A/N- Well, browsing through the section, I noticed the tragic lack of humor fics. I mean, 10.5 percent just isn't enough. Then a conversation at my part-time job at a video store about how very unbelievably useless Robin is in Batman led me to this idea and I just couldn't resist. And yes, this is AU because poor Mohinder isn't dripping blood from the ceiling and Peter isn't getting his arse kicked.
Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes. Oh, how I wish I did… I certainly wouldn't impose two-month hiatuses on devastated fans if I did…
Summary: Sometimes evolution has to take a few wrong turns to get things right. So far we've only seen the heroes, but what about those evolutionary dead-ends—the sidekicks?
Mohinder Suresh, gorgeous genius geneticist, slammed his cell-phone down on the paper-strewn desk in front of him. He'd just finished calling the last person on his father's list, and they had been considerably less-than receptive about his theories. In fact, his ear was still throbbing. Could he help that when he'd called—he glanced at the list for the name, which his memory had already erased in trauma— Leah Thompson, her jealous husband had picked up and thought Mohinder was the man his wife was cheating on him with? Mohinder frowned a frown on the verge of a pout and sighed out loud. After that, there was no hope the man would take a message… which left him with a grand total of 8 out of the 68 on the list who had actually listened to him. Of course, half of those had thought he was a telemarketer and had told him they didn't want any after 15 minutes.
"Well, on to Plan B..." Mohinder groaned, resting his chin on one hand.
The problem was that he hadn't really planned ahead enough to come up with a Plan B. Time to put the critical thinking skills he'd supposedly learned in the doctorate program to use. He could…
A) Stalk the people on the list until they all filed restraining orders against him.
B) Try to work whatever angle his father had been going for and get a job with a taxi company. The extra money would be useful, since the bills for his student loans had somehow found their way to his mailbox in America. The whole top-of-the-head-being-pried-open-like-a-can-of-peaches thing was definitely a down-side, though…
C) Mope in his cheap, dirty apartment a while longer. Of course, that would mean he'd have to deal with his crazed landlady banging on the door demanding rent money. Again. She had an uncanny ability to tell if there were any sentient creatures in an apartment at any given time. That, and an incredibly shrill voice. Yes, he was surprised she wasn't on the list with her psychotically evil super-powers. Couldn't she see that he was a genius professor at work? In all the comic books, genius professor mentors didn't have to worry about anything but running boarding-schools full of genetic freaks—err, genetically gifted, that is.
Mid-mental rant, Mohinder spotted something small and black scuttle across the desk. So now even the cockroaches had lost all respect for him. They could at least have the decency to wait until he'd turned away.
'That makes it and the rest of the world.' He thought sulkily to himself.
Out loud, he let out a guttural growl of rage and glared at the cockroach.
"Respect me!" he snarled.
The cockroach stopped and turned to face Mohinder (Well, presumably, at least. It's kind of hard to tell a cockroach's front from its back.). As they locked gazes in a staring match showdown (which the cockroach won), he could have sworn it gave him a look of both contempt and disdain before it went back to its quest to make off with the last half of the blueberry muffin Mohinder had abandoned three days ago.
Option D sprung to mind as he watched the pest.
D) Clean up said cheap, dirty apartment.
C and D seemed like the safest options. Sort of. Though really, there was no way to tell how dangerous D could end up being. As he mulled about where the cleaning supplies were, assuming he had any, another little black bane of Mohinder's existence crawled out from an open drawer and joined its cohort in the muffin heist. The metaphorical thread that was Mohinder's patience broke and he grabbed the thickest book within reach and hurled it at the cockroach, which deftly and scornfully evaded him. The drawer didn't have as much luck. The force of the hit made it spin off its track and clatter to the floor. Mohinder cursed at the universe in general in every language he'd learned (five) just for good measure... until he spotted something that appeared to have gotten stuck behind the now-crippled drawer. His father had had no real filing system, so Mohinder had just grabbed everything that looked semi-important and when he had returned to his apartment and shoved it in random drawers until he had time to sort through it. This packet in particular beckoned to Mohinder's curiosity insistently. It had labeled meticulously in big, bold letters in his father's handwriting with ominous phrases like "Do Not Touch", "Dispose of This Immediately", and "Run Away!!". Naturally, like anyone implicitly told to stay out of something, Mohinder was compelled to page through it. Inside the folder of foreboding, he found pages and pages of names, phone numbers, and addresses. Instantly, his day brightened. This list was approximately double the length of the first one he had found; maybe these people would finally listen to him. After all, the one thing all professors can't live without is an audience to pay attention to their droning. He picked up his cell and started to dial the first number, then stopped four digits in. Before he started another project, he had to get the heck out of his apartment. To detract from the stale smell that was starting to invade his apartment, he threw open a window and then left, locking the front door behind him.
Meanwhile, in another realm of existence, an androgynous specter of child glared at the obtuse professor. S/he knew this wasn't going to end well, but Mohinder, as usual, seemed blissfully unaware of the cloud of foreshadowing that was looming over him.
S/he grabbed her ethereal soccer ball and power-kicked it at his head, which (not surprisingly) it passed through.
Meh, she thought.
At least no one could say s/he hadn't warned him…
Post-chapter A/N: Well, this was just the incredibly cracked-out intro. Next chapter introduces a few of the sidekicks, including some whom Mohinder (and you all, probably) will wish he'd never met. Poor, poor Mohinder…
And poor, poor periwinkle button if you don't click on it and donate a shiny review. Don't think I won't go all Sylar and de-skull it if it can't convince enough of you to review.
Anyhow, thanks for reading. Come again if you haven't been frightened away!
The Crazy Authoress CAT