A/N: Written back in July. My crazy friend said it's a crime not to post this.

Warnings: character death, graphic smex stuff, abrupt ending

Thunder shook the shabby motel walls as wind and rain rattled at the cracked and dirty windows. Mohinder sat with Molly wrapped up in the paper thin sheets from both beds, her small shoulders shaking as sobbing coughs racked her tiny body. Mohinder's resolve chipped little by little with each agonized cough; Molly's health deteriorated with each new hotel they came upon, she wasn't going to last much longer.

Being on the run wasn't the best medicine for Molly's health. Their money reserves were dwindling, they had to keep uprooting more frequently to get away as the Company drew nearer and nearer, it was all getting to be too much. Molly's ability was clouded with illness; their one saving grace was starting to fail. It took longer for her to recognize shapes, to find out locations, which limited how much time they had to get away.

Mohinder wanted to give up, wanted to break his promise to Bennet to keep Molly away from them. If they were captured she could get better; they'd have healthier food, a nice warm bed, and wouldn't have to worry about begging the next traveler for a ride in the middle of the night. Molly's eyes were the only thing that kept him going, they pleaded for him to never give up, let her be free, and Molly feared what would happen to Mohinder once they were recaptured; he would most likely be killed.

Molly's sobs calmed down into a feverish sleep giving Mohinder a moment's peace where he could cradle her to his chest. He willed his heat to seep into her body, willed her back to health as he laid loving kisses across her splotchy cheeks. He must have dozed off with Molly's feather light breaths ghosting his cheek, for he jerked awake to the sound of a 'clack' as the door lock slid free and dangled noisily against the door.

With bated breath, Mohinder watched in horror as the door slide open in silently, fear curling around his throat to choke out any noise of alarm. His hold on Molly slackened, shock coursed through his weary limbs as a tall haunting man glided through the threshold with a most hated smirk decorating his lips.

"Cute," Sylar chuckled, a hand outstretched to keep Mohinder immobile as he invaded the room with his overwhelming power.

Dark eyes danced from one eye to the next, caressing Mohinder's face with burning contemplation before dropping down to Molly's face. Mohinder clenched his fists, nails drawing blood as Sylar drew nearer, leaning over and far too close for comfort, to brush away Molly's ginger hair from her pale, flickering eyelids. Those eyes, that smile, spoke of great hunger as they devoured Molly's power with their stare, with a gentle mocking kiss.

Sylar pulled away when Mohinder was about to cry out, hovered over her body and dripped cold rain onto her skin. He moved to stroke Mohinder's face, pale hands that were cold and wet as they wiped away bitter salty tears.

"She's dying," softly whispered from those lips and a sob died in Mohinder's throat as his worst fears were confirmed, "You can't save her now; she'll be dead before morning."

So gentle, so thoughtful was Sylar's second glance as he looked down at the girl once more. His movements were frozen; his brow crinkled a little as knowledge filtered into his mind. Then large hands moved to smooth away the agony on Mohinder's face, soft kisses stilled the fall of tears. One more kiss stole the gasp from Mohinder's lips before Sylar pulled back with Molly's limbs hanging limply from his arms.

Mohinder moved to go after her but the bedside lamp sprung up and forward, smashing into the back of his head to bring smattering darkness before his eyes. Mohinder's last vision of Molly before he toppled to Sylar's feet was the sight of her head twisting in white deathly hands, the cracking of bones drowned out by rumbling thunder.

Mohinder swam in and out of consciousness, his head felt light and open to the night's chilly air. A sharp prick to his head, in his head, brought about the focus he desired. He could hear the soft humming now, the sound of metal scraping and a squelching noise. Liquid trickled down his neck and light blinded his eyes when he opened them. A blurry shadow covered his eyes; blocked out the light and smoothed down his heavy eyelids, sending Mohinder back into unconsciousness.
It's painful to think, there's a pounding behind his eyes as Mohinder rolls onto his side to spit out sour bile lining his throat. The room spins wildly, a grinding pressure pushes against his skull and Mohinder grabs his curls, tugging them in hopes of relieving that pain. Strong arms calmly pull his hands away, drag his body upright and keep his steady against a broad, warm body while he wobbles unbalanced.

The room is visible; it's not familiar at all. Too clean, too bright to be that seedy motel room from before and Mohinder directs his vision upwards to Sylar who sways unfocused in front of his eyes. Mohinder groans; it's too painful to do this, he can't think straight at all because for a moment he felt happy that Sylar was there, that there was something familiar in this confusing state.

He wants to go back to sleep, to curl into a ball and hope the pain goes away. Mohinder knows he will drift back off if Sylar keeps petting him like that; those hands are almost soothing with their chill against his sweating forehead. Sylar is insistent though, his thundering voice filling one ear and sinking into Mohinder brains without being understood. There's too much buzzing at the back of his mind to understand what is being said and suddenly everything's just too loud.

"What?" Mohinder yells through the noise gripping Sylar's shoulders and pulling him close before that voice echoes off into pure static.

"Where's Peter?" Sylar repeats, not at all concerned with the noise as he relaxes Mohinder's hold, "Peter Petrelli."

Words burn on Mohinder's tongue, he wants to say he doesn't know because the last time he saw Peter was over a year ago. However he can't voice those words, he knows, there's an itch, urges buzz in his mind as eyelids flutter shut to reveal images. Scraping against his retina, Mohinder can see him, Peter leaning in the subway with a scraggly face and now he needs a map, can't voice the location but can point it out. A map will make it all tangible and Mohinder clings to Sylar begging for a map.

