“Super Heroes Anonymous”: A Tick Fic.
Summary: Overkill and Arthur Everest have a heart-to-heart about someone that is significant in both their lives...Dot.
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“And then I was just like—you know—caught,” said Mighty Sea-Man, “in their web, man- it was a big fish-net web of lies!”
Arthur Everest sat in the far back row, listening respectfully as Mighty Sea-Man shared his story. It was mostly about how Mighty Sea-Man kept getting ignored, and also mistaken as a sea-monster when he was, in his own words, considered “more man than beast”.
It wasn’t exactly an issue that Arthur could identify himself with. He wasn’t even sure if he really belonged there. This meeting was designed to be a self-help group created specifically for superheroes, known to the public as “SHA” or “SuperHeroes Anonymous”. Arthur figured he’d be welcome since he'd been accepted into the Flag Five (this acknowledged him as a “superhero”, even if he wasn’t a “category”). The Tick had been encouraging him to go ever since he’d been dealing with insomnia; unfortunately, he’d started having those nightmares again, and he was losing sleep more and more often. More often than not, the Tick would rise in the morning to find Arthur already sitting in the kitchen at 5 am, his eyes blank and staring.
The group was huge, with superheroes from several different counties all gathered in the same spot to share their woes—which was a relief, because Arthur could sit inconspicuously in the back—and likely go completely unnoticed. However, one other guest didn’t go unnoticed by Arthur—Overkill was also in the audience—the last person Arthur had ever expected to show up.
Arthur noticed him right away. He was, after all, the only superhero to show up there dressed in full-fledged black metallic vigilante garb, complete with a masked helmet which completely concealed his face from view.
When he was immediately told to remove the helmet or leave, Arthur figured Overkill was going to throw a fit and go—but, much to his surprise, Overkill acquiesced without a fight—he immediately took off his helmet, and promptly took a seat in the back row.
That was when he saw Arthur—and that was the first time that Arthur (or probably anyone) had ever seen a vigilante blush bright crimson—because vigilantes didn’t typically go to group therapy. Throughout the rest of the meeting they managed to act like they didn’t know each other (even though it was obvious from the first glance that they did).
Thankfully nobody signaled him out and Arthur was able to leave without speaking. Funnily enough he didn’t see Overkill anywhere—until an arm pulled him into a back alley without warning—and Arthur yelped with fear, until he realized it was—speak of the Devil—Overkill himself!
“Overkill!” he whispered, waving frantically as he was also trying to compose himself, “what are you doing here!?!”
“Say anything about this,” was Overkill’s answer hissed in his face, “to anyone—and you’re a dead man!”
“Okay, okay!” Trying not to panic, Arthur stood as still as possible, holding his hands up in submission. “Jesus! Wanna—wanna go get some coffee or—or something?”
“I don’t drink coffee.” Overkill snapped with a glare. He removed a flask from his backpack and took a swig. “Unless it’s Irish.”
“Ugh!” Arthur smacked his forehead with consternation. “C’mon….” He waved in the opposite direction, “Let’s get you sobered up.”
They sat together at a little off-the-grid place known as Ben’s Diner. Arthur nursed a decaf while Overkill poured several shots of whiskey into a drip coffee.
“Just for the record—this wasn’t my idea.” Overkill surprised Arthur by being the one to speak up first (however begrudgingly).
“Okay…” Arthur was suddenly having flashbacks to his makeshift “therapeutic” talks with Superian.
“Your sister insisted.” Overkill grunted the words bitterly into his coffee.
“She—” Arthur stared. “--she did?”
“I’m not the kind for ultimatums, Arthur.” Overkill was about to douse his cup with another shot of whisky when the waiter passed their booth table. He and Overkill had a staring contest of sorts; needless to say, Overkill won, and the rest of the whiskey was promptly emptied into the mug. “Not sure how this even happened but—your sister seems to have some weird kind of—hold---on my psyche.” A pause, then Overkill faced him warily, “Your sister...doesn’t play with Voodoo dolls….does she?”
“Um…” Arthur blinked, slightly startled by the question as he grappled for a response. “..Not that–not that I, er, know…of?” He shrugged. “She’s been kind of a—mystery—ever since she started hanging out with…you, actually,” Arthur added, hoping that Overkill might take the hint that he was, likely, the catalyst for any sudden dramatic change in his sister’s life. “I don’t think she’s into black magic,” he offered, “if that’s what you mean.” (He secretly had no idea if she was or wasn’t, and could only hope that this was true.)
