The Monster Crawled Out From Under The Bed. "You Saw That, Right?" He Asked In His Low, Scratchy Voice.

"I wish I wasn't so weak."

"You're not meant to carry everything alone."

The blank page

There was something intimidating about the blank page. No words seemed good enough, she thought to herself. She looked at the blank page again, crisp and white, like a snowy field frozen in time. "You could be anything", she thought. A furrowed brow. An ink pen caught in between two fingers while scratching her scalp with the rest of them. The rain pladdering against the window 🪟🌧️☔

Hi, welcome. I'm chaotic-scraps and I post scraps on here. Pronouns are dealer's choice.

If I complete a story on here, you have witnessed a miracle. I occasionally reblog other stories and/or art/comics/animation.

Feel free to leave asks/requests.

How the Turns Have Tabled

Hero approached the cell with all the feet-dragging reluctance of someone who was in way over their head. They dug through their pocket for the key, mumbling something about stupidity and youth mortality under their breath. A quick glance through the small window nestled in the door revealed a form unmoving laid out in the corner.

To their minor relief, it appeared their guest was still out cold.

The hinges squeaked as Hero slowly pushed open the door. They watched closely for any movement and saw none, so they continued.

Once inside, they dropped a bundle of fabric at the feet of the sleeping figure and left a plastic bottle and an aluminum package on the ground. They were back out the door quickly and the lock clicked back into place just as fast.

Hero turned away from the door and let out a quiet breath as they moved away.

A few steps in, a creak sounded from behind them.

Shit.

Hero froze, then spoke calmly into the stale air,“The exits out back.”

Lowly, a gruff voice responded, “Not that easy.”

Hero winced.

“Worth a shot.”

By the time their hand shot to their belt and they made to spin around, Villain had already closed the distance. Their knife was knocked from their hand the second it was drawn. The villain kicked it away in the same move he used to grab the hero’s wrist. Hero used their free hand to punch him in the face, landing a hard hit before Villain used his leverage to twist, forcing their arm behind their back and shoving them face-first into the wall.

Hero groaned into the cinder block, “Fuck my life.”

They would not have even realized that they had said that aloud had it not been for the confirmation of a deep but quiet chuckle.

Fingers curled lightly into their scalp as Villain spoke, “Other hand.”

Hero squeezed their eyes shut and offered up their free hand into the borderline-painful grip behind them.

“You want to tell me where the ties are?”

Hero turned their cheek against the wall so their jaw was free to move with the words.

“Second shelf from the bottom, other wall.”

They were lifted from the concrete and pulled backwards to the opposite side of the room. A plastic tie soon zipped into place, pinning their wrists together before the villain shifted his grip to their arm to lead them forward.

“In.”

They stepped through the door into the dimly-lit cell, and Hero scowled at the lock hanging broken off the latch.

“Sit,” he ordered with a shove towards where the crumpled blanket rested on the stripped down cot.

The hero stumbled but did as they were told, settling with their back against the wall and feet planted firmly on the floor.

They watched as Villain dragged in a folding chair, flipping it around in front of him to plant a leg on either side and sit backwards, conveniently blocking the doorway.

“Kidnapping, huh?” The villain begun to question, “Is that what you do now?”

Hero leveled their eyes on the blank sheet that was the adjacent wall in lieu of a response. Villain tilted his head at the silence and leveled a disappointed glare at the hero.

“Don’t make me come over there.”

At that, Hero dragged their gaze slowly to the man in the chair.

“I don’t suppose you’ll believe you walked in here of your own free will?”

“Right,” the villain leaned forward, placing his elbows on the seat back and planting his chin on his palms. “And the lock was for decoration.”

“Obviously, given how easily it broke.”

The distaste shown on the hero’s face suggested that they would be having more than a few words with Masterlock customer service.

Villain grinned almost imperceptibly.

“I must say, this is giving my style, not yours.”

“Yeah, well,” Hero bit their lip and averted their eyes again, “shit happens.”

They took the time to notice all the numerous cobwebs in the room before Villain opened his mouth again.

Oddly enough, he wasn’t moving his tongue to push for an explanation.

“You know, they say mimicry is the highest form of flattery.”

Hero, taken slightly aback, could only find the highly dignified words, “Fuck off.”

