(Being Human/Heroes) Big Boom Over Bristol for a_cook1
Title: Big Boom Over Bristol
Author: megmatthews20
Fandoms: Being Human/Heroes
Characters Sylar, Mohinder; Mitchell, George, Nina
Pairings: Mohinder/Mitchell, Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: R
Wordcount: 3543
Spoilers: Basically vague spoilers up to current episodes of both shows
Warnings: Sex, manipulation, blood
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes or Being Human, no matter how much I wish I did
A/N: Thank you so much to my loverly speedy beta blossommorphine for helping me with my fic! You rock, dear!
Summary: Mohinder has made a new life for himself with his new boyfriend in Bristol. Sylar has some very bad news for Mohinder regarding the end of the world.
One year was all it took. One year to remember, to replace and to realize. One year was all he needed to rediscover them. His rightful gifts.
Hearing. A pin dropping a mile away.
Painting the future.
One year, and now he stood with the future before him. An explosion of something extreme and beautiful.
A dark slender frame waited in his future, and he knew those eyes anywhere. Knew that terror that he loathed so much he wanted to break it away from the man, force the man to realize and understand.
Actions were set into motion, and he knew what he was going to do.
XXXX
There came a knock at the door, and Mohinder, waking at the sharp sound, quickly rolled over, pulling the blankets up to cover his nakedness.
“What is it?” Mitchell called, rubbing his eyes and leaning up on his elbows beside Mohinder.
“Umm, Mitchell, if you and your friend want some breakfast, there's toast and tea downstairs,” George said through the door.
“Thanks, George,” Mitchell said before sighing in exasperation and falling back down on the bed.
“That's nice of him,” Mohinder muttered, glancing sideways at Mitchell, his head still resting on his pillow.
“Yeah. Wants me to know he's accommodating of my new friend,” Mitchell said, sticking his tongue out slightly in a charming and childish display of how he felt about George's overcompensation for his relationship.
“Maybe we were a bit loud last night?” Mohinder suggested.
Mitchell frowned, looked at Mohinder, “You think so?”
“Yeah. I was going to suggest the use of George's cage, that room being soundproofed, but I thought the bed would be comfier,” Mohinder said, smiling and twirling a finger in Mitchell's curls.
“I suppose you're right. Bloody flat is a menace to those not hearing impaired.” Mitchell reached over and pulled Mohinder into a kiss, a harsh kiss with the tiniest nip of sharp teeth. Mohinder tensed for the most fleeting instant, then shifted so that he was lying on top of Mitchell.
“We could try for a noise complaint,” Mohinder suggested, grinding beneath the covers against Mitchell's cock.
“We could do that,” Mitchell grinned, thrusting up against Mohinder, “Certainly.”
Mitchell engulfed Mohinder in another kiss, and soon the bed was squeaking just as much, if not more than it had been the night before.
Downstairs, George and Nina eyed each other awkwardly across the kitchen table.
Nina groaned, voicelessly willing George to do something about Mitchell and his new friend. She finally resorted to glaring passive-aggressively at her coffee as she brought it up to her lips.
Not being psychic as a mere werewolf, she was not able to hear the thoughts of the man out on the street. The man who at that moment was very much in agreement with Nina's displeasure. But for much different reasons.
Mohinder, Mohinder, Mohinder...can't stay away from the specials, can you?
Sylar stared up at the window to the bedroom where Mohinder and the other man were doing their very best to make the walls rattle. The sound burned like a fire within Sylar, something reignited following his year on the run. Something reminding him of dodgy hotels, sharp meetings with more than one of Mohinder's needles, and the angry battle that constantly existed between them, the push and pull past which Sylar always fought and failed to phase.
He needed to be patient. He knew that not everything was in order. Not everything was set.
He needed to be patient.
XXXX
Anger had just turned into opportunity. Sylar looked in awe at the dark-haired man in the blue scrubs who pushed the dirty laundry basket down the hospital hallway. The man was so similar to Mohinder in the dark curly hair, deep brown eyes, and even his perfect nose, that Sylar might go so far as to accuse Mohinder of a sort of narcissism for being with this man.
And yet, he wasn't a man. Sylar knew this, as he'd taken a walk in the flat when no one was there, fingers just brushing over the bed of this creature; a hundred images flashing to mind, a hundred memories...
This being was special, to be sure, but he wasn't human. Sylar looked right into him, and saw something other-worldy, something dark.
“'Scuse me. Can I help you?” the being asked, stopping short as Sylar was blocking his way.
“Yes, I think you can,” Sylar faked a British accent, and held out a hand, “My name's Gabriel. And you are?”
