Save the... serial killer? [CLOSED]
WHO: Mohinder Suresh (notdouble0seven) & Sylar (make_it_tick)
WHAT: Mohinder returns the favour.
WHERE: The clinic.
WHEN: Right after this.
Sylar had stopped responding to messages in his journal entry. That either meant he had successfully moved Claire to safety, or he had gotten himself in trouble. Mohinder wasn't willing to take a chance on Claire's life, and going by how ill-prepared Sylar was when he came to Mohinder's rescue not long ago, he feared that the second option was more likely.
He ripped apart his kitchen searching for the bandages he had taken from the clinic. Mohinder cursed himself for not having the foresight to take more supplies, but he wasn't exactly preparing for this when he stopped by the place earlier. He raced outside and then stopped abruptly as he realized he had NO idea where the hell he was going.
The fires. Sylar said something about the fires... and blood all over a floor... Heading in that general direction, he just prayed he would get lucky. As he ran, Mohinder considered what he was actually doing. Obviously, he was looking for Claire, making sure she was out of the path of the flames. But... he couldn't deny he was concerned about Sylar as well. It was insane, and completely against everything he had previously thought about the man, and it made his head spin. A few short months ago he would have probably left him to die. However. Sylar did save his life. It was only simple courtesy to return the favour...
It looked as if the sky was on fire as Mohinder found a break in the wall of flames and slipped through, coughing on the smoke. He looked around wildly, still seeing nothing, but then... there was a body, crumpled on the ground...
"Oh god."
Mohinder ran over and knelt down beside him, observing the myriad of gunshot wounds riddling his body and one large, bruised cut across his head. This was not good. He began to panic, not sure what to do. The flames were getting closer and Sylar was too heavy to carry and oh my god where the hell was Claire? He couldn't see her anywhere on the ground around them, and as the flames began to practically lick the soles of his shoes, he knew he couldn't stay to look for her any longer.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. Panicking was not going to help. Suddenly he noticed the clinic. The clinic which was not on fire.
He jumped up and grabbed Sylar's wrists. "Sorry about this," he muttered and began to drag the man across the rocky ground, taking care to at least avoid the sharp-looking stones. He finally managed to get him to the clinic door. Sweaty and out of breath, Mohinder dropped Sylar's arms for a minute to get the door open. He peered inside and noticed an examination table.
"OK. That's good. Now," he said, looking down at Sylar, "I just have to get you on it." Picking up Sylar's arms again he pulled him into the clinic and kicked the door closed behind them. Looking at the table, then at Sylar, then back at the table, he let out a resigned sigh. Gripping Sylar around the waist he awkwardly lifted him up and basically flung him down on the table, his head dropping down on the plastic with a 'thud'. Mohinder winced, hoping he didn't aggravate any of Sylar's wounds. It's his fault for being so goddamn heavy.
Quickly rummaging through cabinets he found some forceps and gauze. Those bullets needed to come out. He wasn't exactly trained for this. OK, he wasn't trained for this at all, but it had to be done. Sylar was already unconscious so he didn't bother with anesthesia, gently prying the first bullet out of his leg. Luckily it seemed that most of them didn't penetrate deep enough to do any serious damage. Sylar must have slowed them down... so his telekinesis was coming back... interesting. And fairly disconcerting.
No time to worry about that now. As Mohinder dug the last bullet out of Sylar's leg, the deepest one, he quickly pressed the wound with gauze. This was going to need to be stitched up. The gauze was already soaked through with blood as Mohinder scrabbled for the needle and stitching thread. He closed it up as quickly as possible. It looked raw and ugly but it got the job done. He added minor stitches to a few other bullet holes and covered them all up with bandages. Thank god Sylar hadn't woken up through all this.
"Now," Mohinder said out loud, trying to regain his focus, "your head."
It was a deep gash and Sylar had lost a fair amount of blood already. Cleaning it quickly, Mohinder brought the needle and thread back up and began to stitch Sylar's flesh back together. Suddenly Sylar moved his head and Mohinder nearly stabbed him in the eye with the needle.
"Oh no, no no no, don't you dare wake up now," Mohinder warned, as if Sylar would hear him and automatically comply. Eying the cabinet above Sylar's head he saw a rack of vials. "Couldn't hurt to check," he said, dropping the needle and opening the door. Morphine. Mohinder smiled, silently thanking whatever gods there may be for putting that there so conveniently. Grabbing a syringe he filled it up with a small dose; it was enough to ease the pain but it wouldn't disorient Sylar completely. He quickly found a vein and injected him. 'Ah, just like old times' he thought to himself.
Throwing the syringe to one side he went back to work on Sylar's head, now struggling to hold him still and stitch at the same time. He really wasn't going to make this easy, but then again, when was anything ever easy when it came to Sylar?
