Read part one // masterpost // continued from here
{Unedited and very rough, but this one’s a kind of two parter, so maybe an update before Saturday and then another Saturday? It depends, but anyways~}
~*~*~*~*~*~
Tides untied Sawyer wordlessly, gathering his shallow breathing body in her arms and bringing him over to where Kit was still restrained, propping him up against the wall. Kit didn’t even know if Sawyer was conscious, but the heat from his body was nice, comforting and Kit hoped his could comfort Sawyer too.
His face was shredded with cuts. In multiple directions, some from cheek to cheek crossing his nose, others arcing down from his forehead over the bridge of his nose to the opposite side of his jaw. A bad one went straight over his left eye and down his cheek. The blood had coagulated into sticky gelatinous goo, patching the wounds with crimson glue. Barely any space on his face was free from caked blood, dried and crusting, the wounds sometimes leaked a clear pus when he moved slightly or moaned.
Tides whispered her apologies, tears still streaming down her cheeks, her breath hitching every now and then. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been stronger. I should have fought him harder. Sawyer, I’m s-so— I’m so sorry…”
Sawyer lifted a weak hand with a grunt and pressed it against Tides’s cheek, thumbing away the tears. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
Tides dissolved into sobs that wracked her body, hiccuping her shoulders up and down violently. He extended his arm and she lunged forward into a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. Sawyer grunted lightly, but tightened his arms around her and held her while she cried, running his hand through the strands of her hair. “It’s okay.”
Kit stared forward at the opposite wall. Supervillain would be coming down again. Supervillain and Jude. And who knows how many others? If they were going to make Jude use his powers on them to hurt each other, it would break them down quicker than anything else they could do to make them change their minds.
“I think we should give up,” Kit said, hollowly. Sawyer stiffened beside him. Tides sniffed.
“Kit…” she said.
“We can’t—” he began but cut himself off. “We can’t do this to each other. They’re going to come back down and they’re going to force one of us to torture another. There’s no…”
“Kit,” Sawyer said then hissed as one of his cuts opened in his face again. Tides shot up, lightly dabbing at the bleeding with the sleeve of her shirt. Sawyer grabbed her wrist. “Don’t, you’ll ruin your shirt.”
“I don’t care about a stupid shirt.”
Kit swallowed the lump in his throat. He shouldn’t have said anything, but he couldn’t just sit here and watch his friends get hurt and not be able to fight back. If only he had his powers he’d be able to—
Kit blinked, straightening suddenly. His head snapped to the side. “Why didn’t Supervillain lock you up again?”
Tides shrugged. “I don’t think he cares.”
“But… the cuffs,” Kit said, rattling his for emphasis. “They’re power dampeners so why would he leave you loose? Isn’t he worried you can break down the door, or?”
Sawyer shook his head with a groan. “No,” he said. “Supervillain told me that he— he compelled us to not use our powers so now I can’t access them. I guess he just assumes we’re not a threat without them.”
Kit’s eyes widened. “Oh my god,” he said with a breath. No, not a breath. A sudden, startled laughter. Borderline hysterical but it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. “Oh my God!” He screamed, his laughter turning into whoops and hollering as he drummed his feet on the floor as if his team was just winning in a football match.
“Kit?” Tides asked, concern lacing her voice.
“I think he’s lost it,” Sawyer said.
Maybe he was losing it. Maybe. But it didn’t matter. He felt tears climb his face, bubbling over in disbelief down his cheeks. “I need to get out of these cuffs,” he chuckled, trying to fight the fucking giggles trying to spring free from his chest.
“Kit—”
“No, no. You don’t under—” he cut himself off with another bout of sharp laughter that caused his chest to tighten and his abs to tense. It was starting to hurt but he couldn’t stop it, and he didn’t want to stop it really. Even though it didn’t feel appropriate with Tides’s guilt pouring over Sawyer and Sawyer’s face all bloody and bleeding, it felt light. He didn’t remember the last time he laughed as hard. Was it before Ambrose? Was it ever?
God, there was a time before he knew Ambrose. It didn’t seem like it. Though, he supposed Ambrose was always there, in the background. Mentor’s unknown and forgotten son that should’ve got the love that Kit did from him.
Kit’s laughter died down to a few stray laughs before settling into a smile, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. God, if he never knew Ambrose he wouldn’t be able to pull this trump card on Supervillain and Jude and fucking save the day; get Tides and Sawyer out of here to safety, and then come back to finish the villains off.
Kit’s smile fell off his face. No. That wasn’t right. Kit didn’t kill people. It’s why he suffered Ambrose so long, because he couldn’t imagine a world where he was that cold and ruthless. The world was dark enough without him adding to the misery.
Yeah… but those two deserve it, look at what they did to Sawyer? Look at what they made Tides do to her boyfriend, the voice hissed, sounding like static in his mind. Kit curled his hands into fists, uncomfortable at the intrusive thoughts leaking through his mind, but that’s all they were. The voice agreed with him merrily: Intrusive? Turned into external action, what’s the difference?
“Kit?” Sawyer asked, a sharp breath of pain huffed out.
Kit swallowed the lump in his throat and forced his thoughts into the back of his mind. He turned to face Sawyer and Tides. “I need to get out of these cuffs,” he said. “And I need you two to help me.”
Tides blinked, a frown pulled across her face. “Kit, we don’t have our powers.”
“I know,” he said. “I know. Just trust me. If they come back and they let us choose who gets tortured, tell them to do me, make it convincing, both of you. Say that you’re madly in love and that Sawyer couldn’t endure another round.”
Sawyer pushed off the wall, his brows drawn incredulously over his face. “And if they uncuff you and get you to torture Tides? You expect me to just watch that?!”
“It won’t come to that.”
“Bullshit, Mallory. How the fuck would you overpower them? Huh?”
“Sawyer…”
“No,” he said, cutting his hand through the air as if trying to chop the rest of conversation off. “No. We are not doing that, Kit. I am—” Sawyer’s eyes raised to Kit’s blue ones. “We will find another way.”
Kit jolted his hands forward in the cuffs, slamming them against the metal and throwing his head forward. He could feel the strain in his shoulders, tensing every muscle so he could feel them be so fucking powerless, then mumbled out a fine.
Another way?
They didn’t have time for another way, but sure. Another way.
They chatted mindlessly for who knows how long about who they thought Supervillain was how they knew him. Tides suggested one of the heroes that were beaten out by Superhero to get Mentor’s position.
“Yeah, but then again,” Sawyer said, “no one really wanted Mentor’s position after Omen.”
