Doug's Horrible No Good Very Bad Day (and How It Gets Better)
Word Count: 2458 Written for @femslashfortnight 2025 Day 11: Superhero/Villain AU In a world with small population of powered humans, Doug Barker's prospects are slim in terms of career paths. They have resigned themselves to a life as one of Sam Sweetly's henchmen. That is, until they meet Detective Sasha Shapiro.
If they're being honest, Doug's day had sucked before they had been thrown off a building onto a parked car. Their coffee had been lukewarm, the boss had snapped at them twice, and they had been assigned to door duty. They hated door duty, hated Bailey’s smug grin, hated the snickering “Guard Dog” comments Zoey always said in that saccharine tone, made even sweeter by her siren song. Not everyone was lucky enough to have a power that was able to blend in with everyday society. With a face like Doug's, henching was their only career path. They were just lucky Sweetly Security hired them at all.
Well, Doug thinks they were lucky. In the moments they are flying through the air before impact, they consider that maybe unemployment was preferable to this.
Doug may be extra durable, but the impact hurts. The roof of the car crumples beneath their weight. Glass shatters and coats Doug like a swarm of wasps protecting a hive. It shreds the exposed skin on their arms. Immediately, the skin begins to itch as it tries to heal, and Doug can feel the wounds beginning to close, glass shards still inside.
Doug curses their accelerated healing. It’s going to be a bitch to pull those out later. Then again, their healing was probably the only reason they weren't dead right now, so maybe they shouldn't complain.
“Oh shit!” A high-pitched voice yells from what sounds like miles away. Their eyes flutter open, squinting against the noon day sun. Eventually, their eyes settle on the pale figure that leans out of the ledge of the balcony Doug had just been thrown off.
Right. The bumblebee vigilante, or whatever her schtick was. They hadn’t expected Spitfire and Stopwatch to make friends, it seems like it would be difficult in the vigilante circle. Good for them. This kid is also way more powerful and her ranged psychic attacks were a great addition to the team. Bad for Doug.
With their enhanced eyesight, Doug can make out the look of absolute terror under her yellow eye mask. “Are you okay?” The vigilante calls, a desperate edge to her voice.
In all honesty, Doug does not like this child. This child is the one who launched Doug out of the building before they could say so much as say “Who are you?” But Doug had been new to their powers once, they knew just how easy it was to overdo it. They didn't want the kid to think they were dead.
Shakily, Doug holds up a thumbs up, and the relieved smile on the girl's face is worth the blinding pain in what must be a dislocated shoulder. The kid dashes away from the window, probably to go fuck up Bailey, and Doug slumps back into their custom-made dent.
Doug knows they need to sit up, to dislodge the glass from under their skin and remove whatever twisted shrapnel has stabbed into their thigh and deal with whatever head injury is making their vision swim, but they just… need a minute. They take a deep breath, exhaling through the pain, ignoring the fight they will soon need to throw themselves back into.
For a moment, all is quiet. Doug almost feels at peace.
Then, a distorted wail sounds from the car alarm, cutting right through Doug's sensitive hearing and they howl in pain.
Fuck today. Doug is clocking out the second they drag themselves out of this car, Sweetly can shove it.
Doug forces themself to sit up. They bare their claws, ready to tear the engine to shreds if it means silencing the awful noise, when they hear a gasp beside them.
“Holy fuck, you’re alive?”
“Uh, yeah?” Doug says, stupidly, looking up at whoever is now beside them.
The woman who spoke could not be more obviously a police officer. She is standing with her gun drawn, barrel pointed at the ground and thankfully not at Doug. She seems frantic, brown eyes wide and scanning Doug over. There are creases in her smart pantsuit, and sweat plasters wisps of her out-of-fashion bob to her temples. Her badge swings on her chest, making the nameplate saying “Det. Shapiro” flash in the summer sun. She is panting, straining for breath. It is clear she sprinted to the site of Doug’s crash landing, which was very sweet of her.
She is looking down at the shattered remains of the car in horror, wrinkling her wide nose and twisting her mouth in frown. With a pout like that, she could convince a dog to meow. She is beautiful, objectively, and Doug has to fight to keep their tail from wagging. They wonder what she looks like when she smiles.
