Dont Die.

“Don’t die.”

The sidekick’s hands pressed into the hero’s wound, and the hero blinked dizzily.

“What?”

“I said, don’t die.”

“I’m sorry, wait, who are you?”

The sidekick’s gaze had an intensity the hero didn’t know existed. Then, they grinned, and it was like sunshine.

“Your new sidekick. And I can’t be your sidekick if you have the audacity to die on my very first day, so don’t die.”

The hero blinked once more.

“Nice to meet you?”

“I’ll say nice to meet you when you stop bleeding out.”

—————————

“Don’t die,” the sidekick reminded the hero, half laughing, half serious.

The hero rolled their eyes with affection.

“Have I ever?”

—————————

“Don’t die.”

The hero glanced up.

“Relax, it’s just a graze. No bullet holes, see?”

They held their arms away from their body, twisting to show the lack of harm.

The sidekick sighed with something close to relief.

—————————

“Don’t-“

“Die, yes, I know,” the hero finished. The sidekick’s eyes narrowed.

The hero’s heart twisted.

“I won’t, I promise.”

The sidekick nodded, once.

—————————

“Don’t die.”

The hero sneezed, eyes bleary.

“It’s just a cold.”

“Yeah, and people die from those.”

The hero laughed, voice nasally.

“The agency would be thrilled to have cause of death ‘common cold’ written in my file, I’m sure of it.”

The sidekick threw a pillow at them, and brought them soup.

—————————

“Be careful, okay?”

The hero snapped their head up.

The sidekick blinked at the sudden movement, mouth still half open.

“What?”

The sidekick cleared their throat.

“I said be careful,” they gestured awkwardly with one hand. “It’s Supervillain. They don’t pull punches.”

The hero’s mouth was dry.

“Right. Yes.”

They strapped their last piece of gear on, and turned to leave.

“Oh, and hero,” the sidekick tried for nonchalance, smiling slightly. “Don’t die.”

The hero smiled back.

—————————

“You idiot,” the hero hissed, hands frantic. They didn’t know where to press, which wound to try and stop first. The sidekick coughed weakly.

“I had it handled,” the hero’s voice broke.

The sidekick managed a pained wheeze that might have been a laugh.

“Mhm. Yeah.”

“It’s Supervillain, why—“ the hero tipped their head upwards, tears slipping from their eyes.

The sidekick whimpered, slightly. “You could have gotten hurt.”

The hero pressed their hands onto the chest wound.

“And you getting hurt is okay?”

The sidekick didn’t answer. When the hero looked up, their eyes were closed.

“Hey, no no nonono don’t do this to me, sidekick, hey,” the hero scrambled, fingers slick with blood, heart pounding. “Don’t die.”

A curse, an oath, a command, a prayer.

Don’t die.

The sidekick, just barely, smiled, tugging the hero down to whisper into their ear. Just two words. The two words.

The hero sobbed, shaking their head, pushing back to find a pulse—

And found the silence of a waiting grave.

—————————

“Don’t die,” the hero said to themselves quietly, pressing a piece of gauze to their side.

The medic watched them intently, eyes soft, but didn’t say anything.

They knew. The whole goddamn base knew.

And that was the only thing that would come out of the hero’s mouth.

“Don’t. Die.”

The medic’s mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes watering, and they vanished out the door.

The hero realized, then, that their cheeks were wet.

Two words.

An oath. A prayer. A command.

“Don’t die,” They whispered, and for a moment, just a moment, they could pretend it was sidekick saying it.

The very first words they had said to the hero.

And their very last ones, too, pained hushed whispers in the hero’s ear, a final breath.

“Don’t die.”

The hero started sobbing, then.

And they didn’t stop.

Don’t.

Die

“Oh my god—“

“Not quite, love” The antagonist smirked. “If you ask nicely, however, I may be inclined to play along.”

“You’re—“

“A villain, yes.”

The protagonist tried to stop their hands from shaking as the antagonist looked them up and down.

“Why are you in my neighborhood bodega?” The protagonist said finally, and the villain quirked a brow.

“Even famous people need to eat,” the antagonist tucked their hands into their exquisitely tailored suit.

The bag of chips in the protagonists grip crinkled, and the villain inspected them.

“Not the healthiest choice.”

They gave an unamused laugh. “The cheapest.”

The antagonist’s eyes ran over their face, as if taking in their slightly gaunt cheeks.

