Fic: Into Dust
Somewhere, someone is screaming, a high pitched, genderless shriek that goes on and one without end. Hiro wants to get up, help whoever it is, make the screaming stop, but he can’t see, can’t move, can barely hear. The back of his head aches dully, but he can’t remember why. There’s grit beneath his cheek, and he can feel smooth press of metal against his palm. His sword. It feels hot.
The screamer pauses, gathers their breath, and begins again. Hiro’s hearing is improving, but the noise still sounds far away. The air feels close and dirty, like he’s underground. Maybe he is. It’s dark when he opens his eyes, dark when he closes them again.
What’s happened?
Something warm trickles down his temple and he remembers suddenly, he remembers all of it. Going to New York, meeting Peter Petrelli, searching for Sylar. He remembers the insane light in Sylar’s eyes as he laughed, how the glow that began to emanate from Sylar’s body was that light magnified and made lethal. He remembers the slick feel of blood on his hands as he impaled the serial killer with the sword of Kensei and the terror that rushed through him as the sword was removed and the wound began to knit itself closed. After that his memories blur. Dimly he recalls Peter shouting at him to run, but he doesn’t think he listened. The ground began to shake; something hit him. He…teleported?
The screaming begins to taper off into gasping sobs and Hiro smells the smoke for the first time. The explosion, he realizes with a sickening lurch of his stomach. He didn’t stop it. He failed, and now he is trapped under the rubble of some unfortunate building while outside people are-
Now even the sobbing has stopped and Hiro begins to feel deathly afraid. He feels as if he is forgetting something, something terribly important, but for the moment all he can think about is getting out. Trying to move gets him nowhere; the debris is too heavy. The air is getting harder to breathe.
His nails cut tiny crescents into his palm as he clutches the sword tightly and closes his eyes, concentrating on getting out, getting free. For several long moments nothing happens as the air grows steadily warmer. Hiro furrows his brow, grits his teeth, and wills his powers to do their job and get him to safety. The world tilts, the rubble begins to collapse, and suddenly he is out and standing on the pavement in the middle of what looks like a war zone. It is Isaac’s painting brought to horrible life. No. It is worse than that. As horrible as the painting was to look at, it was purely visual. You couldn’t smell the acrid smoke and burning rubber when you looked at the canvas; you couldn’t hear the stuttering wail of ambulances that were far too late or the eerie pattering sound of thousands of people fleeing at once over the cracked streets.
Everything looks soft around the edges, and it is more than the smoke. Somewhere along the way Hiro has lost his glasses. Absently, he touches his face with the hand that isn’t clutching the hilt of his sword and stares at his fingers in stunned disbelief. They come away sticky and smeared with red, but he doesn’t feel hurt otherwise. He was lucky.
Aimlessly he picks a direction and begins to walk only to have the ground suddenly begin to roll beneath his feet, sending him crashing to his knees with a gasp. The sword clangs loudly as it strikes the concrete, and in the blood streaked blade Hiro can see his own pallid reflection staring back at him.
The blade was shinier than Hiro had thought it would be. The hilt was still smooth and glossy, the weight still perfectly balanced. It didn’t look four hundred years old. It looked brand new. He could hardly believe it was really the sword of Takezo Kensei. Every time he took it out to look at it he expected it to disappear, but it didn’t. He really had the sword of Kensei.
‘Are you going to look at that thing all day? You shouldn’t flash it around like that, Hiro. What if somebody sees?’
Grinning, Hiro winked at his reflection and slipped the sword back into its sheath.
‘I don’t think anybody’s looking, Ando-kun.’
The ground rolls again and this time Hiro has to double over to keep from throwing up. Crimson streaks explode behind his eyelids as he squeezes his eyes shut. His throat clenches, choking the breath from him until all he can mutter is a single word.
‘Ando…’
Just saying it makes reality come crashing down. Sylar didn’t die. The bomb went off, destroyed the city, and Ando…
‘You’ll come with me, right? You believe me now?’
‘No!’
Fighting against nausea and dizziness, Hiro staggers to his feet, not noticing as time shudders, stops momentarily, and then starts again. Frantic, he looks around, hoping and half expecting to see his friend come wandering out of the ashes. Ando hadn’t been there when Sylar began to glow. He had been waiting at Nathan Petrelli’s office, waiting like he always waited. He must still be there. He had to still be there; he wouldn’t leave, not when he knew Hiro would be looking for him.
‘This is crazy, Hiro. Every time you go off alone you get into trouble. What are you going to do if I’m not there to bail you out?’
Hiro sighed softly and looked away, feeling simultaneously touched and exasperated. ‘You can’t come with me, Ando. It’s too dangerous.’
