Understanding [3/?]
Title: Understanding [3/?] - Trapped
Rating: R
Pairing: Mylar (Mohinder/Sylar)
Supporting Cast: Just Peter this time. [Ensemble will be around throughout.]
Spoilers: MASSIVE SPOILERS - Seasons 1 and 2 - This starts immediately after the finale. Deaths are mentioned.
Warnings: Blood, violence, language and sexual situations. Standard Sylar warnings apply.
This Time: Mohinder is trapped in a motel room with Sylar.
A/N: As always I must thank ladywilde80 for being an awesome beta, especially with this chapter. When I sent it to her I was absolutely terrified but she assures me my fears are unfounded.
Mistakes are all mine.
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Part 1
Part 2
Sylar dragged Mohinder roughly into the motel room, shutting the door and locking it with his mind. Without saying a word he shoved Mohinder down onto the bed with one arm and blew past, heading straight for the bathroom. There were two very strong impulses running through his brain at the moment and neither would be very helpful. Besides which he needed to clean up.
His new black sweater was a complete mess; the blood was well caked on by now. Suppressing a small grunt of pain he pulled it over his head and tossed it to the side, leaving only his new black tank top. He’d gone shoplifting over lunch. Undignified, but he’d needed the new clothes. Turning on the taps with his mind to get the hot water flowing, Sylar finally allowed himself a moment to inspect his burn.
Damn Peter Petrelli to hell! He must have met up with the blonde girl sometime in the last few months. Her attack this morning had only grazed his right arm but Petrelli had gotten Sylar right in between his left shoulder and collar bone, burning a hole clean through his tank top. Fortunately the strap was intact enough to hold for now, but he would have to pull the charred material out of the wound and that certainly wouldn’t be pleasant.
Scowling in disgust, Sylar snatched up the cheap bar of soap sitting on the sink and started scrubbing his hands and forearms clean of blood.
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Mohinder pushed himself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed, and peered cautiously into the bathroom. For several minutes he sat in silence, watching Sylar out of the corner of his eye while trying to process everything that had happened. He only thought about dashing out of the door once, rather wistfully. At the moment Sylar wasn’t restraining him with his powers but if he made a move for the door that would all be over.
Trying very hard to think of anything but what might happen when Sylar was done cleaning up, he focused on the events that had already occurred. Clearly Sylar had picked up the power to either become invisible or something that tricked the mind, illusions perhaps? That would explain the bucking walls, certainly nothing else could. If that was the case it made absolutely everything that Mohinder saw suspect. The idea fell over Mohinder like another invisible set of chains. That power had terrifying potential.
Sylar had also clearly stolen the ability to fly from Nathan. God- Nathan, Peter! Mohinder could only be grateful that Sylar had decided to kidnap him rather than attempt to kill Peter and Claire. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to deal with Peter until he had his own regenerative ability. Mohinder really had no way of knowing for sure. It didn’t matter, they were safe for now. Hopefully Peter would stay calm and they’d heal Nathan, if that was even still a possibility.
Perhaps he should be hoping for rescue, but he was so infernally sick of leading Sylar to more victims. With his new power of illusions, or whatever that trick was, odds were that Peter wouldn’t stand much of a chance right now. It took the other man much longer to get used to new skills, for now he was just as defenseless against Sylar’s new ability as the rest of them.
Which lead him back to Nathan, and the lengthening verbal silence. Mohinder took a deep breath, pulling himself together. His wits were the only poor defense he had at the moment, he could at least try and use them to his advantage. Not to mention he was extremely curious.
“Sylar?” He managed after a moment, glad his voice came out sounding reasonably normal. The scrubbing in the bathroom slowed to a halt and Mohinder tried not to picture Nathan’s blood swirling down the drain.
“Yes?” The scrubbing resumed.
Mohinder licked his lips nervously and then immediately regretted it, tasting gritty dirt and the remnants of Nathan’s blood that he hadn’t scrubbed away the moment Sylar was out of sight.
“You can fly.” Mohinder observed lamely. He stumbled over the question forming in his mind, feeling incredibly awkward but dying to know the answer. Sylar made a noise that sounded like he’d stifled a laugh, but with the running water it was hard to tell. It didn’t help.
“But you didn’t -I mean…”
“I didn’t take his brain, you mean?” Sylar interrupted, turning off the taps with his mind and grabbing a towel to dry his hands. He leaned casually against the doorframe, meeting Mohinder’s gaze at last. “Don’t tell me you think I eat brains too? Honestly, I thought you were smarter than that.”
Sylar was tall to begin with, but staring up at him from a sitting position only made Mohinder feel even smaller. He reflexively moved to stand up but found himself shoved firmly back to a sitting position before he had gotten even an inch off the bedspread. Sylar gave him an odd look, turning back into the bathroom for a moment.
“Not really but, well they’re always gone.” Mohinder persisted, trying to pretend like he hadn’t been trying to stand at all, merely shifting his weight. It was a lost cause but he was trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.
Sylar came back out of the bathroom, wet washcloth in hand and strolled over to stand in front of Mohinder. He stared down at the scientist for a long moment, his expression still unnervingly strange. Finally he seemed to make up his mind about something and held the cloth out.
“Here,” he grumbled, glaring at the other man until Mohinder reached out and took the washcloth from him. It was clean, warm and wet, and his face was filthy, the stench of Nathan’s blood still strong. It was rather a relief to be able to wipe the worst of it off. Still, it was another decidedly odd gesture.
