Vendetta (XIII)
AGGHHH IT'S LATE! DON'T LOOK AT ME. READ MMM.
Hero is suffering XD
Read Part one here // Masterpost // Continued from here
***
The next morning Hero woke before anyone came to her room, staring at the ceiling. Sleep didn’t come to her, it refused after yesterday’s many, many revelations. They lost the war. She lost to Supervillain. She lost everyone.
Medic and Teleport didn’t remember her.
Doctor and Superhero were dead, and Vigilante…
Vigilante.
Her stomach twisted at the memory of him. His smile. His tenderness. The way his thumb stroked the back of her knuckles so lovingly, as if she was something precious. She ran her fingers over the bandages he wrapped around her wrists, the corners of her lips threatening to tip up. It was real. He was real. He was alive and safe and – somehow, against all odds – happy. He even learned something more than field medicine in the year she was…
She swallowed as the warmth left her. She turned her head to the door. It was still dark outside, and she wanted nothing more than to get up and throw the window open and scream into the darkness, but she didn’t know if her legs would carry her. Her traitorous body betraying her when she needed it most.
Well… fuck that. Fuck being a helpless damsel in bed waiting for her enemies to come and help her out of bed. She was Superhero’s right hand. She was a general. She wasn’t going to sit and wait; she was a woman of action. Hero threw the blankets off her as her body warmed with spite, the heat simmering with rage. How dare they make her a prisoner in her own body. How dare they think they could somehow keep her docile if they let her body wither away from her.
Soup, she thought viciously as she pushed herself to a sitting, her heart pounding. Fucking soup, as if that’s all the nourishment her body needs. She turned and planted her feet on the floor and took a heavy breath, grabbing the edge of mattress in a death grip as she thought about Teleport dressed in all black, so still and wrong, and with a growl Hero forced herself to stand. She wobbled as she got onto her feet and her hand shot out to grab onto the bed post, but so far, she was doing well. Really well. Extremely well.
She could do this. There wasn’t a world where she failed. She went to move her right foot in front and the world swayed, her vision dipped in and out and she clutched the bedframe in a death grip. Her entire body trembled as she forced herself to stand. Her knees shook violently trying to keep her weight on her legs and a sudden, desperate sob escaped her throat. She clenched her teeth and let out a frustrated grunt, dredged up from her solidly planted feet to her shaking knees, up to her weak core and arms that trembled viciously.
She flinched as hot tears hit her cheek but allowed them to flow freely. She sucked in a deep breath and let the air steady her raging mind. Another. She closed her eyes, sucked air deeper, held it in her chest, let it fill her up and calm her. She opens her eyes.
The window is maybe three feet away.
Beside the bed is a bedside locker with a lamp and water. If she needed to, she could sit on it. Then it would only be two feet. Maybe? She forced her breathing even. She controlled her body. It was hers. Not anyone else’s to command. Hers.
She released the bedframe and took a step forward.
Her knee buckled under her, and she crashed to the floor with a cry, elbows hitting the wood dully as her hands smacked the ground, the impact ricocheting up her body.
“FUCK!” Her body twisted at the hips so she could glare at her legs. Her pathetic weak, legs. She bunched her fingers into fists as she turned, her chest rising and falling too rapidly as tears poured like waterfalls down her cheek. She punched her thigh. Her stupid useless thigh, then her calf, then her knee and screamed as she raged and punched. “FUCK YOU! FUCK! STUPID FUCKING –” she grabbed her too skinny calf and pulled it close in a grip that could bend metal, she wanted to snap the bone. And she could. It was no more than a twig now. Nothing but bone wrapped in a thin layer of meatless flesh. “WHY?! WHY! WHY!”
Spittle flew and snot streamed as she screamed from a bottomless well of grief and pain and rage. The words were so thick and heavy in her throat, dragging like sharp stones up her oesophagus and out her mouth as she went back to punching, the ground this time.
Warm arms wrapped around her from behind and she threw an elbow backwards that was caught before it made impact. “GET OFF OF ME! DON’T TOUCH ME!” She thundered, wet sobs punctuated by frantic breaths fuelled her as she threw her head back into a solid chest, then her fist.
Her wrists were grabbed in a soft grip and wrapped in an ‘X’ over her chest, then pyjamaed legs wrapped around hers and pulled her back into a warm chest.
“It’s okay, shh. You’re okay.”
And Hero’s rage devolved into heart-wrenching sobs at Vigilante’s voice. Her body still remembered him; her mind sought his comfort still. It didn’t care that he wasn’t her Vigilante anymore. She fell apart in his arms, and he rested his chin on top of her head as he held her, gently holding her, his thumbs rubbing short lines over her wrists.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.”