XXXX
“There you go. That wasn't bad at all, was it?” Mohinder asked, setting the medical tape aside and smiling at the little girl as she glared indignantly at the spot where she'd just had her blood drawn.
“No, I guess not,” the girl said, looking up at Mohinder, “Now, do I get candy?”
“Becca!” scolded the girl's mother.
“No, no, it's alright,” Mohinder said, sliding his chair back across the room and grabbing two suckers from the stash of candy he kept in a drawer, “I happened to be prepared for just such a request.”
“What do you say?” Becca's mom prodded her daughter.
“Thank you, Dr. Suresh,” said the little girl, snatching the suckers away and peeling the plastic cover off of the green one before happily stuffing it into her mouth.
“You're welcome,” Mohinder said, snapping his gloves off and smiling at Becca.
The little girl hopped out of her chair and took her mother's hand as they both exited the room.
When the door was closed behind them, Mohinder checked his phone, wondering if Mitchell was at lunch yet. Wondering if they could sneak in a quick fuck before they both had to finish their rounds for the day. It had been a week since he'd gotten to stay at Mitchell's flat, and he was jonesing to touch the man again.
He was surprised to find that he'd missed a voicemail on his phone. It was from Mitchell. Mohinder pressed the voicemail button and held the phone up, curiosity piqued as he heard Mitchell's thick Irish accent come through the phone's tiny speaker.
“Mohinder, hey. I was wondering if you wanted to skip out early today. Sick leave or something. Tell them you've got a bad cold and can't be around patients. I need to see you. It's...it's important. Can you meet me? I texted you the address. Get here if you can-when you can. I'll talk to you later then.”
Mohinder looked at his phone again. Sure enough, there was an address in a text from Mitchell. One he'd never seen before. The urgency with which Mitchell had summoned him had Mohinder up and almost out of the hospital before he remembered to come up with an excuse to his superiors.
XXXX
The lift seemed to descend forever, and Mohinder grew steadily more anxious as he ticked off the sub-levels. Level 27 was where Mitchell wanted him. Mohinder didn't know why, and the situation seemed increasingly strange the more he contemplated it.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the lift stopped, and the door opened to reveal a large room with a table, a wall of televisions, and Mitchell.
Mitchell smiled as Mohinder entered, standing up to greet him.
“Mohinder,” Mitchell exclaimed, drawing him into a hug that was just a little too tight.
“Mitchell, what's going on?” Mohinder asked, taking a step back to study the man, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I'm fine. And now you will be too,” Mitchell said, a strange look lingering on his face as he walked around Mohinder and leaned into the lift to push a button that caused it to close, and judging by the sound, move upwards again.
“What is this?” Mohinder asked, suspicions overwhelming him as he listened to the lift grow fainter and fainter.
“We won't need that for some time. I suspect it won't even work when it's all over,” Mitchell shrugged.
“When what is all over? What is going on, Mitchell?” Mohinder asked, eyes scanning the other man who looked at Mohinder in a strange way that seemed very unlike the Mitchell Mohinder had gotten to know these past few months.
“I'm glad you're here. I needed you to be here,” Mitchell said, stepping forward and catching Mohinder's face in his hands to pull him into a sudden kiss. Mohinder tensed. The lips were Mitchell's, the face too, down to every last coarse hair. But the kiss was different. There was no slight nip, no warm response to Mohinder's touch. It was desperate and familiar, and it belonged to someone else. Mohinder felt a lurch of understanding in his stomach that made him shove the other man back with his super-strength, sending him flying into the wall hard enough the dent the stone.
“Careful, Mohinder, this is going to be our home for awhile,” Sylar said, coughing up blood as his body bubbled back from Mitchell's into the all too familiar and terrifying form of the man who had haunted Mohinder's dreams for some time.
Mohinder clenched his fists, gaze darting about the room, searching for the exits. The lift seemed his only chance. He started toward it, ready to call it back down, when Sylar twitched a finger and sent Mohinder flying back painfully into the table and crumpling to the floor.
“That would be suicide,” Sylar said, standing up to tower over Mohinder, who coughed hard as he pulled himself up to a kneeling position and glared at Sylar through his now messy hair.
“What are you doing? What do you want?” Mohinder demanded, heart pounding in terror and anger as he caught his breath and stared at his father's killer.
“I want you to survive,” Sylar said, taking a step toward Mohinder, who slowly pulled himself to a standing position.
“Survive what?” Mohinder asked, side-stepping when Sylar moved toward him. Mohinder's efforts to avoid the man were in vain as Sylar waved a hand, and Mohinder was forced into a chair, which then swiveled about so that he was facing the wall of screens.