Instead of lashing out like the hero had predicted with muscles tensed, Villain simply pointed out, “You’re the one who brought me here. I think I might just stick around and find out why.”

With that, he stood. The chair slid across the floor and into the wall as he pushed off.

“It’s in your best interest to answer, so I’d suggest doing that.”

Hero did not dare take their eyes off his form as he approached. He towered over the low-lying cot, and Hero may or may not have forgotten to breathe as he leaned in.

“Or have you forgotten your position here, now?”

Hot breath warmed their ear and Hero bit their tongue.

“You thought you could lock me up?”

“I…made an error in judgment.” Hero spoke carefully, suppressing a shiver.

Another chuckle had Hero silently begging for a Time Machine. An arm was planted on either side of them, leaving them feeling like a bird in a cage, or an ant under a microscope.

“I sure hope the five minutes of success didn’t get to your head,” Villain spoke with faux pity, lips slightly pouted in obvious mockery.

“I think they took five years off my life, actually,” Hero admitted, figuring it was probably clear at this point how they felt about their decision to… well, abduct the villain.

“It sure sounds like you’ve learned your lesson, then.”

Hero almost cheered when Villain rose back to his full height, out of their immediate personal space. That was, until he continued.

“But really, it is best to be certain.”

“How, exactly, do you plan on being certain?” Hero inquired carefully, not that they really wanted to know the answer. Their heart beat a rapid warning inside of their chest.

Villain tapped his chin thoughtfully before a familiar grin spread slowly across his face.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got just the idea.”

Worrying did not even begin to cover the fear that sparked in the hero’s chest at that statement.

“Sit tight,” commanded the villain as he sauntered out the door, not bothering to replace the lock or even so much as close the door.

The hero was left to gawk at his abrupt departure from their place in the corner, unable to gracefully rise and follow him with arms stuck behind them as they were.

A few seconds passed, and they slumped as the adrenaline finally started to drain out of them.

They breathed out into the quiet air as the villain’s footsteps receded, “I am going to die so young.”

The rain is coming down hard and unrelenting. The roads are muddy and slick, unlit and miserably cold. You are aimlessly seeking shelter when none but your nemesis stops beside you.

"Come to gloat?" you shout over the rain.

"Always," they call back with a smile. "Looks like you need a ride."

Your teeth are chattering. Your head is pounding. Your clothes are sopped.

"No, thanks. I love it out here," you snap.

Their smile drops. "Get in. We need to talk."

The audience roared, the energy electrifying.

"And there he is, folks! The Scarlet Fist! Our reigning champion remains undefeated!"

Jay panted from the center of the amphitheater, slick with sweat and blood. He smiled and licked the blood from his knuckles, eyes wild.

"What's this? A new challenger approaches! It's none other than the Sandstorm! He is the reigning regional champion two years running, but does he stand a chance against our all-time champion?!"

A sand mage sauntered into the ring. Powerful, cocky. A showboater. Jay let him demonstrate his power, twisting and forming the sand into a dragon. He flew atop the dragon and spewed balls of sand that blew craters into the ground and boundary walls. The audience cheered.

Jay rolled his shoulders. The sand mage had fans in the crowd. He should play around a bit and make it look like a challenge. One of the sand balls flew in his direction and he dodged. Then another, and another.

A snake made of sand came into form and coiled around Jay, stopping him from evading. Jay pretended to struggle in the snake's grip. The audience loved drama. He punched through the snake's body and the sand crumbled where he touched.

Spikes emerged from the ground, and Jay managed to evade mostly. He didn't think the audience noticed a bit of the spike crumbled away before it could pierce his foot.

Half of the snake struck again, and Jay yet again dodged. The snake hit the floor and burst into a mound of sand.

The mage swooped down with his sand dragon. A fatal mistake. Jay leapt on top of the dragon, and it crumbled mid-flight. They both tumbled and rolled onto the ring.

The mage stumbled back, exposed.

"Y-you must be cheating!" The mage shrieked. Jay laughed, because of course he was. This mage was woefully green. Jay tried to prolongue the fight a bit longer before punching out the unfortunate young fighter.

"Who else wants a piece?" Jay taunted.

--

It was a good day in the ring, and Jay had full pockets. He took his win to the local bar and was enjoying the open tab from his latest admirer. He was downing a pint when a young man slid into the chair beside him. The young man hardly looked the type for fighting rings, too nervous and too bookish, but Jay had seen all types. Possibly with coin.