Kit swallowed at the mention of Omen, and Mentor. He shouldn’t have split up with Ambrose. He should have stayed with him and they could have found Supervillain together and none of this would have happened.
The conversation drifted to where they thought they were.
“Probably still downtown,” Kit said, but it was Tides that rebutted him, and said: “but with Omen’s power, we could be anywhere and he told us to forget.”
They drifted then, half awake, half catatonic. None of them really wanted to fall asleep in the arms of the enemy, and Kit had only just slept. Tides dozed off on Sawyer’s lap, curled like a child against his chest, Sawyer’s arms wrapped tight around her, resting his chin on her head.
Kit thought he must’ve been asleep too, so it was a shock when he said: “is it bad?”
“Huh?” Kit asked, glancing at Sawyer.
Sawyer’s face was neutral, but his eyes burned with something Kit had never seen in them before. A mix between fury and humiliation, and disgust.
“My face,” he repeated in the same tender voice. “Is it— do I look… am I horrifically deformed now?”
Kit blinked. “No more than usual,” he said reflexively, and cringed at the scathing glare Sawyer shot his way. “Sorry. Sorry, it was by accident, I swear.”
“You’re such a dick, Mallory.” Sawyer said without any real bite to it. A silence blanketed them after, Kit looking for the words to reassure Sawyer that he was still as annoyingly good-looking as he always was, when Sawyer continued. “I just… do you think she’ll still—” his voice cracked.
“Yes,” Kit said immediately. “Of course she’ll still love you, Sawyer. She’ll probably love you more now that you have badass scars. You could be the next Bond.”
Sawyer chuckled, tears glistening the bottom of his eyelids. “Maybe Bond villain.”
“Nah, you’re too good-looking for that,” Kit said with a sigh. “It looked bad earlier, but now that the blood has dried on your face it looks okay. Maybe if we get out of here in time a healer can fix it, or at least reduce the scars. But you still look good to me.”
“Yeah,” Sawyer said wistfully. “Maybe.”
A beat.
Then, “so you think I’m good looking?”
Kit groaned, staring straight ahead at the wall again. “If you tell anyone I said that they won’t believe you.”
“Yeah, but you’ll know it, and I’ll know it, and it will be torture enough.” Kit laughed quietly. “Thanks, Kit.”
Kit let it hang in the air, seeing Sawyer lean his head on Tides’ again and cuddle her closer. Kit was awake even as Sawyer dozed off too, his breathing light and even beside him. He sighed, wishing he could sleep too, or break out of his cuffs, but his mind couldn’t rest.
Where was Superhero? The explosion, was he dead? How many heroes were injured from Supervillain’s attack? Where was Ambrose?! He always seemed to show up at the worst times that Kit half-expected him to rush in, kill Supervillain and save the day. But he was still cuffed in a basement god knows where. He thought of Ambrose then, remembered that one time he stayed in Mentor’s house, how he could reach Kit’s mind from across the city. He was about to say his name when he stopped, paused. If Supervillain had Omen’s ability he could probably read Kit’s mind so Kit scrubbed all thought of Ambrose from it and replaced it with Omen.
Think of Omen only from now on.
Omen, wherever you are, find me, please. Supervillain took me, please.
It was a prayer of sorts, Kit realised after, but he was desperate. He couldn’t do anything else, so he just stared at the wall across from him and waited, annoyingly conscious.
*~*~*~*~*
Omen, wherever you are, find me. Please. Supervillain—
“Kit?” Ambrose murmured, groaning as he opened his eyes, assaulted by the light and shutting them tightly again. Took me please. I’m with Tides and Crow in a basement somewhere. Supervillain has your ability.
Ambrose groaned agin, forcing himself up by his hands until he was on his hands and knees. His head pounded and Kit’s fucking thunder-like thoughts were rattling his skull. He turned with an effort and sat on his arse, dipping his head and placing a palm against his temple.
He’s not alone, there’s a guy called Jude too, who owes you one apparently. They’re trying to stop us being heroes but the city was attacked and I don’t know if Supervillain is alive or—
OKAY! Alright, Ambrose boomed back and let out a grunt of pain at the force of his power.
Kit’s eyes widened at the concrete. He could hear him? He could… he could hear him!! He could hear him!!!
Kit, Jude’s a monster, he has the same power as me.
Kit shot back a sad: I know.
Ambrose pulled his hand away glancing at it to see a sheen of oil like blood in clumps of coagulated balls on his palm. Fuck, that bastard hits hard.
Ambrose pushed himself to his feet, the world tilting as he did and he stumbled sideways into a tower of boxes. Fuck. The world spun up and down and back and forwards and Ambrose wanted to throw up. He didn’t usually get like that, but then he remembered how much Jude made him drink last night and he paused.
Kit?
Yeah?
When did they take you?
Last night I think, why? Is it day time yet? Ambrose cursed, looking out the windows of the old storeroom, the light stinging his eyes. Yeah. It was daytime which meant Ambrose was out cold all night.
Shit. Ambrose struggled a little to get to his feet again, slower this time half climbing to them and when he did he grabbed the wall and righted himself until the world stabilised itself so he could risk a step forward. Then another, and another.
Omen? The voice threw him and he nearly lost his footing again, but he caught himself in time.
I need you to shut up, Kit, I’ll talk to you when I get myself together.
Why did something happen?! Kit asked, his voice raising in pitch with worry. Ambrose stopped walking. He was beside the door now, hand on the cool, metal handle, the taste of iron in his mouth. He probably had a concussion, maybe that’s why Kit sounded so concerned. Ambrose opened the door and stepped out into the street. He was still in Old Town, on Fagan’s lot. He would go back to Max’s and apologise if he was still there. Maybe try and recruit him into teaming up with him to save Kit and the other heroes.
Ambrose scoffed at the ridiculousness of it. He was spending too much time with Kit, he was starting to think of saving people instead of himself. That fucking kid.
I’m fine. I had a nasty run in with Jude, watch out for the girl with shadows. She strikes from them and can shadow walk— like phase through them into solid objects. I’ll talk when I have more information.
Omen… Please, when you find out if Superhero’s alive, a pause, hesitant, will you tell me?
Ambrose walked towards Dead Man’s Fingers, his body finally obeying his commands again. He needed a hangover cure immediately. Sure. Kit, sure. He pressed his hand against the door and stopped himself, considering if he should try and reassure the hero or not. He really shouldn’t. He was a villain. Kit was a hero, this was a liability of his job. Just hang on, okay?
Kit breathed out a sigh of relief. Okay.
