Fic: The Butterfly Effect
Title: The Butterfly Effect
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: What would have happened if the eclipse hadn't interrupted Mohinder's cocooning?
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes
Warnings: AU, Cracky Weirdness, Slash
Author's Note: I'm placing all blame for this on gaiafaye and our late night chats on AIM. Staying up til one in the morning discussing Volume 3 of Heroes is never a good idea.
*Winner for Best Humor Vignette at the Heroes Faves! Summer 2010 Fiction Awards*
Building the structure was a surprisingly simple, yet decidedly unnerving task. His hands worked on their own, oozing slime and goo and molding them into a giant cocoon. He had done this before, usually with around an already unconscious body, but Mohinder didn't understand why he was doing it now when there was no one but himself to encase. Yet his mind was in too much of a fog for the geneticist to even stop and think about his own actions. That wasn't much of a surprise really. After all, he hadn't been thinking very clearly lately. Not since the injection, that is.
Yet getting out of the cocoon was difficult. He would have imagined that a casing made entirely out of slime would have been easily broken, yet the walls seemed to have hardened during the... Just how long had he been asleep? Minutes? Hours? Days? He honestly couldn't recall. All Mohinder knew was that he was trapped inside of a giant cocoon in the middle of his laboratory in a building full of super powered maniacs and he was starting to feel very hot and closed in.
He pushed against the clear walls -- the muscles in his arms still feeling very numb and tingly with sleep -- and was rewarded to hear a slight crack as the seal began to break. With a few more pushes, the entire structure collapsed and Mohinder suddenly found himself sliding to the floor under a tidal wave of goo. He hit the ground with a wet slap, his limbs feeling very much like limp noodles as he lay face down in the sticky, clear substance, struggling to catch his breath.
The lights in his lab were dim and the room was completely empty -- he was grateful for that -- and as he lay on the cold floor for several minutes, he slowly began to realize that he was incredibly naked. Mohinder closed his eyes against the world that still felt dizzying and new to his exposed body before finally pushing himself off of the ground and crawling towards a towel hanging on a nearby table. He reached for the towel only to freeze, pulling back in shock.
His hand.
His arm!
The geneticist felt his breath catch in his throat as he inspected his body carefully. There wasn't a single brown scale in sight. The only thing that greeted his eyes was smooth brown skin.
He was on his feet in an instant, all thoughts of clearing the slime off of his body temporarily forgotten as he scrambled to find a mirror. He walked over to a nearby mirror mounted to a wall just above a skin, intent on making sure that his face had returned to normal as well. Yet the sight that greeted him made the geneticist wish he had stayed on the floor a bit longer.
His face was completely free of scales, but there were now two long antennas sticking out from just above his hairline. They were thick, black, and curled slightly at the ends. Mohinder frowned and they twitched along with his movements. A part of him wanted to reach up and rip them clean off of his head, yet the quick glimpse of color his panicked brown eyes caught in the reflection made him realize that the antennas were the least of his worries.
Mohinder craned his head backwards and practically yelped at the sight of a set of massive wings sticking out from between his shoulder blades. They were fluttering, slowly, very slowly, most likely forcing blood to circulate through them. Color slowly started to seep in to them, creating a canvas of colors that were so vibrant it nearly hurt his eyes. The room's dim light reflected off their surface and caused a faint sparkle, highlighting the reds and yellows and blues and purples that decorated his newly created appendages.
He reached out with hesitant fingers to touch them. There were little scales flicked across each wing, but they weren't nearly as rough and ugly as the ones growing on his skin had been. They were soft and smooth to against his hands and he suddenly wondered how much it would hurt to grab a wing and peal each one clean off.
Yet before Mohinder could do anything drastic -- and most likely send himself into a world of blinding agony -- the sound of rushing water greeted his ears. His already franticly beating heart kicked up speed as a door opened and closed somewhere out of sight and the lights in the lab flicked on. Mohinder cringed, screwing his eyes shut against the harsh fluorescent beams. He could feel his wings flap and twitch in response as he stumbled slightly.
"Suresh?"