Sylar pulled up the only wooden chair in the room, swiveled it to face away from the bed and then straddled it backwards, folding his arms across the top. Mohinder still had to look up a little but at least it was vaguely less intimidating. On the flip side, Sylar was now sitting well within arm’s reach. Slightly irrelevant when taking his telekinesis into account, but the churning in Mohinder’s stomach didn’t listen to logic.
“As for Nathan, I’m sure you can figure that out for yourself. Why should I ruin the fun? All scientists love their puzzles.” Sylar seemed to switch easily back to his previous amusement.
“You just sawed off the top of my friend’s head! I think at the least I deserve some answers.” Mohinder snapped back, unable to help himself. He wanted to stay calm but couldn’t seem to manage it in the face of Sylar’s nonchalance.
“He was already dead,” Sylar shrugged, looking mildly bored. “If Claire’s blood can raise the dead then he’ll just have a little more to heal from. You should be grateful I took the opportunity now, rather than having to kill him later.” He shifted forward a little, his eyes lighting up. “Makes you really wonder about the nature of the soul, doesn’t it? If the soul is supposed to leave the body upon death, is it dragged back when the body is repaired? Or are we really just what the wiring of our brains makes us? Repair that wiring and we return from oblivion.”
“You kidnapped me to debate philosophy?” Mohinder replied incredulously.
“Really Mohinder, you’re just no fun today.” Sylar’s lip twitched into what was almost a grin. “Though in a way you are right. It’s not really kidnapping though, you traded your life for that blonde back at your apartment. I’m only here to collect.” He reached forward gently cupping the side of Mohinder’s head, rubbing his thumb lightly along the scratch from earlier this morning. Mohinder tried to pull away but was held quite firmly in place. Sylar removed his hand after only a moment, however, pulling back with his expression turning more serious and Mohinder’s head was abruptly free to move again. “That was quite the power I let slip out of my hands and I certainly didn’t have to.”
There was nothing Mohinder could really say to that, not when it mirrored his thoughts from earlier.
“Consider Nathan Petrelli a bonus. Hmmm?” Sylar continued with a raised eyebrow.
“Of course! Slicing through his skull and rooting around in his brain was a favour to me! How could I possibly have misinterpreted that?” Mohinder’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Mocking Sylar was probably one of the stupidest things he’d ever done, but he’d had enough. Words were his only weapon, bound to backfire, but damnit he wasn’t going down without a fight.
The words were barely out of his mouth when invisible hands flung him into the wall, pinning him there. Mohinder grunted in pain from the impact, but he knew it could have been much worse. Sylar stood up, kicking the chair off to the side where it banged into the door. His expression still curiously blank. Angry, for certain, but oddly not near what Mohinder knew it could become when provoked.
“You’re an ungrateful bastard, you know that?” Sylar growled, though his expression was softening just a touch, that amusement creeping back into his eyes. It wasn’t helping Mohinder relax one bit.
Sylar strolled over to where he had the other man pinned to the motel wall, just a few inches off the floor. In fact, Mohinder was suspended at just the right height for what he had in mind.
Sylar had been doing a lot of thinking in the last few hours. Not to mention the last two days. At first he’d been ready to kill the other man, but now- Now he’d thought about it calmly, and the more time he spent in the other man’s presence… Well he’d come to a new decision.
“You really just don’t know when to shut up.” Sylar criticized, acting like a playful cat who had cornered its prey was about to finish it off.
Mohinder gulped as Sylar invaded his personal space, unable to draw his eyes away from Sylar’s own. It wasn’t telekinesis that held his gaze, rather something in Sylar’s eyes hypnotized him, pulled him in. His mind was screaming wordless objections but his voice simply wasn’t working.
A long finger brushed with shocking tenderness down the length of Mohinder’s nose. “You never did tell me who did this to you.” Sylar muttered almost absently, something odd in his gaze that Mohinder couldn’t place. His battered nose was free of its bandage but it was still mottled with the stain of a bruise, still tender to the touch though Sylar’s strange caress failed to elicit even the slightest twinge of pain.
“Doesn’t matter,” Mohinder muttered, finally tearing his eyes from Sylar’s. Even faced with the terror of being pinned to a wall by this undoubtedly insane murderer, the scientist couldn’t bring himself to willingly dwell on that day’s events. The pain, the self-disgust, it was still all too raw.
Here now, faced with the only other eyes he had stared into before pulling the trigger of a gun, something inside of him crumbled. For all his supposed moral superiority, Mohinder had shot and killed Noah Bennet without flinching. He’d shot the man before him when he was (so Mohinder had thought at the time) completely helpless. The fact that both men still lived didn’t change the reality. He hadn’t known either time that the act wouldn’t be final.
He didn’t even know a tear had escaped his tightly shut eyes until the other man’s thumb wiped it away, once more with that same tenderness. It was something so utterly foreign to everything Mohinder knew about Sylar. Confusion dizzied his senses and he suddenly found his eyes open again, meeting his captor’s darker ones once more.
“You’ve changed, Mohinder.” Sylar murmured, his gaze seeming to take every bit of Mohinder in, right down the depths of his soul. He felt exposed, almost violated, and yet…
“Someone’s broken you…” Sylar’s tone was pitying, yet underneath it was a clear and frightening undercurrent of violence. Mohinder didn’t understand the reasons behind it; however, as he heard the words, their unspoken threat was spelled out quite clearly to him.
