Chapter Text
Mohinder gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to concentrate on the road ahead. He was speeding, he knew, and he could feel his leg muscles starting to cramp as he fought against the desire to press the pedal even further to the floor. The adrenaline that had coursed through his veins at the discovery of Dale’s body was beginning to subside, but he still shook uncontrollably as he suppressed the urge to run and scream whenever the sight and smell of the carnage returned to him unbidden. There had been more blood than Mohinder thought could ever have been contained in one person. A tangy, metallic taste was lodged at the back of his throat and he felt himself retching a little every time he swallowed. He dug his nails into the leather of the steering wheel, scraping unconsciously and feeling the dull pain it caused to throb along his fingers. Mohinder glanced at Zane out of the corner of his eye. He was huddled in the passenger seat, hugging his knees to his chest with his face turned away from Mohinder. His head was pressed against the window, and Mohinder thought he was probably in shock. They had driven in silence since leaving the garage, Mohinder realising that neither one wanted to voice the possibility that he could be there now, following them, watching them, stalking them.
Sylar.
Mohinder’s gut cramped at the thought. A new wave of panic and helplessness rushed over him. Was that his fate, he wondered, remembering Dale’s corpse in vivid, excruciating detail, to be slaughtered like his father by a madman? He was struck by a sudden impulse to laugh at the grim absurdity of it all – it was like a nightmare, a horror film, or an urban legend come to life. The edge of hysteria was pushing at him from all sides and he fought the compulsion to give in to it. His breath was coming in shorter and shallower bursts as he contemplated his own guilt. He had brought a murderer to Dale’s doorstep, he had put Zane in danger, and his folly alone was responsible for the blood that remained in his mind’s eye.
“Mohinder, pull over.”
Zane’s voice was loud in the silence of the car. His sharp and authoritative tone cut through the white noise of Mohinder’s thoughts and fears. Almost unconsciously he obeyed, bringing the car to a halt at the side of the road. He let his head fall forwards and rest on his hands, giving in for moment to the overwhelming fear, and letting the tremors wrack his body unchecked. Zane’s hand gripped his shoulder firmly. Mohinder could hear the other man saying his name, but it was distant, as if coming from a long way away, and the words became unintelligible as they filtered through the pounding rush of blood in Mohinder’s ears. Zane’s hand was clenching tighter and the sensation pulled Mohinder back a little from the brink. It calmed him to have Zane cling to him and he turned his head to smile weakly at his companion. The look of concern and apprehension on Zane’s face was enough to bring him fully back to himself for the moment.
He wondered briefly how far they had travelled, how long they had been driving enveloped in their own despair. He had no concept of how much time had passed; it felt like an eternity, but Mohinder wasn’t sure how far he could realistically have driven in that state. Already he could feel the hysteria leaching from his nerves and his mind scrambled to reassert control: control over his body, control over his emotions and control over the situation. This time when Zane spoke, his words were clear and the anxiety in his voice undeniable.
“I think we should stop for a while, Mohinder.”
The idea seemed insane. They couldn’t stop and simply wait to be picked off.
“We have to keep going. We need to get back to New York before…”
Zane cut him off before he could voice the idea that they too could end up like Dale.
“No. Mohinder, it’s a thirty-six hour drive to New York. I can’t drive and you won’t be able to drive that straight through without sleep. We have to stop sometime and with the way you’ve been swerving its better we rest now before we have an accident. I saw a motel about fifteen minutes back up the highway. Please… we need to pull ourselves together.”
Zane’s words made sense, but the idea of turning the car around made Mohinder feel queasy. It was too counter-intuitive and too dangerous to head back towards the monster they were fleeing. Be rational, Mohinder yelled at himself. Zane was right; he needed to recover his strength and concentration. The police would have been at the crime scene for hours now, perhaps forcing the killer underground and buying them more time. He looked critically at Zane, remembering his migraine of earlier and noting that he still looked tired; his complexion was pale and drawn. He knew the other man needed rest as much as he did, and in thinking of how best to care for him, Mohinder made his decision. Nodding tersely, he pulled the car back onto the road, turning them back the way they came and looking for the motel. Zane was his responsibility now. Dale’s death may be a spectre that would haunt him for the rest of his life, but in Zane he had a window to his salvation. If he could protect this man from the dangers he had unleashed upon them both, then maybe he would be closer to atoning for the wash of blood that stained his memories.
As he pulled into the parking lot and shut off the engine, Mohinder could feel his body sag. He was suddenly very aware of how tired and drained he felt. Zane’s hand was on his shoulder again, squeezing reassuringly, and his voice was low and soothing.
“Why don’t you just sit here for a minute and I’ll get the room?”
Mohinder wanted to laugh as he realised Zane was speaking to him as if he were a child or a convalescing patient. He wanted to shake him and make him understand that he was in control, that it was his job to make Zane feel safe, not the other way around. But most of all he recognised that he wanted to sleep and wake up to find this was all a figment of his tortured imagination. In the end he simply nodded mutely and waited for Zane to return.