The geneticist cringed, his hands instinctively moving to cover his modesty as Sylar stepped into view. Mohinder's face was practically burning as the serial killer stood staring at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in quiet shock. It was embarrassing enough before when Sylar had seen him covered in scales and half insane, but now he was naked and half... butterfly.
"What have you done to yourself?" Sylar asked, his eyes slowly roaming up and down Mohinder's body, making the geneticist feel even more vulnerable and exposed.
"I..." He stopped, because he honestly did not understand what had happened. He couldn't even recall the chain of events that had lead to him building a giant cocoon and sticking himself in it. "Hand me a towel," he demanded instead, still painfully aware of his own nakedness.
Sylar must have still been quite dazed as he silently complied to the other man's request, grabbing the towel that Mohinder had abandoned moments ago and handing it over to the Indian. Mohinder took the towel quickly, deciding to wrap it around his waist instead of bothering to clean off the goo still clinging to most of his skin.
"What happened to you?" Sylar asked again, standing far too close and studying him far too intensely. "Is this part of your ability?"
Mohinder frowned, wrapping his arms around his exposed chest as his wings continued to beat on their own. As far as the geneticist could tell this was not only part of his ability, it seemed to also be his body's way of "correcting" the broken formula. It wasn't just his now blemish free skin that led him to believe so, it was also the fact that his breathing had gone back to normal and his mind was no longer filled with broken, scattered thoughts. Yet he couldn't admit to Sylar, let alone himself, that he was going to spend the rest of his life as a giant butterfly man.
The Indian felt his scowl deepen at the feel of something gently grazing against the tip of his wings. He felt his extra appendages twitch in a flutter of glitter and rainbow like hue. "No touching!" he snapped, slapping Sylar's curious fingers away. "What are you even doing here?"
Sylar pouted, rubbing at his assaulted hand. His eyes never strayed from Mohinder's wings. "Well Arthur was getting annoyed that you weren't answering his calls so he sent someone down here to check on you."
"So he sent you?" the Indian sighed, slapping Sylar's hands again when the man tried to either touch one of his antennas or stroke his hair. Mohinder wouldn't have been surprised either way.
"No, he sent Flint," Sylar corrected, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. "But I distracted him with a rubber ball and locked him in a broom closet. Seeing how the building hasn't burned to the ground yet, I'm going to assume that he's still in there."
"Wonderful," he grumbled bitterly. Although Mohinder had to admit that having Sylar see him like this was a slight bit better than someone like Flint. "How long was I in there?"
The serial killer was silent as he thought for a moment. "About two weeks," he answered.
"Two weeks?" the Indian sputtered, the violent flapping of his wings causing a stack of papers to tip over and scatter to the floor. "I was in a giant cocoon for two weeks?"
Sylar shrugged. "Eh, that's normal butterfly length."
"I am not a butterfly!"
"The wings and antennas beg to differ."
"Wait a minute," Mohinder cut in, a thought suddenly popping into his head. "Do you mean to tell me that you were sitting in my lab for two whole weeks?"
"Well monitoring you as you incubate in a giant tube of crystallized slime isn't that much different from when I normally watch you sleep," he pointed out. "Besides, what was I supposed to do? Cut you out? I didn't know what would have happened. You could have died of shock... or be stuck with half developed nubs for wings and two big black bumps on your forehead. What do those antennas do anyway?"
Another slap and Mohinder was actually starting to get annoyed that the man still wasn't getting the hint. "What part of 'no touching' do you not understand?"
"I wish I had a giant mayonnaise jar," Sylar murmured suddenly, his eyes wandering from Mohinder's antennas to his face, to his chest, to... "I'd lock you up and keep you on my shelf so I could look at you all day."
Mohinder huffed, grabbing serial killer's hand and twisted his arm until there was a large snap. Sylar yelped, his face reddening in pain and the Indian was comforted to know that he still had his enhanced strength. So I'm a super strong butterfly man. Wonderful. "I know it's quite difficult for you, but stop being so creepy!" the geneticist barked, releasing the man's shattered hand as he shoved him away.
"Hey, that was a compliment!" Sylar pouted as his bones began to mend themselves. "I'm just trying to let you know that you're still very very pretty. Butterfly wings and all." A strange gleam flashed in Sylar's eyes and before Mohinder could even react, he found himself being spun around by invisible hands and forced to bend over a nearby table.
