mmm…enjoy a VERY long study in hero whump 🙈
tw: blood, depictions of violence, near death experience (kinda)
The hero could feel their body deteriorate with every step they took down the ship’s hallway.
Their sidekick, who had the difficult job of rescuing the rebels taken prisoner by the supervillain, had been caught in an altercation with several henchmen. The hero had arrived just in time to make sure their sidekick escaped mostly unscathed, but they weren’t so lucky.
Several of their ribs felt cracked, if not completely fractured. Their right arm was definitely broken, limp and throbbing at their side. Blood pulsed from a concerningly deep laceration in their side.
Pain seized them so suddenly that they had to stop and lean against the wall for support, vision dipping sharply. “Jesus fucking Christ,” they muttered.
The sooner they got the fuck out, the better.
They stumbled through the door of what seemed to be the engine room, confirmed a second later by the glowing yellow reactor in the center of the room.
If you take out the reactor, you take out the whole ship. The leader’s words echoed through the hero’s like an omen as they reached into their bag and began attaching small bombs to the reactor’s glass casing.
They wiped their matted hair from their face. Why was it so hard to breathe? They forced themselves to inhale and exhale, even as they felt blood dribble down their leg, sweat slide between their shoulder blades.
They furrowed their brow. Only a few more bombs.
Click. Click. Their right arm throbbed hot.
The last bomb in their hand clattered to the floor.
A hand twisted in the hero’s hair, slamming them into the glass before they were yanked backwards onto their knees.
Their eyes met the dark, simmering glare of the supervillain.
They scrabbled for the gun at their holster, but the supervillain slammed a boot down on their hand, pinning it to the floor and busting the communication gadget on their wrist. The hero gritted their teeth. There was now no way to know if the bombs’ timer had gone off, or if anyone of their team had received its signal.
The supervillain reached down and slid the gun from the hero’s belt, cocking the safety back and pressing the barrel against their temple. The hero felt their heart speed up wildly, hammering against their aching ribs.
The supervillain crouched down next to them, hand tightening in their hair, making them wince. “Where’s your little friend?” The supervillain’s breath was sickeningly hot on the hero’s face.
Sidekick. They had to be talking about their sidekick. “Fuck you,” the hero panted, adrenaline thick in their veins.
The supervillain’s boot dug into their hand in warning, and they gasped out, feeling the delicate bones of their fingers groan under the weight. “I know they’re out there somewhere saving my precious little prisoners. Just tell me where they are, and I’ll let you go.”
Like hell I will. The hero gathered everything they had and spit in the supervillain’s face.
The supervillain raised a brow, eyes flashing dangerously, gleefully, as they slowly wiped the saliva from their face. “That’s how you wanna play it, huh?”
“Fuck. You,” the hero bit out.
The supervillain whipped them with the butt of the gun so violently that they slammed onto their back, head colliding with the metal floor and sending a burst of stars across their vision.
They groaned between clenched teeth, feeling blood trickle from a fresh cut on their temple.
The supervillain trained the firearm at their face, and the sight of the barrel made them sickly aware of the fact that they were probably going to die here.
God, the hero hoped—no, prayed—the sidekick was no longer aboard the ship, that they were not pulling off some last minute heroics like they always do, checking for stragglers or looking for the hero because they weren’t answering their gadget.
“You really think you can protect them?” The supervillain cocked their head, all malice and venom. “When I find them, I will make them scream so loud you’ll hear them in the afterlife.”
The hero inhaled, shaky and clipped. Maybe the bombs would detonate soon and this would all just be over. “Go to hell.”
The gun fired off, and the hero jolted before they felt the heat of the impact next to their head, smelled singed hair of where the laser burned through. Fear settled dully into their bones, like lead in their blood.
”I could make you scream for them,” the supervillain mused, a horrid grin splitting their lips. Their eyes traveled down the hero’s battered body and paused on their swollen, twisted right arm.
The hero felt their stomach lurch violently. Nausea seized them hard and fast. No. No, they couldn’t—
“Let’s see if they come running for you, shall we?” The supervillain chuckled mirthlessly, and the hero barely processed the boot lifting before it came down, hard onto their broken arm.
The scream that left the hero was beyond anything they’ve ever heard before, guttural and raw and desperate.
Pain. All-encompassing, nerve-shattering pain was all they could process. They felt their consciousness immediately dissociate from their body, barely hanging on, barely there. Their vision blurred, dizzying and hot and god they were just in so much pain—
Distantly, they heard someone call their name.
The supervillain’s hand was back in their hair, and they were yanked up to their knees again, the sudden, sharp movement nearly making them vomit. Panicked footsteps thundered outside of the room.
“Hero?! Where are you? Hero!!”
“Thank you for your cooperation,” the supervillain sneered in their ear before gun returned to the hero’s temple, right as the sidekick came into view.
“Oh my god,” they breathed, eyes flicking frantically between the hero to the supervillain. Their lip curled. “You fucker.”
The hero whimpered as the supervillain dug the gun into their skin uncomfortably, somehow cognizant of the way the sidekick’s expression twisted with the hellfire of emotions—ever the fierce kid the hero had known for so long.
The hero blinked rapidly, head pounding, and tried to convey everything they couldn’t say through their pained gaze.
Get out of here. Please. Please leave. Go.
But their sidekick was having none of that. They trained their gun at the supervillain, even as their hand shook. “Let them go.”
“You only have two options here, love,” the supervillain said mildly, their amusement clear. “You put down your weapon and surrender, and I’ll let them go.” They pulled on the hero’s hair, and they whined lowly, unable to stifle it. “Or, I kill the both of you.”
The sidekick swallowed hard. “Hero,” they choked, distraught, hoarse. “I—fuck, I don’t—,”
Somewhere in the back of the hero’s mind, they think they should have better prepared the sidekick for a situation like this. “Sidekick, go,”they rasped, each syllable a wheezing, dragging effort.
The sidekick locked eyes with them, and the hero’s heart crumbled at the resolve in their unwavering stare. They weren’t going to leave, not one chance. They’d do anything to guarantee the hero’s safety. Anything. And the hero knew that more than anyone.
Their cheeks felt wet. When did they start crying?
“I’m sorry, hero,” their sidekick said as they laid down their weapon, empty hands lifting in surrender. “I’m sorry.”
Above the hero, the supervillain laughed, loud and abrasive. “How sweet,” they mocked. “Self-sacrifices have always been my favorite show.” They shoved the hero to the ground and walked over to the sidekick, grabbing them by the collar of their shirt. “I’m going to have so much fun with you.”
“No,” the hero tried, but all that came out was a croak, the letters caught in their throat.
The last thing they saw was the supervillain knocking their sidekick out before they lost consciousness.