WHAT: Mohinder returns the favour.
WHERE: The clinic.
WHEN: Right after this.
Sylar had stopped responding to messages in his journal entry. That either meant he had successfully moved Claire to safety, or he had gotten himself in trouble. Mohinder wasn't willing to take a chance on Claire's life, and going by how ill-prepared Sylar was when he came to Mohinder's rescue not long ago, he feared that the second option was more likely.
He ripped apart his kitchen searching for the bandages he had taken from the clinic. Mohinder cursed himself for not having the foresight to take more supplies, but he wasn't exactly preparing for this when he stopped by the place earlier. He raced outside and then stopped abruptly as he realized he had NO idea where the hell he was going.
The fires. Sylar said something about the fires... and blood all over a floor... Heading in that general direction, he just prayed he would get lucky. As he ran, Mohinder considered what he was actually doing. Obviously, he was looking for Claire, making sure she was out of the path of the flames. But... he couldn't deny he was concerned about Sylar as well. It was insane, and completely against everything he had previously thought about the man, and it made his head spin. A few short months ago he would have probably left him to die. However. Sylar did save his life. It was only simple courtesy to return the favour...
It looked as if the sky was on fire as Mohinder found a break in the wall of flames and slipped through, coughing on the smoke. He looked around wildly, still seeing nothing, but then... there was a body, crumpled on the ground...
"Oh god."
Mohinder ran over and knelt down beside him, observing the myriad of gunshot wounds riddling his body and one large, bruised cut across his head. This was not good. He began to panic, not sure what to do. The flames were getting closer and Sylar was too heavy to carry and oh my god where the hell was Claire? He couldn't see her anywhere on the ground around them, and as the flames began to practically lick the soles of his shoes, he knew he couldn't stay to look for her any longer.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. Panicking was not going to help. Suddenly he noticed the clinic. The clinic which was not on fire.
He jumped up and grabbed Sylar's wrists. "Sorry about this," he muttered and began to drag the man across the rocky ground, taking care to at least avoid the sharp-looking stones. He finally managed to get him to the clinic door. Sweaty and out of breath, Mohinder dropped Sylar's arms for a minute to get the door open. He peered inside and noticed an examination table.
"OK. That's good. Now," he said, looking down at Sylar, "I just have to get you on it." Picking up Sylar's arms again he pulled him into the clinic and kicked the door closed behind them. Looking at the table, then at Sylar, then back at the table, he let out a resigned sigh. Gripping Sylar around the waist he awkwardly lifted him up and basically flung him down on the table, his head dropping down on the plastic with a 'thud'. Mohinder winced, hoping he didn't aggravate any of Sylar's wounds. It's his fault for being so goddamn heavy.
Quickly rummaging through cabinets he found some forceps and gauze. Those bullets needed to come out. He wasn't exactly trained for this. OK, he wasn't trained for this at all, but it had to be done. Sylar was already unconscious so he didn't bother with anesthesia, gently prying the first bullet out of his leg. Luckily it seemed that most of them didn't penetrate deep enough to do any serious damage. Sylar must have slowed them down... so his telekinesis was coming back... interesting. And fairly disconcerting.
No time to worry about that now. As Mohinder dug the last bullet out of Sylar's leg, the deepest one, he quickly pressed the wound with gauze. This was going to need to be stitched up. The gauze was already soaked through with blood as Mohinder scrabbled for the needle and stitching thread. He closed it up as quickly as possible. It looked raw and ugly but it got the job done. He added minor stitches to a few other bullet holes and covered them all up with bandages. Thank god Sylar hadn't woken up through all this.
"Now," Mohinder said out loud, trying to regain his focus, "your head."
It was a deep gash and Sylar had lost a fair amount of blood already. Cleaning it quickly, Mohinder brought the needle and thread back up and began to stitch Sylar's flesh back together. Suddenly Sylar moved his head and Mohinder nearly stabbed him in the eye with the needle.
"Oh no, no no no, don't you dare wake up now," Mohinder warned, as if Sylar would hear him and automatically comply. Eying the cabinet above Sylar's head he saw a rack of vials. "Couldn't hurt to check," he said, dropping the needle and opening the door. Morphine. Mohinder smiled, silently thanking whatever gods there may be for putting that there so conveniently. Grabbing a syringe he filled it up with a small dose; it was enough to ease the pain but it wouldn't disorient Sylar completely. He quickly found a vein and injected him. 'Ah, just like old times' he thought to himself.
Throwing the syringe to one side he went back to work on Sylar's head, now struggling to hold him still and stitch at the same time. He really wasn't going to make this easy, but then again, when was anything ever easy when it came to Sylar?