He grunted, struggling to push himself off of the smooth surface, but he was pinned and the unseen binds showed no sign of letting up. His wings fluttering with wild panic and his fruitless struggles only caused the towel wrapped around his waist to loosen. "Sylar!" he groaned, his voice hitching slightly. "Whuh... what are you...?"
"Shhh," the serial killer soothed, placing a large hand on the Indian's still clothed hip. He was relieved when Sylar made no effort to rip the towel off, but he held no delusions that the man wouldn't do so soon enough. "Relax," he crooned. "I just want to see how they work."
Mohinder willed himself to remain calm and steady, not wanting to once again add his own nakedness to the already awkward situation. He shuddered when he felt Sylar's hand running across his left wing, starting from the base all the way up to its tip. His antennas twitched, unfurling themselves slightly at the strange, yet not entirely unpleasant sensation.
"They're so smooth," Sylar commented, his voice a quiet whisper. "Do you think you could fly with these?"
"I don't intend to find out," Mohinder said, trying his best not to moan as Sylar's fingers continued to inspect every inch of his wing pads. "I am not going to set foot out of this building until they are gone."
The serial killer chuckled, his fingers slowly ghosting their way back towards Mohinder's shoulders. "Well then I guess that means I'll have you all to myself until then."
Mohinder shuddered at the feel of feather light finger tips gliding over his skin. He felt his flesh prickle with goose bumps as the serial killer's fingers gently brushed against the juncture where his wings budded from his back. A string of incoherent groans and babbles fell from his lips as the man's hand pressed flat against his back, his fingers spread out and...
Fwap!
The geneticist gasped as the invisible binds that had been pressing him against the table evaporated and a low groan greeted his ears. He turned around to see Sylar clutching his face. The man didn't look so much pained as he did dazed, which left Mohinder feeling just as confused.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Your damn wings slapped me!" Sylar huffed, rubbing at his cheeks miserably.
Mohinder laughed, because he knew right away that this would be the one bright spot to his day.
Author: starrdust411
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: What would have happened if the eclipse hadn't interrupted Mohinder's cocooning?
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes
Warnings: AU, Cracky Weirdness, Slash
Author's Note: I'm placing all blame for this on gaiafaye and our late night chats on AIM. Staying up til one in the morning discussing Volume 3 of Heroes is never a good idea.
*Winner for Best Humor Vignette at the Heroes Faves! Summer 2010 Fiction Awards*
Building the structure was a surprisingly simple, yet decidedly unnerving task. His hands worked on their own, oozing slime and goo and molding them into a giant cocoon. He had done this before, usually with around an already unconscious body, but Mohinder didn't understand why he was doing it now when there was no one but himself to encase. Yet his mind was in too much of a fog for the geneticist to even stop and think about his own actions. That wasn't much of a surprise really. After all, he hadn't been thinking very clearly lately. Not since the injection, that is.
Yet getting out of the cocoon was difficult. He would have imagined that a casing made entirely out of slime would have been easily broken, yet the walls seemed to have hardened during the... Just how long had he been asleep? Minutes? Hours? Days? He honestly couldn't recall. All Mohinder knew was that he was trapped inside of a giant cocoon in the middle of his laboratory in a building full of super powered maniacs and he was starting to feel very hot and closed in.
He pushed against the clear walls -- the muscles in his arms still feeling very numb and tingly with sleep -- and was rewarded to hear a slight crack as the seal began to break. With a few more pushes, the entire structure collapsed and Mohinder suddenly found himself sliding to the floor under a tidal wave of goo. He hit the ground with a wet slap, his limbs feeling very much like limp noodles as he lay face down in the sticky, clear substance, struggling to catch his breath.
The lights in his lab were dim and the room was completely empty -- he was grateful for that -- and as he lay on the cold floor for several minutes, he slowly began to realize that he was incredibly naked. Mohinder closed his eyes against the world that still felt dizzying and new to his exposed body before finally pushing himself off of the ground and crawling towards a towel hanging on a nearby table. He reached for the towel only to freeze, pulling back in shock.