"Business or pleasure?" Jay asked with a crooked smile.

"I-I know your secret," the young man stammered.

For a moment, Jay's smile flickered. "Oh, you think so?"

"You're no mage," the young man said, adjusting his glasses. "You're a walking power dampener. An, um, impressively powerful one, at that." He shrunk a little at the wild look in Jay's eye.

Jay's eyes darted around, and he grabbed the young man by his scruff.

"Keep your voice down," he growled. "Who sent you?"

"No one," the young man said. "I... I need your services."

"Business, then."

Jay released his hold. The young man smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt.

"Uh, well, m-my name is Lucas," the young man stammered. "I... I'm a student at Wingcrest University, and I'm studying for my Greater Healing degree with a concentration in Healing Ethics. Particularly, my thesis sheds light on the misuse and abuse of healing magic, as well as dangerous magic practices that are unfortunately commonplace."

He shifted. "Most healing centers deal with surface injuries and cosmetic healing and neglect internal injuries or cause clots from dangerously rapid healing. This is common knowledge among Healers, but it's largely considered a necessary evil that occasionally we'll lose some patients. I wanted to argue for stricter policies and show that such tragedies are, in fact, avoidable." He fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve and bit his lip.

Jay rolled his eyes and groaned. He was going to get this kid's life story. He wasn't really interested in the inner workings of Healing Magic, and an attractive patron across the way was exchanging flirtatious glances at him.

"Sorry, I, uh, tend to ramble," Lucas mumbled. "S-so, um. During my research I stumbled upon a dangerous conspiracy. Depreciating healing magics."

"Where do I come in?" Jay asked, patience thin, eyes elsewhere."

"Oh. Yes." Lucas pulled back the collar of his shirt. "I-I may not look it, but I've, uh, been afflicted with a Wasting Curse. Are you familiar?"

Jay glanced over the sunken black and purple handprint, a hallmark of the Wasting Curse. "I've seen it in the ring. You need a Disenchanter," he said. "You should have no problem paying, being a student of Wingcrest. Get it treated sooner rather than later. It's not something to ignore."

"I-I've been," Lucas said. "To several."

"Well, yeah. It takes a few days to reverse." Jay said. "You need to be patient and follow your healer's advice."

"You don't understand," Lucas grit. "I've been to three different Disenchanters who claimed they can help me. But... The curse was custom-made, a variant they could have never possibly encountered before. It uses a form of malicious regeneration interlocked with my healing magic. A fitting punishment for my meddling."

Jay passed his glass back to the bartender for a refill. "So what does that mean?"

"Trying to remove the Wasting makes it spread," Lucas explained. "Each Disenchantment brings the curse closer to my heart."

"Listen, kid, that's awful," Jay said, "That really is. But what do you want me to do about it? You need a professional."

"I need a bodyguard, first of all," Lucas said. "Someone unaffected by magics."

Jay fixed him with a long, tired stare. "I'm not a body guard. Check the guild nearby."

Jay moved to slip away from the booth, but Lucas grabbed his arm. "I also need a strong power dampener. Someone who can block my magic and slow the spread of the curse."

"They sell power dampeners everywhere nowadays," Jay said dismissively.

"Yours is extremely, exceptionally powerful," Lucas said with a note of desperation. "I could fill an entire amphitheater with power dampeners to achieve a fraction of what you are. Whoever cast it on you was a master of the craft."

The flirtatious patron cast a final glance before leaving. Jay flopped back to his chair with a sullen expression.

"Listen, I know this isn't... How you want to spend your evening," Lucas worded tactfully. "But this is life or death for me, and I am willing to pay you very, very handsomely. Name your price."

"Give it a rest, kid," Jay sighed. "Just... I'm not a bodyguard. I have shows scheduled. I can't just walk out in the middle of a season."

"But I--"

He drained another pint. "And you're right, you do ramble," Jay grumbled. "You give me a headache." He patted him on the back and shoved past. "Good luck, kid."

"I'll tell," Lucas said.

Jay stopped in his tracks. "...What?"

"I'll tell everyone your secret."

Jay set his jaw, and turned with a raw fury. He grabbed the young man and pushed him back into the bar counter.

"You want to die tonight?" Jay hissed.