“Don’t worry Mohinder, I can fix you.” Sylar voice was barely above a whisper, mouth hovering so close to his own that Mohinder could taste his breath, feel the tickle of the vibrations, bask in the numbing warmth. “I’m good at fixing things.”
Sylar’s lips crashed with his own. For a long moment Mohinder’s mind froze in absolute shock. Sylar’s kiss was strong, forceful, possessive and yet still retained that confusing tenderness that his voice had held just moments ago.
I’m being kissed by the man who murdered my father!
The thought slammed his mind and Mohinder twisted his head desperately to the side, wrenching his lips away. Sylar didn’t stop him, instead turning his attentions to the line of Mohinder’s neck, running kisses and small, sharp nips with his teeth down the collar bone. He left his hands resting on Mohinder’s hips, one nimble finger sneaking under his shirt, gently rubbing small circles along his waist.
“S-Sylar don’t. S-stop, please!” Mohinder’s words came out haltingly as his voice faltered every time the other man’s warm lips made contact with the sensitive flesh of his neck. It was wrong, so horribly wrong, but each touch sent a shiver down his spine. The last word came out sounding horrifically like a moan.
Sylar ceased his ministrations, withdrew. He grabbed Mohinder’s chin, forcing the darker man to look him in the eyes once more. Mohinder was being infuriatingly stubborn. Fortunately Sylar could be quite persuasive.
“Deny it all you please but you want this just as much as I do.” Sylar growled into Mohinder’s ear, the hot breath and gentle vibrations sending a shiver down his spine. His cheeks flushed with shame as Sylar chuckled at the shudder.
“You murdered my father!” He protested desperately as he tried to squirm out of the other’s grip. It was a hopeless struggle, Sylar’s telekinesis held him practically motionless.
Sylar pulled back, still holding Mohinder’s chin firmly in place. He met Mohinder’s angry, frightened and flustered gaze unflinchingly.
“Yes, I did.” He answered plainly. “He created me Mohinder, if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be who I am today. He betrayed me. I don’t regret what I did. I told you that I believe in destiny, and I know it was destiny that we should meet.” He frowned a little then, as if he hadn’t meant to say quite what had escaped his lips.
Mohinder could only stare, his jaw working uselessly. Sylar, the serial killer, the man who haunted people’s nightmares, was standing here telling Mohinder that it was destiny that brought them together. It was so shockingly out of character, and yet in a strange way it wasn’t. If he’d- If it hadn’t all been a lie… but it had to be! Even if it wasn’t, he was a man who ripped open people’s skulls and removed their brains! This was Sylar!
Even if he had been able to form a coherent thought of protest, Sylar didn’t give him a chance to voice it. Lips were crashing together again, the hand leaving his chin to cup the side of his head, tangling in his hair. Teeth tugged at his lower lip, the small, sharp pain only heightening the experience. Warmth coursed through Mohinder’s frame, his heartbeat racing for completely new reasons now.
Invisible forces pulled his jaw open and the other man’s tongue was running along the back of his teeth, brushing up against his own tongue, exploring his mouth with astounding hunger. Sylar shifted somewhat to the right and forward, their bodies pressed together and the taller man’s left hip and thigh were suddenly between his legs, rubbing against his groin, causing another rush of heat and another tremor to run down Mohinder’s spine.
Sylar’s other hand was suddenly under his shirt, cool fingers brushing against the warm flesh of his side, joined by thousands of telekinetic fingers tracing all along his limbs, his chest, over every piece of skin. Mohinder was utterly lost in sensation. His protests were smothered by the absolute sensory overload. Memories of Zane flooded his mind. All the pleasant moments, the sideways glances they’d caught each other at more than once. The moment in that restaurant when they’d reached for the salt at the same time, hands gently brushing one another. The awkward silence that had followed.
Back before he’d known the truth. Before reality had come crashing home.
I had wanted this so much.
Resolve shattered without his conscious consent and suddenly Mohinder was kissing back, a small moan of pleasure breaking free of its bonds as Sylar’s hip shifted once more, rubbing insistently against the rapidly growing hardness.
In that moment Sylar knew that he had won.
In that moment, it all went straight to hell.
Sylar froze in an instant, the invisible hands vanished and instead Mohinder felt a grip tighten uncomfortably over his vocal chords as he opened his mouth to feebly protest the abrupt halt.
The pale man pushed himself back, eyes flying upwards, the expression on his face flooded with venom. If looks could kill, this one would have leveled an army.
--
There had been the sound of two footsteps on the roof. Far below any normal person’s range of hearing, but to Sylar they were like rolls of thunder.
Peter Fucking Petrelli!
The chair in the corner shattered into dozens of razor-sharp stakes as Sylar’s gaze fixed on the ceiling. He felt his body boiling with rage. They could have been best friends a few moments ago but for interrupting like this, right now, Sylar would have murdered him anyway.
The hovering shards of wood spread out into a cloud, all pointing upwards, all quivering as is they were straining to be released, set free. With a mere thought they all shot upwards at once, tearing through the ceiling with such force that it was as if the roof was made of tissue paper. A cry of pain lanced through the air and Sylar snarled, leaving Mohinder pinned and silenced as he burst into the air, through the ragged hole in the ceiling, after the shower of wood.