“The end of the world,” Sylar explained.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Mohinder snapped, tired of asking questions and getting nowhere with the answers.
“Watch closely,” Sylar said, and Mohinder winced as he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and not let go. Suddenly, several of the televisions before him turned on, and he found himself viewing various people walking down the street. “The far left view is Bristol. The middle one is New York. The one on the far right is-”
“India...” Mohinder finished, breathlessly. “What is going on?”
“As far as I could gather, and it was very hard to garner any of this information from Nakamura because he wanted to kill me the whole time I spoke to him, there appears to be a group of extremists from the future. Those like us...well, like me. Specials. They came back because they didn't like what was happening, and they wanted to remake the past, to remake their present. Something about the complete subjugation of specials and concentration camp-like settings. You get the idea. So they chose those they wanted in their future. They came back and warned them to go into hiding. And now...well, now we learn why it's best to be several hundred feet underground. There's going to be a big boom over Bristol in a moment.”
“Stop this,” Mohinder breathed, “Sylar, you can stop this. I know you can. Molly...the others. Everyone. Please!” Mitchell. Mohinder twisted around to look imploringly up at Sylar.
“Perhaps you'll be lucky. Maybe they warned Molly already. How long has it been since you've heard from her anyway at that boarding school of hers?” Sylar asked, grinning down at Mohinder.
“You've got to stop this!” Mohinder begged, “You want to be the good guy. I know you do. Sylar...please.”
“This is too big for me even, Mohinder. And that's not the easiest thing for me to admit. Now, pay attention to the screens. You're about to witness history.”
Mohinder fought to stand, but the invisible force holding him down only increased, until he found it almost difficult to breathe. His vision was drawn to the screens. To the unsuspecting people walking about their daily lives. Mohinder shook his head, praying, hoping...
He could feel the explosion as he saw a great flash take over the screens, leaving static in their wake. The walls around him shook ever so slightly. He choked back a sob.
“There now. Was that so bad?” Sylar muttered into Mohinder's ear.
Mohinder's ears rang. This wasn't happening. It hadn't happened. His body trembled, and for a moment, he was left wondering if he was dreaming.
The next thing he was aware of was the invisible force letting up on him. In an instant, Mohinder was standing, spinning around, and punching Sylar in the face.
“You bastard! You let them all die!” Mohinder cried, hauling back to swing again should Sylar recover too quickly.
“Yes,” Sylar said, spitting out blood and grinning at Mohinder, “But I let you live. And I've discovered how to make you live forever.”
“What?!” Mohinder sneered. “What the hell are you on about?!”
“Your friend, the vampire,” Sylar said, sitting back and wiping blood off of his mouth, “Do you think I let him go up in smoke with the rest of them?”
“Where is he?” Mohinder asked, shocked at Sylar's knowledge of Mitchell.
“Mitchell is here,” Sylar elaborated, gesturing toward a doorway to the right of the wall with the televisions. “At the moment, I imagine he's not feeling so well. The things that repel him are purely spiritual, and having been a religious man myself in the past, I'm not adverse to using these things against the undead.”
Mohinder started toward the door, but Sylar had scrambled up and was blocking his path before he could reach it.
“First we have to talk,” Sylar ordered, eyes narrowed, a hand raised to freeze Mohinder in place with telekinesis, “First you have to tell me about the two of you. I need to decide whether or not I'm going to keep him around.”
“Don't-don't kill him,” Mohinder said, heart thrumming at the thought that he might still have hope, that he might have something more than Sylar down here in this hell.
“Taking up with a vampire, Mohinder? Really?” Sylar asked.
“Yes,” Mohinder stated plainly, gaze darting between Sylar and the doorway.
“Why? Why him of all people? Why didn't you stay with Mira? Or Parkman? Why Bristol? Why Mitchell?”
“Because,” Mohinder muttered, gritting his teeth against the well of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
“Because why?” Sylar asked, “Was he a good fuck? Does being a doctor make you especially attracted to hospital porters? What is it, Mohinder, that brought you to this particular man?”
“I don't know,” Mohinder shook his head, body rigid, wanting to open that door, to see that Mitchell was okay.
“Yes you do,” Sylar said, holding out a hand. Mohinder jerked in surprise as he heard a loud crack, and suddenly Sylar was holding the splintered wooden leg of the table in his hand. The perfect weapon for...
“Sylar,” Mohinder licked his lips, glancing at the stake, at Sylar.
“Tell me, Mohinder,” Sylar demanded softly, “Or tell him goodbye.”
“Because-because he was like me. He was a monster like me, but he changed. He wanted to change for the better. To be a normal person, a good person,” Mohinder blurted, “And we found each other when I moved to Bristol to be a doctor. When Mira and I didn't work out, and I couldn't go back to the states after all my failures. I found Mitchell. I needed Mitchell, and he needed me.”