"You left me no choice," Lucas hissed back.

They stared each other down. Lucas shivered.

"You... You might as well," Lucas whispered, his voice cracking. "I'll be dead soon anyway." His lip quivered. "I'll be dead by morning."

Jay's anger faded. He took a deep breath and righted the young man, and smoothed out his rumpled shirt.

"Don't cry," Jay said. "Don't..." He shushed him.

Lucas made a good effort, trying to hold it in. This wasn't exactly the place for tears. He choked a bit and a sob escaped.

"I'm going to die, and so, so many people are going to die, because it's more profitable to keep them sick," he whispered. "They don't want my research getting out, and I'm not going to be able to save anyone."

"Oh... Shoot." Lucas's knees gave out, and Jay caught him just barely. He could feel his shirt get moist, and he gently patted his head. "Shoot, kid."

"All good, Jay?" The bartender called out.

"Yeah," Jay called back.

"Something for the kid?"

"I'm 27 years old," Lucas grumbled, wiping his eyes. "I'm not a kid."

"Yeah, grab one for the..." Jay paused for a double-take. "Wow, really? 27?" He eased the young man into a chair.

"I mean, I'm in graduate school," Lucas muttered. "...Was."

"Okay, yeah." Jay scratched his chin. "Listen, fine, I'll help you out. I'll tell my manager I have an injury from the last match and take the flack. In return, I need half up front."

"R-really?" Lucas lit up.

They discussed the amount and terms of payment over drinks.

"I appreciate your cooperation," Lucas said.

"And one more thing," Jay said, very somber. "This is very, very important."

Lucas nodded.

"Don't tell anyone about the whole... Power thing," Jay said. "I mean it."

Lucas frowned. "I will uphold my end if you uphold yours. I am a man of my word."

"... Fine, I'll take that," Jay said.

You are a gladiator that can win fight after fight against even the most powerful wizards. Your secret? You were cursed as a kid to nullify any magic that came close to you.

"You shot me! In the foot!" The god whined, curled up on the floor.

"Well, yeah," you said. "You were about to destroy the whole city."

"My foot! Do you know how long that takes to heal?! I'm going to have a limp!"

"You also killed people. I really can't feel too sorry for you."

"Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?!"

"I know exactly who I'm dealing with." You crossed the room and knelt in front of him. "Do you?"

The God raised his head to glare at you. "Some pathetic human who got lucky," he said at last.

You smiled and raised the gun to his head. "No, I was sent here," you said. "But try again."

"A couple of puny humans--"

"You're too old for this foolishness."

The God quieted, at that. His eyes went wide as something registered. He shrank a little in terror.

"You were summoned by the Gods, weren't you?" he whispered.

You stared down at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. "The Gods will give you a lighter sentence if you come with me quietly."

It was then the room shifted, or tried. You could feel him pull at the fabric of reality, but you wouldn't let it budge.

"You tried that already," you said. You placed a hand on his shoulder. "No more running."

He tried to grapple you, but his power was never in brute force.

"You chose this," you said.

You gripped his head. He shrieked, wide-eyed and terrified, clawing at you desperately. His hands shrank, now short and stubby. His shoes flopped to the ground, feet too small to hold them. The bullet wound became but a tiny birth mark. His head shrunk, his eyes more soft and wide. Soon enough, he was nothing more than a harmless human baby.

You cradled him in his shirt. He screamed and cried and babbled.

"You will live among the humans, stripped of your memories, stripped of your godhood," you said gently. "For as many lives as you have taken, you will be reborn. That is your punishment."

The baby fussed and spit up a little.

"...Lovely. Now, let's go introduce you to your parents."

You've been sent out to defeat a powerful, reality bending god. All have died horrifically trying. And here you are in front of the crying god as they complain about how you just shot them.

Axolotls. Incredible little creatures. Effectively immortal if left underwater, and forever youthful. Axolotls regrow their limbs because of their regenerating cells. These same cells were found to be present, but dormant, in humans.

Biochemists determined a groundbreaking method to isolate and reactivate these dormant cells. First practiced on mice, they extracted a small amount of blood, agitated it with chemical stimulants, placed it in a centrifuge, and re-injected it into the mice. The mice for a short time experienced cell regrowth, and through trial and error they refined the process.

They named this formula Formula A18, named after the axolotles that inspired it, and the 18 chemical stimulants that it composed of.