Sylar doesn't disappoint him; he has an atlas in hand already and gives it up with a smile, petting Mohinder's hair as he searches. Rushed fingers slip through pages, cutting along pages, stinging as the right map appears. Mohinder's eyes flutter shut once more to see Peter, getting off the subway and he points there, right there where Peter got off, Mohinder knows he's there.

"Good, that's good." Sylar breathes; lips caressing Mohinder's cheek after his eyes file away the information.

He doesn't stop Mohinder when he pulls away, gasping for breath as bile rises in his throat. Mohinder doubles over the bed, coughing and choking with hot, angry tears as realization sinks in. Images of Molly's dead face, head cut wide open empty of a brain, splayed haphazardly in the dumpster among flies and trash, flood Mohinder's mind as he passes out once more.

The quiet blonde cashier eyed her two late night customers wearily from behind the counter. Both had appeared out of nowhere in the dingy, 24-hour convenient store with no headlights or engine motors disrupting her from her crossword puzzle. With her heart beating rapidly in her throat, she edged her fingers towards the security button as the taller of the two hooded men passed by and vanished into the bathroom, leaving the other to wander randomly among the aisles.

The second man's hand rose up and tugged the dark grey hood down to reveal bouncy, brown curls. She admired his dark pretty face, no longer feeling quite so alarmed and watched his caramel hands hover hesitantly over various sleep-help products on the shelf. Her admiration turned into confusion when the man jumped and looked fearfully around, gripping his head in pain, when the cashier's pen accidentally rolled off the counter.

Reddened, sleep hungry eyes caught her pale blue stare and a meek smile accented those plush lips. Grabbing a box precariously, he drifted towards the counter; eyes flitting around everywhere in the store but not landing on her face as she punched the price in. Fingers rapped impatiently on the counter as he waited and she fumbled over the buttons, suddenly feeling very much at unease.

"Seven forty eight," She stated, flinching along side him when the bathroom door banged against the door.

The atmosphere of the shop got chillier as the tall, gorgeously grinning man came up behind the other and rested his hand on the shoulder. A hasty ten dollar bill was tossed across the counter before the smaller man was tugged away, his purchase gripped so hard that the box started bending.

She stood there for a while staring off at where the darkness had swallowed them through the door. The queasy feeling still rested within her and she glanced down at the ten in hand only to drop it in shock. Her fingers were coated in red blood, along with the counter where the man had rapped his fingers. She rushed to check the bathroom and found blood littering the sink and many paper towels, very fresh for it hadn't yet dried.

She called the police and was interrogated for hours and learned later that the blood belonged to late Senator Petrelli of New York, found dead strewn along with his family and without a brain.

With shaky hands Mohinder fumbles to free several pills from a child proof seal and downs them quickly with a quick swallow of luke warm water. He curls up inside his nest of thick fluffy blankets praying for sleep to come and take him down into nothingness; hopefully before the visions appear or when Sylar decides he wants to go to bed as well. As always, that plan of his fails.

Mohinder only manages to get drowsy, to get to a state where he wasn't thinking anymore, before Sylar comes. His warm possessive arms curl around Mohinder's waist, pulling him closer to that long lanky frame as sharp teeth nibble at his ear lobe. Sylar's stubble rubs roughly against Mohinder's throat drawing him away from the world of would-be dreams and back into the land of nightmares; commonly known as reality.

The stench of blood and death was still fresh on Mohinder's mind; Sylar's hold is repulsive to him and he tries squirming away but he isn't allowed to get very far. His insides quiver with nausea; rising up, threatening to overwhelm him. Those hands, so soft and loving on his skin, had been brutal when taking Nathan's life; tearing off the heads of his children and wife while Nathan roared in misery stuck against a wall. Mohinder hadn't been there in the room when it occurred, but he had watched the whole thing in his mind; curled up in a ball in the passenger's seat of the car, trying to think of anything but Nathan and failing.

He shudders as the images of those bodies flash before his mind. He can't control it, can't stop it, it keeps coming more and more. Every name leads to an image, every person is his to see, and Mohinder has no idea how Molly—oh god don't think of her again oh god she's rotting her skins peeling there's flies coming out of her mouth that pretty mouth that eaten skin oh god oh god—could stand this. His body is racked with sobs and horror as Sylar kisses away his tears again, hushing Mohinder's fears away.

"Shh! Sylar. Sylar." Sylar whispers between kisses, the name echoing in Mohinder's mind and bringing him back out of his misery.

He can see Sylar above him behind his eyes and the vision doesn't change when he opens them. It's calming and relaxing and the angry buzz at the back of his mind lessens as Sylar keeps whispering his own name and then Mohinder's, over and over as a focus.

"Good boy, Mohinder. You are so beautiful Mohinder. Love you. Sylar loves you so much. Sylar won't let anything harm you Mohinder. Mohinder, oh my Mohinder. Perfect Mohinder. Mine!"

Mohinder gasps as a hand snakes into his pajama pants and grasps his cock, the flesh pulsing and hardening after a few of Sylar's firm hard strokes. He bucks and moans wantonly, mind blissfully free of everything but pleasure, and lets Sylar play with him, tease him, until he can't help but beg for release.

"Please, Sylar, Please!" He screams as Sylar's holds the base of his cock tightly while licking a warm maddening trail up over the tip. Mohinder thrashes and jerks crying out as he sees Sylar in his mind's eye smirking above him, drinking in his helpless desire with hungry eyes.