Ambrose nodded stiffly, even though he knew Kit couldn’t see him and pushed on the front door to the Dead Man’s Fingers pub. It was locked, so Ambrose walked to the windows and peered inside. There was a light on in the back so he went to the side entrance where the delivery guys came through and found it open.
The bar was quiet, static and eerie. Then there was shouting and Ambrose quickened his pace, not running because his head wasn’t compliant enough to do that yet. One of the voices he recognised as Max’s but he didn’t know the other. He walked through the hall to up the little staircase to the main bar and pushed the saloon door open.
Max was behind the bar, a spreadsheet of inventory in front of him and standing on the other side of the bar was— “Oskar,” Nathan grinned, exposing his pointed canines. “So good to see you again, mate.”
Ambrose didn’t care about the hangover in that moment, his brain and body united in one goal to knock the bastard out. “Oskar!” Max said in warning, hopping the bar and standing in front of his friend. Ambrose didn’t even look at him. “Stop, he’s not worth it.”
Ambrose pushed forward, ignoring him when Max put a hand on his chest and shoved him back. This time when Ambrose looked at him, Max was pointing his index finger at him like a scolding mother.
“You are not starting a fight twice in my pub in the span of 24 hours, you dick! Just calm down,” Max yelled, running a frustrated hand through his black hair.
Nathan leaned his elbows on the bar, reaching over it to grab a bottle of whatever he could reach while Max was turned around. “Put that back,” Ambrose spat. Nathan waved him away.
“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, Oskar, what’s a drink between friends?” He asked with a shit eating grin. It had been years since he saw Nathan, years since he buried that chapter of his life, and now here he was, in Max’s bar. The fucking nerve of him. Max walked back around the bar, smacking Nathan’s hand away.
Nathan retracted it, his mouth forming an o shape as he hissed and shook the pain away theatrically. Everything a show. “Why’re you even here?” Ambrose asked.
Max answered, though not out loud. Ambrose felt the guilt rise in him, consuming him, and Ambrose turned to face Max who was grabbing the edges of the counter with a white knuckled grip.
“You still talk to him?”
Max glared. “Get out of my head, Oskar.”
“It’s kinda hard to ignore when your whole body lights up with guilt!” Ambrose yelled, groaning as the pounding in his head throbbed and ignited, setting it on fire. He shot his hand out to lean on the wall beside him, and glanced at Max. “Can I steal a few eggs?”
Max rolled his eyes but didn’t say yes or no. So Ambrose disappeared into the kitchen while the other two continued to speak. He could hear them through the hole in the wall where the trays of pub food could be passed through, but he didn’t have to look at Nathan to know he was still grinning.
Dick.
“Still on the raw eggs and orange juice cure, Oskar?” Ambrose ignored him as he walked to the fridge and grabbed the eggs and orange juice.
“Stop trying to rile him up,” Max said.
“I’m not trying to do anything,” Nathan said, feigning innocence without dropping his grin. “Besides, he already knows we’re still in contact, no point hiding it anymore, Henders.”
Ambrose rolled his eyes, grabbing a class and cracking the shell of the egg against it. He lifted it over his mouth, tilted his head back and cracked it properly into his mouth. He swallowed it in a gulp and exhaled a long: “ahh,” as the slimy liquid slid down his throat like a slug. He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, then opened the orange juice and downed another two gulps. Then he rinsed and repeated, another crack, another egg, he screwed his face up, grimacing as he dunked the shells into the glass and drank more of the orange juice.
Better.
When he opened his mouth he felt better.
He put everything back and then walked back out to the bar. “You better not have drank straight from the carton,” Max said.
Nathan grinned and said: “you know he did,” at the same time that Ambrose nodded and said: “I did, yeah.”
“Fucking animal.” Max fumed, enunciating the words. Ambrose took a seat at the side of the bar, while Nathan stood in front and Max behind closed his inventory book as he sensed the conversation turning more disturbing than the argument they were having before.
“So, Oskar, starting fights, drinking to a hangover, aren’t you getting a little old for that kind of thing.”
“You would know, you’re ancient.” Ambrose replied deadpan, schooling his features until they were impassive. “Why are you here, idiot? I’m giving you one more chance.”
“So scary,” Nathan cooed, raising his hands as if he were defending himself and walking around to where Ambrose was sitting. He slung a lazy arm over his shoulder, pinching his cheek. “Come on, Oskar, there was a time where you worshipped me.”
“Yeah,” Ambrose said, elbowing Nathan in the chest. Nathan fell back with an oomph dropping his arm from Ambrose’s shoulder. “That was before I got some common sense.”
Max ran a hand down his face and sighed. “One of you piss off. It’s too early to deal with you.”
“I’ll go,” Nathan said, rubbing his chest. “Because I’m a nice friend who actually cares about you, Max.”
Max and Ambrose shared a look, but then Max dragged his eyes to Nathan. He nodded heavy, turned to grab the open tabs book and put it back on the counter under the light. “Sure. What’s your friend’s name again?”
Nathan walked around to the front pulling out his wallet, though his eyes never left Ambrose’s face. His grin turned to a smirk. “Jude,” he said handing the card over the bar. Both Max and Ambrose stiffened.
Max raised his head, steam rising from his shoulders. “Come again?”
“Jude,” Nathan repeated. It wasn’t Ambrose that went for him this time, it was Max who grabbed Nathan’s forearm in his hands and yanked him over the bar, throwing him to the ground. Before he could recover, Max had his forearm on Nathan’s throat, practically snarling at him.
“Why the— how the fuck do you know Jude?!” Max demanded, nostrils flaring but Nathan’s smirk didn’t leave his stupid face. Even as it went red from Max leaning on his windpipe.
“You know he started the fight last night and brought Superhero sniffing around here you dick, and then you call me your friend?!” Max hissed, his body temperature rising as his skin turned radioactively red, as if he was being looked at through a heat monitor. Which was not a good idea if he wanted to keep his bar.
“Max, calm down,” Ambrose said, lifting the hatch to go behind the bar. “You’re right beside very flammable substances, and your fire won’t even affect him!”
Ambrose’s head swam as he stepped forward, the wood and floor all blending into a swirl of black and brown before he righted himself again. Nathan wasn’t powered, but he did have the ability to negate other people’s abilities. Not through touch or anything, he just couldn’t be affected by magic, but a bullet? A knife? A punch?
“Talk!” Max demanded.
“Max, come on. It’s me we’re talking about.”
Max punched him in the face. “Why the fuck do you think I’m pinning you down?”
Nathan tilted his head down to meet Ambrose’s wide black eyes. “Oskar, darling, tell Max to get off of me.”
