After months of not updating, I apologize in advance for the Spammy McSpamalot that the next few posts are going to be. I've just completed my first "bingo!" for the kink_bingo challenge and am going to be posting it momentarily, in five parts due to character-limit.

The Revelations 22:20 universe is set within Heroes canon and immediately follows eight weeks past the season three/Volume Four finale. The series has an overall, and individually marked, rating of Mature for sex, language, and violence. Please note that violence is a huge part of this story and will play heavily into current and future parts. Each part can be read separately with little or no context as a Sylar/Claire PWP, but taken together it does have a plot. Without furthur ado...



Coming For Her by RedHillBones/NoExitWounds
Rated Mature for violence, language, and sex. Contains rape
Fandom/Characters: Heroes; Sylar/Claire, Molly Walker
Kink: Bondage (held down)

The beginning of the end comes with more a whimper, less a bang. It's inevitable, he thinks (later, when he's safe from searching eyes and expectations), because he is Sylar.

He tried to choke it out of himself with rough strands of rope digging painfully and slowly into his vulnerable jugular. He tried to burn it out of himself, closing his eyes to the onslaught of a blue so terrifyingly beautiful that he's certain he doesn't deserve such an awe-inspiring end. He tried to murder it out of himself, the concrete cold and hard even through two layers of clothing as he slips the knife home and stares down at his own face. He tried to erase it out of himself, waking up to the face of another but lesser killer in his place.

In terms of trying to destroy Sylar, in fact, he'd been willing to bet that he'd given a more honest effort than anyone on this pathetic, wretched, spinning ball of mud called Earth. Anyone except Noah Bennet, at least; no one could claim the man lacked drive. Yet, Sylar remained. Behind smug, dim smiles of a man pretending he had any of the power in his life, Sylar remained. Beyond the mother that never was, and then suddenly could be, he'd stared out at himself. He was Sylar.

And Sylar was really fucking pissed.

“Shit,” he cursed underneath his breath, which caught a moment later as the enormity of the situation caught up to him. It only took the uncharacteristic outburst for the blonde standing next to him to narrow her eyes in unrelenting suspicion. His fingers tightened around the small necklace laying daintily against her unbelievably strong collar and neck bones. As quickly as he'd seized it, he dropped the emerald pendant. It almost surprised him when his fingers came back whole – no signs of scorching or rapid healing apparent.

“Are you okay?” she asked, tilting her head up towards him, and he had to choke back a laugh. How far from okay could he get and still remain coherent? The universe seemed hell bent on testing that question.

Still, he almost told her he's fine, that he just remembered something and he'd call on her again tomorrow, when his instincts kick in. “Actually, no, I'm not okay,” he said. “Where did you get the necklace?”

He imagined the question came out of nowhere for her, given the confusion she put off. That had been the first thing he didn't understand – how could he feel the emotions of another person? Rationalizing, he almost said he'd picked up Pete's abilities somehow but Peter didn't have abilities any longer. Now that he knew what, who he was, it made perfect sense.

I am Sylar.

“You don't know?” Claire looked disappointed, almost, to his surprise. “I thought... it appeared on my bed the other day, in a little matching box. I thought you'd left it for me,” her voice trailed off uncertainly. “Maybe it was my d-- other dad?”

A flash of memory struck him in the stomach like a sucker punch as he remembered, now, resuming his own face as he found a high-end jewelry store and strode in. Cost had been no object and he'd picked out something with the thoughts of her liking it in mind. “Oh, no. I – it looks different now that it's on you, I began to wonder if someone had already bought you something similar. This one came with a tag that said 'Tally's.'”

Her bright smile lit up her entire face, all the way to eyes. “Thank you.” She didn't say his fake name and he smiled in satisfaction. This necklace had replaced the one her precious daddy Noah had given to her. He'd be heartbroken. Well, if he knew.

