Fanfiction: Heroes: A Walk Through Hell
Title: A Walk Through Hell
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gabriel/Elle
Warnings: Character Death
Summary: He had always been so concerned with saving his own life, his own evolutionary imperative that it felt almost strange that he was so concerned with hers. (IABDVerse)
Author’s Note: Writing for the “Passing” prompt at 100heroesfics. This was also based on an idea established in a drabble I wrote for bellonablack. Thanks goes to acinogan for betaing!
Elle Gray died in childbirth. Her small, frail body had not been able to handle the strain, and even though they did an emergency c-section, there was nothing that could be done to save her. She died. They said there was no way to prevent it once she had started hemorrhaging. But the child, little Noah (she had insisted on naming him after Papa Bennet for reasons she would never explain to Gabriel), he lived. Gabriel supposed he should have been grateful that at least one of them had come out safely. He could have lost both of them, after all. And yet all he could think of was ways he could try to bring her back. He didn’t want to do it alone. Not without her.
He holds his son as the nurses leave him, but his mind is about as far from the crying baby as it could possibly be. He remembered back to when he went to Mohinder’s after he had the Shanti Virus. A mixture of Mohinder and Claire’s blood had fixed his wounds. But he had taken Claire’s power, learned how to use it on his own. Did that mean that perhaps his blood could heal Elle, revive her? It might not work, but it was worth a shot. But the longer he waited, the less chance he had of it working.
That in mind he called in one of the nurses and handed Noah off to them. He would be put with the other babies for now. Gabriel would come back to get him later.
Once the nurses were gone he shut the door, locking it with his telekinesis. If the revival worked, he would worry then about getting Elle out without too many questions from the staff. And if it didn’t….well then there was nothing to worry about, on that end. He flicked a hand open to jimmy open some of the locked drawers, until he finally found what he was looking for: syringes and tourniquets.
He carefully prepared the necessarily materials, tying a tourniquet tightly around his arm before jamming the needle through his skin, gathering a large syringe of blood. He wasn’t sure how much was enough, but it wasn’t like his body wouldn’t automatically replace whatever he took out anyways. Finally, he removed the tourniquet and then he pulled out the needle and took a deep breath.
His hands felt shaky in nervousness and he had to put everything down, removing his glasses for a moment. He had always been so concerned with saving his own life, his own evolutionary imperative that it felt almost strange that he was so concerned with hers. He had come a long way from when he had first found out the Petrellis were really his parents. When he had found her in that cell in Pinehearst. He had fixed her then.
And he would do it again now. He had to.
He put his glasses back on and picked up his supplies before he made his way over to her body and carefully picked up her hand-it was still warm, a good sign- and carefully placed the syringe into a port that would put it straight into the IV that was still connected to her. Once it was set up, he turned away from her body. He refused to watch her. It was like that old proverb, watched pots never boiled. And watched bodies didn’t revive.
Seconds seem to slow, and he could hear every tick from the clock pass echoing in his ears. The clock was a little off, but he had bigger things to worry about at the moment. And then he heard it. The slight hitch of her breath, and a beep from the heart monitor. His eyes widened and unable to resist it any longer, he turned back around to see if she was truly alive again or not.
And as soon as he spun his head around, he could swear he saw her spirit lifting from her body. He ran to her, trying to shake her desperately, doing anything to get her back, but it was too late. She flatlined again. Apparently, only the original blood had the ability to heal others. His blood hadn’t been enough.
He hadn’t been enough.
He vaguely heard nurses shouting on the other side of the room, saying that they had heard the machines go off. They needed to check things. But he wouldn’t release the door. Instead he just fell to the floor, banging his head against the wall. Tears stung his eyes and once again he removed his glasses, rubbing at his eyes.
If only he had more faith…maybe she would have lived.
