Heroes Fic: When You're Here You're Family
For the crossover challenge at heroes_faves!
Title: When You're Here You're Family
Author: kojonoyuri
Characters: Sylar, Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow, Edward Nigma/Riddler
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: PG
Spoiler alert: Vague reference to season three of Heroes though not at all in continuity.
Word Count: 1,791
Summary: Sylar ends up in Arkham Asylum but gets some help from his new family.
“Come on psychopath pick up your feet.”
Sylar was doped up with enough tranquilizers to take out an elephant. He could barely move but he was still coherent enough as his powers slowly began to fight the drugs.
“When I get out of here,” Sylar said to the guard. “I’m going to kill you.”
The guard just laughed. “They all say that my psycho friend.”
Sylar was half dragged into the secure wing of Arkham Asylum. Sylar didn’t know how things had gone so poorly.
He had heard rumors of a giant bat defeating Gotham City’s criminals and new it wasn’t just some urban legend. He was smart enough to know it wasn’t a giant bat either. He was convince that someone with powers-powers that Sylar deserved-was playing at being a hero like fucking Peter Petrelli. Admittedly, this guy did have a higher success record than Peter did.
Sylar came to Gotham intent on collecting the Batman’s powers, but he couldn’t find him. The Batman only appeared to stop crimes from being committed. Well, murder was something of an art form to him now anyway, and if it was crime the Batman wanted then Sylar would give it to him. He killed three people before the Batman finally caught up to him, and to Sylar’s supreme annoyance, the man wasn’t special at all. Just some insane man in a batsuit. Sylar still couldn’t figure how despite his powers this pathetic man still managed to beat him.
The only other person without abilities who managed to take him down was Mohinder and even Mohinder barely survived. He didn’t manage to knock him out and send him to some god forsaken asylum.
The guard said nothing as he dragged Sylar through the stark white corridors and passed the doors that housed some of Gotham City’s deadliest criminals. Sylar heard a woman’s voice cackle, “New meat coming through boys. I can’t wait to tell Mister J.”
Suddenly faces could be seen peering out at Sylar through the small windows of the doors.
“Mmmm… looks like fresh meat to me,” said a man in cell 0027. The sign on the door read: Jones, Waylon. The man himself appeared to have scaly skin and sharpened pointed teeth.
They finally reached his cell. The guard tossed Sylar in haphazardly while screaming at the other inmates to quite down. The drugs where making his brain cloudy. He was certain of it. It seemed as if one moment he had been tossed in a cell and the next everything was quite and everyone was asleep. Sylar growled and pushed himself off the floor and into a sitting position against the wall. The only window was the one looking out into the hallway. He couldn’t see the sun or the moon, and there were no clocks visible in the hallway. He was already loosing track of time. And the nurses took all of his personal possessions. His wristwatch may be stopped at seven minutes and two seconds to midnight, but he still could have used the broken watch to keep track of the time. It was maddening. The drugs clouded his brain. He barely had any idea when he was brought into the asylum let alone how long he had been laying face down in this disgusting cell. He tried to stay awake, tried to plan his escape, but no thought came to his sluggish mind and soon Sylar found himself slowly drifting off once more.
The days moved slowly in Arkham, especially for high security prisoners, but even more for him. Apparently, someone-maybe the Batman-informed the doctors at Arkham to keep him on a steady dose of drugs that left him sluggish, seemingly out of touch with reality, and unable to use his powers, most of them anyway. The intuitive aptitude was still there, but at the moment, it was driving him mad.
The clock in the rec room of the secure ward was off and not just by a few seconds, but by two whole minutes. The ticking was too loud in his ears and it was making Sylar…twitchy.
Tick.
“Who’s the new guy?”
Tick.
“Heard his name was Sylar, so far he hasn’t said anything. Rumor is he almost scalped the Bat though.”
Tick. Tick.
“Impressive.”
Tick! Tick! Tick!
“Please Jonathan, I never thought you’d be so easily impressed. The whole thing lacked finesse, if I had powers I would have really put on a show.”
TickTickTickTickTick!!
“Well Edward, we can’t all depend on theatricality and riddles to get the job done.”
TicktickTicktickTicktickTicktickTicktickTick…
Sylar stood as quickly as he could with the drugs pumping through his veins and walked toward the clock. He stared at for a few moments and then reached for the cheap, round, plastic clock. Behind him, he was faintly aware of the guards moving toward him.
Sylar grabbed the clock. He couldn’t fix it. He didn’t have his tools. The clock was broken though and if he couldn’t fix it then…
He smashed the clock to pieces scattering glass and plastic around the floor when he felt the nearest guard grab his arm and try to force him against the wall, but now that the ticking had stopped Sylar found himself with a moment of lucidity.