Sylar could feel Peter trying to react, to turn the telekinetic barrage back around on him, but Petrelli didn’t stand a chance. Sylar was better at this, with much more practice, skill and finesse; and he was fueled by more desire to kill this man then he had ever felt towards anyone in his entire life.
This time Peter Petrelli would not escape alive.
Several of Sylar’s projectiles had embedded themselves into the other man, giving him the appearance of a human pincushion, a grimace of pain etched on his face. Peter flung a hand forward to send a lance of electricity at his foe but an invisible wall sprang up and deflected the blast off in another direction entirely. The intruder didn’t have time for a second shot.
Sylar was bearing down on him, a wave of telekinetic rage bursting out in front of him, plucking Peter out of the air and slamming him down onto the gravel parking lot. The remnants of the chair followed immediately afterwards, slicing through flesh and muscle, eliciting a jarring scream of agony from his foe who was suddenly bleeding from a dozen more wounds. They would heal rapidly but Sylar wasn’t going to give him the time.
A booted foot slammed down onto Peter’s chest as he struggled in vain against the invisible bonds. The strength of his own telekinesis battered furiously but ultimately harmlessly against Sylar’s. Both men were filled with rage directed at the other but Peter lost control so easily, while Sylar was currently tapping depths of previously unknown strength.
Petrelli didn’t stand a chance.
Not wasting a moment, Sylar pointed his finger at Peter’s forehead, methodically, ruthlessly splitting skull and bone as quickly as he could, determined to beat the regeneration.
Peter’s power slammed against his own, nearly physically shaking him. The telekinetic blows became stronger but more erratic as Peter’s screams of agony peaked in intensity.
Sylar’s expression split into a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with success, his hunger for power about to be fed in a way he’d dreamed of for months.
He was two thirds of the way there when he was rudely interrupted for the second time. Out of nowhere something crashed into Sylar’s side at monumental speed, picking him up and whipping him away from Peter’s screaming form.
He had just a few seconds to register his shock, pain and confusion, and then it all went black.
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Mohinder had tried and tried to scream warning, to beg Sylar to stop, anything at all, but with the iron grip on his vocal chords he couldn’t get a word out.
Not again! Not again!
Peters screams had ripped through him, hot tears breaking loose to stream down his cheeks as he drowned in the sound of his friend’s suffering. He thrashed against the mental grip that kept him pinned even with Sylar fighting Peter at the same time. From the single set of heart-wrenching screams of agony, it seemed to be a very one sided fight.
When the invisible vice holding Mohinder in place suddenly vanished he was still bucking like mad against the restraint and consequently succeeded in flinging himself awkwardly to land in a sprawled mess on the floor. The landing was jarring but all Mohinder could think of was Peter’s danger. Had the screams stopped because Sylar had killed him?
Please, oh please no!
Disregarding the ache of strained muscles and bruised limbs, Mohinder scrambled to his feet and flung himself out the door. Peter was lying on the ground, speared with chair parts, panting loudly but… alone.
Mohinder stumbled over to the injured man, falling to his knees once he reached his side. The long gash across Peter’s head was slowly knitting back together. He was clearly in a state of shock. His eyes were wide with a combination of confusion, pain and relief that he wasn’t dead.
“What happened? Where is he?” Mohinder asked first as he took in the bits of wood and figured out the best way to remove them. He wanted to comfort Peter, to apologize a thousand times over, but first he had to know what had happened to Sylar. How much time did they have until he came back to finish the job?
Peter’s breathing steadied somewhat as his head finished healing. Not having his skull split in two seemed to do wonders for his composure.
It really wasn’t surprising.
“He-“ Peter stuttered between the gasps of pain when Mohinder pulled the first wooden dagger out. “I don’t know. I was- I didn’t do anything. There- I- I think- someone else. At least- it might have been. Something crashed into him. Then, nothing. Gone.”
Gone?
Mohinder gave Peter a startled look at that but quickly turned back to his ministrations. Best to concentrate on the task at hand, not think about what just happened. He tugged a smaller shard out of Peter’s abdomen, wincing in sympathy at the other man’s grunt of pain.
“Peter I… I’m so sorry. You nearly died trying to- all because of me.” He couldn’t look Peter in the eye anymore.
Don’t think about it. Don’ t think about what happened. Oh god, he can read my mind!
It took a supreme effort of will to focus on the next piece of wood. He’d managed to clear the top half of Peter’s body and the wounds were healing faster now.
“I wasn’t going to let him hurt you Mohinder.” Peter replied softly now, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. His clothes were shredded, he was covered in blood, but thanks to some miracle he was still alive. “Are you ok? What did he want?”
Pull out the next piece of wood. Concentrate on the next piece of wood.
“I…” he scrambled for a way to avoid the subject. “I’m not the one who looks like a pincushion Peter. We can talk about this later. Right now we have to get out of here. You shouldn’t have come, he nearly killed you! If whatever distracted him doesn’t last he’ll be back here and we need to be gone by then.”
Peter helped Mohinder pull the last of the major pieces out, trying hard to act like he was much more used to healing from such major wounds. Like it didn’t hurt like hell.
A few short minutes later Peter was ready and, with a look of intense concentration, teleported them both to safety.