Doug takes a deep breath, masking it as effort needed to crawl out of the shell of the car. The woman, Detective Shapiro, she smells… Human. Just human. There is no underlying current to her that speaks of any powers, like the steel-tainted testosterone that denotes Bailey’s superstrength, or the nightshade and honey that clings to Zoey’s capital-v Voice. Shapiro only smells like regular-old adrenaline and coconut lotion.
Without their permission, Doug’s eyes widen. There are very few powerless humans in Hatchetfield. The tiny town was put on the map as the first location of powered humans, and to this day, it boasts the highest concentration of powered humans in the world. Adding in the fact Doug doesn’t recognize her, they assume she must be an out-of-towner.
Maybe this will be fine, then. Maybe she hasn’t heard of Sweetly Security yet. Doug hobbles a step closer to her, gingerly stepping on their injured leg. They really need to do something about that…
They extend a hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Doug.”
Shapiro doesn’t take it. Her eyes are locked on the former piece of door frame that is sticking out of Doug’s thigh. “You… fell into a car,” she says slowly, like that will make the words change their meaning. “You’re bleeding.”
“I heal quick!” Doug chirps, and pulls the rod out, despite Shapiro’s yell of protest. “It’s okay, really!” Doug can already feel the wound scabbing over. It’ll be gone entirely by tomorrow morning. They pop their shoulder back into place, and shake their arm out to rid it of stiffness.
“You… You have powers…” Shapiro says slowly, like the thought hadn’t yet occurred to her. And hell, if she wasn’t from Hatchetfield, it probably hadn’t.
“What gave it away?” Doug says, and smiles, being sure to show off their extra sharp canines. They realize too late that this could be seen as a threat rather than a cheeky joke, but Detective Shapiro doesn’t shy away from Doug’s grin. Instead, her eyes narrow with sparked interest.
“Doug…” She says slowly, like she is chewing on the name. “Doug Barker?”
Doug’s ears prick up, focused on Shapiro’s every word. “You know me?”
And Doug is definitely concussed, because they don’t put together how bad that is until Shapiro points her gun at them. Right, new cop, fuck. Doug holds their hands up in surrender. “Wait, Detective, I-”
“You are under arrest, for committing acts of Grand Supervillainy.”
She sounds so determined, like an avenging angel. The triumph in her eyes makes them blaze like fire, and Doug doesn’t think they would object to burning. They can tell just how important this moment is to her, a successful arrest on what Doug can only assume is their first case in Hatchetfield. Maybe Shapiro is sure that this will set the tone for her career in a new town. Maybe she truly is trying to stop powered humans who abuse the system. Maybe she just really needs a win.
No matter what the reason, she isn't going to get it.
Damn, Doug is going to feel really bad about this, aren’t they?
They grimace and interrupt before she can start reading them their rights. “So… about that. On what grounds, exactly?”
Shapiro frowns, lowering her gun in surprise. “What do you mean, what grounds? You’re a known member of Sweetly Security, an organization associated with convicted supervillains!” This is true, technically, but Doug doubts how much Shapiro would really count them as supervillains if she knew the stories. A supervillain is classed as anyone who uses their powers to commit a crime, so technically, Zoey charming her way into a recording studio counts. So does Bailey accidentally smashing a chair during what should have only been a slightly heated bar room altercation. And Doug…
Well.
Doug looked like a supervillain. Therefore, most people assumed they were one.
“Working with someone who committed a crime is not a crime in and of itself,” Doug points out, and Shapiro sputters. Showing impressive gun safety, she tucks her pistol into her holster before throwing her hands into the air.
“You destroyed a car!”
“Not on purpose!” Doug protests, because that had absolutely not been their idea. “I got thrown off a building. The security cameras will prove it.” Doug gestures up to the building they operated out of, where Bailey and that kid in the yellow jacket are still facing off on the balcony. Given how much Bailey is cursing, he’s losing.
“Public endangerment involving the use of powers, then,” Shapiro counters. “Your fight could have injured passersby and did damage property.”
“We’re a security firm,” Doug reminds her. “All powered employees have permits to use their abilities in times of duress. Getting our ass kicked by vigilantes usually counts.” Doug doesn’t mention that they only started getting targeted by child superheroes once the boss started taking jobs from Charles Coven, highly implying that something shady is going on. They didn’t want to be arrested, no matter how pretty Shapiro was.