But none of it was okay. Nothing about this world was okay. The only vaguely normal thing was Vigilante holding her like this, like he did before the war after particularly gruesome nightmares. During the beginning of the war when she’d wake up and vomit from memories replaying in her mind. He’d rub her back and hold her hair, and tell her it was okay, even though it wasn’t.
Nothing would ever be okay again.
Supervillain won.
Supervillain… he… he- he murdered Superhero right in front of her and she didn’t- she couldn’t– she wasn’t–
Vigilante moved her in his arms, shifted her to the side so she could throw up bile and the dregs of chicken and vegetable soup. He rubbed her back and held her hair as he shushed her gently.
“There you go. You’re going to keep making yourself sick if you don’t breathe,” he whispered softly. Hero couldn’t. She couldn’t stop. She couldn’t breathe. He pulled her back, cradling her into his chest, putting one hand under her knees and lifted her like she was nothing.
She was nothing.
She was nobody.
She should have died.
Superhero should be here in her place, Doctor… anyone. Any of the other heroes deserved to be in her place, at least they could do something. They could fight back. They wouldn’t have gotten taken during the war; they wouldn’t have let their body be taken from them by force. They- they–
Vigilante pressed a cool glass against Hero’s lips. She blinked, recoiled, her breath hitching.
“It’s okay,” he shushed. “It’s just water.” She didn’t question him further. When he tipped the glass back, she drank greedily. He pulled it back, and said, “no, sip. You’ll make yourself sick,” and then pressed it against her lips again.
She obeyed and sipped at the water. It felt so cool in her throat torn up by her razor-like words, and the screaming. She closed her eyes and just let the water linger in her mouth for a moment before swallowing and closed her eyes in peace, tears falling slower now, dragging themselves down the hollow of her cheeks.
A hand cupped the back of her neck like she was a babe and ran a thumb soothingly back and forth. “That’s it. Just like that. That’s it.”
They sat like that until the glass was empty. By the time Vigilante pulled it away and placed it on the bedside locker, Hero’s breathing regulated itself and bone-deep exhaustion replaced her rage. She slumped against Vigilante, her useless legs draped over his thighs, head resting against his shoulder.
Empty eyes stared at her legs. Somewhere, deep down for now, the angry beast that detested them growled with gnashing teeth back and forth in its cage, waiting to be unleashed. To break them. To hurt them more. Useless, pathetic things. Useless.
Pathetic.
Thing.
That’s all she was now. A trophy for Supervillain to parade around and use for whatever he liked. He could dress her up in whatever he liked – she couldn’t stop him – and make her pretty, or delicate like a doll. Have the villains who remembered the war come and gawk at her like a forgotten species and reminisce about their enemies, or the battles they fought in. The battles some of them lost. Let her old enemies come, the ones she bested or beat, or put in prison, and let them laugh at her pathetic frail, skinny legs and arms that can’t even hold her up. Let alone her swords and oh… oh gods…
Warm arms wrapped around her again as she pressed a hand to her mouth and sobbed silently. “I’m sorry you’re hurting so much,” he whispered into her hair, hoisting her up so her arse rested on his thighs, and he hugged her closer, leaving only the space of thin pyjama shirts between them. She knew his body. She knew what lingered under his shirt. She knew the familiar beat of his heart. She knew how genuine his words were. She gripped him close with her free hand, fisting his shirt into a bunch and keeping him close to her as she turned into his shoulder, hiding her face as her shoulders wracked with desperate, silent sobs. It haunted the empty space in the room, filled it up, the inaudible, rattling breaths, and all of it looked on; the wooden floor where she fell, the window she couldn’t reach, the bedframe that shook beneath the weight of her pain, and all of it watched the pair of them as she fell apart and he kept her together.
They weren’t the only ones watching as Vigilante held Hero close, stroking her hair like she was something infinitely precious. Through the crack in the door, Supervillain stood watching the pair. He rushed when he heard the crash and the screams, ran from his room, bare feet slamming off wood, and just as he rounded the corner, he saw Vigilante open the door to her room and pause, stricken momentarily. Supervillain stopped and waited, watched as Vigilante squared his shoulders and took a breath, then softly approached Hero, seizing her wrists to stop her from hurting herself. He watched as she raged against him. As she melted against him. As she sobbed cries that pulled at Supervillain’s heart strings and made him want to comfort her.
She sounded like a child, a helpless, angry child that couldn’t voice her pain and could only rampage against it; like an ache filled her that was too much to endure and must be fought instead. He watched them – along with the walls and the quiet, undisturbed hallways, the bile discarded on the floor – as she shattered, and Vigilante contained the blast between his arms.
He watched when she almost settled, and Vigilante went to lay her down, but she grabbed his shirt and whispered something Supervillain couldn’t hear. He could see Vigilante hesitate, and then relent, and he pulled her into his arms again.