Part 4
Rating: R
Pairing: Mylar (Mohinder/Sylar)
Supporting Cast: Just Peter this time. [Ensemble will be around throughout.]
Spoilers: MASSIVE SPOILERS - Seasons 1 and 2 - This starts immediately after the finale. Deaths are mentioned.
Warnings: Blood, violence, language and sexual situations. Standard Sylar warnings apply.
This Time: Mohinder is trapped in a motel room with Sylar.
A/N: As always I must thank ladywilde80 for being an awesome beta, especially with this chapter. When I sent it to her I was absolutely terrified but she assures me my fears are unfounded.
Mistakes are all mine.
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Part 1
Part 2
Sylar dragged Mohinder roughly into the motel room, shutting the door and locking it with his mind. Without saying a word he shoved Mohinder down onto the bed with one arm and blew past, heading straight for the bathroom. There were two very strong impulses running through his brain at the moment and neither would be very helpful. Besides which he needed to clean up.
His new black sweater was a complete mess; the blood was well caked on by now. Suppressing a small grunt of pain he pulled it over his head and tossed it to the side, leaving only his new black tank top. He’d gone shoplifting over lunch. Undignified, but he’d needed the new clothes. Turning on the taps with his mind to get the hot water flowing, Sylar finally allowed himself a moment to inspect his burn.
Damn Peter Petrelli to hell! He must have met up with the blonde girl sometime in the last few months. Her attack this morning had only grazed his right arm but Petrelli had gotten Sylar right in between his left shoulder and collar bone, burning a hole clean through his tank top. Fortunately the strap was intact enough to hold for now, but he would have to pull the charred material out of the wound and that certainly wouldn’t be pleasant.
Scowling in disgust, Sylar snatched up the cheap bar of soap sitting on the sink and started scrubbing his hands and forearms clean of blood.
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Mohinder pushed himself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed, and peered cautiously into the bathroom. For several minutes he sat in silence, watching Sylar out of the corner of his eye while trying to process everything that had happened. He only thought about dashing out of the door once, rather wistfully. At the moment Sylar wasn’t restraining him with his powers but if he made a move for the door that would all be over.
Trying very hard to think of anything but what might happen when Sylar was done cleaning up, he focused on the events that had already occurred. Clearly Sylar had picked up the power to either become invisible or something that tricked the mind, illusions perhaps? That would explain the bucking walls, certainly nothing else could. If that was the case it made absolutely everything that Mohinder saw suspect. The idea fell over Mohinder like another invisible set of chains. That power had terrifying potential.
Sylar had also clearly stolen the ability to fly from Nathan. God- Nathan, Peter! Mohinder could only be grateful that Sylar had decided to kidnap him rather than attempt to kill Peter and Claire. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to deal with Peter until he had his own regenerative ability. Mohinder really had no way of knowing for sure. It didn’t matter, they were safe for now. Hopefully Peter would stay calm and they’d heal Nathan, if that was even still a possibility.
Perhaps he should be hoping for rescue, but he was so infernally sick of leading Sylar to more victims. With his new power of illusions, or whatever that trick was, odds were that Peter wouldn’t stand much of a chance right now. It took the other man much longer to get used to new skills, for now he was just as defenseless against Sylar’s new ability as the rest of them.
Which lead him back to Nathan, and the lengthening verbal silence. Mohinder took a deep breath, pulling himself together. His wits were the only poor defense he had at the moment, he could at least try and use them to his advantage. Not to mention he was extremely curious.
“Sylar?” He managed after a moment, glad his voice came out sounding reasonably normal. The scrubbing in the bathroom slowed to a halt and Mohinder tried not to picture Nathan’s blood swirling down the drain.
“Yes?” The scrubbing resumed.
Mohinder licked his lips nervously and then immediately regretted it, tasting gritty dirt and the remnants of Nathan’s blood that he hadn’t scrubbed away the moment Sylar was out of sight.
“You can fly.” Mohinder observed lamely. He stumbled over the question forming in his mind, feeling incredibly awkward but dying to know the answer. Sylar made a noise that sounded like he’d stifled a laugh, but with the running water it was hard to tell. It didn’t help.
“But you didn’t -I mean…”
“I didn’t take his brain, you mean?” Sylar interrupted, turning off the taps with his mind and grabbing a towel to dry his hands. He leaned casually against the doorframe, meeting Mohinder’s gaze at last. “Don’t tell me you think I eat brains too? Honestly, I thought you were smarter than that.”
Sylar was tall to begin with, but staring up at him from a sitting position only made Mohinder feel even smaller. He reflexively moved to stand up but found himself shoved firmly back to a sitting position before he had gotten even an inch off the bedspread. Sylar gave him an odd look, turning back into the bathroom for a moment.
“Not really but, well they’re always gone.” Mohinder persisted, trying to pretend like he hadn’t been trying to stand at all, merely shifting his weight. It was a lost cause but he was trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.
Sylar came back out of the bathroom, wet washcloth in hand and strolled over to stand in front of Mohinder. He stared down at the scientist for a long moment, his expression still unnervingly strange. Finally he seemed to make up his mind about something and held the cloth out.
“Here,” he grumbled, glaring at the other man until Mohinder reached out and took the washcloth from him. It was clean, warm and wet, and his face was filthy, the stench of Nathan’s blood still strong. It was rather a relief to be able to wipe the worst of it off. Still, it was another decidedly odd gesture.