Ando set his jaw stubbornly but his eyes, when they met Hiro’s, were pleading. ‘I’m not afraid.’
‘I know,’ Hiro agreed readily. ‘I am. Wait for me here, with Flying Man. Once I…once it’s done, I’ll come back.’
People start shouting as Hiro begins to run, but he barely hears them. A hundred terrified and bleeding faces blur past him as he goes. So many injured people, so many dying, so much destruction. He had been arrogant, so sure he could prevent the bomb by killing Sylar that he had never stopped to think about what would happen if he couldn’t.
Hiro wasn’t taken entirely by surprise when Ando gripped him by the arms and kissed him, but what did surprise him was the intensity of the joy and relief he felt as he kissed him back. He had waited for what seemed like ages for this, always afraid that he was misinterpreting the signals and that one day the fond, loving look he had begun to see in Ando’s eyes would be directed at someone else. He had debated coming forward himself, but a small frightened part of him had always insisted first ‘later, after we find the sword’ and then ‘later, after all this is over.’ Now, as he twined his fingers into the fabric of Ando’s shirt and felt Ando’s hands drift to the small of his back, he wondered why he had waited so long.
Hiro isn’t aware of how long he runs or even where he is going, exactly. He moves through the hellish streets as if in a trance, and when he comes out of it he is standing before the campaign building where Nathan Petrelli’s charred portrait grins down at him. There is smoke pouring out from the windows of the highest floors, but the building itself is still standing. Hiro wants to believe this is a good sign, but a heavy, foreboding weight has settled in the pit of his stomach and when he pushes his way into the lobby he does so with trepidation.
The elevator doors are jammed open and the alarm drones on mournfully. The sound hurts Hiro’s ears and he grimaces as he hurries towards the stairs, making his way around broken furniture and jagged glass. There are a couple bodies on the floor and, in one corner, a weeping group of injured survivors that are doing their best to assist one another. Ando isn’t among them. One of them calls out as Hiro rushes by and he averts his eyes, ashamed. Later he will help them, he promises himself, but not now, not until he knows that Ando is safe.
Ando’s mouth was surprisingly gentle against Hiro’s lips, leaving feather light touches that might have been words. He sucked in a shuddering breath then pulled away slightly with a sigh, leaving Hiro half dazed and blinking. They stared at one another for several long moments, faces slowly heating as they realized just how low Ando’s hands were and just how close Hiro’s lips were to Ando’s throat. Ando looked conflicted and Hiro knew that he was trying to think of something clever to say to break the awkward tension. He muttered Hiro’s name once as if he was asking for help, but for once Hiro could think of nothing to say.
The doorknob squeaked slightly and that was the only warning they had that Peter had returned. For a moment Ando’s arms tightened around Hiro in the semblance of a hug, but then the door opened and he was gone, slipping through Hiro’s fingers like the sands of time.
The sprinklers have been activated somewhere up above and little streams of water trickle down the stairs, making the surface slick and dangerous. The emergency lights flicker on and off frantically, making it impossible to see the upper floors from where Hiro stands. There is no movement up there, no sign of human life, and Hiro is afraid, so afraid that his legs threaten to give out beneath him and his right hand clutches the sword so tightly his arm begins to ache. He wants to flee, to close his eyes and wish himself somewhere else, because he knows that the monster that is lurking up there is one that not even the sword of Kensei will be able to defeat. The price of his own failure is waiting for him, and he knows what it will be even as his mind screams in denial.
‘You’ll be right back? And not do anything stupid?’
‘I already told you. Once it’s done, I’ll come back for you. Don’t be angry. You’ve shown me what true courage is.’
Perhaps Hiro’s powers sense his cowardice because they fail to respond to him properly and he has to physically climb the stairs to the eighth floor. With each step he takes his body feels heavier; it feels as if he is walking underwater, with a century’s worth of silt sucking at his feet and the weight of an ocean pressing down upon his head. Cold sweat slickens his palms, and when he finally stumbles into the hallway the sword nearly slips from his grasp. He clings to it like it is a lifeline.
‘I have faith in you.’
The door to Nathan’s office is slightly ajar, though Hiro distinctly remembers closing it. He places his palm against it to push it open, but his willpower deserts him suddenly and he finds that he cannot move. He takes a deep breath and holds it, tasting smoke and something else that is even more bitter on the back of his tongue. His eyes have begun to burn, but when he closes his eyes briefly the tears that escape and roll down his cheeks only make the burning worse.
Slowly he lets out the breath he is holding and swallows heavily. It’s like swallowing glass and he has to clear his throat twice before he can speak.
‘Ando?’
'I’ll wait for you.’