Supervillain waited until she slept against Vigilante’s chest. Waited until Vigilante turned them, so they lay together, fixing the blankets around them and held her close as they both drifted to sleep.
Supervillain worked his jaw, reluctant to go back to his room, hands curling into useless fists and releasing again. Eventually, just before the birds woke and started to chirp, he walked towards the door to her room and closed it over. Then, finally, he went back to bed.
***
When Hero woke again, she was exhausted, but content in bed, warm. She felt safe. Her head nestled against Vigilante’s chest. Bleary eyes fluttered open with an effort, and when they found his face, she blinked, trying to capture the image of him so peaceful. She drew her hand up to his chest and settled her palm over his heart. His heartbeat rose to meet her palm, reassuring, telling her he was still here; he was alive. Even while he slept, he was able to soothe her. If she closed her eyes now, she could pretend that this was normal. That nothing was different. That he knew who she was, who he was to her, but it would just be a dream, and she wouldn’t survive in Supervillain’s world by living in her fantasies. That’s what Supervillain was counting on. Giving her sweet, tender things to try and soften the fact that he erased their history.
The bitter tang of awareness lingered behind the sleep shrouded door in her mind, and she knew if she moved or committed to waking up it would engulf her. Instead, she gave into the softness and shut her eyes. She wouldn’t indulge in fantasies, but this cozy tranquillity was real. She allowed herself to sink into a content limbo state between waking and sleep.
Vigilante stirred a while after she woke; it could have been minutes or an hour, she didn’t care. He tightened his arms around her on waking, squeezing her gently against him reflexively. She almost smiled at the familiarity. A hand went to her hair and combed through it absently.
“You know, Hero,” Vigilante murmured, his voice deeper from sleep, “there are easier ways for me to end up in your bed.”
Hero’s heart ached at the smile that didn’t stretch her lips like it would have a year ago. She hugged closer into him and murmured, “makes sense. You seem pretty easy to me.”
He chuckled and tugged a strand of her hair gently in retaliation. Hero’s eyes flew open. Her hands made claws over his chest and her entire body tensed so hard she started shaking. Vigilante shifted under her, saying something but his voice was so far away, and suddenly it wasn’t Vigilante’s hand in her hair but Villain’s, pulling her head up to make her watch as Supervillain –
“It’s okay, Hero,” Superhero said. “Everything will be—”
The sword plunged under Superhero’s armour. Hero watched as blood gurgled up and over his lips, a small trickle at first. Then, a waterfall. Supervillain twisted the sword before yanking it out, scraping against bone and wet flesh. In the distance someone was screaming.
Fingers gripped her shoulder tightly and Vigilante was above her and Hero couldn’t breathe, and her mouth was open and she reached up and clawed at Vigilante, trying to tell him that Superhero… that Superhero was- she couldn’t breathe. They had to get out of here. They had to- where was Villain?!
Hero lurched up, sitting and shaking as her head snapped around the room. “Vi-Vil-Villain. Where is he? Where is he?” but she couldn’t hear Vigilante’s response over the blaring ringing in her ears, and she needed to throw up and why was she so hot? And where was Superhero? His body… she… he wasn’t dead. She had to… was he even buried? Did she bury him? Is he…
“HERO!” Vigilante cried as Hero pushed him away and got to her feet. Her knees buckled but she couldn’t hit the ground, she was floating. Where was the- she could taste the copper in her mouth, the smell of piss and shit and vomit and dirt and sweat, it wasn’t-
“HERO BREATHE!” but she was breathing, she was breathing. She was struggling against Villain’s grip on her as she tried to get to Superhero. Superhero smiled. He smiled and she was screaming and fighting and begging–
And then a pair off arctic eyes appeared before her and her breath seized in her throat. She froze. Her body trembled, her bones froze and she stared. He wasn’t – why wasn’t he covered in blood? The sword… she saw the – where was, it was her sword. Her eyes trailed down his arms, but a warm hand cupped her cheek and turned her back to an ice-coloured gaze.
He… was he… he’s the reason why she was so cold, she knew it, his eyes, they –
“Hero,” a gentle voice whispered from far away. Beneath the stench of blood that choked her, dirt clung to her body like glue, she hadn’t washed in days. She must smell awful. She missed Vigilante. Villain had… Villain put Vigilante somewhere and she couldn’t…
Supervillain’s lips moved, his eyes went behind her to Villain and she stared straight ahead at his chest. The voices were a steady rumbling now, a conversation, her ears couldn’t distinguish any it above the cries of victory and joy as Grieves plunged the sword down past Superhero’s armoured chest and through his heart.
Hero flinched and gasped, a desperate, pleading, “NO!” tore from her throat. “No, you promised,” Hero whimpered.