The results were, in essence, incredible. Beyond being a treatment to stop aging, it in effect allowed patients to regrow limbs and organs. It was heralded as a cure-all and a miracle drug.

However, the process of extracting, treating, and re-injecting cells was costly, and treatment locations charged handsomely for the procedure. Likewise, it needed to be re-administered every two years, as the effects depreciated. Some patients had adverse reactions to the treatment, as well as a higher predisposition to malignant cancers. As you were part of the at-risk group, you were deemed ineligible for the treatment.

At first, people in your life refused the treatment. "Who knows what those scientists are putting into our bodies," they scoffed. "Better for you to avoid all that, anyway." You would've given anything to receive the treatment, then. You were paraplegic and in constant pain after an accident, and you would've given your life savings for one dose.

Then a new variant of Formula A18 was introduced, Formula AV23. This one was different-- it was cheaper, worked faster, and only required one administration. Instead of extracting and re-injecting the cells, a virus was developed to target and reactivate the dormant cells, creating a persistent and cascading regeneration of cells. The company who developed it was a rival of the creators of A18.

Again, you were denied the treatment on the grounds that you were part of an at-risk group.

Everyone but you was getting healthier. You got even more stares than you did before on the bus. People scolded you for not getting AV23. Some even accused you of attention-seeking.

Five years went by. You witnessed a friend develop a particularly aggressive cancer attributed to AV23. The creators of A18 went out of business, and the formula was bought up by yet another company.

Though the name didn't change, A18 underwent modifications to become more "cost-effective" and "accessible". The revised name was A24, and the cheapest so far. Much more, you were eligible for it.

By this point, research facilities had cut funding to cancer research and many other life-threatening illnesses. Many believed AV23 and A24 could effectively replace all healthcare, and those who cautioned the repercussions of allowing such research to lose funding became the minority.

You decided not to try A24.

Five more years, and companies continued to add chemicals, change names, and cut more corners. FDA allowed variants to be grandfathered in. Business was booming, and people around you were changing. It was subtle, at first.

You noticed people would wander in circles. Some would stare listlessly at walls. Regulars on the bus struggled to remember how to swipe their card.

Five more years.

Adult daycare centers popped up all over. Hospitals were packed. Companies denied all connection to the rise in cancer patients and mass cognitive decline.

Five more years.

A man in Idaho accidentally cut off his finger. When he arrived at the hospital, the finger was reported to have fully healed and grown a small network of organs.

A woman in Berlin found hair in teeth growing from a wound in her midsection.

Five more years.

Many who took one of the AV23 and A24 variants went sterile, and birthrate was at an all-time low. Children born during the early introduction of AV23 and A24 physically and mentally stagnated, with underdeveloped limbs, poor fine motor control, short attention spans, weak vocal cords, and very limited cognitive retention. They were known as the "Cherub Generation".

The man's pinky from Idaho was kept under close observation. It grew a mouth, lungs, and a digestive system, and was able to crawl and consume nutrients independently.

A social media trend called "pinky pets" is inspired by this phenomenon.

Five more years.

Though you never went for treatment, you are showing the same effects of regeneration as everyone around you. Reports show AV23, A24 and its variants created a virus that can be transmitted airborne. You are finally able to walk, but your wounds heal in strange ways, and your blood feels like it's crawling.

Systems are developed to handle human's shorter retention spans. De-aging products are a largely thing of the past. Swimming becomes an extraordinarily popular activity, and the Cherub Generation seems to swim exceptionally well.

On a cellular level, most humans have changed, yourself included. You notice your skin is tougher, and your eyesight a bit duller. Your hair falls out and webbing grows between your fingers and toes. A strange new organ grows alongside your lungs. You are no longer able to handle extreme cold like you used to.

Asexual reproduction becomes the only way for most people to reproduce.

Biochemists work around the clock to reverse the effects of the AV23/A24 virus.

Five more years. Humans enter the oceans. Amenities from above-land are redesigned for underwater use. Above-ground cities are largely inhabited by the rare few who were resistant to the AV23/A24 virus.

Deep in the lowest reaches of the ocean, where humans used to be unable to travel, you find others like you.

Scholars set to work to communicate with these ancient humans.

They lament the life you gave up, but they welcome you with open arms.