His hand.
His arm!
The geneticist felt his breath catch in his throat as he inspected his body carefully. There wasn't a single brown scale in sight. The only thing that greeted his eyes was smooth brown skin.
He was on his feet in an instant, all thoughts of clearing the slime off of his body temporarily forgotten as he scrambled to find a mirror. He walked over to a nearby mirror mounted to a wall just above a skin, intent on making sure that his face had returned to normal as well. Yet the sight that greeted him made the geneticist wish he had stayed on the floor a bit longer.
His face was completely free of scales, but there were now two long antennas sticking out from just above his hairline. They were thick, black, and curled slightly at the ends. Mohinder frowned and they twitched along with his movements. A part of him wanted to reach up and rip them clean off of his head, yet the quick glimpse of color his panicked brown eyes caught in the reflection made him realize that the antennas were the least of his worries.
Mohinder craned his head backwards and practically yelped at the sight of a set of massive wings sticking out from between his shoulder blades. They were fluttering, slowly, very slowly, most likely forcing blood to circulate through them. Color slowly started to seep in to them, creating a canvas of colors that were so vibrant it nearly hurt his eyes. The room's dim light reflected off their surface and caused a faint sparkle, highlighting the reds and yellows and blues and purples that decorated his newly created appendages.
He reached out with hesitant fingers to touch them. There were little scales flicked across each wing, but they weren't nearly as rough and ugly as the ones growing on his skin had been. They were soft and smooth to against his hands and he suddenly wondered how much it would hurt to grab a wing and peal each one clean off.
Yet before Mohinder could do anything drastic -- and most likely send himself into a world of blinding agony -- the sound of rushing water greeted his ears. His already franticly beating heart kicked up speed as a door opened and closed somewhere out of sight and the lights in the lab flicked on. Mohinder cringed, screwing his eyes shut against the harsh fluorescent beams. He could feel his wings flap and twitch in response as he stumbled slightly.
"Suresh?"
The geneticist cringed, his hands instinctively moving to cover his modesty as Sylar stepped into view. Mohinder's face was practically burning as the serial killer stood staring at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in quiet shock. It was embarrassing enough before when Sylar had seen him covered in scales and half insane, but now he was naked and half... butterfly.
"What have you done to yourself?" Sylar asked, his eyes slowly roaming up and down Mohinder's body, making the geneticist feel even more vulnerable and exposed.
"I..." He stopped, because he honestly did not understand what had happened. He couldn't even recall the chain of events that had lead to him building a giant cocoon and sticking himself in it. "Hand me a towel," he demanded instead, still painfully aware of his own nakedness.
Sylar must have still been quite dazed as he silently complied to the other man's request, grabbing the towel that Mohinder had abandoned moments ago and handing it over to the Indian. Mohinder took the towel quickly, deciding to wrap it around his waist instead of bothering to clean off the goo still clinging to most of his skin.
"What happened to you?" Sylar asked again, standing far too close and studying him far too intensely. "Is this part of your ability?"
Mohinder frowned, wrapping his arms around his exposed chest as his wings continued to beat on their own. As far as the geneticist could tell this was not only part of his ability, it seemed to also be his body's way of "correcting" the broken formula. It wasn't just his now blemish free skin that led him to believe so, it was also the fact that his breathing had gone back to normal and his mind was no longer filled with broken, scattered thoughts. Yet he couldn't admit to Sylar, let alone himself, that he was going to spend the rest of his life as a giant butterfly man.
The Indian felt his scowl deepen at the feel of something gently grazing against the tip of his wings. He felt his extra appendages twitch in a flutter of glitter and rainbow like hue. "No touching!" he snapped, slapping Sylar's curious fingers away. "What are you even doing here?"
Sylar pouted, rubbing at his assaulted hand. His eyes never strayed from Mohinder's wings. "Well Arthur was getting annoyed that you weren't answering his calls so he sent someone down here to check on you."
"So he sent you?" the Indian sighed, slapping Sylar's hands again when the man tried to either touch one of his antennas or stroke his hair. Mohinder wouldn't have been surprised either way.