The pieces of the broken clock lifted off the ground and hurled themselves, with startling speed, into the major arteries of the guards. The guards dropped to the floor quickly, their blood forming pools of around their fallen bodies. Sylar turned around to survey his work. The guards dared to stop him from fixing what was broken, but the thought was slowly fading from his mind as he felt the drugs taking effect again on his body. He felt drained and exhausted from even that small use of his powers. He hit the floor hard. Passing out in the blood of the men he killed, but before the darkness took him he heard voices above him and someone seemed to be checking his pulse.
“I'd call that finesse. Wouldn’t you, Edward.”
“Hmph, I guess. Could've done without the passing out though.”
“It’s the drugs, Edward.”
“Whatever, I think we need to check out of Arkham, now.”
“Indeed.”
Sylar was vaguely aware of someone moving him before he passed out completely.
The first thing Sylar noticed when he woke up was that he could see the sun shining in from a window that did not exist in his cell in Arkham. The next thing he noticed was that he was remarkably clear headed and that he could hear voices coming from outside the room he was now in.
Sylar stood and looked down at his clothes. He was still wearing his Arkham uniform and it was harden with blood. He moved slowly to the door of the room, he could feel his powers humming through him now, but he was still weak. He needed to be cautious. Sylar slowly pushed open the door and immediately saw two sets of eyes on him. Two men that Sylar vaguely remembered from Arkham were sitting at a small table drinking coffee. One tipped his green bowler hat to him in greeting while the other simply peered at him with startling blue eyes through his glasses. He approached the two men slowly.
“Feeling better I bet,” said the blue-eyed man. “My name is Dr. Jonathan Crane, but you may know me better as the Scarecrow, the master of fear.” Crane said this all with a powerful booming voice and flourish of his hands before waving a dismissive hand in the other man’s direction. “And this is Edward.”
“The Riddler,” Edward said with a growl at Crane.
“Why did you free me?”
“An interesting question. Why does one save anyone? What does it mean to be truly saved-”
“Oh shut up, Edward!” Crane snapped before smiling at Sylar. “Well, you are the newest member of the family and you were in such a poor state we felt we should help. We were planning on leaving Arkham anyway so it really wasn’t out of our way.”
“Though lugging your heavy ass across Gotham was no easy feat. A thank you would be appreciated.”
Sylar scowled. “I never asked to be saved.”
Edward smiled wickedly. “Well, if that’s the case we could always put you back.”
“You could try.” Sylar snapped. “I don’t need your…family. I’ve been down that road before, it doesn’t end well. You two saw me use my abilities on those guards, you’re just trying to use me under the guise of kindness and family.”
Edward actually laughed. “Well of course we want to use you. I mean what else is family for!”
“What Edward is trying to say is, yes your talents make you special. We certainly wouldn’t be offering the same kindness to talentless hacks like Calendar Man or Man Bat.”
“Lamest villains ever,” Edward interjected.
“But nevertheless, the rogues at Arkham have formed something of a family. We had to in order to survive numerous encounters with the Batman and escape from Arkham so often. The Bat has his little family and we have ours. We look out for each other.”
Edward smirked a little and looked apologetically at Sylar. “Well sometimes anyway.”
Crane nodded. “Nobody likes the Joker, except for Harley. You can only trust Harley when the Joker isn’t around. Pamela hates everyone except maybe Harley. Oh, and you never want to be around Croc when he’s hungry.”
“Some family,” Sylar commented though the comment felt far away in his mind he was too stuck on words like talents, special, and family. He didn’t do well with family he found, though Sylar would admit to himself he craved the praise and attention of others. The Company, the Petrellis all pretended to accept him, but really they just wanted to shape him into the perfect weapon for their own private use, but the Company had delusions of saving the world. Perhaps in a family of villains he’d be accepted. At the very least they were up front about their intentions. They want me in their family because I’m special, Sylar thought.
“I’m not saying we aren’t dysfunctional,” said Edward, “but then again, we kill people for a living so dysfunction is to be expected, but its better than nothing.”
Better than being alone. Sylar sat down at the table across from Crane and Edward. “Fine, I’m in, but first I want revenge on this… Batman.” Sylar looked down then at his blood covered uniform, “And I’ll need some cloths.”
Edward laughed. “A man after my own heart.”
“Agreed,” said Crane, “And I would keep those cloths.” His blue eyes lit up. “You look deliciously terrifying in them.”
Sylar smiled for the first time in a long while. Maybe this time things would work. Maybe now he finally be complete. Maybe here in Gotham, he'd finally be fixed.