“A monster like you,” Sylar said with a devious smile, “I knew it.”
Sylar tossed away the stake, and Mohinder let out a small sigh of relief. Taking a step back, Sylar turned the knob of the door, letting it swing slowly open. Sure enough, there in the corner, turned away from a wall of crosses, was Mitchell.
“You can come out now,” Sylar said, moving the crosses across the room away from Mitchell with a wave of his hand.
Mitchell stood, looking dazed and shocked as he stumbled toward the door.
“Mohinder,” Mitchell moaned, “He said...he said they're all gone. George and Nina...just like Annie. They're gone.”
“I know,” Mohinder said, once more fighting the urge to cry.
Mitchell moved...they both did, Mohinder gripping Mitchell in a tight hug as Sylar had released him from the telekinesis.
“He said we'll be down here for a long time,” Mitchell whispered against Mohinder's ear, “Centuries maybe.”
“I don't know,” Mohinder admitted.
“I can't lose you too,” Mitchell muttered.
“You won't. It'll be alri-” Mohinder tensed, giving a strangled cry as Mitchell gripped his hair and pulled his head to the side, exposing his neck.
“I'm sorry,” Mitchell whispered.
“Don't...Mitchell...”
Mohinder screamed as Mitchell bit into his neck. He was too shocked to realize that Sylar was helping to keep him still as Mitchell drained him of life. All Mohinder knew was darkness...the hallway with the men with ropes and nets...and something pulling him back.
Drained and reborn.
Darkness then light.
Mohinder was brought back, undead, immortal, and thirsty.
He screamed in agony and fear upon the floor of sub-level 27, held down by the powerful hands of Mitchell and Sylar who attempted to comfort him as he returned to life.
XXXX Two Weeks Later
“I'm sorry, Becca, but Dr. Suresh doesn't work here anymore,” explained one of the nurses, looking somewhat upset at having to deliver the news.
“I want Dr. Suresh!” Becca demanded, stamping her foot.
“Honey, calm down!” ordered Becca's mother, glancing from her daughter up to the nurse, “How long ago did he leave? Did he transfer?”
“That's the thing,” the nurse said, leaning toward Becca's mother so that the little girl wouldn't be able to hear, “He just sort of vanished a few weeks ago. No one's heard from him since.”
Becca's mother sighed, taking her daughter's hand in hers, “That's a shame, really. He's the only one my little girl would listen to.”
“Well, if you happen to come upon him, tell him to get his arse back here. He was a sight for sore eyes in this place. If you ask me though, I think he ran away with one of the porters. That day there was that explosion that took out that city block. I know he and that porter were friends or...well...not my place to say really,” admitted the nurse.
“Not really your place to say now, is it?” interrupted another nurse, a short woman with blonde hair in a small ponytail.
“Sorry, Nina,” said the first nurse, glancing at Becca's mother, “Couldn't help myself.”
“Where's Dr. Suresh?” Becca asked, pulling at her mom's hand.
“I don't know, honey,” explained the nurse, Nina, “But when I find him, I'll be sure to tell you.”
Becca's mother looked at Nina, at the tired, haunted look in her eyes. Squeezing her daughter's hand, Becca's mother smiled vaguely and went to sit down with her daughter in the waiting room.
XXXX
Sylar had made his bliss. And now all it needed was maintenance. Three monsters shared one sub-level under the false belief that the world above them had been destroyed.
Sylar closed his eyes, and breathed in Mohinder as the being fed from him now. So thirsty. So desperate for blood. And Sylar being the only source now held the others in the palm of his hand. Sylar's fingers twisted in Mohinder's hair. He breathed in sharply when he felt Mohinder had taken enough, and pushed him back.
Mohinder stared, eyes black, slowly returning to their normal brown.
“I'm sorry,” Mohinder whispered, wiping blood from his lip.
“It's alright,” Sylar said, leaning forward and kissing Mohinder on the lips. Relishing in the fact that Mohinder barely tensed away.
The vampires needed him. As far as they knew, their lives depended upon Sylar.
As long as he wanted them down here, he would have them. Maybe he would kill Mitchell. Maybe not. It didn't matter. Sylar was in control.
He listened to the hustle and bustle of the people hundreds of feet above him, going about their lives. He wondered how long he could convince Mohinder and Mitchell to remain down here, or what they would try to do to him when they reached the surface...when they realized.
For now though, it didn't matter.
Sylar had made his bliss, and he was living it.