Ambrose’s eyes narrowed, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m quite enjoying the show,” Ambrose told him, letting his anger show. Max punched him in the face again, and Osk
Nathan let his head rest against the floor again. His shoulders twitched in a half shrug. “Alright. I guess I’ll just tell Jude to hurt Kit next.”
Ambrose’s blood ran cold. “What?”
Max went to punch him again, but Ambrose’s hand shot out: “Max, don’t move!” Max froze above Nathan, his fist still drawn back.
“Oskar! What the fuck!” Max seethed, his arm vibrating with the effort of trying to disobey his command, but Ambrose wasn’t really listening. His heart was pounding in his chest and his headache was exacerbated again by using his powers in such a short amount of time. While hungover, and Max was strong.
Nathan’s smirk didn’t leave his face, looking at Ambrose through his half lidded eyes. “Get him off me and I’ll take you to Kit.”
“Who the fuck is Kit?” Max demanded, his arm trembling where he held it aloft. “What’s going on here?”
“Aw, Oskar…” Nathan said, shaking his head and tsking. “Naughty, naughty. Don’t tell me you’ve never told him? I thought you and Max were best friends.”
Ambrose’s eyes burned like black coals, glaring at the monster hidden behind a human face and body. He clenched his jaw. “Max, get off of Nathan.”
Max stood, then turned and punched Ambrose in the face. Ambrose stumbled back his arms flailing and would’ve fallen if it wasn’t for his elbows catching on the counter and keeping him up.
A hand fisted his shirt and yanked him forward, the world rushing in his peripheral vision. “Don’t you ever fucking do that again,” Max hissed, plumes of smoke rushing out his mouth and nose. Nathan got to his feet behind Max, wiping invisible dirt off of him, smirk still on his face.
Max turned to face Nathan again. “What are you talking about? Not telling me what?”
“Nathan,” Ambrose said, his voice wobbling. Nathan’s smiling eyes met Ambrose’s lost black gaze across the bar, slowly shaking his head at him. Max pivoted again, pointing a finger at Ambrose.
“I swear to God, Ambrose, if you open your mouth one more time I will explode the whole fucking bar and you with it,” Max said enraged, turning to Nathan. “Tell me!”
“Kit is Oskar’s pet hero.” Ambrose swallowed the lump in his throat, tightening his hands into fists as he straightened. He watched Max’s back knot tight at the words. “Who was Mentor’s prodigy back when he was the Superhero in the city.”
“You’re friends with a hero?” Max asked his voice unnaturally low and quiet. Ambrose’s heart stuttered in his chest. His black eyes went to Nathan’s, pleading for him to shut up. If Ambrose tried to wipe Max’s memory he wouldn’t be able to do the same to Nathan, and then Nathan would tell Max all over again. Just to torture him.
“How long?”
Ambrose almost didn’t hear the question. “Max, it’s not like that.”
“How fucking long have you been friends with a hero?!” Max demanded, whirling. “Was it before or after you came to me for help about Supervillain? Huh? When you know— you fucking know—”
“Supervillain?” Nathan asked, his brows raising.
“Shut the fuck up, Nathan,” Max growled. Nathan winked at Ambrose, bending to scoop up his wallet from the ground and his card, and walked back around the bar. Safe from Max’s rage and kept walking until he was in Max’s sight line, behind Ambrose. Ensuring that Ambrose was sandwiched between the two of them with nowhere to flee if things got hairy.
How had Ambrose even let it get this far? Nathan was always a wild fucking card, it enamoured him with Nathan at first. The only person, it seemed like, in the city that Ambrose couldn’t boss around or read the thoughts of. With Nathan he felt like a real person, how real people feel when they’re born without telepathy, and it was dizzying.
Now, all Ambrose wanted to do was kick the fucker’s teeth it and leave him dead in a ditch somewhere. He knew too much, he always, somehow, knew too much. Did Jude tell him about Kit? Or did Nathan tell Jude, and always keep tabs on Ambrose after they fell out? It didn’t make sense.
“Heroes took everything from me, Oskar, so why?” Max asked. All the pain and grief of losing his family to heroes, all the long nights that Ambrose had to stay up to ensure that Max’s nightmares didn’t set his bed on fire from panic attacks. Max told Ambrose he found out his Father died on television when he was eleven, and it was Mentor who broke the news.
A good hero, Mentor said, and an even better friend.
Max told Ambrose how much he hated heroes after that. How he hated Mentor for filling super-people’s minds with all these ideas that they needed to risk their lives to protect others innocent people from bad ones. That it was their moral duty, because they were chosen to be born with gifts, they had to use them.
“Fucking answer me!” Max howled, tears springing to his eyes. “You owe me that much!”
“Max, I— Max, look, it’s not like that. It wasn’t, we aren’t friends, it’s more like business acquaintances.”
“What are you even talking about? Did your little hero pal get into any legal trouble, Oskar?”
Nathan leaned on the bar, putting his elbows on it and propping his chin up with his hand. His smirking eyes drinking in the chaos he caused.
“Max, please, can we talk about this in the kitchen, please? Where there are fire extinguishers?”
“Are you seriously trying to school me on how to use my powers? I own this fucking bar! I can blow it to kingdom come if I want to.”
Nathan chuckled behind Ambrose. “If he’s angry about this, Osk, wait til he hears about Mentor.”
Max shot his hand out, a tongue of flame shooting from his wrist and catching Nathan’s jacket. Nathan fell back a step, eyes wide as he slapped the small ember to extinguish it. He shook it out and the flame died, but the flames burning like hell’s fury in Max’s eyes didn’t.
“I told you to shut the fuck up, Nathan. Get out. Now. Before I fucking incinerate everything you’re wearing.”
Nathan scoffed. “Fine. I’ll be outside when you’re done here, Ambrose.”
Ambrose stiffened at the words, the two of them following Nathan out the door until he disappeared. Black eyes turned back to Max who was pulling at the strands of his hair at the base of his neck, turned away from Ambrose. His back muscles prominent from how hard he was tensing. Ambrose watched his ribs rise and fall and hated the fact that he caused that.
Well, not him, Nathan, but this never would have happened if Ambrose had just told him about his life. About his family. About his dad.
“Max,” he began, straightening. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I haven’t seen you since I met Kit, but Mentor—” Max straightened, his hands forming fists at his sides. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I wanted to but—”
“Tell me, what?” Max demanded, his voice a mixture of rage inflected with impatient tiredness.
Ambrose breathed out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. He needed a shower. “You know all that bullshit with my dad, right?”