Title: When You're Here You're Family
Author: kojonoyuri
Characters: Sylar, Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow, Edward Nigma/Riddler
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: PG
Spoiler alert: Vague reference to season three of Heroes though not at all in continuity.
Word Count: 1,791
Summary: Sylar ends up in Arkham Asylum but gets some help from his new family.
“Come on psychopath pick up your feet.”
Sylar was doped up with enough tranquilizers to take out an elephant. He could barely move but he was still coherent enough as his powers slowly began to fight the drugs.
“When I get out of here,” Sylar said to the guard. “I’m going to kill you.”
The guard just laughed. “They all say that my psycho friend.”
Sylar was half dragged into the secure wing of Arkham Asylum. Sylar didn’t know how things had gone so poorly.
He had heard rumors of a giant bat defeating Gotham City’s criminals and new it wasn’t just some urban legend. He was smart enough to know it wasn’t a giant bat either. He was convince that someone with powers-powers that Sylar deserved-was playing at being a hero like fucking Peter Petrelli. Admittedly, this guy did have a higher success record than Peter did.
Sylar came to Gotham intent on collecting the Batman’s powers, but he couldn’t find him. The Batman only appeared to stop crimes from being committed. Well, murder was something of an art form to him now anyway, and if it was crime the Batman wanted then Sylar would give it to him. He killed three people before the Batman finally caught up to him, and to Sylar’s supreme annoyance, the man wasn’t special at all. Just some insane man in a batsuit. Sylar still couldn’t figure how despite his powers this pathetic man still managed to beat him.
The only other person without abilities who managed to take him down was Mohinder and even Mohinder barely survived. He didn’t manage to knock him out and send him to some god forsaken asylum.
The guard said nothing as he dragged Sylar through the stark white corridors and passed the doors that housed some of Gotham City’s deadliest criminals. Sylar heard a woman’s voice cackle, “New meat coming through boys. I can’t wait to tell Mister J.”
Suddenly faces could be seen peering out at Sylar through the small windows of the doors.
“Mmmm… looks like fresh meat to me,” said a man in cell 0027. The sign on the door read: Jones, Waylon. The man himself appeared to have scaly skin and sharpened pointed teeth.
They finally reached his cell. The guard tossed Sylar in haphazardly while screaming at the other inmates to quite down. The drugs where making his brain cloudy. He was certain of it. It seemed as if one moment he had been tossed in a cell and the next everything was quite and everyone was asleep. Sylar growled and pushed himself off the floor and into a sitting position against the wall. The only window was the one looking out into the hallway. He couldn’t see the sun or the moon, and there were no clocks visible in the hallway. He was already loosing track of time. And the nurses took all of his personal possessions. His wristwatch may be stopped at seven minutes and two seconds to midnight, but he still could have used the broken watch to keep track of the time. It was maddening. The drugs clouded his brain. He barely had any idea when he was brought into the asylum let alone how long he had been laying face down in this disgusting cell. He tried to stay awake, tried to plan his escape, but no thought came to his sluggish mind and soon Sylar found himself slowly drifting off once more.
The days moved slowly in Arkham, especially for high security prisoners, but even more for him. Apparently, someone-maybe the Batman-informed the doctors at Arkham to keep him on a steady dose of drugs that left him sluggish, seemingly out of touch with reality, and unable to use his powers, most of them anyway. The intuitive aptitude was still there, but at the moment, it was driving him mad.
The clock in the rec room of the secure ward was off and not just by a few seconds, but by two whole minutes. The ticking was too loud in his ears and it was making Sylar…twitchy.
Tick.
“Who’s the new guy?”
Tick.
“Heard his name was Sylar, so far he hasn’t said anything. Rumor is he almost scalped the Bat though.”
Tick. Tick.
“Impressive.”
Tick! Tick! Tick!
“Please Jonathan, I never thought you’d be so easily impressed. The whole thing lacked finesse, if I had powers I would have really put on a show.”
TickTickTickTickTick!!
“Well Edward, we can’t all depend on theatricality and riddles to get the job done.”
TicktickTicktickTicktickTicktickTicktickTick…
Sylar stood as quickly as he could with the drugs pumping through his veins and walked toward the clock. He stared at for a few moments and then reached for the cheap, round, plastic clock. Behind him, he was faintly aware of the guards moving toward him.
Sylar grabbed the clock. He couldn’t fix it. He didn’t have his tools. The clock was broken though and if he couldn’t fix it then…
He smashed the clock to pieces scattering glass and plastic around the floor when he felt the nearest guard grab his arm and try to force him against the wall, but now that the ticking had stopped Sylar found himself with a moment of lucidity.
