shatterverse | (no subject)

It's a regular caravan that shows up at Metropolis today.

Vehicle One: The Coraline, a modifies pick-up truck being driven by everyone's favourite bloodthirsty pirate, with a distinctly anti-killing ex-Robin in the passenger seat. The ghost of a teenage girl is technically sitting on the roof of the cabin, but sometimes she pokes her head in to interrupt the boys in their conversation.

Vehicle Two: A 1967 Chevrolet Impala, the only one blaring out tunes, while the driver and his blonde passenger sit in relative silence, not having much to say to each other.

Vehicle Three: A Porsche, containing one carefully prepared hunter and one blind woman who prides herself on not needing any preparation. The conversation in that one is a little more lively, even containing the occasional laugh from the girl.

It's a ridiculous procession, considering they don't really know where they're going. But Jack has all six of his senses peeled, looking for a young teenage girl of Chinese origin who isn't a young teenage girl of Chinese origin.

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That was Sam's voice.

Leah tenses, frozen for a second.

Then she starts a few careful steps along the road, bringing herself closer to the commotion.

She can't do anything.

...Okay, so now his face is less with the grinning and more with the abrupt pained panic.

In the space of a few agonized seconds, like some kind of emoting traffic light, it goes: mock, shock, shit, ow ow ow, creeping nose-bleed in the grand old psychic tradition--

Once again, the ghost of Sylar tumbles, bodiless.

It's an obvious transition - nosebleed aside, there is nothing similar about Sam's expression when Sylar drops. There is no thought of pain or shock, just a white face, panicked because he is dangling over a parking lot and does not want to be dropped.

That he's far too exhausted to pull himself up isn't helping.

Still, his fingers twist to grab onto Dean's wrist and he gasps, strained "Help-"

Sylar's lack of control makes it easier to grab Sam's other hand about the time the word gasps out of him and his face turns ashen and bloody.

"Pull," Jo grunted (as though Dean needed any reminding). There were certain moments, like this, when being small and not weighing enough soaking wet did not come in handy. Perhaps, she makes up for this in her tenacity of not giving an inch.

She calls out, while trying to dig her feet into the ground and pull backwards. "Watch out down there, he's out again!"

Edited 2009-02-12 12:18 (UTC)

Dean would shoot Jo a quick glare if he was giving any attention to her. It's not often that Jo gets no attention from Dean, but with his brother hanging over certain-sprained-ankles-or-maybe-even-broken is one of those times.

"Sammy," he grunts, "shut up. You ain't falling anywhere."

One mighty yank and Sam is half back over the railing.

Sam would snark back except for a few factors: first being grunted because he just got heaved over the railing, second being exhaustion because he is fucking tired.

Also pale, sweating, and bleeding from his nose.

He hits the ground hard and rolls onto his back. Vaguely, he remembers to run a hand under his nose to get rid of the blood, and unfocused eyes glance at Jo and then, more definitively, on his brother.

"Thanks."