The sun was still high in the sky and Mohinder supposed it probably wasn’t much later than early afternoon. It seemed wrong somehow for the day to be so bright and crisp; it felt disrespectful and cruel, like the world itself was denying the brutality of what they had seen. However, before Mohinder could slip further into this melancholy reverie, Zane was back.
He watched as Zane collected their bags from the trunk and flung them both over one arm. He felt detached from himself as Zane opened his door and bodily lifted him from his seat, arms around his shoulders guiding him to the room. Mohinder, succumbing to his fatigue, allowed himself to be manipulated and manhandled as Zane propped him against the doorframe while unlocking the door. It felt easy and freeing to let Zane take charge and control his movements with small nudges and encouraging looks. For once Mohinder appreciated the release of not thinking and clung to it as long as possible, wanting to keep his consciousness blank and unfettered.
Sylar.
The name jumped across his mind, searing his conscience like a brand. Zane pushed Mohinder into the small bathroom and placed him in front of the sink. Taking Mohinder’s hands in his own, he positioned them on either side of the sink and leaned Mohinder over it. He stroked his back soothingly as Mohinder’s breath came faster and the thoughts that had fleetingly been banished came flooding back stronger and more vividly, as if in punishment for the brief respite he had enjoyed. Zane stepped out of the close confines of the room when his breathing eased and Mohinder could hear him rifling through their bags. He returned after a few moments and thrust Mohinder’s toothbrush in his hand.
“Here. Just brush your teeth and wash your face. You’ll feel better after you lie down for a bit.”
Mohinder could hear the low rumble of the television and Zane moving around restlessly in the room. He wondered if Dale’s murder was on the news, if Zane was seeing the scene again as he stood there scrubbing the taste of blood and vomit from his mouth. Anger coursed through him at the thought of cameras and gawking reporters leering at the lurid sight of the mutilated corpse. He envisioned sensational headlines and shocking photographs and he clung to the righteous rage the thought inspired. He balled his fists and banged them on the side of the sink. This new fury was far preferable to the hopeless despair that had consumed him before. He rinsed his mouth, the glass held in a vicelike grip. He spat vehemently and smashed the glass down on the side of the sink.
The glass shattered loudly. Mohinder’s focus was suddenly narrowed to the splinters of glass falling against the porcelain and digging into his hand. Small drops of blood were welling up in his palm and he opened his fist abruptly, releasing the shards. The scent of iron filled the room and Mohinder felt light-headed as once again he was back in the garage, surrounded by bloodshed. He slid down the wall, pressing his head into the cool tiles, and dry heaved. He wanted to grieve, to lash out, and to panic, but his limbs felt heavy and his breathing was erratic. He doubted he could move even if he had the energy to try. Shock. Hysteria. His rational mind could see the symptoms, but he was powerless to control himself as the smell of blood hung oppressively in the air.
“Mohinder…”
Zane came rushing into the room. Mohinder watched his movements in slow motion, seeing his expressions as exaggerated caricatures. Zane looked between the glass in the sink and the blood on his palm and Mohinder imagined he must look like a complete wreck, shaking with swollen eyes. Zane crouched beside him and leaned in close. He pressed his face against Mohinder’s and breathed calmly against his ear. He had one hand on Mohinder’s shoulder and the other rested on his chest, over Mohinder’s heart, feeling it thrash beneath his skin. The touch was like a weight holding him down or a pleasant blanket wrapping around him. They remained crouching in silence for a few minutes until Mohinder’s heartbeat slowed and his breathing eased. Then Zane caressed his cheek lightly and pulled him up with a small smile. Without speaking, Zane rinsed the blood and glass from the sink, washing away the smell of death and Mohinder’s fears.
“Let’s get this patched up.”
Mohinder let Zane hold his hand open and pluck the small slivers of glass from his palm using an old pair of tweezers from the motel medicine cabinet. Zane rinsed the blood off his skin under the tap and hid the marks from view with a tightly wrapped cloth. Zane smiled reassuringly and guided Mohinder from the bathroom to the bed.
Mohinder despised him at that moment. He wanted to slap the condescending concern from his face. He wanted Zane to be the one panicking, not him. Zane was the one with evolved DNA, Zane was the one Sylar would be targeting, Zane should be the one quivering not him. He pushed Zane’s hands away petulantly, determined to stand firm on his own feet.
“How can you be so calm? A woman was murdered.”
“I know. Mohinder, I know. But… I don’t… It doesn’t seem real you know? I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. Besides, freaking out isn’t going to help. Mohinder, you just need to get some rest. We can’t both go to pieces.”
Zane pushed him down onto the bed and without thinking Mohinder fisted his hands in his t-shirt and pulled him down on top of him. The mouths met roughly, teeth clacking at the impact. Mohinder flipped them over and pressed his body flush against the length of the other man.