Hero fell back onto the hard ground. Her eyes snapped down. It wasn’t the wet muck of the battlefield, but… wood. She was… inside? But she could smell it, the dirt and the…
“Hero?” Vigilante asked, and Hero turned to face him. He was sitting where Supervillain was before, his eyes turned down, his mouth pinched with worry. “Can you hear me?”
“We… we were–” Hero said, confusion fogging her mind and butchering her train of thought and she felt hollow. Empty. She stared down at her legs. Dressed in the same pyjama bottoms she was wearing last night when she was hitting her legs for being so weak. Weak, Because they lost the war. They lost the war. Supervillain won. Vigilante didn’t remember them.
Hero couldn’t eat solid food. She couldn’t move on her own. Her legs didn’t work, her body refused to co-operate with her, and it was divine punishment for letting Superhero die. She let Superhero die.
Hero swallowed, staring blankly ahead. Supervillain was here. She saw him. The real him. She found him in the corner of the room, standing beside the door to the bathroom and the window, bathed in shadows like the monster he was. His blond hair fell over his head as he tilted his head when she caught his eyes, intrigued at her sudden clarity.
“Did you bury him?” A croaky voice asked. A voice lost in smoke and ash, crackling from the scorching memories hidden in her mind. She wanted to scream, she wanted to murder him, she wanted to hurt him the way he hurt her, but knew she knew could. Not like this. Not weak and defenceless. Without allies. Her body the greatest weapon to use against her.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Vigilante look over his shoulder at Supervillain, frowning as if he was stuck on a particularly confusing puzzle game. One he couldn’t hope to solve without knowing about the pieces he’s missing.
Supervillain didn’t reply immediately. He seemed to be contemplating the merits of answering her honestly, but Hero’s eyes didn’t move from his. Not even to blink.
“No,” he said eventually, and Hero nodded. She guessed that. It would be easier to burn the casualties from the battlefield. She… she would have liked to bury him, to have a grave or something she could visit, but Superhero was gone. She needed to accept that. There is nowhere he is now. Not in Supervillain’s world. Except the name that people curse now for the lingering effects of the war.
“Alright,” she replied, hollowly. It was her voice that croaked. Her throat that screamed at her for abusing it so much over the last twelve hours. She turned her head back to Vigilante. “Thank you for helping me last night,” she rasped and coughed into her elbow. Vigilante grabbed the jug off the table and refilled her water. Hero stared blankly ahead while he helped bring the glass to her lips and let her drink. Hero took the glass in shaking hands and nodded at him. “I’d like to do it, if that’s okay.”
Vigilante cocked his brows but said nothing. He released the glass into her two hands, and Hero clenched her teeth against the weight of it. It was heavy, but she could hold it. She could control it. She lifted it slowly to her lips, supporting her arms with her elbows tucked into her sides. When she brought it to her lips and tipped it back, she took a long, satisfying sip, and when she opened her eyes, she met cold, blue ones across the room with a silent promise.
I will get stronger, no matter how long it takes, I will get stronger, and when I do, I will make you watch as I make everything you’ve built turn to ash and scarring memories. Supervillain’s eyes cleared somehow, as if in understanding, as if he could hear the words that sparked the flame of her vendetta. You should have killed me too, Supervillain, or at least left Superhero alive. He had the type of mercy that’d make your death quick.
Supervillain pushed off the wall with a knowing smile, as if he found the thing he’s been searching for all his life. He inclined his head and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, and his smile pulled into a grin as if to say: I look forward to it.
“I see you’ve had a rough night,” he said, glancing at the festering pile of bile in the centre of the room. “I’ll get Medic to clean it up.”
“I’ll clean it.”
“Nonsense, Hero,” Supervillain said and waved her defiance away. “You’re far too important to be a mere cleaner.”
“Fuck you.”
Supervillain chuckled and glanced at Vigilante who was glued silently to Hero’s side. “Help her back to bed for me, would you Vigilante? She seems exhausted.”
Without waiting for a confirmation, he turned and walked out the door. Hero stared after him, vengeance fuelling her as she glared at the last place she’d seen him.
“Are you okay?” Vigilante asked after a long stretch of silence. Hero took another satisfying sip of water. She couldn’t lift a glass yesterday. She can today. She can’t walk today. She might next week. She can’t hurt Supervillain today. She will eventually.
“Yeah,” Hero replied, clearing her throat roughly. “I’ll be fine.” She turned to face him and smiled. He didn’t know her today, but he would remember. And if he couldn’t, she’d find him again. They could be each other’s lifeline, again. He was still Vigilante beneath it all. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he said earnestly and Hero almost smiled.
***
The Orphanage filled with only my favourite orphans (aka. the Tag-list, lmk if you wanna be added or removed)— @micechomper @aarika-merrill @silentpotat0 @dutifullykrispyland @gloriousqueen101 @ehobep @alynaevelyn @sunflower1000