“Well you might not be aware of this.” Overkill spoke to the mug as though he were self-conscious in his presence (which Arthur was a bit baffled by, but no less amused). “She’s a bit of a dominatrix, Arthur,” he confessed, “and….I like that in a woman….and I think she knows it, too,” Overkill added with an almost childlike giggle—and it was at that moment that Arthur realized Overkill was way past the alcoholic limit if he was sharing this information with him.
“Dammit, Overkill!—” Arthur groaned, squirming in his seat, “I don’t want to know all that!”
“Hey—” Overkill smirked at him, “---word on the street has it you’re a good therapist—”
“But I’m NOT a therapist!” Arthur hissed, furious at the notion, “And I’m definitely not YOUR therapist!” he added for good measure.
“Dot’s insisting I get some ‘therapy’---” Overkill gave a heavy eye roll at the word— “because apparently, if I don’t? According to her: ‘we’re done’.” Overkill snorted into his mug in disbelief. “Can you believe that Arthur? Your sister—giving ME these kinds of ultimatums—” Overkill balled up a napkin in his fist, crushing it tightly as though it were somebody’s skull. “She’s gone way too far with this one!” he concluded, “way too far.”
“You know—” Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, “I don’t think I’m really—qualified to—”
“Did you know,” Overkill cut him off abruptly, “that she’s even more domineering than Ms. Lint? Now—I’m not one to brag about such things, Arthur,” Overkill added as he lowered in his voice, “but that’s saying something!”
“Wait a sec—” Arthur had gone pale at the mention of the woman. “You—and Ms. Lint—were—?”
“Involved? Yes…and—A couple? That would be—no…” Overkill shrugged. “It’s complicated. We were kind of an on-off thing for awhile—”
“But OK let me get this straight—! So what you’re saying is,” Arthur demanded, “that Ms. LINT is my sister’s competition—?” He couldn’t finish the sentence without feeling slightly ill.
“Well, no—not exactly—” Overkill snorted into his mug with amusement. “I wouldn’t exactly say ‘competition’---” He avoided Arthur’s lasting gaze, “I would say in the bedroom—they’re more like they’re—equals,” Overkill added and then giggled again like a giddy schoolboy, and Arthur almost felt the need to gag.
“When were—” Arthur groaned into his hands. “---I can’t believe I’m asking this but—” He groaned again. “You and Lint—when—when did you—last—” Again, he couldn’t manage to finish the sentence.
“It’s—been awhile.” Overkill paused as he took a long swig of the now colder cup of coffee. “Hmm..” he muttered, “needs milk…”
“Overkill!” Arthur snapped. “Focus! When were you last—involved—with Ms. Lint?”
“Why do you care?” Overkill was looking at him with something akin to amazement.
“Because—” Arthur struggled to explain, “I want to make sure you’re not—using—my sister—as a rebound,” he finished frantically, then trailed off exhausted.
“We’re both using each other, Arthur.” Overkill was surprisingly forward. “That’s what humans do—they use each other—”
“Maybe you do,” Arthur snapped back, “but I don’t!” He glared at Overkill, barely able to suppress his emotions, “you better not take advantage of her,” he warned, “or—or I’ll—I’ll—I’ll—” He tried to picture himself taking revenge against Overkill.
“You’ll what?” Overkill scoffed at him as if reading his mind, looking even more amused, “use your mighty assemblage of weapons on me?”
“My suit’s my weapon,” Arthur glared, “and I can use it---” He leaned forward and added in a hushed tone, “---if I have to.”
“Hey man—” Overkill stared at him so long that it made Arthur keenly uncomfortable. “Was that a threat? Are—Are you threatening me right now—?” he asked with disbelief, as though he couldn’t fathom anyone doing such a thing (least of all someone like Arthur).
“Let’s just call it a warning.” Arthur didn’t remove his pointed gaze. “My sister is the most important person in my life, Overkill,” he added, “and if she gets hurt—” His voice faltered in spite of himself yet he kept going, “---I’m not going to just ignore it and pretend it didn’t happen.”
With the way that Overkill was looking at him, Arthur suddenly realized he needed a lot more caffeine for this conversation.
“I…think I better get an espresso….”
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