Max walked forward, leaning his hands against the counter behind the bar. “Yeah.”
“Mentor is my father.”
Max’s eyes found Ambrose’s black ones, studying his shame flushed face that he never saw on his friend before. He looked conflicted and upset at the revelation, like he wished he was born to anyone else.
“I just know how much you hated him, and how could I tell you when I found out what happened to your parents, and I—”
Max surprised him by turning his body while Ambrose babbled and placing a hand on his shoulder. His lips twitched up at one side into a mockery of a smile, but the effort floored Ambrose and he cut himself off.
“Why wouldn’t you give me another reason to hate the bastard, you dick?” Max asked, tilting his head to the side.
“I didn’t—” Ambrose began but cut himself off. Well, if he was being honest, why not go all the way? “I didn’t want you to hate me too.”
Max didn’t answer. His smile turned up a little as he scoffed and then he pulled Ambrose into a hug. Ambrose froze, not knowing what to do but feeling an urge to cry.
“What’re ya, a dead fish? Hug me!”
Ambrose obeyed, wrapping his arms around Max’s shoulders and letting a breath out through his nose. A breath of relief and shame and all the guilt he carried around keeping this from Max. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, you can’t control who your dad is, besides,” Max said leaning back with a grin. “I don’t think I could ever hate you, Oskar. Don’t let Nathan get in your head again. And, I’m sorry for not telling you about him too.”
Ambrose nodded. “It’s fine,” he echoed, running a hand down his face. He wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep, he felt like he had been up for hours and being knocked unconscious didn’t exactly constitute proper rest. But he had the funny feeling Nathan had other plans for him when he stepped outside. No doubt delighted at the fact that he could lord Kit’s life over him.
Fuck, he should have played it cooler when he mentioned Kit. He could have if he wasn’t hungover and tired and possibly concussed.
Ambrose took a breath and glanced at the door. He looked back at Max, “are we good?”
“Yeah,” Max said with a smile. “We’re good. Go save your hero, or whatever you do these days.”
Ambrose shook his head lightly with a smile and walked through the door, down the steps out towards the side entrance. Through the open door he could see Nathan leaning against the opposite wall, one foot against it, a cigarette dangling from his long fingers and a smirk on his lips when he saw Ambrose follow him out.
“You came.”
“Don’t get a big head,” Ambrose told him, sliding his hand into his jacket pockets. “Max wouldn’t open the front door.”
“Mmm, don’t want to piss him off,” Nathan said, cocking a brow and tilting his head to the side, his eyes flashing with cruel interest. “But because you’re not ashes right now, I assume you didn’t tell him about Mentor. Did you wipe his mind?”
Ambrose stared into Nathan’s silver eyes, wishing he could get inside his brain and crush it in the palm of his hand. His silver eyes swirled like liquid mercury, entrancing and unsettling, and it’s why people always assumed he was powered somehow. He was, but not in the way everyone else was. His ability was defence not offence.
He should lie, and he did. “Yeah, no thanks to you,” Ambrose spat. “Why the fuck would you tell him that? After everything that happened to him? I thought he was your friend!”
Nathan grinned, bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag of it, locking his gaze onto Ambrose’s black eyes as the butt burned red and excess ashes floated lightly to the ground.
“He is. I just did it to fuck with you.”
“What the fuck is your problem?! How do you know, Jude?” Do you know Supervillain?! Ambrose didn’t say because he knew he wouldn’t like the answer. Why are you back? Where the fuck did you crawl out of?
A million questions ran through his head, his heart throbbing in his chest as the memories of Nathan flooded back to him. He fought the flush of anger and shame that rose in him as he stared into his rolling silver eyes.
“Let’s chat while we walk, Oskar, have a nice little catch up.” Nathan said, plumes of smoke exhaling down his nostrils and over his lips. He pushed off the wall and started walking down the little alley. Ambrose didn’t move.
“Are we going to Kit?”
Nathan didn’t stop walking. “Eventually,” he said, not bothering to even turn around, and why would he have to? He knew Ambrose would follow. Ambrose sighed, mentally kicking himself and followed Nathan down the alley and back into the winding streets of Fagan’s lot.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Continued here
Author's Note - Can I just take this moment to say that the Oskit discussion all week has had me laughing my heart out, and I have loved every second of it. As someone said, our brains rotted while considering Ambrose's sex life which, I'll be honest, I didn't consider before XD So to everyone who ships and everyone who doesn't, thank you for the giggles this week, I was thoroughly entertained <3 I hope you all have a great week!
Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie e @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @tippytappytyping g @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios s @whatwhump @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter
Hello lovely whump community! I apologize for how long this took me; I’m in school so it can be hard to find time to write sometimes. :)
Anywho, thank you for all of the encouragement for this story! I’m excited to announce this will be an ongoing series! I’m not sure for how long, but what I anticipated as being only a few posts I think has potential to be a larger arc. I’m really excited to dive into these character’s relationship dynamics and plan to use all of my favorite whump tropes! I’ve got some pretty evil fun ideas in the works. ;) My goal is to update this story bi-weekly.
This is by no means my best work because I’m just doing this for fun. I hope you don’t mind and still walk away with whumperflies!
**For list of character names/roles as well as Parts 1-3, see the previous post here**
TW: whipping, torture, beating, self-harm reference, suicidal thoughts (of the passive ideation variety), severe self-esteem issues; bad caretaker
“I. Won’t. Break.”
Despite their diminutive stature, Charlie towered over Alex as they writhed against restraints on the table of Eric Goodgrave's torture chamber interrogation room.
Charlie stared down at their victim grimly. “You will. You have to,” they responded matter-of-factly.
Both of them were sweating beneath the bright, hot lights. They were going on hour three of their little dance, now. Charlie still held the whip but it now dangled lifelessly beside them. They simply stared down their victim. Cool. Calm. Collected.
Alex–lying on their stomach–strained their neck to glare back at them, practically seething with rage. The anger protected them; as long as they held on to the fury deep within, it helped distract them from the excruciating burning all across their bare back. Yes, inside that room and beyond, anger protected them from the brutal realities of life as a hero.
Charlie began the interrogation in a suit with a buttoned-up white dress shirt. By now, though, they had abandoned the blazer and rolled up their sleeves. It struck Alex as a strange juxtaposition. Here they were, being torn apart by this…this psychopath, as if they had just arrived home from their 9 to 5 to find the dog had peed in the house and were slightly irritated.
“Tell me where the team is,” Charlie murmured, slowly raising the whip up off the ground in a warning.