But unlike his predecessor, Orpheus, he could not let grief take him apart. He had a son. A life that depended on him. Elle would want him to take care of Noah. So he would. If he could do nothing else for her, he would do that. He didn’t know how, but he would.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gabriel/Elle
Warnings: Character Death
Summary: He had always been so concerned with saving his own life, his own evolutionary imperative that it felt almost strange that he was so concerned with hers. (IABDVerse)
Author’s Note: Writing for the “Passing” prompt at 100heroesfics. This was also based on an idea established in a drabble I wrote for bellonablack. Thanks goes to acinogan for betaing!
Elle Gray died in childbirth. Her small, frail body had not been able to handle the strain, and even though they did an emergency c-section, there was nothing that could be done to save her. She died. They said there was no way to prevent it once she had started hemorrhaging. But the child, little Noah (she had insisted on naming him after Papa Bennet for reasons she would never explain to Gabriel), he lived. Gabriel supposed he should have been grateful that at least one of them had come out safely. He could have lost both of them, after all. And yet all he could think of was ways he could try to bring her back. He didn’t want to do it alone. Not without her.
He holds his son as the nurses leave him, but his mind is about as far from the crying baby as it could possibly be. He remembered back to when he went to Mohinder’s after he had the Shanti Virus. A mixture of Mohinder and Claire’s blood had fixed his wounds. But he had taken Claire’s power, learned how to use it on his own. Did that mean that perhaps his blood could heal Elle, revive her? It might not work, but it was worth a shot. But the longer he waited, the less chance he had of it working.
That in mind he called in one of the nurses and handed Noah off to them. He would be put with the other babies for now. Gabriel would come back to get him later.
Once the nurses were gone he shut the door, locking it with his telekinesis. If the revival worked, he would worry then about getting Elle out without too many questions from the staff. And if it didn’t….well then there was nothing to worry about, on that end. He flicked a hand open to jimmy open some of the locked drawers, until he finally found what he was looking for: syringes and tourniquets.
He carefully prepared the necessarily materials, tying a tourniquet tightly around his arm before jamming the needle through his skin, gathering a large syringe of blood. He wasn’t sure how much was enough, but it wasn’t like his body wouldn’t automatically replace whatever he took out anyways. Finally, he removed the tourniquet and then he pulled out the needle and took a deep breath.
His hands felt shaky in nervousness and he had to put everything down, removing his glasses for a moment. He had always been so concerned with saving his own life, his own evolutionary imperative that it felt almost strange that he was so concerned with hers. He had come a long way from when he had first found out the Petrellis were really his parents. When he had found her in that cell in Pinehearst. He had fixed her then.
And he would do it again now. He had to.
He put his glasses back on and picked up his supplies before he made his way over to her body and carefully picked up her hand-it was still warm, a good sign- and carefully placed the syringe into a port that would put it straight into the IV that was still connected to her. Once it was set up, he turned away from her body. He refused to watch her. It was like that old proverb, watched pots never boiled. And watched bodies didn’t revive.
Seconds seem to slow, and he could hear every tick from the clock pass echoing in his ears. The clock was a little off, but he had bigger things to worry about at the moment. And then he heard it. The slight hitch of her breath, and a beep from the heart monitor. His eyes widened and unable to resist it any longer, he turned back around to see if she was truly alive again or not.
And as soon as he spun his head around, he could swear he saw her spirit lifting from her body. He ran to her, trying to shake her desperately, doing anything to get her back, but it was too late. She flatlined again. Apparently, only the original blood had the ability to heal others. His blood hadn’t been enough.
He hadn’t been enough.
He vaguely heard nurses shouting on the other side of the room, saying that they had heard the machines go off. They needed to check things. But he wouldn’t release the door. Instead he just fell to the floor, banging his head against the wall. Tears stung his eyes and once again he removed his glasses, rubbing at his eyes.
If only he had more faith…maybe she would have lived.
But unlike his predecessor, Orpheus, he could not let grief take him apart. He had a son. A life that depended on him. Elle would want him to take care of Noah. So he would. If he could do nothing else for her, he would do that. He didn’t know how, but he would.