-END-
Prompts:
-it’s the end of the world
-manipulation
-missing someone else
-unlikely alliances
Author: megmatthews20
Fandoms: Being Human/Heroes
Characters Sylar, Mohinder; Mitchell, George, Nina
Pairings: Mohinder/Mitchell, Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: R
Wordcount: 3543
Spoilers: Basically vague spoilers up to current episodes of both shows
Warnings: Sex, manipulation, blood
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes or Being Human, no matter how much I wish I did
A/N: Thank you so much to my loverly speedy beta blossommorphine for helping me with my fic! You rock, dear!
Summary: Mohinder has made a new life for himself with his new boyfriend in Bristol. Sylar has some very bad news for Mohinder regarding the end of the world.
One year was all it took. One year to remember, to replace and to realize. One year was all he needed to rediscover them. His rightful gifts.
Hearing. A pin dropping a mile away.
Painting the future.
One year, and now he stood with the future before him. An explosion of something extreme and beautiful.
A dark slender frame waited in his future, and he knew those eyes anywhere. Knew that terror that he loathed so much he wanted to break it away from the man, force the man to realize and understand.
Actions were set into motion, and he knew what he was going to do.
XXXX
There came a knock at the door, and Mohinder, waking at the sharp sound, quickly rolled over, pulling the blankets up to cover his nakedness.
“What is it?” Mitchell called, rubbing his eyes and leaning up on his elbows beside Mohinder.
“Umm, Mitchell, if you and your friend want some breakfast, there's toast and tea downstairs,” George said through the door.
“Thanks, George,” Mitchell said before sighing in exasperation and falling back down on the bed.
“That's nice of him,” Mohinder muttered, glancing sideways at Mitchell, his head still resting on his pillow.
“Yeah. Wants me to know he's accommodating of my new friend,” Mitchell said, sticking his tongue out slightly in a charming and childish display of how he felt about George's overcompensation for his relationship.
“Maybe we were a bit loud last night?” Mohinder suggested.
Mitchell frowned, looked at Mohinder, “You think so?”
“Yeah. I was going to suggest the use of George's cage, that room being soundproofed, but I thought the bed would be comfier,” Mohinder said, smiling and twirling a finger in Mitchell's curls.
“I suppose you're right. Bloody flat is a menace to those not hearing impaired.” Mitchell reached over and pulled Mohinder into a kiss, a harsh kiss with the tiniest nip of sharp teeth. Mohinder tensed for the most fleeting instant, then shifted so that he was lying on top of Mitchell.
“We could try for a noise complaint,” Mohinder suggested, grinding beneath the covers against Mitchell's cock.
“We could do that,” Mitchell grinned, thrusting up against Mohinder, “Certainly.”
Mitchell engulfed Mohinder in another kiss, and soon the bed was squeaking just as much, if not more than it had been the night before.
Downstairs, George and Nina eyed each other awkwardly across the kitchen table.
Nina groaned, voicelessly willing George to do something about Mitchell and his new friend. She finally resorted to glaring passive-aggressively at her coffee as she brought it up to her lips.
Not being psychic as a mere werewolf, she was not able to hear the thoughts of the man out on the street. The man who at that moment was very much in agreement with Nina's displeasure. But for much different reasons.
Mohinder, Mohinder, Mohinder...can't stay away from the specials, can you?
Sylar stared up at the window to the bedroom where Mohinder and the other man were doing their very best to make the walls rattle. The sound burned like a fire within Sylar, something reignited following his year on the run. Something reminding him of dodgy hotels, sharp meetings with more than one of Mohinder's needles, and the angry battle that constantly existed between them, the push and pull past which Sylar always fought and failed to phase.
He needed to be patient. He knew that not everything was in order. Not everything was set.
He needed to be patient.
XXXX
Anger had just turned into opportunity. Sylar looked in awe at the dark-haired man in the blue scrubs who pushed the dirty laundry basket down the hospital hallway. The man was so similar to Mohinder in the dark curly hair, deep brown eyes, and even his perfect nose, that Sylar might go so far as to accuse Mohinder of a sort of narcissism for being with this man.
And yet, he wasn't a man. Sylar knew this, as he'd taken a walk in the flat when no one was there, fingers just brushing over the bed of this creature; a hundred images flashing to mind, a hundred memories...
This being was special, to be sure, but he wasn't human. Sylar looked right into him, and saw something other-worldy, something dark.
“'Scuse me. Can I help you?” the being asked, stopping short as Sylar was blocking his way.
“Yes, I think you can,” Sylar faked a British accent, and held out a hand, “My name's Gabriel. And you are?”