Sylar pulled up the only wooden chair in the room, swiveled it to face away from the bed and then straddled it backwards, folding his arms across the top. Mohinder still had to look up a little but at least it was vaguely less intimidating. On the flip side, Sylar was now sitting well within arm’s reach. Slightly irrelevant when taking his telekinesis into account, but the churning in Mohinder’s stomach didn’t listen to logic.
“As for Nathan, I’m sure you can figure that out for yourself. Why should I ruin the fun? All scientists love their puzzles.” Sylar seemed to switch easily back to his previous amusement.
“You just sawed off the top of my friend’s head! I think at the least I deserve some answers.” Mohinder snapped back, unable to help himself. He wanted to stay calm but couldn’t seem to manage it in the face of Sylar’s nonchalance.
“He was already dead,” Sylar shrugged, looking mildly bored. “If Claire’s blood can raise the dead then he’ll just have a little more to heal from. You should be grateful I took the opportunity now, rather than having to kill him later.” He shifted forward a little, his eyes lighting up. “Makes you really wonder about the nature of the soul, doesn’t it? If the soul is supposed to leave the body upon death, is it dragged back when the body is repaired? Or are we really just what the wiring of our brains makes us? Repair that wiring and we return from oblivion.”
“You kidnapped me to debate philosophy?” Mohinder replied incredulously.
“Really Mohinder, you’re just no fun today.” Sylar’s lip twitched into what was almost a grin. “Though in a way you are right. It’s not really kidnapping though, you traded your life for that blonde back at your apartment. I’m only here to collect.” He reached forward gently cupping the side of Mohinder’s head, rubbing his thumb lightly along the scratch from earlier this morning. Mohinder tried to pull away but was held quite firmly in place. Sylar removed his hand after only a moment, however, pulling back with his expression turning more serious and Mohinder’s head was abruptly free to move again. “That was quite the power I let slip out of my hands and I certainly didn’t have to.”
There was nothing Mohinder could really say to that, not when it mirrored his thoughts from earlier.
“Consider Nathan Petrelli a bonus. Hmmm?” Sylar continued with a raised eyebrow.
“Of course! Slicing through his skull and rooting around in his brain was a favour to me! How could I possibly have misinterpreted that?” Mohinder’s voice dripped with sarcasm. Mocking Sylar was probably one of the stupidest things he’d ever done, but he’d had enough. Words were his only weapon, bound to backfire, but damnit he wasn’t going down without a fight.
The words were barely out of his mouth when invisible hands flung him into the wall, pinning him there. Mohinder grunted in pain from the impact, but he knew it could have been much worse. Sylar stood up, kicking the chair off to the side where it banged into the door. His expression still curiously blank. Angry, for certain, but oddly not near what Mohinder knew it could become when provoked.
“You’re an ungrateful bastard, you know that?” Sylar growled, though his expression was softening just a touch, that amusement creeping back into his eyes. It wasn’t helping Mohinder relax one bit.
Sylar strolled over to where he had the other man pinned to the motel wall, just a few inches off the floor. In fact, Mohinder was suspended at just the right height for what he had in mind.
Sylar had been doing a lot of thinking in the last few hours. Not to mention the last two days. At first he’d been ready to kill the other man, but now- Now he’d thought about it calmly, and the more time he spent in the other man’s presence… Well he’d come to a new decision.
“You really just don’t know when to shut up.” Sylar criticized, acting like a playful cat who had cornered its prey was about to finish it off.
Mohinder gulped as Sylar invaded his personal space, unable to draw his eyes away from Sylar’s own. It wasn’t telekinesis that held his gaze, rather something in Sylar’s eyes hypnotized him, pulled him in. His mind was screaming wordless objections but his voice simply wasn’t working.
A long finger brushed with shocking tenderness down the length of Mohinder’s nose. “You never did tell me who did this to you.” Sylar muttered almost absently, something odd in his gaze that Mohinder couldn’t place. His battered nose was free of its bandage but it was still mottled with the stain of a bruise, still tender to the touch though Sylar’s strange caress failed to elicit even the slightest twinge of pain.
“Doesn’t matter,” Mohinder muttered, finally tearing his eyes from Sylar’s. Even faced with the terror of being pinned to a wall by this undoubtedly insane murderer, the scientist couldn’t bring himself to willingly dwell on that day’s events. The pain, the self-disgust, it was still all too raw.
Here now, faced with the only other eyes he had stared into before pulling the trigger of a gun, something inside of him crumbled. For all his supposed moral superiority, Mohinder had shot and killed Noah Bennet without flinching. He’d shot the man before him when he was (so Mohinder had thought at the time) completely helpless. The fact that both men still lived didn’t change the reality. He hadn’t known either time that the act wouldn’t be final.
He didn’t even know a tear had escaped his tightly shut eyes until the other man’s thumb wiped it away, once more with that same tenderness. It was something so utterly foreign to everything Mohinder knew about Sylar. Confusion dizzied his senses and he suddenly found his eyes open again, meeting his captor’s darker ones once more.
“You’ve changed, Mohinder.” Sylar murmured, his gaze seeming to take every bit of Mohinder in, right down the depths of his soul. He felt exposed, almost violated, and yet…
“Someone’s broken you…” Sylar’s tone was pitying, yet underneath it was a clear and frightening undercurrent of violence. Mohinder didn’t understand the reasons behind it; however, as he heard the words, their unspoken threat was spelled out quite clearly to him.
