Villain stumbled out of the abandoned train station, eyes bloodshot and sunken. He looked up at the night sky rain fell from the sky, clearing the dirt and blood from his face and clothes and started to cry.
Pathetic.
No. He shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Limping, Villain slowly made as much distance from Hero’s base as he could.
Cars raced down the street, spraying him with stinging water. He pulled his hood over his head and leaned heavily against the stoplights pole.
“Hey, man, you alright?” someone said, suddenly behind him. He jumped back into the street and the stranger held their hands up, “Woah, it’s alright. Hey, you don’t look so good, do you want me to call someone for you?”
He took a step forward, back onto the sidewalk and shook his head, “No,” he cleared his throat and shook his head, “No, thank you.”
The stranger nodded and smiled anxiously, “Sure thing. Get home safe. Oh, you can cross now.”
Villain mumbled his gratitude and hurried across the street, leaving the stranger behind him. He stared forward, eyes locked on the police station and he covered his mouth with his sleeve to muffle a sob.
Pathetic.
He turned away from the station and hunched over so nobody could see the tears streaming from his face. The rain came down faster and soaked into his clothes, weighing him down.
Henchman looked up from her microwaved dinner when someone pounded on the door. She frowned and pushed her chair out from the table.
She pushed the blinds to the side and looked at the alcove, someone was hunched over, rain dripping from their hair and clothes. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
He looked up at her, and her heart immediately sunk. “Villain?”
He sobbed and covered his mouth, “Hey.”
“What? You-Hero killed you,” she said. “No, yeah, I-I saw it. You didn’t make it out. I found your body.” She shook her head and looked up, “This isn’t real. Is it?”
His chin trembled and his hands shook. “Can you decide after you let me come inside?”
She nodded faintly and took a step to the side, leaving just enough room for Villain to squeeze past her.
He closed the door for her and led her into the living room, “Are you alright?”
She laughed sharply, “Am I alright? No, no, I’m very not alright. I buried you. I went through everything and-and I mourned you. And you show up three months later on my doorstep?” she looked up at him and bit her cheek to keep from crying, “Where were you?”
He shook his head, “Not tonight, please?”
She looked at him-really looked at him-and nodded, “Yeah, ok. Tomorrow though, promise me.” he nodded and she stood up. “I’ll go get you a change of clothes.”
warnings: (implied) captivity, knife, blood, let me know if i missed any
750 words
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She dives under a truck and watches heavy boots run past her. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath. Her fingers fumble to take the glass out of her pocket. She grips the shard, ignoring how it digs into her skin. She winces and bites her cheek so she doesn’t cry out.
She can feel her heartbeat in her fingers as blood trickles onto the ground. The footsteps fade and she exhales slowly, a tear sliding down her cheek.
She laughs weakly and her grip loosens on the glass. For just a moment, she closes her eyes and ignores the cold seeping through her tattered clothes and the grit on her face.
After waiting another ten minutes for good measure, she slides out from under the truck and stands. She shakes small pebbles out of her hair and stares at the moon in awe, it was never this clear when she looked through the window.
She jumps back just before a car runs into her and she stumbles back onto the sidewalk, tripping on the curb and falling against the wall. Her head cracks against the brick and she yelps.
Shaking her head, she rights herself and walks on, head held high.
Someone runs past her and she reaches into her pocket, trying to get her glass shard in case they were sent by Whumper to bring her back, but the shard isn’t there.
She pants and collapses onto the ground, this new level of vulnerability suddenly making it impossible for her to move. Where was the glass? Where had she left it?
She can’t go back for it. Not now. There’s not enough time.
She stands up straight and walks forward, muttering an address to herself over and over, until the numbers lose all meaning. Until she makes it there.
Her breathing slows and she stares at the door, hand painted yellow. She helped paint it.
Her hand hovers over the doorbell. She takes a deep breath and pushes it.
The cheerful ring sounds through the apartment and she closes her eyes for a moment. Is this real?
The lock clicks and her eyes snap open.
“It’s the middle of the night? What do yo-” they stop. “Whumpee?”
She stands there, head high and arms at her side. Caretaker looks her over, eyes ghosting over the scars and the dirt caked into her hair. “What happened to you?” Whumpee looks up and shakes her head. Her lip quivers and tears well in her eyes. “Okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”
They reach out for her and she jerks back, nearly falling over to avoid the touch. Caretaker pulls back and stifles a sob. They move aside and let Whumpee walk into the apartment.
“Do you want anything to eat? How about a shower? Some different clothes?” they ask. Whumpee stares around the living room. The couch is moved to a different corner and that plant wasn’t there before.
She ignores Caretaker and collapses onto the couch, legs dangling off the side. Within seconds, she’s asleep.
Caretaker watches her. They stare at the irritated skin rubbed raw on her ankle. This isn’t right.
They turn around and take a deep breath, ignoring their every instinct yelling at them to wake Whumpee up and ask what happened. They slide down the wall onto the floor, head in their hands.
Caretaker jerks awake, their head hitting the wall. “Shit!” they curse, rubbing the back of their head.
They stand and look into the living room at Whumpee. She’s fully on the couch now, her head on the other side from where she was before. Caretaker walks into the hallway and gets a blanket from the closet.
They cover Whumpee with the blanket, gently smoothing it out over her shoulder. They reach to sweep some hair out of her face but Whumpee jolts up.
She jumps to her feet and pushes Caretaker back against the wall, something sharp presses against her throat.
“Whumpee!” Caretaker says, “It’s just me!”
Whumpee’s eyes focus and she pulls back, hands hanging limply at her side as Caretaker rubs their throat. She drops the knife and it clatters to the ground. Her mouth opens, then closes, and she shakes her head.
Caretaker stands there as she lays back down on the couch, pulling the blanket up to her chin. They bend down and pick the knife up before walking into the kitchen and running it under water and putting it back in the knife block.