XXXX
“There you go. That wasn't bad at all, was it?” Mohinder asked, setting the medical tape aside and smiling at the little girl as she glared indignantly at the spot where she'd just had her blood drawn.
“No, I guess not,” the girl said, looking up at Mohinder, “Now, do I get candy?”
“Becca!” scolded the girl's mother.
“No, no, it's alright,” Mohinder said, sliding his chair back across the room and grabbing two suckers from the stash of candy he kept in a drawer, “I happened to be prepared for just such a request.”
“What do you say?” Becca's mom prodded her daughter.
“Thank you, Dr. Suresh,” said the little girl, snatching the suckers away and peeling the plastic cover off of the green one before happily stuffing it into her mouth.
“You're welcome,” Mohinder said, snapping his gloves off and smiling at Becca.
The little girl hopped out of her chair and took her mother's hand as they both exited the room.
When the door was closed behind them, Mohinder checked his phone, wondering if Mitchell was at lunch yet. Wondering if they could sneak in a quick fuck before they both had to finish their rounds for the day. It had been a week since he'd gotten to stay at Mitchell's flat, and he was jonesing to touch the man again.
He was surprised to find that he'd missed a voicemail on his phone. It was from Mitchell. Mohinder pressed the voicemail button and held the phone up, curiosity piqued as he heard Mitchell's thick Irish accent come through the phone's tiny speaker.
“Mohinder, hey. I was wondering if you wanted to skip out early today. Sick leave or something. Tell them you've got a bad cold and can't be around patients. I need to see you. It's...it's important. Can you meet me? I texted you the address. Get here if you can-when you can. I'll talk to you later then.”
Mohinder looked at his phone again. Sure enough, there was an address in a text from Mitchell. One he'd never seen before. The urgency with which Mitchell had summoned him had Mohinder up and almost out of the hospital before he remembered to come up with an excuse to his superiors.
XXXX
The lift seemed to descend forever, and Mohinder grew steadily more anxious as he ticked off the sub-levels. Level 27 was where Mitchell wanted him. Mohinder didn't know why, and the situation seemed increasingly strange the more he contemplated it.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the lift stopped, and the door opened to reveal a large room with a table, a wall of televisions, and Mitchell.
Mitchell smiled as Mohinder entered, standing up to greet him.
“Mohinder,” Mitchell exclaimed, drawing him into a hug that was just a little too tight.
“Mitchell, what's going on?” Mohinder asked, taking a step back to study the man, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I'm fine. And now you will be too,” Mitchell said, a strange look lingering on his face as he walked around Mohinder and leaned into the lift to push a button that caused it to close, and judging by the sound, move upwards again.
“What is this?” Mohinder asked, suspicions overwhelming him as he listened to the lift grow fainter and fainter.
“We won't need that for some time. I suspect it won't even work when it's all over,” Mitchell shrugged.
“When what is all over? What is going on, Mitchell?” Mohinder asked, eyes scanning the other man who looked at Mohinder in a strange way that seemed very unlike the Mitchell Mohinder had gotten to know these past few months.
“I'm glad you're here. I needed you to be here,” Mitchell said, stepping forward and catching Mohinder's face in his hands to pull him into a sudden kiss. Mohinder tensed. The lips were Mitchell's, the face too, down to every last coarse hair. But the kiss was different. There was no slight nip, no warm response to Mohinder's touch. It was desperate and familiar, and it belonged to someone else. Mohinder felt a lurch of understanding in his stomach that made him shove the other man back with his super-strength, sending him flying into the wall hard enough the dent the stone.
“Careful, Mohinder, this is going to be our home for awhile,” Sylar said, coughing up blood as his body bubbled back from Mitchell's into the all too familiar and terrifying form of the man who had haunted Mohinder's dreams for some time.
Mohinder clenched his fists, gaze darting about the room, searching for the exits. The lift seemed his only chance. He started toward it, ready to call it back down, when Sylar twitched a finger and sent Mohinder flying back painfully into the table and crumpling to the floor.
“That would be suicide,” Sylar said, standing up to tower over Mohinder, who coughed hard as he pulled himself up to a kneeling position and glared at Sylar through his now messy hair.
“What are you doing? What do you want?” Mohinder demanded, heart pounding in terror and anger as he caught his breath and stared at his father's killer.
“I want you to survive,” Sylar said, taking a step toward Mohinder, who slowly pulled himself to a standing position.
“Survive what?” Mohinder asked, side-stepping when Sylar moved toward him. Mohinder's efforts to avoid the man were in vain as Sylar waved a hand, and Mohinder was forced into a chair, which then swiveled about so that he was facing the wall of screens.
“The end of the world,” Sylar explained.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Mohinder snapped, tired of asking questions and getting nowhere with the answers.