Shapiro places her hands on her hips and gapes in astonishment. “You have a permit? But you work for Sam Sweetly, a literal self-declared public enemy. He took over Main Street last week and yelled about ruling Hatchetfield. He’s the definition of a supervillain.”
He would be. Except…
“He doesn’t have any powers.”
“What?”
Doug shrugs. “Boss is totally powerless; it’s why he hires us. Some kind of legal loophole. It doesn’t count as a supervillain operation if the owner doesn’t have powers.”
“But, but–” Shapiro cuts off with a frustrated growl. She runs an agitated hand through her hair. “Fine. Disturbing the peace then. And obstructing traffic. He was there for hours, and you abetted.”
“We had city approval for that. I think it technically counted as a parade?”
“Loitering.”
“Boss owns the building.”
“Fuck.” She turns away, kicking her foot out against the curb in frustration and clamping her hands into fists. She paces, gesturing wildly. “When the Chief gave him an assignment to bring you all in, I thought he was actually taking me seriously as a detective.” She plants her feet and pivots to Doug. “But he just put me on a wild goose chase, didn’t he?”
Doug feels their ears droop. “I’m sorry, detective.”
“Goddammit,” she spits. “I thought this was going to be different from Chicago.” Her tone is firm, but Doug can smell the salt of tears on her. Whether they’re from despair or rage, Doug doesn’t know. “I thought that-”
But Doug isn’t ever going to learn what Shapiro thought. Because, above them, there is a wave of power that shakes the very marrow of Doug’s bones. Bailey flies backwards and his back cracks against the large ornamental pillar decorating railing.
The stone fixture cracks, and falls.
Doug moves, faster than any normal human could. They grab Shapiro by the waist and pull her in close. Shapiro doesn’t fight Doug, too shocked for that. She instinctively clings to their torn company polo. Her mouth is stuck in a startled “o” as Doug moves her, pivoting so that when concrete falls, Doug is between her and it.
It shatters the pavement, cracks spider-webbing out right where Shapiro had been standing.
For a moment, Doug and Shapiro stand there, breathing heavily. There is a thunderous heartbeat in Doug’s ears–Shapiro’s or their own, or maybe both. Their face is gritty with dust and Doug blinks to try and clear their vision. They don’t risk letting go of Shapiro, not yet. Instead, Doug holds her a little tighter, just to be sure she is still in one piece. It had been instinct, grabbing her, but nosy cop or not, Doug finds that they have no regrets.
Shapiro is gazing up at Doug like this is the first time she has really seen them. “You… you saved me.”
“Y-yeah…” Doug agrees, “I guess so.” Doug swallows. There is a tension they don’t recognize, one that is impossible to ignore or understand. The air is heavy with it, weighing them down, and Doug can’t resist trying to break free. “I think maybe those so-called superheroes could use that public endangerment charge you mentioned earlier.”
Shapiro laughs, bold and brash as she does everything else. Doug’s pounding heart skips a beat.
“I guess so,” she agrees. She stills, and for a moment, Doug thinks she is uncomfortable with their position. Then, that determined wrinkle in her nose appears again, and she looks Doug up and down.
“You know, regarding your case…” Shapiro says slowly, as she gently brushes her hands down Doug's shoulders, trailing them to where they are holding Shapiro's waist. She rests her hands on top of theirs, lingering a little too long, before pulling away. “Given the public legality of Sweetly’s actions, this could all go much deeper than I originally thought. I’m going to need someone on the inside.”
Her tone is no nonsense. Her back is straight, and her eyes are sharp. If Doug were a normal human, they would have thought Shapiro was trying to strong-arm them while they were concussed. But Doug is not a normal human. They can smell the hormones in her sweat, hear the rush of her heartbeat, see the minute way her eyes dilate. Doug loses the battle with their tail, and it wags at the obvious signs of interest.
“Sounds good,” Doug says. In an attempt not to sound desperate, they add, “I hate those guys anyways.” And then, because they are desperate, “We could rendezvous over coffee?”
“Works for me,” Shapiro says, with so little hesitation Doug could howl in celebration. “How about Beanie’s on Saturday. I have a late shift, so will eleven o’clock work?”
Doug absolutely has work that day, but if they give Bailey puppy eyes about being thrown off a building, he’ll cover for them.
“It's a date!” They say with far too much enthusiasm to be a joke.
But Shapiro just hums. “I guess it is.”
Doug’s tail wags harder.
Man, today is great.