“Don’t worry Mohinder, I can fix you.” Sylar voice was barely above a whisper, mouth hovering so close to his own that Mohinder could taste his breath, feel the tickle of the vibrations, bask in the numbing warmth. “I’m good at fixing things.”
Sylar’s lips crashed with his own. For a long moment Mohinder’s mind froze in absolute shock. Sylar’s kiss was strong, forceful, possessive and yet still retained that confusing tenderness that his voice had held just moments ago.
I’m being kissed by the man who murdered my father!
The thought slammed his mind and Mohinder twisted his head desperately to the side, wrenching his lips away. Sylar didn’t stop him, instead turning his attentions to the line of Mohinder’s neck, running kisses and small, sharp nips with his teeth down the collar bone. He left his hands resting on Mohinder’s hips, one nimble finger sneaking under his shirt, gently rubbing small circles along his waist.
“S-Sylar don’t. S-stop, please!” Mohinder’s words came out haltingly as his voice faltered every time the other man’s warm lips made contact with the sensitive flesh of his neck. It was wrong, so horribly wrong, but each touch sent a shiver down his spine. The last word came out sounding horrifically like a moan.
Sylar ceased his ministrations, withdrew. He grabbed Mohinder’s chin, forcing the darker man to look him in the eyes once more. Mohinder was being infuriatingly stubborn. Fortunately Sylar could be quite persuasive.
“Deny it all you please but you want this just as much as I do.” Sylar growled into Mohinder’s ear, the hot breath and gentle vibrations sending a shiver down his spine. His cheeks flushed with shame as Sylar chuckled at the shudder.
“You murdered my father!” He protested desperately as he tried to squirm out of the other’s grip. It was a hopeless struggle, Sylar’s telekinesis held him practically motionless.
Sylar pulled back, still holding Mohinder’s chin firmly in place. He met Mohinder’s angry, frightened and flustered gaze unflinchingly.
“Yes, I did.” He answered plainly. “He created me Mohinder, if it wasn’t for him I wouldn’t be who I am today. He betrayed me. I don’t regret what I did. I told you that I believe in destiny, and I know it was destiny that we should meet.” He frowned a little then, as if he hadn’t meant to say quite what had escaped his lips.
Mohinder could only stare, his jaw working uselessly. Sylar, the serial killer, the man who haunted people’s nightmares, was standing here telling Mohinder that it was destiny that brought them together. It was so shockingly out of character, and yet in a strange way it wasn’t. If he’d- If it hadn’t all been a lie… but it had to be! Even if it wasn’t, he was a man who ripped open people’s skulls and removed their brains! This was Sylar!
Even if he had been able to form a coherent thought of protest, Sylar didn’t give him a chance to voice it. Lips were crashing together again, the hand leaving his chin to cup the side of his head, tangling in his hair. Teeth tugged at his lower lip, the small, sharp pain only heightening the experience. Warmth coursed through Mohinder’s frame, his heartbeat racing for completely new reasons now.
Invisible forces pulled his jaw open and the other man’s tongue was running along the back of his teeth, brushing up against his own tongue, exploring his mouth with astounding hunger. Sylar shifted somewhat to the right and forward, their bodies pressed together and the taller man’s left hip and thigh were suddenly between his legs, rubbing against his groin, causing another rush of heat and another tremor to run down Mohinder’s spine.
Sylar’s other hand was suddenly under his shirt, cool fingers brushing against the warm flesh of his side, joined by thousands of telekinetic fingers tracing all along his limbs, his chest, over every piece of skin. Mohinder was utterly lost in sensation. His protests were smothered by the absolute sensory overload. Memories of Zane flooded his mind. All the pleasant moments, the sideways glances they’d caught each other at more than once. The moment in that restaurant when they’d reached for the salt at the same time, hands gently brushing one another. The awkward silence that had followed.
Back before he’d known the truth. Before reality had come crashing home.
I had wanted this so much.
Resolve shattered without his conscious consent and suddenly Mohinder was kissing back, a small moan of pleasure breaking free of its bonds as Sylar’s hip shifted once more, rubbing insistently against the rapidly growing hardness.
In that moment Sylar knew that he had won.
In that moment, it all went straight to hell.
Sylar froze in an instant, the invisible hands vanished and instead Mohinder felt a grip tighten uncomfortably over his vocal chords as he opened his mouth to feebly protest the abrupt halt.
The pale man pushed himself back, eyes flying upwards, the expression on his face flooded with venom. If looks could kill, this one would have leveled an army.
--
There had been the sound of two footsteps on the roof. Far below any normal person’s range of hearing, but to Sylar they were like rolls of thunder.
Peter Fucking Petrelli!
The chair in the corner shattered into dozens of razor-sharp stakes as Sylar’s gaze fixed on the ceiling. He felt his body boiling with rage. They could have been best friends a few moments ago but for interrupting like this, right now, Sylar would have murdered him anyway.
The hovering shards of wood spread out into a cloud, all pointing upwards, all quivering as is they were straining to be released, set free. With a mere thought they all shot upwards at once, tearing through the ceiling with such force that it was as if the roof was made of tissue paper. A cry of pain lanced through the air and Sylar snarled, leaving Mohinder pinned and silenced as he burst into the air, through the ragged hole in the ceiling, after the shower of wood.