“Watch closely,” Sylar said, and Mohinder winced as he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder and not let go. Suddenly, several of the televisions before him turned on, and he found himself viewing various people walking down the street. “The far left view is Bristol. The middle one is New York. The one on the far right is-”
“India...” Mohinder finished, breathlessly. “What is going on?”
“As far as I could gather, and it was very hard to garner any of this information from Nakamura because he wanted to kill me the whole time I spoke to him, there appears to be a group of extremists from the future. Those like us...well, like me. Specials. They came back because they didn't like what was happening, and they wanted to remake the past, to remake their present. Something about the complete subjugation of specials and concentration camp-like settings. You get the idea. So they chose those they wanted in their future. They came back and warned them to go into hiding. And now...well, now we learn why it's best to be several hundred feet underground. There's going to be a big boom over Bristol in a moment.”
“Stop this,” Mohinder breathed, “Sylar, you can stop this. I know you can. Molly...the others. Everyone. Please!” Mitchell. Mohinder twisted around to look imploringly up at Sylar.
“Perhaps you'll be lucky. Maybe they warned Molly already. How long has it been since you've heard from her anyway at that boarding school of hers?” Sylar asked, grinning down at Mohinder.
“You've got to stop this!” Mohinder begged, “You want to be the good guy. I know you do. Sylar...please.”
“This is too big for me even, Mohinder. And that's not the easiest thing for me to admit. Now, pay attention to the screens. You're about to witness history.”
Mohinder fought to stand, but the invisible force holding him down only increased, until he found it almost difficult to breathe. His vision was drawn to the screens. To the unsuspecting people walking about their daily lives. Mohinder shook his head, praying, hoping...
He could feel the explosion as he saw a great flash take over the screens, leaving static in their wake. The walls around him shook ever so slightly. He choked back a sob.
“There now. Was that so bad?” Sylar muttered into Mohinder's ear.
Mohinder's ears rang. This wasn't happening. It hadn't happened. His body trembled, and for a moment, he was left wondering if he was dreaming.
The next thing he was aware of was the invisible force letting up on him. In an instant, Mohinder was standing, spinning around, and punching Sylar in the face.
“You bastard! You let them all die!” Mohinder cried, hauling back to swing again should Sylar recover too quickly.
“Yes,” Sylar said, spitting out blood and grinning at Mohinder, “But I let you live. And I've discovered how to make you live forever.”
“What?!” Mohinder sneered. “What the hell are you on about?!”
“Your friend, the vampire,” Sylar said, sitting back and wiping blood off of his mouth, “Do you think I let him go up in smoke with the rest of them?”
“Where is he?” Mohinder asked, shocked at Sylar's knowledge of Mitchell.
“Mitchell is here,” Sylar elaborated, gesturing toward a doorway to the right of the wall with the televisions. “At the moment, I imagine he's not feeling so well. The things that repel him are purely spiritual, and having been a religious man myself in the past, I'm not adverse to using these things against the undead.”
Mohinder started toward the door, but Sylar had scrambled up and was blocking his path before he could reach it.
“First we have to talk,” Sylar ordered, eyes narrowed, a hand raised to freeze Mohinder in place with telekinesis, “First you have to tell me about the two of you. I need to decide whether or not I'm going to keep him around.”
“Don't-don't kill him,” Mohinder said, heart thrumming at the thought that he might still have hope, that he might have something more than Sylar down here in this hell.
“Taking up with a vampire, Mohinder? Really?” Sylar asked.
“Yes,” Mohinder stated plainly, gaze darting between Sylar and the doorway.
“Why? Why him of all people? Why didn't you stay with Mira? Or Parkman? Why Bristol? Why Mitchell?”
“Because,” Mohinder muttered, gritting his teeth against the well of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
“Because why?” Sylar asked, “Was he a good fuck? Does being a doctor make you especially attracted to hospital porters? What is it, Mohinder, that brought you to this particular man?”
“I don't know,” Mohinder shook his head, body rigid, wanting to open that door, to see that Mitchell was okay.
“Yes you do,” Sylar said, holding out a hand. Mohinder jerked in surprise as he heard a loud crack, and suddenly Sylar was holding the splintered wooden leg of the table in his hand. The perfect weapon for...
“Sylar,” Mohinder licked his lips, glancing at the stake, at Sylar.
“Tell me, Mohinder,” Sylar demanded softly, “Or tell him goodbye.”
“Because-because he was like me. He was a monster like me, but he changed. He wanted to change for the better. To be a normal person, a good person,” Mohinder blurted, “And we found each other when I moved to Bristol to be a doctor. When Mira and I didn't work out, and I couldn't go back to the states after all my failures. I found Mitchell. I needed Mitchell, and he needed me.”