Humanity persists. Humanity stagnates.

Then, slowly, humanity seeks land, and the ability to change, to age, once again.

A drug is discovered that stops all effects of aging. You decide to not take it. 20 years pass and the side effects are discovered.

The Beast (Part 1)

The crowd screamed and ran at the sight of Hero's monstrous transformation. Hero roared, a pained and animalistic sound. Their shaking hands grew to long and sharp claws. Their teeth, jagged and pointed.

Hero cautiously approached a mirror mounted on the wall, terrified by what they might find. They recoiled at the beast that stared back.

They fled, out the doors and into the crowded streets. More people screamed. Someone threw a can, and they yelped. Shots rang out.

"The beast is getting away!" Someone cried.

They darted down an alleyway, and they kept running until they felt well and truly alone.

Or, so they thought.

"Ah, so you're the one they're after," said a voice in the shadows.

Hero bristled. They knew that voice.

"Oh. Oh my," Villain whispered reverently, stepping into the light. "You're marvelous."

"It went this way!" A voice cried.

"You're not safe here," Villain said. They threw open the doors to an abandoned warehouse. "Quick, inside."

Hero scrambled into the warehouse doors, up the wall and into the ceiling rafters.

The Villain shouted, "It went the other way!"

The angry voices receded, and Hero momentarily relaxed.

Villain closed the doors and all looked around. "Well, that's not ideal."

Hero shrank back into the shadows. Villain couldn't see them.

Villain ran to an intercom mounted near the doors.

"Listen up," Villain called over the intercom. "My pet is loose somewhere in this warehouse. Whoever brings them to me unharmed receives a little bonus."

Their lackeys sprung into action, running back and forth along rows of shelving and in and out of the various shipping containers littering the warehouse. A few ran into each other in their haste.

"Where did you go?" Villain muttered, scanning the ceiling.

They locked eyes with Hero, who bristled.

"They're on the ceiling nearest the compactor," Villain announced over the intercom.

Hero jumped down and scampered across the concrete flooring. Two lackeys tried to head them off, and they ran towards a set of stairs. Two more lackeys blocked their path, and they jumped off the stairs and darted over the shelving, toppling boxes in their wake.

"Boss, they're too fast!" One of the lackeys complained.

"Get the tranqs," Villain said.

Darts whizzed by as Hero tried to shake their pursuers. They cursed themselves for seeking asylum from a villain of all people.

They dove down to a set of doors and launched at them, but they wouldn't budge. They looked for some kind of lock or obstruction, but too late.

Something hit their shoulder. They tried to wrench it out, much too late.

They snarled as Villain approached them.

"Sorry, darling, but I can't have you tearing apart my warehouse," Villain said.

Hero realized they were laying down. They tried to get up, but they suddenly felt so, so weak. Villain knelt down and pet them gently, peering into their terrified eyes. They tried to nip at the Villain's hand, but that didn't seem to deter them.

"Rest now," Villain said.

Hero whined and went limp.

Part 2

Oh my god I am so obsessed with ‘A Man of His Word’ could you please continue it if you have time? Thank you sooo much i love your writing so much.

Happy to! Thanks for the kind words, hope you enjoy :)

Pt. 1

-

A Face with Two Hands (A Man of His Word pt. 2)

Cw: childhood parental loss, interrogation + previous warnings

“11:59,” the clock read.

It was digital, so no ticking could be heard from where it was reinforced into the wall. Civilian was just as silent where they stood in the center of the utterly empty room.

Around them, cold gray walls closed in, broken only by a thick metal door. It was painfully cliche as far as cells go, appropriate for a cold-hearted villain to stash away all their problems and inconveniences.

Like Civilian.

The quiet was peaceful, for a moment.

Silence, however, tends to beg to be broken, and Civilian’s mind was more than happy to oblige the whims of the stale air around them.

As easy as breath filled their lungs, the voices of their Mom and Dad flooded their head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Midnight,” they had promised, with eyes full of love. “You should be asleep by then.”

But Civilian wasn’t.

Instead, they were camped out in the kitchen, nest of blankets keeping them separate from the hard laminate floor. They refused to give in to the sleep that pulled relentlessly at their eyelids, gaze stubbornly locked on the little green numbers that glowed above the oven and spelled out broken promises.