Sylar could feel Peter trying to react, to turn the telekinetic barrage back around on him, but Petrelli didn’t stand a chance. Sylar was better at this, with much more practice, skill and finesse; and he was fueled by more desire to kill this man then he had ever felt towards anyone in his entire life.
This time Peter Petrelli would not escape alive.
Several of Sylar’s projectiles had embedded themselves into the other man, giving him the appearance of a human pincushion, a grimace of pain etched on his face. Peter flung a hand forward to send a lance of electricity at his foe but an invisible wall sprang up and deflected the blast off in another direction entirely. The intruder didn’t have time for a second shot.
Sylar was bearing down on him, a wave of telekinetic rage bursting out in front of him, plucking Peter out of the air and slamming him down onto the gravel parking lot. The remnants of the chair followed immediately afterwards, slicing through flesh and muscle, eliciting a jarring scream of agony from his foe who was suddenly bleeding from a dozen more wounds. They would heal rapidly but Sylar wasn’t going to give him the time.
A booted foot slammed down onto Peter’s chest as he struggled in vain against the invisible bonds. The strength of his own telekinesis battered furiously but ultimately harmlessly against Sylar’s. Both men were filled with rage directed at the other but Peter lost control so easily, while Sylar was currently tapping depths of previously unknown strength.
Petrelli didn’t stand a chance.
Not wasting a moment, Sylar pointed his finger at Peter’s forehead, methodically, ruthlessly splitting skull and bone as quickly as he could, determined to beat the regeneration.
Peter’s power slammed against his own, nearly physically shaking him. The telekinetic blows became stronger but more erratic as Peter’s screams of agony peaked in intensity.
Sylar’s expression split into a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with success, his hunger for power about to be fed in a way he’d dreamed of for months.
He was two thirds of the way there when he was rudely interrupted for the second time. Out of nowhere something crashed into Sylar’s side at monumental speed, picking him up and whipping him away from Peter’s screaming form.
He had just a few seconds to register his shock, pain and confusion, and then it all went black.
-------------
Mohinder had tried and tried to scream warning, to beg Sylar to stop, anything at all, but with the iron grip on his vocal chords he couldn’t get a word out.
Not again! Not again!
Peters screams had ripped through him, hot tears breaking loose to stream down his cheeks as he drowned in the sound of his friend’s suffering. He thrashed against the mental grip that kept him pinned even with Sylar fighting Peter at the same time. From the single set of heart-wrenching screams of agony, it seemed to be a very one sided fight.
When the invisible vice holding Mohinder in place suddenly vanished he was still bucking like mad against the restraint and consequently succeeded in flinging himself awkwardly to land in a sprawled mess on the floor. The landing was jarring but all Mohinder could think of was Peter’s danger. Had the screams stopped because Sylar had killed him?
Please, oh please no!
Disregarding the ache of strained muscles and bruised limbs, Mohinder scrambled to his feet and flung himself out the door. Peter was lying on the ground, speared with chair parts, panting loudly but… alone.
Mohinder stumbled over to the injured man, falling to his knees once he reached his side. The long gash across Peter’s head was slowly knitting back together. He was clearly in a state of shock. His eyes were wide with a combination of confusion, pain and relief that he wasn’t dead.
“What happened? Where is he?” Mohinder asked first as he took in the bits of wood and figured out the best way to remove them. He wanted to comfort Peter, to apologize a thousand times over, but first he had to know what had happened to Sylar. How much time did they have until he came back to finish the job?
Peter’s breathing steadied somewhat as his head finished healing. Not having his skull split in two seemed to do wonders for his composure.
It really wasn’t surprising.
“He-“ Peter stuttered between the gasps of pain when Mohinder pulled the first wooden dagger out. “I don’t know. I was- I didn’t do anything. There- I- I think- someone else. At least- it might have been. Something crashed into him. Then, nothing. Gone.”
Gone?
Mohinder gave Peter a startled look at that but quickly turned back to his ministrations. Best to concentrate on the task at hand, not think about what just happened. He tugged a smaller shard out of Peter’s abdomen, wincing in sympathy at the other man’s grunt of pain.
“Peter I… I’m so sorry. You nearly died trying to- all because of me.” He couldn’t look Peter in the eye anymore.
Don’t think about it. Don’ t think about what happened. Oh god, he can read my mind!
It took a supreme effort of will to focus on the next piece of wood. He’d managed to clear the top half of Peter’s body and the wounds were healing faster now.
“I wasn’t going to let him hurt you Mohinder.” Peter replied softly now, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. His clothes were shredded, he was covered in blood, but thanks to some miracle he was still alive. “Are you ok? What did he want?”
Pull out the next piece of wood. Concentrate on the next piece of wood.
“I…” he scrambled for a way to avoid the subject. “I’m not the one who looks like a pincushion Peter. We can talk about this later. Right now we have to get out of here. You shouldn’t have come, he nearly killed you! If whatever distracted him doesn’t last he’ll be back here and we need to be gone by then.”
Peter helped Mohinder pull the last of the major pieces out, trying hard to act like he was much more used to healing from such major wounds. Like it didn’t hurt like hell.
A few short minutes later Peter was ready and, with a look of intense concentration, teleported them both to safety.
Part 4