The Gabriel Gray Drabbles (10 @ 100 worsds each.)
Title: The Gabriel Gray Drabbles (10 @ 100 worsds each.)
Author: Izzi, luvmeanddespair
Rating: R, mainly for gore content.
Pairing: Mylar in the end.
Summary: Gabriel thinks on past times.
Warnings: Bad dreams. Mental Illness? General Angstiness.
Disclaimer: So not mine. Belongs to Tim Kring.
AN: Generally I loathe uber-structured writing but this was a bit of a test for me. I plan on stringing them together and adding stuff to make it a fic later, if for nothing other than my own sanity. I'm going with the Sylar was a big bad voice who took over theory. Poor wittle Gabriel. Yes, the quote is verbatim from the movie in #2.
The first time he can remember Sylar taking over is when he met Brian Davis. Well, no, that’s not quite correct. He remembers Sylar being just under the surface, if only because he’s finally been given a name other than “that creepy voice I’m trying to ignore”. It’s when the man says he doesn’t want his ability that Sylar starts bleeding through like stain. It’s still him, still Gabriel, who walks over and examines the man, Gabriel who says “I can fix it.” But when he speaks again, his voice is strange and the words cold.
“It’s an evolutionary imperative.”
*~*~*
There’d been a marathon of Hitchcock films on the day before, and he’d watched nearly all of it. He’s just gotten out of the shower, wet and shivering. Then he notices that the water droplets are frozen to his skin. He stares briefly and then goes and looks in the shower and sees blood dripping down off the metal spout. He stumbles back, and looks into the mirror.
“'Mother! Oh God, mother! Blood! Blood!'” his reflection whispers mockingly, eyes dark and frightening.
Moments later he starts laughing hysterically, only to end up slumped on the floor, body wracking with sobs.
*~*~*
By the time he meets Bennet, Gabriel is merely an observer. Which is partially what makes their time together so interesting. Bennet insists on calling him by his given name, which is actually unnerving because Gabriel didn’t do all the horrific things that Sylar had. That and it’s forced him to agree with Sylar that it’s being used incorrectly and agreeing with him is very wrong. But the protests go unnoticed, the murderer continues to be mocked and deep inside, Gabriel can hear the monster snarling at him.
This is your fault, your fault!
He disagrees resentfully, but fades away.
*~*~*
It’s when he meets Mohinder as “Zane Taylor” that things get strange. Because Sylar lets him out, encourages him even, to talk and gather information. It’s almost if it was the plan all along and Sylar just had to take a few drastic measures (lives) to get him there. Mohinder is everything Chandra refused, encouraging exploration, freely giving praise. Gabriel knows why, sees it whenever the man mentions his father. He too, was decidedly ordinary and shunned from further investigation.
He wants to tell him so, desperately. But Sylar laughs whenever he thinks it and reminds him, I killed Chandra.
*~*~*
He dreams. Of wide eyes, screams, heart beats and blood. Red and oozing, splashing, trickling, blood, blood, blood. And, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m s-
“-orry I’m sorry. I’m-”
“Zane.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Zane!”
He wakes and finds Mohinder hovering over him, hair a curly mess but face full of concern.
“It’s nothing, I’m sorry.”
“I for-”
“NO!”
It’s said too loudly and harshly.
“Don’t say it. Please. Promise you’ll never say it.”
“Zane…”
“Please.”
And it hurts because he does wish to be forgiven but if he were; if Sylar were, then Mohinder would never forgive himself.
*~*~*
He dreams again. Of eyes black as coffee, skin sweet as chocolate, and of silky dark curls. Of touches, kisses, and promises of always. He wakes with a gasp, flesh hard, and clamps down on the squeal in his throat.
What are you, twelve?
He feels it, shamed and embarrassed as one hand is traitorous enough to wrap around himself. Curled on the couch under a tattered blanket, moving desperately with his eyes cinched shut, whispering.
“Mohinder.”
Don’t scream, Daddy might wake up.
He bites down on his wrist and tastes blood as his palm becomes abruptly hot and wet.