“Heroism doesn’t pay well, it seems.”

The protagonist looked them up and down.

“Villainy does, it seems.”

At that, the antagonist chuckled, eyes glimmering like they had finally found something to peak their interest.

Behind them, the check out counter beeped and spit out a receipt, which the antagonist promptly crumpled and threw away.

“I’ll be watching,” they said with a nonchalance that did not match the threat of stalking, and disappeared out the sliding doors.

The protagonist stood in front of the machine, slightly awe struck and slightly afraid, until a clerk sidled up to them.

“Old friend?” The clerk asked.

The protagonist glanced over at them, then back towards the door.

“Not quite,” they answered.

They paid for their chips and left, hands pink with cold by the time they got to their apartment.

Attached to their door was an cream colored envelope full of money, and a note in elegant handwriting that simply said “Buy yourself more groceries. Your fridge is a tragedy.”

The protagonist never quite got rid of the antagonist after that.

“You’re a super villain.”

“And you’re gorgeous.”

“What?”

“Oh, sorry love, I thought we were stating facts.”

“You—“

“Called you gorgeous? Yes.”

“No—that’s not what I—god, you collapsed the bridge this morning.”

“Ah yes. I did that too. In more pressing matters, do you have a preference towards wine?”

“I don’t—“

“I’ll pick, then.”

“All those people—“

“Were unfortunate casualties. Look. Stop trying to call for help under the tablecloth, I can see you. Look at me. I am a villain, yes, but I would give you the world. A hero? They would give you up for the world. Do you really want to love someone who will never put you first?”

“…no.”

“Excellent. Now, do you like pasta?”

“Um. Yes?”

The super villain smiled.

In the end, loving them was easier than the civilian had thought.

“If you keep forcing me into these life or death situations I’m going to think you’re trying to woo me.”

The villain stopped.

“This is a hostage situation.”

“Yes, and you’re doing absolutely magnificent, but if you wanted my attention you could have just asked—“

“I kidnapped you.”

The hero smiled roguishly.

“Darling, I thrive on chaos. And since you aren’t actively hurting anyone, well,” they winked. “I see no reason to escape.”

The villain blinked.

“I’m not trying to woo you—“

“Sure you aren’t, babe,” the hero drawled, and the villain flushed at the idiocy of all of it. “In the meantime, why don’t you tell me all about your genius plans, and I’ll sit here and admire that pretty blush of yours.”

The villain flushed harder and tightened the ropes as the hero laughed and lounged back into the chair.

The city was quiet that night.

But the hero kept it safe—no matter their unusual methods.

"You are my sunshine," their breath hitched, tongue going numb as another scream shattered the air.

"My only—"

What came next?

"You make me—"

Their cheeks were wet. What right did they have to cry? They weren't the one bleeding. They were the one singing a lullaby so they wouldn't hear—

The scream was louder this time, higher pitched with agony. They didn't know what could cause that kind of pain.

When skies are—

You never know—

There was a knife on the table, three feet from their hand.

What they had done, the way the horrible truth of it oozed out of their soul; it felt kind of like bleeding.

It felt like screaming under water.

It felt like dying.

If it was their fault, did it matter if it killed them, too?

There was a knife, three feet from their hand.

Their lover screamed again, vocal cords running raw.

Had there even been a choice? Yes, yes, always yes, but had there really?

Their hands were shaking. For some reason, the sight of them trembling drew a sob from their chest.

"Sunshine," they mumbled, but whatever words came after that were lost in their mouth.

There was a knife three feet from their hand.

The next time their lover screamed it cut off so abruptly they wondered if they had gone deaf. If their brain had simply turned off, stolen every sound in the air for protection.

Their lover didn't scream again.

There was a knife in their hand.

"They're alive," they whispered. "They're alive they're alive they're alive."

Say it enough and you believe it.

There was a knife in their hand.

The villain laughed.

Their hand clenched around the hilt.

If they saved their lover, their lover wouldn't forgive them. They knew that. How could they—the person they loved the most, the one person they trusted, had lured them in for the villain.

If their lover was dead—well.

There was a knife in their hand.

The villain was laughing.

And they were going to make sure the villain died painfully.

Maybe by the end of it, they would have something to actually cry about.

Their lover whimpered, a horrible wretched sound. It sounded like hope. It sounded like ‘I’m still here.’

They had a knife in their hand.

And they knew how to use it.

So they did.

“Do you know,” the vampire hummed in their ear, “how young you look right now?”

