylar was like a virus inside him. If he just lay here, let his flesh rot and the sun bleach his bones, Sylar would be gone from the world forever. He’d be a hero. Coward, Sylar jeered. You don’t have the strength to kill me, even by letting yourself die. You’re too weak and too afraid. Get up.
Gabriel got up. The sun was almost directly overhead now, and he could feel his skin burning, reddening. The desire for water was almost a living thing, but there was nowhere in sight that might offer relief. The only choice was to keep going.
Stumbling forward, throwing each foot in front of the other in an effort to avoid falling on his face again, Gabriel found himself picking up speed. He was no longer watching where he was walking, just shuffling along blindly.
He tripped again, felt himself pitching forward, but this time the ground didn’t rise up to meet him as fast as it should. Instead, he found himself falling past the horizon, then landing on his shoulder, rolling, rocks jabbing him as he slid, at last skidding to a stop in a shower of dust.
Get up. Keep going.
Gabriel turned onto his stomach, ignoring the little cuts and bruises from the fall, ignoring the dull burn along the healing cut in his chest. With great effort, he reached out a hand, dug his fingers into the dirt, and pulled himself forward. Then the next hand, pulling. Crawling on his belly in the dirt, like a snake. Pull. Good boy, Gabriel. Keep going.
He was on flat ground now, and he let his head drop for a moment. Just for a moment.
Get up! Gabriel, we’ve got to keep moving. Get. Up. Gabriel!
***********
Voices. Gabriel heard voices, and they weren’t in his head. He couldn’t move. Even when he felt hands on him, he was too weak to respond. They turned him over, arms cradling his head, and he saw blurry faces swimming above him in the sunny sky. People. He’d been found. He’d lost his chance to die. Well done, Sylar whispered.
“Help me,” he gasped.
Rating: PG
Warning: Spoilers through 2x04: Kindness of Strangers
Summary: After disposing of Candice, Sylar is alone in the jungle.
Author’s Note: Written for heroes_las Round 1, Challenge 4: Gabriel Gray or Sylar. The title is lovingly borrowed from the short story by Robert Zelazny (published in a neat little anthology called Superheroes) which is itself a rendering of the legend of Hugh Glass.
Gabriel had slept through most of the day. The heat made him sleepy, but now that the sun had set, it was almost pleasant to stand outside the shack, feeling the jungle breeze on his face. The wound was no longer an angry, screaming hole inside him. In the past few days the pain in his chest had receded to a dull throb. He was mostly recovered. Except for a few things.
Let’s go, Sylar whispered to him. We’re well enough to go. Start walking.
A few things. Like still having a killer inside of him. A killer who was very angry about his continued lack of abilities.
Gabriel pressed his cheek against the peeling bark of a tree and stared out at the dark jungle. Moonlight glittered off the tin roof of the shack, but the depths of the jungle were pitch black and frightening. Scared. Weak. “Shut up,” Gabriel muttered. He had no wish to go out there, but whether Sylar kept taunting him or not, he would have to venture out soon. There was no more food or water in the shack. There was probably fresh water out there in the jungle, and food too.
You grew up in Queens; you wouldn’t know a papaya from a hole in the ground.
True. Gabriel knew he couldn’t stay in the middle of nowhere. He had to find help, find people. Without his abilities, there was no way he could survive on his own.
Worthless. Starving to death. What a stupid way to die.
“Shut up,” Gabriel yelled, and struck out at the tree.
He was instantly sorry: his wrist throbbed and-had he heard something crack? His watch. The face of the watch was smashed. Quickly Gabriel held it up to his ear, but there was nothing to hear. The watch had stopped, some part of its delicate workings jarred or broken in Gabriel’s tantrum. The hands were frozen at eleven fifty-three. His first reaction was to take the watch back inside, to crack open the back and tinker the little machine back to health. But no. There was no light, no tools. A slight jar of the table could send any one of a thousand pieces dropping between the shack’s rough floorboards, lost forever.
Are you happy? Can we go now? Gabriel looked at the watch, then out into the jungle. There was civilization out there, somewhere. There was a way back to New York, a chance to get away from the maddening solitude, from Sylar’s voice in his head.
“Let’s go,” said Gabriel. He walked into the jungle.
************
The dust was unbearable. As Gabriel walked, jungle had quickly given way to desert. It hadn’t been so bad while the sun was down. Now the light reflecting off the sand hurt Gabriel’s eyes, and his lungs burned with each choking breath. He’d had a long drink last night from a trickling stream in the jungle, but now it was as if that water had never been. His tongue felt swollen, too large for his mouth, and he was too dehydrated to sweat. Gabriel had no idea how long he’d been walking, or where he was going. He only knew he had to keep plodding along. Each time he stopped, Sylar goaded him on. Move, he whispered. Don’t stop again.
A stone caught his foot, and down he went, barely catching himself with his hands to avoid getting a face full of dust. He slumped to the ground, too tired to start walking again. Dust settled on his face, and Gabriel thought how peaceful it would be to lay here and be buried in sand, like getting lost in a blizzard and covered with snow. Get up, the voice in his head demanded.
“Leave me alone,” he said, words rasping past dry lips. Sylar was like a virus inside him. If he just lay here, let his flesh rot and the sun bleach his bones, Sylar would be gone from the world forever. He’d be a hero. Coward, Sylar jeered. You don’t have the strength to kill me, even by letting yourself die. You’re too weak and too afraid. Get up.
Gabriel got up. The sun was almost directly overhead now, and he could feel his skin burning, reddening. The desire for water was almost a living thing, but there was nowhere in sight that might offer relief. The only choice was to keep going.
Stumbling forward, throwing each foot in front of the other in an effort to avoid falling on his face again, Gabriel found himself picking up speed. He was no longer watching where he was walking, just shuffling along blindly.
He tripped again, felt himself pitching forward, but this time the ground didn’t rise up to meet him as fast as it should. Instead, he found himself falling past the horizon, then landing on his shoulder, rolling, rocks jabbing him as he slid, at last skidding to a stop in a shower of dust.
Get up. Keep going.
Gabriel turned onto his stomach, ignoring the little cuts and bruises from the fall, ignoring the dull burn along the healing cut in his chest. With great effort, he reached out a hand, dug his fingers into the dirt, and pulled himself forward. Then the next hand, pulling. Crawling on his belly in the dirt, like a snake. Pull. Good boy, Gabriel. Keep going.
He was on flat ground now, and he let his head drop for a moment. Just for a moment.
Get up! Gabriel, we’ve got to keep moving. Get. Up. Gabriel!
***********
Voices. Gabriel heard voices, and they weren’t in his head. He couldn’t move. Even when he felt hands on him, he was too weak to respond. They turned him over, arms cradling his head, and he saw blurry faces swimming above him in the sunny sky. People. He’d been found. He’d lost his chance to die. Well done, Sylar whispered.
“Help me,” he gasped.