Alex wanted the suffering to stop more than anything; they’d already passed out–twice–and hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in at least two days. But not more than they wanted to keep their teammates safe. No, they cared about them too much. They would die for them, there was no doubt in their mind. Alex scowled; unfortunately, although they wished to spit right in Charlie’s stupid face as they had at the start of the session, their parched mouth could no longer produce any saliva. I think I might die here, they thought to themselves…
That’s when they saw it. How hadn’t they seen it before?!
Charlie’s dress shirt had shifted just enough to reveal a tattoo on their collarbone—a tattoo of a sparrow…the symbol of the hero's resistance. Identical to the tattoo they had as well!
A roguish smile crossed Alex’s battered face.
“So…what’s it like to be a traitor?” Charlie’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your defection from the Hero’s League, silly!” Charlie’s face flashed with surprise momentarily before they returned to their stoic expression.
“I think the blood loss is getting to you.”
“Come on! Spill the tea!” cried Alex. Charlie tightened their grip on the whip and took a menacing step forward.
“Ughhh–FINE, Mopey-Pants,” they said rolling their eyes. “Lucky for you I’m a good guesser. Hmmm….let’s see. You…stole documents with sensitive information?”
Charlie sighed. “Stop this. Just spit it out already. There’s no other way you’re getting out of this.”
“Ok, not that one, then. Ummmm…failed a dangerous mission that resulted in the deaths of thousands? Yikes, that’s definitely a big no-no! How about…unencrypted the hero’s security system? Staged a coup?”
Charlie was starting to get red in the face. Of course, this only provoked Alex to push further.
“What about damaging top-secret technology?”
“Alex–”
“Oooh oooh, I know! You shared your secret identity? Took an extra tray of tater-tots in the cafeteria?”
“STOP,” Charlie exclaimed, adjusting their stance uncomfortably. They weren’t used to these things not going their way, of not having total control. The grin on Alex’s face spread even wider.
“What about just sucking at doing your job, plain and simple?”
“I will give you twenty more lashes if you don’t–”
“I’ve got it! You fell in love with a co-worker!”
Alex opened their mouth once more to continue their diatribe but paused. It was slight, barely perceptible, but they saw it. Charlie’s eyes had widened a bit on that one…
“Wait…seriously? Oh. My. GOD!! You actually–” Alex burst into laughter. But honestly, it wasn’t just to piss them off. It was genuinely ridiculous to them. (And the blood loss and malnutrition wasn’t helping either).
“You have got to be kidding me! But I guess it’s kinda sweet; you had a little office crush!” Alex mocked, their eyes sparkling in pure, unbridled joy at the humiliation evident on Charlie’s face.
“That’s–that’s not true,” Charlie stammered. “You’re just making shit up! Stop this nonsense because I swear I’ll–”
“You were actually so butt-hurt that after they broke your heart you became evil?”
“Shut–”
“Your self-esteem is so fragile you actually became a villain! Like a coward! A self-pitying, coward!”
Charlie was pissed now. Mortified and pissed. Their chest heaved as their breathing grew heavy and their nostrils flared. They couldn’t get a word in as Alex continued to denigrate them.
“What are you, an incel?! How absolutely–”
“STOP–”
“PATHETIC!” Alex wheezed. They were howling with laughter now. So invested in the hilarity of the situation and having pulled one over on their abuser, Alex didn’t notice as Charlie…well…broke.
“You were NEVER a true hero! You’re just a slimy, insecure, foolish bastard! Oh lord, whoever broke up with you dodged a HUGE bullet! Like what kinda idiot thinks you of all–”
“SHUT UP!!!! SHUT UP!! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!! DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK OF THEM! DON’T YOU DARE INSULT THEM IN MY PRESENCE!”
What happened next was a blur, for both hero and villain. Charlie whipped out the knife from their pocket and slashed it across Alex’s face. Then, they wrenched back the whip and slammed it against Alex’s back, over and over and over again. They were absolutely relentless, the entire time screaming, “YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT! YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”
Alex screamed as Charlie used more force than they had before. The lacerations already on their back deepened, scarlet red practically flooding off the sides of table. Charlie’s barrage just would not stop. Tears streamed out of Alex’s eyes as apologized profusely and begged for it to stop. Soon their vision grew blurry and they silently thanked God for the embrace of unconsciousness. But they knew this nightmare would still be here when they woke up.
Before they completely lost touch, they managed to shriek…
~
“I’LL TELL YOU!”
Alex shot out of bed with a whimper. They ware disoriented at first, still babbling through sobs, before their eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. They are in the cell. Goodgrave’s cell. The small skylight above them emanates the soft, bluish glow of early morning hours. Dew drops dot the dirty glass and they become aware of just how cold the room is. The calmness felt eerie and unsettling after such a nightmare.
Then they looked beside them.
Seeing Charlie asleep in the bed brought back a tsunami of memories from the day prior. It generated a visceral reaction in them–making their stomach churn in knots and their heart pound even faster. Immediately they bolted off the bed, backing away until they were on the other side of the room. They sunk down to the floor and watched as their enemy remained asleep.
Charlie had the blanket draped over them but it was thin and raggedy; no match for the icy, winter morning. They shivered and their teeth clattered slightly. They were still covered in blood and bruises from the night before and hugged the broken arm to their stomach. It bent at a disturbing angle and was an angry red color. But what Alex noticed the most was their pallid face. It was drawn down in frown. Grime and blood painted their cheeks.
Without even thinking about it Alex’s finger softly ghosted along the scar across their face. They stood up and crossed the cell to the small mirror hanging above the dirty, old sink. They’d become used to it by now. Their mind spun in circles, overrun and overwhelmed.
The prone figure behind them couldn’t hurt them now. Not just because they were asleep, or because they had become weak and sickly after their time with Eric, but because by the time Charlie was taken captive by the Hero’s Alliance eight months prior they were a shell of themselves. The stoic, fearsome interrogator they once knew was replaced by a nervous, obedient individual. Ripley said Charlie seemed genuinely repentant. To the point of self-disgust. Alex refused to believe this. (They did notice the way Charlie avoided looking at themselves in the mirror, and a couple times noticed the scars they tried to hide beneath long sleeves. They noticed it because Alex used to be like that, too. But Alex didn’t care…how could they?)
“Alex.”
Alex jumped, startled by the groggy voice, and spun around. Charlie was using their good arm to prop themselves up. They could only open one eye, the other nearly swollen shut and mottled with purple, black splotches.
“Sorry,” Charlie whispered. They ducked their head as the tips of their ears reddened. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” Alex hummed in response. A moment of awkward silence elapsed. Alex focused on removing a piece of lint from their shirt and did their best to look completely unperterbed despite their recent dream.