"No, he sent Flint," Sylar corrected, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. "But I distracted him with a rubber ball and locked him in a broom closet. Seeing how the building hasn't burned to the ground yet, I'm going to assume that he's still in there."
"Wonderful," he grumbled bitterly. Although Mohinder had to admit that having Sylar see him like this was a slight bit better than someone like Flint. "How long was I in there?"
The serial killer was silent as he thought for a moment. "About two weeks," he answered.
"Two weeks?" the Indian sputtered, the violent flapping of his wings causing a stack of papers to tip over and scatter to the floor. "I was in a giant cocoon for two weeks?"
Sylar shrugged. "Eh, that's normal butterfly length."
"I am not a butterfly!"
"The wings and antennas beg to differ."
"Wait a minute," Mohinder cut in, a thought suddenly popping into his head. "Do you mean to tell me that you were sitting in my lab for two whole weeks?"
"Well monitoring you as you incubate in a giant tube of crystallized slime isn't that much different from when I normally watch you sleep," he pointed out. "Besides, what was I supposed to do? Cut you out? I didn't know what would have happened. You could have died of shock... or be stuck with half developed nubs for wings and two big black bumps on your forehead. What do those antennas do anyway?"
Another slap and Mohinder was actually starting to get annoyed that the man still wasn't getting the hint. "What part of 'no touching' do you not understand?"
"I wish I had a giant mayonnaise jar," Sylar murmured suddenly, his eyes wandering from Mohinder's antennas to his face, to his chest, to... "I'd lock you up and keep you on my shelf so I could look at you all day."
Mohinder huffed, grabbing serial killer's hand and twisted his arm until there was a large snap. Sylar yelped, his face reddening in pain and the Indian was comforted to know that he still had his enhanced strength. So I'm a super strong butterfly man. Wonderful. "I know it's quite difficult for you, but stop being so creepy!" the geneticist barked, releasing the man's shattered hand as he shoved him away.
"Hey, that was a compliment!" Sylar pouted as his bones began to mend themselves. "I'm just trying to let you know that you're still very very pretty. Butterfly wings and all." A strange gleam flashed in Sylar's eyes and before Mohinder could even react, he found himself being spun around by invisible hands and forced to bend over a nearby table.
He grunted, struggling to push himself off of the smooth surface, but he was pinned and the unseen binds showed no sign of letting up. His wings fluttering with wild panic and his fruitless struggles only caused the towel wrapped around his waist to loosen. "Sylar!" he groaned, his voice hitching slightly. "Whuh... what are you...?"
"Shhh," the serial killer soothed, placing a large hand on the Indian's still clothed hip. He was relieved when Sylar made no effort to rip the towel off, but he held no delusions that the man wouldn't do so soon enough. "Relax," he crooned. "I just want to see how they work."
Mohinder willed himself to remain calm and steady, not wanting to once again add his own nakedness to the already awkward situation. He shuddered when he felt Sylar's hand running across his left wing, starting from the base all the way up to its tip. His antennas twitched, unfurling themselves slightly at the strange, yet not entirely unpleasant sensation.
"They're so smooth," Sylar commented, his voice a quiet whisper. "Do you think you could fly with these?"
"I don't intend to find out," Mohinder said, trying his best not to moan as Sylar's fingers continued to inspect every inch of his wing pads. "I am not going to set foot out of this building until they are gone."
The serial killer chuckled, his fingers slowly ghosting their way back towards Mohinder's shoulders. "Well then I guess that means I'll have you all to myself until then."
Mohinder shuddered at the feel of feather light finger tips gliding over his skin. He felt his flesh prickle with goose bumps as the serial killer's fingers gently brushed against the juncture where his wings budded from his back. A string of incoherent groans and babbles fell from his lips as the man's hand pressed flat against his back, his fingers spread out and...
Fwap!
The geneticist gasped as the invisible binds that had been pressing him against the table evaporated and a low groan greeted his ears. He turned around to see Sylar clutching his face. The man didn't look so much pained as he did dazed, which left Mohinder feeling just as confused.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Your damn wings slapped me!" Sylar huffed, rubbing at his cheeks miserably.
Mohinder laughed, because he knew right away that this would be the one bright spot to his day.