The protagonist choked on their gag, eyes glaring up at the vampire.

“Like a lamb to the slaughter,” they continued, trailing a finger through the protagonist’s sweat soaked hair. “Did they tell you what you were getting into?”

No, the protagonist thought, they hadn’t. The agency had needed someone to distract— someone new to the battlefield that the vampire wouldn’t recognize, with their memory as sharp as knives and their penchant for removing displeasing individuals from amongst the living.

And so of course, that meant the protagonist, fresh out of training, newly recruited, the littlest sibling of a sacrificial hero long since revered.

Big shoes to fill.

A solemn and silent grave to impress.

If the protagonist could have, they would have cursed the vampire out, but they supposed that would only make things worse.

Still, being in the room with the murderer of their big brother, the person who had left the hero of the city bleeding out in a place so hidden that by the time the protagonist found them—

Well.

They had a grave to impress.

The vampire caught their chin, tilting their head up.

“Little lamb, you look quite like my favorite enemy. Truly, the resemblance is uncanny,” their hand tightened on the protagonists jaw. “Say, our blessed hero didn’t happen to have a mini me, did they?”

The protagonist’s teeth clenched and they snarled through the gag.

The vampire grinned, delighted.

“Oh, how wonderful. It’s a pleasure to meet you, lamb.”

The protagonist simply blinked. The vampire clicked their tongue, as if disappointed. A moment later, the tip of their finger slid across the protagonist’s gag and it disintegrated.

The protagonist spit dust onto the floor, mouth dry with leftover cloth, before baring their teeth at the vampire.

“You piece of undying shit—“

The vampire slide an amused smile their way.

“The mouth on you. Yes, you really do look like them, don’t you? The resemblance is startling.”

“I’ll show you just how startling I can be if you untie these bonds.”

Behind their back, the protagonists fingers were numb. If they tried to punch, they doubted it would be successful. No need for the vampire to know that.

“Such rage for such a young individual. Tell me, little lamb, why do you want me dead?”

The protagonist closed their mouth that had been prepared to spit more venomous words, and swallowed thickly.

“I don’t want you dead—“

“Oh darling,” the vampire waved a hand. “Of course you do. It’s quite villainous of you, but I’m not one to judge morality.”

The protagonist bit the inside of their cheek, examining the edges of the concrete room, if only to avoid meeting the vampires all seeing gaze.

“Is this about your brother?” The vampire guessed casually, like hearing the vampire reference them didn’t stop the protagonist’s heart.

Their stomach clenched.

The vampire’s eyebrows eased in understanding.

“Ah. Well, then. I suppose I understand the sentiment. Nothing I can do about it, however. Bygones, they say.”

The protagonist lurched forward in their chair.

“He isn’t a bygone, he was my brother, and you murdered him—“

The vampire tutted, hand sliding over the protagonists mouth with impossible speed.

“Now, then, don’t say such atrocious things.”

The protagonist bit the inside of the vampires palm, and they raised an eyebrow. Their too cool palm didn’t move, smooth skin resting above the protagonists jaw.

“I did not murder your brother,” the vampire said after a tense moment. The protagonist glared at them.

Of course they had. The protagonist wasn’t stupid, they had seen the injuries on their brother. They had held him, in his final moments, terrified and shaking as their hands tried to cover too many wounds at once.

And then their brother had been dead and their hands had been covered in blood and all the protagonist could think was “It was the vampire.”

The vampire nodded as if they could read the protagonist’s face.

“Some things you are not meant to know,” the vampire murmured. “But I will tell you this—I did not kill your brother.”

They protested against the vampire’s palm, and the hand gripped tighter. For a moment, the protagonist remembered the terrifying strength hidden under that lovely face.

“I understand you are grieving. But I am not responsible for what happened. I am only responsible for what came next.”

They turned confused eyes on the vampire, and the vampire released them, studying the protagonist for a second before striding to the door.

The paused with a hand on the door knob.

“By the way, little lamb. Your brother isn’t alive,” the vampire’s voice rang into the room. “But he is living.”

The door slammed shut.

And the protagonist was left with the horrible realization that maybe when their brother had died, the vampire had done far worse than kill him—maybe the vampire had brought him back.

The protagonist started screaming for the vampire to come back.

Hours later, when they were rescued, the agency asked them what they had learned.

Stonily, faithfully, they looked their supervisor dead in the eye.

And said nothing.