Silence greets him as he pushes open the door and when he steps inside glass crunches beneath his feet. The sword slips from his hand and clatters loudly to the floor as he stares at the still form on the floor and the world comes to an end.
Ando waited. Ando always waited.
But this time Hiro was too late.
The screamer pauses, gathers their breath, and begins again. Hiro’s hearing is improving, but the noise still sounds far away. The air feels close and dirty, like he’s underground. Maybe he is. It’s dark when he opens his eyes, dark when he closes them again.
What’s happened?
Something warm trickles down his temple and he remembers suddenly, he remembers all of it. Going to New York, meeting Peter Petrelli, searching for Sylar. He remembers the insane light in Sylar’s eyes as he laughed, how the glow that began to emanate from Sylar’s body was that light magnified and made lethal. He remembers the slick feel of blood on his hands as he impaled the serial killer with the sword of Kensei and the terror that rushed through him as the sword was removed and the wound began to knit itself closed. After that his memories blur. Dimly he recalls Peter shouting at him to run, but he doesn’t think he listened. The ground began to shake; something hit him. He…teleported?
The screaming begins to taper off into gasping sobs and Hiro smells the smoke for the first time. The explosion, he realizes with a sickening lurch of his stomach. He didn’t stop it. He failed, and now he is trapped under the rubble of some unfortunate building while outside people are-
Now even the sobbing has stopped and Hiro begins to feel deathly afraid. He feels as if he is forgetting something, something terribly important, but for the moment all he can think about is getting out. Trying to move gets him nowhere; the debris is too heavy. The air is getting harder to breathe.
His nails cut tiny crescents into his palm as he clutches the sword tightly and closes his eyes, concentrating on getting out, getting free. For several long moments nothing happens as the air grows steadily warmer. Hiro furrows his brow, grits his teeth, and wills his powers to do their job and get him to safety. The world tilts, the rubble begins to collapse, and suddenly he is out and standing on the pavement in the middle of what looks like a war zone. It is Isaac’s painting brought to horrible life. No. It is worse than that. As horrible as the painting was to look at, it was purely visual. You couldn’t smell the acrid smoke and burning rubber when you looked at the canvas; you couldn’t hear the stuttering wail of ambulances that were far too late or the eerie pattering sound of thousands of people fleeing at once over the cracked streets.
Everything looks soft around the edges, and it is more than the smoke. Somewhere along the way Hiro has lost his glasses. Absently, he touches his face with the hand that isn’t clutching the hilt of his sword and stares at his fingers in stunned disbelief. They come away sticky and smeared with red, but he doesn’t feel hurt otherwise. He was lucky.
Aimlessly he picks a direction and begins to walk only to have the ground suddenly begin to roll beneath his feet, sending him crashing to his knees with a gasp. The sword clangs loudly as it strikes the concrete, and in the blood streaked blade Hiro can see his own pallid reflection staring back at him.
The blade was shinier than Hiro had thought it would be. The hilt was still smooth and glossy, the weight still perfectly balanced. It didn’t look four hundred years old. It looked brand new. He could hardly believe it was really the sword of Takezo Kensei. Every time he took it out to look at it he expected it to disappear, but it didn’t. He really had the sword of Kensei.
‘Are you going to look at that thing all day? You shouldn’t flash it around like that, Hiro. What if somebody sees?’
Grinning, Hiro winked at his reflection and slipped the sword back into its sheath.
‘I don’t think anybody’s looking, Ando-kun.’
The ground rolls again and this time Hiro has to double over to keep from throwing up. Crimson streaks explode behind his eyelids as he squeezes his eyes shut. His throat clenches, choking the breath from him until all he can mutter is a single word.
‘Ando…’
Just saying it makes reality come crashing down. Sylar didn’t die. The bomb went off, destroyed the city, and Ando…
‘You’ll come with me, right? You believe me now?’
‘No!’
Fighting against nausea and dizziness, Hiro staggers to his feet, not noticing as time shudders, stops momentarily, and then starts again. Frantic, he looks around, hoping and half expecting to see his friend come wandering out of the ashes. Ando hadn’t been there when Sylar began to glow. He had been waiting at Nathan Petrelli’s office, waiting like he always waited. He must still be there. He had to still be there; he wouldn’t leave, not when he knew Hiro would be looking for him.
‘This is crazy, Hiro. Every time you go off alone you get into trouble. What are you going to do if I’m not there to bail you out?’
Hiro sighed softly and looked away, feeling simultaneously touched and exasperated. ‘You can’t come with me, Ando. It’s too dangerous.’
Ando set his jaw stubbornly but his eyes, when they met Hiro’s, were pleading. ‘I’m not afraid.’
‘I know,’ Hiro agreed readily. ‘I am. Wait for me here, with Flying Man. Once I…once it’s done, I’ll come back.’
