Helloo~ could I request a hero who doesnt want to be a hero and the villain catches them having a crying/mental breakdown from anxiety?
"Careful," the villain said, "you don't want anyone else to see you like this. You're a new one, aren't you?"
The hero whipped around, scrubbing desperately at their tear-stained face. It didn't hide the shattering anywhere near quick enough. It didn't take back what had already been exposed. To them.
The villain held their hands up, all soothing-like.
"Easy. Don't go off on me."
As if the hero was a bomb, to be managed and contained. They felt a little like that some days.
Still, for all of the villain's obvious wariness, they did not appear frightened. At least, not frightened enough not to have initiated the conversation in the first place.
The hero gulped. Everyone thought the worst part of the job was fighting villains; monsters of terrible power and cruelty. It wasn't. The worst part was being the thing that monsters were scared of, and wondering what the hell that made you.
"If you let me reach in my pocket," the villain said, "I can give you a handkerchief."
"You carry handkerchiefs?"
"A wet wipe. But that sounded less glamorous."
The hero snorted, thick and choked, and dabbed at their face with their sleeve.
The villain reached slowly into their jacket, keeping their movements unthreatening and easy to track.
"I'm not going to hurt you," the hero muttered. They realised as they said it that the words alone were another unforgiveable omission, worse even than crying. Heroes were supposed to fight villains. Nobody explicitly said anything about hurting them, sure, but there was no way a collision of super-powers didn't cause damage.
The villain offered them the packet of wet wipes.
"Good to carry," they said. "You know, helps with the blood and stuff in a pinch."
There was something terrible about that which made the hero's eyes well up again.
The villain cursed, taking a step towards them before faltering - not quite getting close. "You need to stop crying." The villain voice was low, urgent. "Before someone else sees you. I'm sorry."
The hero nodded, gulped, tried to shove it all back down again. It didn't work so well. They felt like they were going to puke.
"I'm sorry," the villain said, again. They looked a little devastated too, if one knew what to look for.
The villain's jaw clenched.
The hero concentrated on taking some deep breaths, in and out, trying to keep their vision from tunnelling with panic.
"This happening to you a lot?" the villain asked.
"Of course not. I'm a hero."
It was the villain's turn to snort, mirthlessly and without mockery.
"Right. Shed a single pretty tear on the photo ops, but don't lose it in the back alley. Heroes."
The hero glanced up, sharply, at that.
The villain shrugged, a little awkwardly. "I've been in this game a while. I know what's expected of you. I don't know if it helps or not to know that you're not the only one who, um, feels like you do."
"And how do I feel?" It came out nearly a snarl.
The villain didn't flinch.
"Like you don't want to do this, like you can't do this, but you have to. Otherwise they'll take you back to the academy to retrain you."
Ice plunged through the hero at the thought. Their breathing turned ragged. They didn't remember their knees buckling, but when they next blinked they were on the floor, curled up against the wall, rocking a little. Someone was making an awful sound.
"Hey," the villain said softly. They were crouched in front of the hero, dangerously close to a pool of tarmac turning to overheated sludge where the hero's hands were. "They're not going to do that. You're alright. Listen, you're alright. Okay? Look at me."
The hero looked at them, reeling.
"You could kill me," the hero said, barely above a whisper. "Maybe I lost. That happens, doesn't it? Occasionally? We lose to people like you?"
"Sure," the villain said, "and then they kill me, and replace you with a new shiny thing."
"Dying for their cause is not freedom. You'd just be a martyr to manipulate the next generation with. Is that what you want?"
"Yes," the villain said, and offered another wet wipe, "you do. If you didn't, you wouldn't be losing it in a back alley out of sight."
The hero took the next wet wipe, pressing the cool damp cloth to their eyes. Burning. Swollen. Prickly. They took another few breaths. "Why are you helping me?"
"Us heroes and villains have got to stick together. It's not like anyone else is looking out for us."
"Until they order us to kill you, anyway."
"Yeah," the villain said, "until then."
"You'll stop caring. That can be easier."
"Yeah, well. That's why they want me dead so bad. Inability to stop giving a crap about heroes. I didn't self-detonate quietly in a back alley, you see, I tried to blow up the academy. Sadly didn’t manage to get it all."
"Wait. That was you? You're..." The hero's eyes widened. They shrank back, heart pounding.
"Head of the opposition," the villain said. "Yeah." They stood up, and offered the hero their hand. "So, stop crying, keep it together, and maybe if we're lucky I might just be able to get you out of this. If you want. But I can’t do that if they see you breaking."
The hero took the hand, after a moment's hesitation, and the villain hauled them to their feet. They faced each other.
"You can do that? You can really stop me being a hero?"
"Kid," they said, with something like a smile, "I’m a villain. Stopping heroes is what I'm all about."