“Are you…um…are you okay?” Charlie asked.
“I’m fine.” An awkward silence filled the space between them once more. Charlie tried to move from their position but quickly regretted it, hissing as their broken arm was jostled. Cautiously, Alex neared the bed. They shifted their weight as they watched their enemy struggle to sit up.
Charlie appeared to still be in the throes of a fever. They let themselves fall back on the bed. Their eyes seemed glazed, lids half open and struggling to stay that way. Again, they tried to sit up but only managed to hurt themselves once more. They moaned as their arm burned and their head throbbed with a migraine.
Alex hesitated momentarily, and then untied the sweatshirt from around their waist. “We need to do a make-shift cast for your arm. It will take some of the weight off it.”
“Oh no, it’s fine. Really. You keep it. It’s cold in here. Thank you.”
“No, you need it or it’ll get worse.”
“I swear I’m fine. You need it, you–”
Alex huffed stubbornly and began reaching for their enemy anyways. They were taken aback when Charlie flinched.
“I’m not going to hurt you, you idiot,” Alex bit out, annoyed. I should be the one flinching, not you! They thought to themselves. Resentment bubbled up to the surface and Alex tried to focus on putting villain in a positon where they could make the cast to distract themselves from it.
“Sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I did that. It was–yeah. I’m–”
“Just stop talking, okay?” Alex barked. Charlie bit their lip and nodded ashamedly.
Alex’s resentment manifested as roughly tending to the villain. Charlie did their best to not make a sound but when Alex harshly man-handled the broken arm into it’s place in the cast they winced and whimpered.
“Stop whining. You’re the reason we’re in this mess. You should have left when I told you to!”
“I know…I’m so sorry.”
“If Team Lead had just listened to me in the first place…ugh. They’re way too nice to you. You don’t deserve their sympathy. Pff. You don’t deserve anything really.”
“...I–nngghhh–agree,” mumbled Charlie weakly.
“Yeah right. I don’t believe you.” Alex grins as they glance over to see Charlie’s face; they wanted to watch their words hurt in real time. Instead, Alex didn’t feel the joy they expected. They could tell Charlie was holding back tears. One escaped and Charlie hastily wiped it away.
Something felt wrong in the pit of Alex’s stomach. Their grin quickly dissipated.
They had finished with the cast and were about to get up when they noticed just how much blood still covered Charlie’s neck and chest. They retrieved and wet a cloth like they had the night before.
“Let’s clean this up a bit. I don’t like the smell of blood,” they rationalized. Charlie’s eyes were half-mast and they nodded woozily. While wiping their face Alex felt heat radiating off their nemesis’ forehead.
Charlie swayed slightly and they steadied them.
“You feeling nauseous?” Charlie shook their head. Alex shot them a look.
“...A little. But it’s really not that bad. I’m fine.”
“Here. Drink this. Then you need to lie down.” They took a cup of water they had filled at the sink and made Charlie take a few sips. Alex put their hand behind Charlie’s neck and slowly lowered them. Charlie hissed in pain once more.
“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be quiet” they reassured.
Within a few minutes Charlie’s eyes were closed. Alex decided to lay down again and try to get more rest if they could. It was quiet except for the slightly congested breathing coming from Charlie.
Faintly came the sound of someone whistling. It grew closer and closer until footsteps echoed outside in the hall as well. Charlie’s eyes shot open and they strained to sit up, a look of horror on their face.
“He’s coming.”
“It’s probably the guard. Go back to sleep,” Alex warned.
“NO. It’s...”
Abruptly, keys rattle in the door and it swings open. Eric Goodgrave’s lanky frame waltzes in and a mischievous smile spreads across his face.
“Oh goody, you’re both awake! Alex, my dear: may I ask you a personal question?”
Part 1 is available here: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/whatwhump/689094256572416000?source=share
Thank you to everyone who has read and supported this! I have a lot of fun writing it. And thank you to @whumpwillow for inspiring me to write with their awkward villain post and amazing series Hazeshift (which if you haven’t read you must–it’s so good)!
TW: S*icidal ideation and planning; medical setting; allusions to past abuse; very wonky, toxic head space; starvation; fear of abandonment wounds; choking/strangulation
~
“This will be our most difficult and dangerous mission yet. Now is the time, more than ever before, to work as a team–united on all fronts.”
Villain sat amongst the heroes around a long conference table, taking notes quietly. Faces revealed an array of emotions–worry, fear. No matter how brave the hero, there was no escaping from the fact that they had to come to terms with the possibility of not returning from this mission.
“Villain,” Team Lead said. “We need you to be with us on this one. As in, on the front line.” Villain’s jaw nearly dropped. They usually helped by working from headquarters during missions from the communication center since technology was their expertise. But Team Lead trusted them enough to work up close and personal with the heroes? This could be my chance to prove myself! Villain thought.
“I…I’d be honored,” Villain said, their face blushing.
“But…there is one caveat. Villain, our mission is at your old base: Supervillain’s lair. Your new foes are your old friends.”
“No,” Villain said without hesitation. “I want to do this.” Team Lead smiled at them.
Across the table sat Hero #1 with their bestie, Hero #5, sat beside them. Hero #5 glared. Hero #1 slammed their hands on the table.
“You have got to be kidding me. This is a prank, yes?” Hero #1 breathed.
Team Lead didn’t miss a beat, remaining calm and collected.
“I am absolutely serious. This case is technologically advanced and their skills are required.”
“Yeah but, boss, they’re not safe. They could turn on us!” argued Hero #3.
“Since Villain came to us I have been well aware of the potential consequences. Hero #2 and I have spoken and we feel this would be best. I will no longer entertain this topic. Now, onto the plan…”
Team Lead started up a projection and began outlining the basics, but Villain could barely focus. Their heart beat hard in their chest as they fantasized about saving the day, saving everyone, and finding the love they so longed for! Finally shedding the horrid human they knew they were. And maybe, just maybe, they might hate themselves a little less.
Villain felt Hero #1’s eyes boring into them and a familiar wave of guilt washed over them. They wanted so badly to make up but what they had done was…unforgivable.
~
Three Months Earlier…
The infirmary was small but well-stocked. Medic was very well trained; only rarely did a hero have to visit an actual hospital. The stark white room was empty except for a single body lying on a cot near the two-way mirror. It was Villain.
Their hair was mussed up and tangled. Bandages covered their arms and chest. Bruises decorated their face and neck. They were out like a light, breathing in and out slowly, eyes darting back and forth under their eyelids.