It'd take a long time for him to know though because Sylar had invited Claire over here with a plan. He had focus again, no longer muddled down by the memories of a liar, a cheat, a politician. They only existed as facts he knew, not things he'd experienced, so he had room for more experiences again. “You're welcome.” Impulsively he added, “Babydoll.” Maybe 'Princess' would have been better but with her shiny blonde hair, shining green eyes, and petite features she reminded him of a doll.

Her smile smirked a little at the nickname. “I'm not a baby anymore.”

“You'll always be my baby.” Oh, how she didn't know the truth of that. They had eternity together, give or take a few years. He kissed her forehead and told her to go wash her hands before dinner, and she let him. She soaked him in, reveling in his attention, his concern, his praise.

She'd been so damned desperate for affection and surprised when 'Nathan' gave it to her. Slowly, over the weeks, he'd come to realize his interest in her, his desire, had nothing to do with paternity. Well, maybe a little. Someday they'd have magnificent children together – powerful, self-assured, given everything. He'd have to wait for that but he didn't mind.

Thanks to Dale Smithers and his own unique take on empathy and control, he could hear her moving around the bathroom. When her steps turned back towards him, ready to open the door, he shifted.

Perfect. Her eyes widened when she saw him and she gasped in a breath that made him tingle with excitement and anticipation. “Miss me?”

“You're dead! We burned your body. You're dead.”

“Really? Haven't you burned to death before? You think that would keep me down?” He scoffed at the idea, never getting up from his comfortable seat on the couch. “But it wasn't my body anyway. See, there was this shapeshifter and I used him, and the vicious asshole Danko, to fake my own death. The body was in cold storage. My body, well, it was using that very ability, but not of my own accord.” He jerked her forward with telekinesis, not bothering with the puppetmaster games, and gestured for her to sit. “Do you have any idea how much I hate people trying to control me? How much I loathe the mere thought? How angry it makes me?” Her eyes glittered with rage... and understanding. Oh, she understood what it meant to be left in a cage. “I killed your father, your biological one, and your other father and grandmother used Matt Parkman to force me into taking up his life. For the politics of it.” She blinked rapidly, a few times. “They betrayed you, Claire, for politics. Because Nathan was more important. They chose a dead man over you, the girl that will never die. You're already alone, you just don't know it.”

“When?” she bit out, shaking with rage and just a tinge of fear.

“At the Stanton Hotel. The last eight weeks have been all me. Did you enjoy your time getting attention from your father? I've known for about three weeks but I thought I'd give you a little longer, as a gift. After all, I did take him away from you. Not that he deserved your love. He betrayed you too.”

Now she definitely shook, wrapping her arms around her waist. He couldn't believe it would be this easy to break her down. It probably should have taken the fun out of it but as he soaked up her pain and her anger he thought she looked... perfect. “I hate you,” she whispered.

“Right now,” he agreed, standing up finally and offering his hand. She stared at it like it was an alien thing, outside of her comprehension. “Come on. It's time to go. You can do this the easy way and walk out with me or the hard way.”

Oh, she hadn't been broken after all, he realized as the last of the words slipped from his lips and she bolted. First she jumped up, using the couch as a lift, to claw at his face, scratching his eyes hard enough to blind him in one, then she ran. She almost made it to the door before his eye healed and he flicked his hand, pinning it closed. Just like before. “This brings back such interesting memories.”

Her eyes glanced around wildly for a weapon but he'd removed them earlier, just in case. She remained unarmed, except for her wits and her charming body. “I'm going to kill you,” she hissed, stepping back against the door. Her fist banged against the wood, sideways, and a small thump sounded.

“No, you're not. I can't die.” A smirk crossed Sylar's face because he had to admit that this felt good. It had the tinge of a high without the disorientation and as he stalked across the room to her he pinned her against the wall. When he got there he grabbed her hair, rearing her forward and then back against the wood with a sickening thump. “When you threaten me, I will hurt you,” he told her.

She smiled viciously, angrily, and triumphantly. “I can't feel pain anymore. Thanks to you.”

He smiled back, raising his other hand. “I thought that might happen.”

