I was reading an amazing novel, Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk, when I stumbled across this line. I found it very intriguing, bookmarked it, and continued reading. After finishing the book, I went back to the line, and read it over a countless number of times. Then, this fic came to mind. I wrote it in less than an hour. Enjoy!
"Even a killer needs to talk, to tell his life story, so bad he'll come and sit beside a grave or a rotting body and just blab, blab, blab at it for hours. Until he makes sense. Until the killer can convince himself with the story of his new reality. The reality that - he was right." - Haunted by Chuck Palahnuik
Sylar sits next to the man lying face-down on the bed, chocolate curls strewn across his head, face planted into his pillow, motionless. He always needed someone to talk to, and now was the perfect opportunity. Mohinder was the perfect man to let out all of his problems to, and now was the perfect chance. He needed to get it all off his chest.
"What I do... what I've been doing for years... isn't at all what I had planned. When I started, it was because these people were scared of who they were. They didn't want their abilities, they didn't deserve them. So I was there to fix it, to rid them of their problems. I took what they didn't deserve for myself, someone that deserved them more than anyone. Brian Davis, Thomas Walker, Zane Taylor - all of them had no idea what they were capable of, how special they were. I knew I was special. That's all I ever wanted to be.
"Then there came a point where it wasn't about that anymore. It wasn't about taking things that others didn't deserve, what others didn't want. I'm afraid that it became... it's become something selfish, all about getting what I want. All about becoming special. I didn't, and don't, care anymore if they deserve it. I deserve it.
"When I called you that day in November a few years ago - I was afraid that I would kill thousands of innocent people. I wouldn't gain anything, nothing would be accomplished. Then, I... Something happened that made me stop caring. All I needed was for someone to tell me that I was special enough the way I was, that I didn't need to kill any more. And that person said I was damned. That's when I knew I couldn't run away from who I was."
Sylar shifts a little on the bed to face the motionless form, placing a hand on the cold flesh of his bare upper back. He runs his hands against the smooth skin lightly with a small frown.
"I wish that you could hear what I'm saying to you now. I just need someone to tell me that I'm special, that all the killing wasn't for nothing. I can't keep living like this, Mohinder. I need you to tell me that I can stop. But I guess it doesn't matter now because you... can't hear me."
He lets out a long sigh, leaning down to plant a small kiss on the back of Mohinder's neck, taking a moment to enjoy the scent of his curls. Sylar then stands from the bed, turning to walk out. That's when he hears a small breath escape Mohinder. He turns to see him rolling to his side, shivering slightly as he pulls the sheets up to cover his bare torso, looking up at Sylar through half-lidded eyes.
"Did you say something?" came the sleepy, accented voice.
I said that I need you to tell me I'm special.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Hope you enjoyed it! I had fun writing it, and I look forward to your comments!