*~*~*
It feels like days, but it’s only been a few hours. Gabriel wakes and goes to the bathroom, splashing water in his face. It’s good to be in control. It won’t last, he knows, but he has to do something while he still can. Something…extraordinary.
Mohinder is slumped over his laptop. He simply watches him for a moment and then carefully, gets him to his feet, steering the unconscious man telekinetically to his room. He tucks the man in and then, before he loses his nerve, Gabriel presses his lips to the dark forehead. Close enough to extraordinary, he thinks.
*~*~*
“Zane? Zane?”
He’s dreaming of eyes and voiceless words, drowning in blood when the voice wakes him and the hands… splash him? He gasps in heavy breaths, choking on (blood) water and looks around bewildered. How had he gotten into the bathroom? Not to mention the tub? Modesty returns and he sees Mohinder draw away, head turned politely aside, hand holding out a towel. He takes it, rising and turning himself to wrap it around his waist securely.
There is no silence, thanks to Dale, both their hearts pounding, pounding, pounding. Almost as if, as if-
“I’ll leave-sorry.”
Nothing.
*~*~*
Breakfast is nowhere near normal. Tension is everywhere and after that morning, he can’t blame Mohinder. Sylar, found it hysterical-not almost drowning, the tension. Gabriel knew that Sylar wouldn’t keep him long, but could he really watch this man suffer at the hands of, well, himself?
He rises, setting the dishes in the sink and sits on the couch, resting his face in his hands. The sofa dips next to him and he can hear Mohinder’s pulse again, teasing and dragging his own with it in time. The beat increases when Mohinder’s arm moves around him in an embrace.
*~*~*
He leans in. He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it. His face is buried in the man’s chest, heartbeat blocking out nearly everything now. He’s crying, of course, because he’s Gabriel and that’s what he does, but still it’s embarrassing. Why does all the embarrassing stuff have to happen to him? Mohinder’s saying something, a blur of beautiful sounds and that’s when he looks up and stares at pink lips. He’s so terrible at starting things yet he’s moving forward now, lips pressing clumsily against the ones before him.
They part and then press back. Mohinder tastes of tea.
Author: Izzi, luvmeanddespair
Rating: R, mainly for gore content.
Pairing: Mylar in the end.
Summary: Gabriel thinks on past times.
Warnings: Bad dreams. Mental Illness? General Angstiness.
Disclaimer: So not mine. Belongs to Tim Kring.
AN: Generally I loathe uber-structured writing but this was a bit of a test for me. I plan on stringing them together and adding stuff to make it a fic later, if for nothing other than my own sanity. I'm going with the Sylar was a big bad voice who took over theory. Poor wittle Gabriel. Yes, the quote is verbatim from the movie in #2.
The first time he can remember Sylar taking over is when he met Brian Davis. Well, no, that’s not quite correct. He remembers Sylar being just under the surface, if only because he’s finally been given a name other than “that creepy voice I’m trying to ignore”. It’s when the man says he doesn’t want his ability that Sylar starts bleeding through like stain. It’s still him, still Gabriel, who walks over and examines the man, Gabriel who says “I can fix it.” But when he speaks again, his voice is strange and the words cold.
“It’s an evolutionary imperative.”
*~*~*
There’d been a marathon of Hitchcock films on the day before, and he’d watched nearly all of it. He’s just gotten out of the shower, wet and shivering. Then he notices that the water droplets are frozen to his skin. He stares briefly and then goes and looks in the shower and sees blood dripping down off the metal spout. He stumbles back, and looks into the mirror.
“'Mother! Oh God, mother! Blood! Blood!'” his reflection whispers mockingly, eyes dark and frightening.
Moments later he starts laughing hysterically, only to end up slumped on the floor, body wracking with sobs.
*~*~*
By the time he meets Bennet, Gabriel is merely an observer. Which is partially what makes their time together so interesting. Bennet insists on calling him by his given name, which is actually unnerving because Gabriel didn’t do all the horrific things that Sylar had. That and it’s forced him to agree with Sylar that it’s being used incorrectly and agreeing with him is very wrong. But the protests go unnoticed, the murderer continues to be mocked and deep inside, Gabriel can hear the monster snarling at him.