Mohinder’s movements were suddenly frantic. He ignored the way Zane was pulling lightly at his hair and simply kissed him deeper, using his teeth to force the other man’s mouth open wider. He pressed his hands solidly against his biceps and pinned him to the mattress. Zane wasn’t struggling or pushing him away. Guilt and arousal mixed in Mohinder’s belly as he felt himself harden rapidly and thrust against Zane’s hips with shameful eagerness. He pushed his thigh between Zane’s legs and rubbed forcefully, wanting to inspire an answering fire in the other man. Mohinder removed his own shirt in a frenzy, parting their lips only for the brief amount of time it took to pull it over his head. He mashed their mouths back together as Zane attempted to speak. He didn’t want to hear excuses or gentle rejections; he wanted to lose himself in the rush of lust and reaffirm his own existence. Zane’s hands were resting on the small of his back and the base of his neck, steadying him but neither holding him close, nor throwing him off.
Mohinder knew this was a natural reaction to death, a psychological need to counteract the horror of what they had experienced, but he couldn’t bring himself to care that he was giving in to his baser instincts. He slipped his hands under Zane’s t-shirt and held his palms flat against the undulating muscles of his stomach. He was breathing heavily again but for the first time today there was no undercurrent of panic. He writhed and pressed himself more wantonly against the other man’s body, desperate to reach the blissful oblivion of release. Slowly he came to realise that Zane was not responding to his caresses. He lay underneath him, relaxed and passive, letting Mohinder hump his leg and nip at his jaw.
Suddenly embarrassed, Mohinder pulled back, flushed, and licked his lips. His erection receded a bit as he realised he didn’t even know if Zane was at all interested in men, let alone if he returned Mohinder’s attraction. The past few days had been spent as friends, exchanging a relaxed banter that could just as easily have been a companionable connection as interested flirtation. Worry and confusion twisted in Mohinder’s gut as he wondered if he had just made the situation worse for Zane, giving him the extra burden of having to reject his advances on top of what they had already been through. He felt flustered as the impropriety of his actions came rushing home to him – he was throwing himself at a man he hardly knew while a woman lay dead by what may as well have been his own hands. He didn’t deserve this escape but he wanted it desperately. His fingers clutched convulsively at Zane’s skin as he tried to gain some control over his own feelings, if not the situation.
“Zane, I…”
He wanted to apologise or explain or cajole, but his voice broke and he began to hyperventilate. To his surprise, he found Zane sitting up and pressing his lips back to Mohinder’s. He stole the frantic pants from Mohinder’s lungs and soothed him with his tongue. His hands were moving now, caressing his skin and petting Mohinder into tranquillity. Gently Zane manoeuvred them around, settling Mohinder back against the pillows and rubbing his hands tenderly over his stomach. Heady desire mounted once again in Mohinder’s crotch but it was less frenzied now, the edge of desperation gone. He mouthed along Zane’s neck, and began again to thrust shallowly into his leg. Zane’s touches became increasingly sexual, pressing firmly into his skin and rubbing at his nipples.
“Please Zane.”
Zane silenced him with a kiss, and slipped his hand down through the sweat coating Mohinder’s torso. More boldly than Mohinder would have expected, he opened Mohinder’s jeans and grasped his throbbing dick. His touch was firm and hot and it made Mohinder cry out into his mouth. Zane’s stubble scraped along his jaw as he pressed his lips to Mohinder’s ear.
“Shh… it’s ok. I’m going to take care of you Mohinder. I’m going to make you feel better.”
The words were slurred with desire as Zane mumbled through abused lips. His hand began to slide over Mohinder’s cock in a slow, steady rhythm. He let himself get lost in the exquisite pulling and tugging, in the divine way he ran his thumb over the head and spread Mohinder’s essence back over himself. The pleasure was potent, and so much stronger than it should have been. Zane’s technique wasn’t anything spectacular and Mohinder knew it wasn’t the hand job so much as the connection and vitality of what they were doing that was thrilling him to his core and pushing out the empty horror that had settled there. He was peaking quickly, almost pathetically so, and he scrambled at Zane’s fly, suddenly desperate to take him over the edge too.
“Fuck,” Zane grunted in his ear as Mohinder freed his dick and began to jack him off with lithe fingers and deft movements. The cloth that had been wound about his palm had long since worked its way loose and Mohinder shuddered at the painfully sublime feeling of Zane’s taut flesh rubbing against his raw and bleeding skin. Zane was rolling his hips and Mohinder realised he must have been just as desperate for release as he was. Grabbing the other man’s ass with his free hand, Mohinder pulled Zane close to him so that their hands and cocks were brushing up against each other, slipping and skidding in a mixture of their sweat and pre-come. Mohinder’s world narrowed to the tantalising flashes of ecstasy running up and down his spine and with a twist of Zane’s wrist he was there, coming strong and fast, leaving his release all over Zane’s hand and his own stomach. Just as Mohinder’s body was going limp, he felt Zane tense, and with an extended groan, he came, too. Mohinder’s abdomen was a mess of their combined fluids, but he didn’t care; he simply wrapped his arms around Zane’s neck, marking him with a touch of blood and come, and held him in a tight embrace. He didn’t want him to ever leave or pull away.
“Zane…”
“Sleep. It’s ok, just relax and sleep.”
Mohinder’s limbs felt heavy and lifeless and he let himself sink back into the sheets as a contented calm enveloped him. He felt Zane settle against his side and pull the blankets over their spent bodies. Mohinder slipped into blissful unconsciousness, his mind finally free of murder.