Outside the mirror, Team Lead stood with their hands in their pockets–eyebrows knitted together in thought.
“They banged my left hand up with a metal pipe so badly I still have trouble using my hand. ”
Team Lead knew that voice behind them before even turning. They knew this conversation would come.
“Hello, Hero #1.”
“They lashed my back 18 times. I still have phantom pains.”
Team Lead sighed
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“And of course, I’ve got this bad boy forever reminding me of the horrors that monster put me through every single time I look in the mirror,” they said gesturing to the scar on their face.
Team Lead just stared straight ahead.
“Hero #1,” Team Lead sighed. “I don’t expect you to understand. I know this must feel like a betrayal. But I’m in a tight spot here, and they’re in need of help.”
“It doesn’t feel like betrayal–it is betrayal.”
Hero #1 approached the glass and stared daggers into the prone Villain. Team Lead turned and looked at Hero #1 empathetically.
“At first I thought we should just leave them in the cold, too. But something just…something feels off. They’ve been abused, Hero #1. I get the feeling they weren’t doing their job because they wanted to–they were doing it to survive. Now I know that doesn’t excuse it, nor do I think it should. But context is important, and if what Villain says is to be believed, they have nobody else.”
Frustrated tears welled up in Hero #1’s eyes. A tear escaped down their cheek and they quickly wiped it away. Team Lead watched them patiently.
“How could you do this to me? You’re–you were like a parent to me. I thought you would put me before a low-life like them. How am I not supposed to take this personally?”
The tears began to stream down their face uncontrollably now.
Team Lead faced Hero #1 and put their hands on their shoulders.
“I once looked at the world as you do. I saw good versus evil. Right versus wrong. It wasn’t until I was in my 30s that I began to realize that every villain sees themselves as the hero of their own story. If I had lived in a similar environment or been dealt a hand of cards like my archenemy, who knows…maybe I would have turned out like them, too. You don’t have to condone to understand. All I ask is that you trust me on this one. Please.”
Hero #2 tried to stay angry, but they couldn’t. They burst into sobs and Team Lead embraced them.
“Please promise me one thing…” Hero #1’s muffled voice murmured into Team Lead’s chest.
“Anything.”
“Promise me you won’t ever replace me.”
“Never.”
~
After the meeting, everyone goes to eat dinner, but Villain decides they aren’t hungry. Well, that’s a lie–they’re starving. But they decided it’d be better to have only two meals a day so they aren’t taking up so much food. They use the restroom and then enter their cubby-like room.
“Fancy meeting you here.” Villain’s face goes white at the sight of Hero #1 on their bed. Utterly gobsmacked, Villain just stands and stares.
“Close the door,” snarls Hero #1. Villain obeys immediately.
“You know, it’s just not fair. You come to us, weak and afraid. And Team Lead–being the bleeding heart that they are–lets you sulk around here without any consequences.”
Villain swallowed nervously. They’d been thinking for a long time about what they’d say to Hero #1 if they were alone together, but never did they think they’d get that chance. Finally, this was it. But before they even had the chance to speak Hero #1 had them pinned against the wall, a vice-like grip around their throat and their feet dangling off the ground.
“You don’t get to replace me! And you don’t deserve to get off scot-free! So if the universe won’t punish you, then I will!”
“P--please, wait! I need to tell you something” Villain croaked.
A twisted smile crossed Hero #1’s lips. They maintained their grip but returned Villain’s feet to the ground.
“Well this oughta be good! Spit it out. Quickly.”
“You--you have to understand, Hero, I’m so, so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you! I didn’t get any satisfaction out of it! Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”
“You will never make this up to me,” Hero #1 growled.
“I know! But there must be something I can do–anything. I just–I just want to make things better! I just want to be a part of this family!”
Villain’s eyes went wide. They didn’t mean to blurt out that last part.
“First you break me, and then you want to take my family from me?”
“No, no, I swear it’s not like that, I swear!”
That twisted smile returned to Hero #1’s face but this time…this time it was colder.
“Okay. Fine. If you want to make it up to me, then you will leave this facility by the end of the week. No goodbyes. No notes. You will leave and never return again.”
“...Please no. Please, anything but that”.
A smack whacked Villain upside the head.
I deserve that, they thought to themselves. I deserve that for not obeying. I don’t deserve to ask for anything else. I deserve to be alone. I deserve to be hated. I deserve to be…dead.
“End of the week, pal,” Hero #1 sneered. “And don’t you DARE tell anyone I told you this or we’ll see how you do in the interrogation room when everyone else is asleep…”
Hero #1 forced their way past Villain, slamming into them with their shoulder. Villain fell to the ground.
They sat there on the floor, panting and rubbing at their now tender throat, everything sinking in slowly. They could just barely hear laughter emanating from downstairs.
The mission was at the end of the week. Suddenly, they were overtaken by a sense of hopelessness so intense that they immediately knew what they had to do.
They would serve their country alongside the people they so admired. and then they would turn themselves in to Supervillain to be tortured and ultimately: executed.
The smell of him was overwhelming that evening. May was so used to it; a thick, boyish cologne, maybe axe or something. Peter knew how heavy perfumes aggravated his aunt's migraines, so he was very sparing with his applications.
Today, she would've given anything for that smell to drown her. To pull her in and cover her up, tangled in his iron man bedsheets.
May couldn't remember the last time she'd cried this much, didn't want to. Trails of salty eyeliner tears stuck to her temples as she contemplated the curves and loops of the patterned, stucco ceiling.
"Look May! Look! By the fan! Do you see him?"
"See who?"
"The cracks in the ceiling! It looks like Tony Stark!"
She inwardly laughed at the memory. Fuck, the irony was unbearable. Peter had loved Tony before they'd ever met. Before Peter had any special abilities. Before he became the Spider-Man. Tony was his hero. How an eight year old could pick out the shape of a rather ordinary man in a stucco ceiling, she didn't know. She tried to find it, to find him, to find that shape.
To find the assholem. To tell or scream or cry or something. Anything to put the blame on anyone but herself.
But she couldn't find him. No one could. He'd disappeared along with Peter, and billions of others. Maybe he was dead.
There were days May hoped he was. Others, she hoped he was holding Peter somewhere, telling her boy that he was going to be okay. Tony was and always would be Peter's hero. He had to save Peter. Who else could?
And then, a knock.
A knock at the front door. May rushed to stand, to wipe her red and blotchy face free of eyeliner, to no avail. Her first hope was that Peter had returned, but deep in her heart, she knew he was gone.
When she opened the door, she stood before the somber shell of Tony Stark.