This is your fault, your fault!
He disagrees resentfully, but fades away.
*~*~*
It’s when he meets Mohinder as “Zane Taylor” that things get strange. Because Sylar lets him out, encourages him even, to talk and gather information. It’s almost if it was the plan all along and Sylar just had to take a few drastic measures (lives) to get him there. Mohinder is everything Chandra refused, encouraging exploration, freely giving praise. Gabriel knows why, sees it whenever the man mentions his father. He too, was decidedly ordinary and shunned from further investigation.
He wants to tell him so, desperately. But Sylar laughs whenever he thinks it and reminds him, I killed Chandra.
*~*~*
He dreams. Of wide eyes, screams, heart beats and blood. Red and oozing, splashing, trickling, blood, blood, blood. And, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m s-
“-orry I’m sorry. I’m-”
“Zane.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Zane!”
He wakes and finds Mohinder hovering over him, hair a curly mess but face full of concern.
“It’s nothing, I’m sorry.”
“I for-”
“NO!”
It’s said too loudly and harshly.
“Don’t say it. Please. Promise you’ll never say it.”
“Zane…”
“Please.”
And it hurts because he does wish to be forgiven but if he were; if Sylar were, then Mohinder would never forgive himself.
*~*~*
He dreams again. Of eyes black as coffee, skin sweet as chocolate, and of silky dark curls. Of touches, kisses, and promises of always. He wakes with a gasp, flesh hard, and clamps down on the squeal in his throat.
What are you, twelve?
He feels it, shamed and embarrassed as one hand is traitorous enough to wrap around himself. Curled on the couch under a tattered blanket, moving desperately with his eyes cinched shut, whispering.
“Mohinder.”
Don’t scream, Daddy might wake up.
He bites down on his wrist and tastes blood as his palm becomes abruptly hot and wet.
*~*~*
It feels like days, but it’s only been a few hours. Gabriel wakes and goes to the bathroom, splashing water in his face. It’s good to be in control. It won’t last, he knows, but he has to do something while he still can. Something…extraordinary.
Mohinder is slumped over his laptop. He simply watches him for a moment and then carefully, gets him to his feet, steering the unconscious man telekinetically to his room. He tucks the man in and then, before he loses his nerve, Gabriel presses his lips to the dark forehead. Close enough to extraordinary, he thinks.
*~*~*
“Zane? Zane?”
He’s dreaming of eyes and voiceless words, drowning in blood when the voice wakes him and the hands… splash him? He gasps in heavy breaths, choking on (blood) water and looks around bewildered. How had he gotten into the bathroom? Not to mention the tub? Modesty returns and he sees Mohinder draw away, head turned politely aside, hand holding out a towel. He takes it, rising and turning himself to wrap it around his waist securely.
There is no silence, thanks to Dale, both their hearts pounding, pounding, pounding. Almost as if, as if-
“I’ll leave-sorry.”
Nothing.
*~*~*
Breakfast is nowhere near normal. Tension is everywhere and after that morning, he can’t blame Mohinder. Sylar, found it hysterical-not almost drowning, the tension. Gabriel knew that Sylar wouldn’t keep him long, but could he really watch this man suffer at the hands of, well, himself?
He rises, setting the dishes in the sink and sits on the couch, resting his face in his hands. The sofa dips next to him and he can hear Mohinder’s pulse again, teasing and dragging his own with it in time. The beat increases when Mohinder’s arm moves around him in an embrace.
*~*~*
He leans in. He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it. His face is buried in the man’s chest, heartbeat blocking out nearly everything now. He’s crying, of course, because he’s Gabriel and that’s what he does, but still it’s embarrassing. Why does all the embarrassing stuff have to happen to him? Mohinder’s saying something, a blur of beautiful sounds and that’s when he looks up and stares at pink lips. He’s so terrible at starting things yet he’s moving forward now, lips pressing clumsily against the ones before him.
They part and then press back. Mohinder tastes of tea.