People start shouting as Hiro begins to run, but he barely hears them. A hundred terrified and bleeding faces blur past him as he goes. So many injured people, so many dying, so much destruction. He had been arrogant, so sure he could prevent the bomb by killing Sylar that he had never stopped to think about what would happen if he couldn’t.
Hiro wasn’t taken entirely by surprise when Ando gripped him by the arms and kissed him, but what did surprise him was the intensity of the joy and relief he felt as he kissed him back. He had waited for what seemed like ages for this, always afraid that he was misinterpreting the signals and that one day the fond, loving look he had begun to see in Ando’s eyes would be directed at someone else. He had debated coming forward himself, but a small frightened part of him had always insisted first ‘later, after we find the sword’ and then ‘later, after all this is over.’ Now, as he twined his fingers into the fabric of Ando’s shirt and felt Ando’s hands drift to the small of his back, he wondered why he had waited so long.
Hiro isn’t aware of how long he runs or even where he is going, exactly. He moves through the hellish streets as if in a trance, and when he comes out of it he is standing before the campaign building where Nathan Petrelli’s charred portrait grins down at him. There is smoke pouring out from the windows of the highest floors, but the building itself is still standing. Hiro wants to believe this is a good sign, but a heavy, foreboding weight has settled in the pit of his stomach and when he pushes his way into the lobby he does so with trepidation.
The elevator doors are jammed open and the alarm drones on mournfully. The sound hurts Hiro’s ears and he grimaces as he hurries towards the stairs, making his way around broken furniture and jagged glass. There are a couple bodies on the floor and, in one corner, a weeping group of injured survivors that are doing their best to assist one another. Ando isn’t among them. One of them calls out as Hiro rushes by and he averts his eyes, ashamed. Later he will help them, he promises himself, but not now, not until he knows that Ando is safe.
Ando’s mouth was surprisingly gentle against Hiro’s lips, leaving feather light touches that might have been words. He sucked in a shuddering breath then pulled away slightly with a sigh, leaving Hiro half dazed and blinking. They stared at one another for several long moments, faces slowly heating as they realized just how low Ando’s hands were and just how close Hiro’s lips were to Ando’s throat. Ando looked conflicted and Hiro knew that he was trying to think of something clever to say to break the awkward tension. He muttered Hiro’s name once as if he was asking for help, but for once Hiro could think of nothing to say.
The doorknob squeaked slightly and that was the only warning they had that Peter had returned. For a moment Ando’s arms tightened around Hiro in the semblance of a hug, but then the door opened and he was gone, slipping through Hiro’s fingers like the sands of time.
The sprinklers have been activated somewhere up above and little streams of water trickle down the stairs, making the surface slick and dangerous. The emergency lights flicker on and off frantically, making it impossible to see the upper floors from where Hiro stands. There is no movement up there, no sign of human life, and Hiro is afraid, so afraid that his legs threaten to give out beneath him and his right hand clutches the sword so tightly his arm begins to ache. He wants to flee, to close his eyes and wish himself somewhere else, because he knows that the monster that is lurking up there is one that not even the sword of Kensei will be able to defeat. The price of his own failure is waiting for him, and he knows what it will be even as his mind screams in denial.
‘You’ll be right back? And not do anything stupid?’
‘I already told you. Once it’s done, I’ll come back for you. Don’t be angry. You’ve shown me what true courage is.’
Perhaps Hiro’s powers sense his cowardice because they fail to respond to him properly and he has to physically climb the stairs to the eighth floor. With each step he takes his body feels heavier; it feels as if he is walking underwater, with a century’s worth of silt sucking at his feet and the weight of an ocean pressing down upon his head. Cold sweat slickens his palms, and when he finally stumbles into the hallway the sword nearly slips from his grasp. He clings to it like it is a lifeline.
‘I have faith in you.’
The door to Nathan’s office is slightly ajar, though Hiro distinctly remembers closing it. He places his palm against it to push it open, but his willpower deserts him suddenly and he finds that he cannot move. He takes a deep breath and holds it, tasting smoke and something else that is even more bitter on the back of his tongue. His eyes have begun to burn, but when he closes his eyes briefly the tears that escape and roll down his cheeks only make the burning worse.
Slowly he lets out the breath he is holding and swallows heavily. It’s like swallowing glass and he has to clear his throat twice before he can speak.
‘Ando?’
'I’ll wait for you.’
Silence greets him as he pushes open the door and when he steps inside glass crunches beneath his feet. The sword slips from his hand and clatters loudly to the floor as he stares at the still form on the floor and the world comes to an end.
Ando waited. Ando always waited.
But this time Hiro was too late.