This time, because there were people nearby, he cut off her air even as he cut off the top of her head. A few minutes later he had her twitching, paralyzed body laid out on the glass coffee table. He'd thought to spare her from this pain the last time, an uncharacteristically charitable gesture. Tonight he felt anything but charitable.

As he pressed around her brain, tears slipped from her eyes. He used a bloody, gooey finger to wipe a tear away. “Don't cry yet. It's only the beginning.” There, he'd found it. He nudged the little nerve, the trigeminal lemniscus, and tugged out the piece of broken metal he'd put there when he was first in her brain. It healed immediately once the object had been removed; the brain stem, the only part of her body that couldn't heal itself from anything. He thought his idea had been inspired.

Touching the brain itself didn't hurt her and he spent a few more minutes checking it over before he pocketed the metal piece and reattached the top of her head for the second time. In thirty seconds she had sat up and spun on him, facing him. Sharp nails dug into her own arm and she hissed in pain. “You did it.”

“Yes.” Then he backhanded her hard across the face, the blow hard enough to knock her off the coffee table. “Consider this rule number one.”

She scrambled to get away from him but he caught up with her, kicking her in the side so that it flipped her over. “Nighty-night, Claire.” With that he uncapped the syringe in his pocket, brought it out, and plunged it into her neck. She fell unconscious almost immediately. Nasty stuff, the same used to capture him. That seemed fitting.

As dead weight her body felt heavier but certainly not too heavy for him as he wiped off the blood and bundled her up. Then, for the last time, he shifted back. In his arms she looked almost like a sleeping child and he smiled at the guard of his penthouse apartment as he strolled through the first floor with her. “She's all tuckered out. I guess it was a little too much excitement for her.”

The guard chuckled, old enough not to be interested in his Claire in some sexual way, and told Nathan good night.



An hour later he arrived at his destination: a simple, two bedroom apartment in the Bronx, near the watch shop he owned. When he first went off as Sylar he'd hired someone to take over for him, knowing that he'd need the cash it brought in to travel around the country. He had no plans to go back to that life, he was so much better than that now, but he suspected that for that very reason no one would think to look for him here.

Of course, they wouldn't have to look with little Molly Walker on the job. How convenient they'd brought her back from India after 'Sylar' died. For him. So he chained Claire to his bed securely and gave her another shot. It slowed her breathing to almost nothing but it didn't matter, she'd survive it. Then he buckled a ball gag just a little too big for her small, but loud, mouth and left her there.

The trip back, to where Mohinder Suresh now lived, was quicker. He called a cab and even in the city that never sleeps people started to pack things in somewhat after ten p.m. on a Tuesday night so the cab encountered less traffic.

Mohinder never awoke as Sylar slipped into the apartment, using his TK to click open the lock and remove the deadbolt. He didn't wake as Sylar literally floated on air, a few inches off the ground, to remove his footsteps. He didn't wake as Sylar covered Molly's mouth with his hand and she woke up.

“Be quiet and I won't hurt you. I'm not here to kill you,” he whispered viciously, “but I will if I have to. Understand?” She nodded quickly, her eyes frantically going towards the wall that separated her from Mohinder. “If you scream and he comes running, I'll kill him first. Do you understand?” Her blue-green eyes went wide and she nodded again. “Are you going to scream?” This time she shook her head.

He took the risk of letting go of her mouth and she sobbed in a breath, scrambling away from him. “What do you want?”

“You, out of the way.” And, he'd realized when he'd decided to come after Molly, leverage against Claire. She'd probably be willing to suffer the pain he inflicted on her own body but on a child's? He found it distasteful but he'd do it, for his Claire. To show her they belonged together. “So you're coming with me. Pack a bag, no more than two. Take whatever you need because you're not coming back.” She shook, paralyzed in anguish for a long minute before he reached over and tugged her hand. He brought her to her dresser. “Pack.”

