Ashes Fall Like Snow
Title: Ashes Fall Like Snow
Characters/Paring: Sylar/Mohinder
Rating: R
Spoilers: none
Warnings: Character death.
Word Count: 662
Summary: The weapon was built just for him, designed to kill him permanently.
Notes: Linkin Park's "New Divide" came on the radio and all I could see was Sylar dying in the rain. Thus, this ficlet was born. The title is from the lyrics of the song. It's written in first person, it just worked that way.
--
You perceive the world differently at different times, in different situations. Right now I know those flashes of light are bolts of lighting. I know that rain is pouring down all around, soaking me to the bone. I know it’s running down to drip off my nose. I can even follow a drop on its precipitous journey. It lands on my blood-stained hand, joining the others to rinse it clean in moments. Funny, how it’s my own blood that is washed away so quickly.
My legs buckle, but I don’t feel it, don’t feel the impact on my knees. The cold and damp should be soaking into my legs even faster now, I know this, and I know why I can’t feel it. It should terrify me, like nothing ever has, but for some reason I just feel resigned. It’s probably the drugs. The cocktail is designed to scramble the brain. I’ve seen the design. The molecular structure is elegant in its way, and I know how well it works. Normally my healing ability would work any drugs out of my system quickly, but it has a power-dampener laced in as well. It’s not terribly effective on its own, but combined with the cocktail that heightens pain while dulling concentration, well, it does the job.
On its on it wouldn’t be so bad, I could still work it out, eventually, but combined with the shrapnel it is lethal. Bits of metal, no idea how they work. Nanotechnology isn’t that far advanced, must be another ability. It seeks out vital organs, shredding them and staying imbedded in place, latching on so the body can’t excise them. The wound was low enough, there’s time before they reach the brain, hit the off-switch. One of them has already severed the lower half of my spinal cord. My legs are useless, can’t even run like a normal human now.
It’s designed for me specifically, nothing else would work. I should be proud of that, I suppose.
None of it matters, when contrasted with the sound of his voice. I haven’t heard concern from those lips since I wore a fake name, and that hurts more than anything. That it’s taken this, this moment of finality, this point of no return, for him to admit the truth.
Karma is probably having a big laugh at my expense.
I want to say something, not even sure what, as I collapse into his arms. Are those tears in his eyes? It’s hard to tell, with the rain. I want to run my hand across his cheek. I want to kiss his eyelids and taste the salt, a last taste of compassion that I never thought I could earn. I can’t lift my arms anymore, trying to speak only brings up a bubble of blood, and nothing is left in sight but those eyes, those beautiful eyes; normally so full of hate, now they’re filled with so much else. Maybe I’m projecting, seeing what I want to see. Does it matter? It won’t soon.
He knows there’s not long left. The scientist in him has taken stock, and he knows as well as I do that they’ve been readying this weapon. He knows there’s no stopping it. Maybe I could be brought back, with careful surgery, digging out every last piece of metal, but reinforcements will be here soon. He needs to escape; the others will make sure he does. I can count on them for that, at least.
His words blur together: reassurances he can’t possibly believe and promises he will have no choice but to break. He shouldn’t waste his breath; we both know this is only what I deserve. I can feel it now, a headache exploding across my skull, the end edging near, what little control I had, what little power could delay the inevitable slips from my grasp and not even the most beautiful words, flying free at last, can stop it.
I forgive you.
Characters/Paring: Sylar/Mohinder
Rating: R
Spoilers: none
Warnings: Character death.
Word Count: 662
Summary: The weapon was built just for him, designed to kill him permanently.
Notes: Linkin Park's "New Divide" came on the radio and all I could see was Sylar dying in the rain. Thus, this ficlet was born. The title is from the lyrics of the song. It's written in first person, it just worked that way.
--
You perceive the world differently at different times, in different situations. Right now I know those flashes of light are bolts of lighting. I know that rain is pouring down all around, soaking me to the bone. I know it’s running down to drip off my nose. I can even follow a drop on its precipitous journey. It lands on my blood-stained hand, joining the others to rinse it clean in moments. Funny, how it’s my own blood that is washed away so quickly.
My legs buckle, but I don’t feel it, don’t feel the impact on my knees. The cold and damp should be soaking into my legs even faster now, I know this, and I know why I can’t feel it. It should terrify me, like nothing ever has, but for some reason I just feel resigned. It’s probably the drugs. The cocktail is designed to scramble the brain. I’ve seen the design. The molecular structure is elegant in its way, and I know how well it works. Normally my healing ability would work any drugs out of my system quickly, but it has a power-dampener laced in as well. It’s not terribly effective on its own, but combined with the cocktail that heightens pain while dulling concentration, well, it does the job.
On its on it wouldn’t be so bad, I could still work it out, eventually, but combined with the shrapnel it is lethal. Bits of metal, no idea how they work. Nanotechnology isn’t that far advanced, must be another ability. It seeks out vital organs, shredding them and staying imbedded in place, latching on so the body can’t excise them. The wound was low enough, there’s time before they reach the brain, hit the off-switch. One of them has already severed the lower half of my spinal cord. My legs are useless, can’t even run like a normal human now.
It’s designed for me specifically, nothing else would work. I should be proud of that, I suppose.
None of it matters, when contrasted with the sound of his voice. I haven’t heard concern from those lips since I wore a fake name, and that hurts more than anything. That it’s taken this, this moment of finality, this point of no return, for him to admit the truth.
Karma is probably having a big laugh at my expense.
I want to say something, not even sure what, as I collapse into his arms. Are those tears in his eyes? It’s hard to tell, with the rain. I want to run my hand across his cheek. I want to kiss his eyelids and taste the salt, a last taste of compassion that I never thought I could earn. I can’t lift my arms anymore, trying to speak only brings up a bubble of blood, and nothing is left in sight but those eyes, those beautiful eyes; normally so full of hate, now they’re filled with so much else. Maybe I’m projecting, seeing what I want to see. Does it matter? It won’t soon.
He knows there’s not long left. The scientist in him has taken stock, and he knows as well as I do that they’ve been readying this weapon. He knows there’s no stopping it. Maybe I could be brought back, with careful surgery, digging out every last piece of metal, but reinforcements will be here soon. He needs to escape; the others will make sure he does. I can count on them for that, at least.
His words blur together: reassurances he can’t possibly believe and promises he will have no choice but to break. He shouldn’t waste his breath; we both know this is only what I deserve. I can feel it now, a headache exploding across my skull, the end edging near, what little control I had, what little power could delay the inevitable slips from my grasp and not even the most beautiful words, flying free at last, can stop it.
I forgive you.