The pieces of the broken clock lifted off the ground and hurled themselves, with startling speed, into the major arteries of the guards. The guards dropped to the floor quickly, their blood forming pools of around their fallen bodies. Sylar turned around to survey his work. The guards dared to stop him from fixing what was broken, but the thought was slowly fading from his mind as he felt the drugs taking effect again on his body. He felt drained and exhausted from even that small use of his powers. He hit the floor hard. Passing out in the blood of the men he killed, but before the darkness took him he heard voices above him and someone seemed to be checking his pulse.
“I'd call that finesse. Wouldn’t you, Edward.”
“Hmph, I guess. Could've done without the passing out though.”
“It’s the drugs, Edward.”
“Whatever, I think we need to check out of Arkham, now.”
“Indeed.”
Sylar was vaguely aware of someone moving him before he passed out completely.
The first thing Sylar noticed when he woke up was that he could see the sun shining in from a window that did not exist in his cell in Arkham. The next thing he noticed was that he was remarkably clear headed and that he could hear voices coming from outside the room he was now in.
Sylar stood and looked down at his clothes. He was still wearing his Arkham uniform and it was harden with blood. He moved slowly to the door of the room, he could feel his powers humming through him now, but he was still weak. He needed to be cautious. Sylar slowly pushed open the door and immediately saw two sets of eyes on him. Two men that Sylar vaguely remembered from Arkham were sitting at a small table drinking coffee. One tipped his green bowler hat to him in greeting while the other simply peered at him with startling blue eyes through his glasses. He approached the two men slowly.
“Feeling better I bet,” said the blue-eyed man. “My name is Dr. Jonathan Crane, but you may know me better as the Scarecrow, the master of fear.” Crane said this all with a powerful booming voice and flourish of his hands before waving a dismissive hand in the other man’s direction. “And this is Edward.”
“The Riddler,” Edward said with a growl at Crane.
“Why did you free me?”
“An interesting question. Why does one save anyone? What does it mean to be truly saved-”
“Oh shut up, Edward!” Crane snapped before smiling at Sylar. “Well, you are the newest member of the family and you were in such a poor state we felt we should help. We were planning on leaving Arkham anyway so it really wasn’t out of our way.”
“Though lugging your heavy ass across Gotham was no easy feat. A thank you would be appreciated.”
Sylar scowled. “I never asked to be saved.”
Edward smiled wickedly. “Well, if that’s the case we could always put you back.”
“You could try.” Sylar snapped. “I don’t need your…family. I’ve been down that road before, it doesn’t end well. You two saw me use my abilities on those guards, you’re just trying to use me under the guise of kindness and family.”
Edward actually laughed. “Well of course we want to use you. I mean what else is family for!”
“What Edward is trying to say is, yes your talents make you special. We certainly wouldn’t be offering the same kindness to talentless hacks like Calendar Man or Man Bat.”
“Lamest villains ever,” Edward interjected.
“But nevertheless, the rogues at Arkham have formed something of a family. We had to in order to survive numerous encounters with the Batman and escape from Arkham so often. The Bat has his little family and we have ours. We look out for each other.”
Edward smirked a little and looked apologetically at Sylar. “Well sometimes anyway.”
Crane nodded. “Nobody likes the Joker, except for Harley. You can only trust Harley when the Joker isn’t around. Pamela hates everyone except maybe Harley. Oh, and you never want to be around Croc when he’s hungry.”
“Some family,” Sylar commented though the comment felt far away in his mind he was too stuck on words like talents, special, and family. He didn’t do well with family he found, though Sylar would admit to himself he craved the praise and attention of others. The Company, the Petrellis all pretended to accept him, but really they just wanted to shape him into the perfect weapon for their own private use, but the Company had delusions of saving the world. Perhaps in a family of villains he’d be accepted. At the very least they were up front about their intentions. They want me in their family because I’m special, Sylar thought.
“I’m not saying we aren’t dysfunctional,” said Edward, “but then again, we kill people for a living so dysfunction is to be expected, but its better than nothing.”
Better than being alone. Sylar sat down at the table across from Crane and Edward. “Fine, I’m in, but first I want revenge on this… Batman.” Sylar looked down then at his blood covered uniform, “And I’ll need some cloths.”
Edward laughed. “A man after my own heart.”
“Agreed,” said Crane, “And I would keep those cloths.” His blue eyes lit up. “You look deliciously terrifying in them.”
Sylar smiled for the first time in a long while. Maybe this time things would work. Maybe now he finally be complete. Maybe here in Gotham, he'd finally be fixed.