The whole time she packed she shook, adding crumpled clothes, some books, and, last, a stuffed rabbit – a toy, rather than one of his father's toys – to a large duffel bag. “And you won't hurt Mohinder if I go with you?” she asked quietly, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

“I promise.” What was the point? He had the only thing of Mohinder's he wanted right here. “We'll buy you new toothpaste and things. Come.”

Obediently and quietly, she followed him. Mohinder never woke.


When they arrived back at the apartment Claire was awake and screaming through the muffled sounds of the ball gag, but she stopped screaming when she heard the door. “Claire, I'm back.” Molly's eyes widened again and she swallowed. “I brought another toy.”

Muffled mmphs and unhs came from Claire and he nudged Molly onwards as he went into the room. Claire looked at him with hateful, vengeful eyes that welled with tears when she saw Molly. “Mmmehee,” she moaned. Then something that sounded like 'you bastard.'

“Now, if you promise not to scream or yell, I'll remove the gag. If you do it anyway, I'll hurt Molly. Do you understand?”

She swallowed thickly around the drool the gag forced out of her, drenching the front of her shirt, but after a minute she nodded. So he took another risk and removed the gag, telekinetically bringing her some water. He even helped her sip it, though her throat had undoubtedly already healed.

“You bastard. What are you doing with her.” She spat it out and it wasn't quite a question.

Sylar answered it anyway, standing over the bed. “Establishing insurance. They can't use her to find me if she's with me and I am willing to hurt her to get you to follow the rules. It's a perfect match and, hey, look at it this way. At least she'd not dead.” He could always do that later.

Molly meeped and he led her out of the room, ignoring when Claire called after him. Once in the second bedroom he put down her things and gestured around. “This will be your room. Try to get some sleep.” With that he left her alone with her tears. She'd learn crying didn't phase him soon enough. Locking the door with the specialty locks he'd built, that could only be undone from the outside, kinetically, he returned to the other room. “Molly's resting.”

“You sick fuck,” Claire hissed. “She's a little girl! You want me, take me, but leave her out of it.”

“No.” She clearly hadn't heard that word enough because she looked angered by it. He chuckled a little and sat down on the bed next to her, smoothing down her shirt where it'd ridden up from wiggling to get free. “Now that I have you all to myself, I thought we'd go over the rules.”

“Rules.” Her voice stayed steady as she said the word, steady and hard.

“Yes. No threatening me. No attacking me. No trying to leave. No trying to get Molly out. The more you cooperate, the more freedom you'll have.” He stopped, waiting for the explosion.

He didn't have to wait long. “You're crazy, Sylar. You're so fucking crazy. This is insane. You can't keep us here. My dad will find us, find you, and he'll stop you!”

Instead of slapping her this time, he reached down, twisted her nipple, and watched her try to arch away from him. “If you break the rules both you and Molly will be punished.” Electricity crackled between his fingers and he touched her stomach, making her hiss. “You'll heal but Molly won't – except with your blood. I'll let her suffer for awhile before hand though, to remind you of the stakes. Now we're going to test your cooperation.” His hand slid up her body to undo the cuff around her right wrist. She shuddered as his fingers trailed up her arm. He made quick work of the three remaining cuffs and then she was, physically, free.

When she sat up he nearly held his breath, waiting for her rebellion or submission. She glanced at the wall, unknowingly mimicking Molly's action, and he still waited. “And if I cooperate, you won't hurt Molly?”

“Exactly.”

“Fine, you sicko.” Her rage burned brightly within her, making him smile as he reached up to cup her cheek.

“See, we're building bridges already. You'll see you're better off here in no time.” And then he'd give her back to Noah, a remade woman, and watch the man try to fix her until he died at Sylar's hands. The perfect revenge against the Petrellis and Noah Bennet. Taking Molly would substitute as revenge against Matt Parkman and, hey, maybe he'd do the same for Molly and Parkman. All in all it was shaping up to be a very nice plan indeed.

* * *

Comments welcomed in all forms. (Please do!) Feedback/concrit cherished. All typos mine (and probably hilariously inappropriate).

Additional parts: One ; Two ; Three ; X ; Four ; X ; Five.