“A monster like you,” Sylar said with a devious smile, “I knew it.”
Sylar tossed away the stake, and Mohinder let out a small sigh of relief. Taking a step back, Sylar turned the knob of the door, letting it swing slowly open. Sure enough, there in the corner, turned away from a wall of crosses, was Mitchell.
“You can come out now,” Sylar said, moving the crosses across the room away from Mitchell with a wave of his hand.
Mitchell stood, looking dazed and shocked as he stumbled toward the door.
“Mohinder,” Mitchell moaned, “He said...he said they're all gone. George and Nina...just like Annie. They're gone.”
“I know,” Mohinder said, once more fighting the urge to cry.
Mitchell moved...they both did, Mohinder gripping Mitchell in a tight hug as Sylar had released him from the telekinesis.
“He said we'll be down here for a long time,” Mitchell whispered against Mohinder's ear, “Centuries maybe.”
“I don't know,” Mohinder admitted.
“I can't lose you too,” Mitchell muttered.
“You won't. It'll be alri-” Mohinder tensed, giving a strangled cry as Mitchell gripped his hair and pulled his head to the side, exposing his neck.
“I'm sorry,” Mitchell whispered.
“Don't...Mitchell...”
Mohinder screamed as Mitchell bit into his neck. He was too shocked to realize that Sylar was helping to keep him still as Mitchell drained him of life. All Mohinder knew was darkness...the hallway with the men with ropes and nets...and something pulling him back.
Drained and reborn.
Darkness then light.
Mohinder was brought back, undead, immortal, and thirsty.
He screamed in agony and fear upon the floor of sub-level 27, held down by the powerful hands of Mitchell and Sylar who attempted to comfort him as he returned to life.
XXXX Two Weeks Later
“I'm sorry, Becca, but Dr. Suresh doesn't work here anymore,” explained one of the nurses, looking somewhat upset at having to deliver the news.
“I want Dr. Suresh!” Becca demanded, stamping her foot.
“Honey, calm down!” ordered Becca's mother, glancing from her daughter up to the nurse, “How long ago did he leave? Did he transfer?”
“That's the thing,” the nurse said, leaning toward Becca's mother so that the little girl wouldn't be able to hear, “He just sort of vanished a few weeks ago. No one's heard from him since.”
Becca's mother sighed, taking her daughter's hand in hers, “That's a shame, really. He's the only one my little girl would listen to.”
“Well, if you happen to come upon him, tell him to get his arse back here. He was a sight for sore eyes in this place. If you ask me though, I think he ran away with one of the porters. That day there was that explosion that took out that city block. I know he and that porter were friends or...well...not my place to say really,” admitted the nurse.
“Not really your place to say now, is it?” interrupted another nurse, a short woman with blonde hair in a small ponytail.
“Sorry, Nina,” said the first nurse, glancing at Becca's mother, “Couldn't help myself.”
“Where's Dr. Suresh?” Becca asked, pulling at her mom's hand.
“I don't know, honey,” explained the nurse, Nina, “But when I find him, I'll be sure to tell you.”
Becca's mother looked at Nina, at the tired, haunted look in her eyes. Squeezing her daughter's hand, Becca's mother smiled vaguely and went to sit down with her daughter in the waiting room.
XXXX
Sylar had made his bliss. And now all it needed was maintenance. Three monsters shared one sub-level under the false belief that the world above them had been destroyed.
Sylar closed his eyes, and breathed in Mohinder as the being fed from him now. So thirsty. So desperate for blood. And Sylar being the only source now held the others in the palm of his hand. Sylar's fingers twisted in Mohinder's hair. He breathed in sharply when he felt Mohinder had taken enough, and pushed him back.
Mohinder stared, eyes black, slowly returning to their normal brown.
“I'm sorry,” Mohinder whispered, wiping blood from his lip.
“It's alright,” Sylar said, leaning forward and kissing Mohinder on the lips. Relishing in the fact that Mohinder barely tensed away.
The vampires needed him. As far as they knew, their lives depended upon Sylar.
As long as he wanted them down here, he would have them. Maybe he would kill Mitchell. Maybe not. It didn't matter. Sylar was in control.
He listened to the hustle and bustle of the people hundreds of feet above him, going about their lives. He wondered how long he could convince Mohinder and Mitchell to remain down here, or what they would try to do to him when they reached the surface...when they realized.
For now though, it didn't matter.
Sylar had made his bliss, and he was living it.
-END-
Prompts:
-it’s the end of the world
-manipulation
-missing someone else
-unlikely alliances