They clutched a small stuffed panda in their arms, waiting for the familiar sound of the garage door opening. Their eyes watered as they rested their head against the wooden table leg.

With each minute that ticked by, Civilian’s heart dropped a little lower.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking at the clock now, Civilian couldn’t help but feel the same sense of dread.

They shook off the memory, coming back into the present with a disorienting blink.

It was three hours till the next switch check in. As far as Civilian could tell, Villain wouldn’t be back until then.

Plenty of time to take inventory.

Physically, Civilian had little more than the clothes on their back.

The cuts Villain had inflected still laid open and untreated. Clearly, he didn’t plan on them living long enough for infection to become a problem.

They tried to tear strips out of their jacket in hopes of maybe tying some fabric around their wound but quickly deemed the weave too thick. Out of necessity, they moved onto the thinner cotton of their T-shirt, tearing off the hem with a degree of difficulty and gripping it with their teeth to tie as tightly as they could manage.

They really did miss having Friend’s extra hands and muscles around.

Mentally, they were about at the same level, except there was no shirt bandage that would stop the echoing in their mind.

Prisoner.

The word sat like cold iron wrapped around their heart, the weight like a death and betrayal all in one.

Civilian didn’t know how they could ever forget a feeling like that.

They were painfully aware that there was nothing but an awkwardly blurted secret and three days of planning keeping an old friend from spilling their blood across the unforgiving concrete of what they could only assume to be some kind of basement.

They took a deep breath and glanced at the clock again.

Well, two days now.

Unexpectedly, a sharp wave of anger crashed over them. Did their friendship truly mean nothing? They were so, incredibly, irrevocably stupid! Now they were probably going to die, stuck in this stupid place he brought them to (because of course he had a place-!)

The door opened with no warning, the loud clicking and snapping of the lock sending a sudden jolt through their heart and taking several more years off their life.

The man that entered seemed nothing but cold and distant.

He wasted no time stepping towards them, and in turn Civilian wasted no time falling flat on their ass trying to back away from him.

“What was your plan?” He questioned without preamble, freezing his movements and allowing Civilian a precious second to think.

Unfortunately, even with the immediate threat paused, they still lacked the clear-headedness to answer.

What was Villain talking about? He was the one with a plan to take down Hero. Civilian just needed to help work out one little kink-

“What?” They asked the stone-faced villain.

“After ten seconds.”

Oh, that plan.

“Hope for the best?” They squeaked.

Civilian’s attempt at a self-loathing chuckle ended in nothing but a weak cough.

Once upon a time, Friend would have laughed heartily with them, bent over, one hand holding his stomach. Villain did no such thing. Eyes that could never have belonged to Friend cut them a dangerous glare.

“Okay, then. We’ll start with the harder questions,” he spoke level, but Civilian knew a dangerous tone when they heard one. Slowly, they started crawling back, but it didn’t matter.

Villain descended and Civilian shrunk with the knowledge that his hands were not empty.

“How the fuck did you figure out who I am?”

As much as Civilian tried to ignore it, the way he spit the pronoun stung.

Civilian was not unfamiliar with pain, nor were they unfamiliar with those close to them inflicting it upon them. What they felt now, however, was a level far beyond anything they had felt before.

They supposed he, of all people, would be an expert in inflicting pain.

In a matter of seconds, Civilian was sure they didn’t have nearly enough shirt left to bandage everything. Their tongue loosened with the stinging. They had no question this was intended by the man holding the sharpened knife.

“Die,” they blurted as a result, in that oh-so elegant manner that Villain had a habit of bringing out in them.

“Excuse me?” Villain challenged, eyebrows raised and hand poised to continue cutting.

“My plan,” Civilian grit hard through their teeth, “was to die.” They clarified, rolling over to groan. “I made peace with it.”

Villain considered them for a moment, rising to his full height and staring down at them with a confusing mix of condescension and possibly pity. Or perhaps he was just smug. Civilian certainly didn’t trust their ability to read him anymore.

He tilted his head slowly, only adding to Civilian’s confusion as he smirked.

“Did you make peace with this?”

To that, Civilian said nothing.

His face evened out again, and Civilian recognized the masked anger, familiar as the taste of blood, as he reached down. Villain pulled them up by the collar, wrestling their arms roughly behind their back as he leaned over their shoulder.

“That was not your best plan,” he whispered, before pulling them out the door.