We Absolutely Should Not Be Doing This, The Hero Whispered, But There Wasnt Any Heat To It. The Other

“We absolutely should not be doing this,” the hero whispered, but there wasn’t any heat to it. The other end of the line rustled as the villain laughed.

“There are a lot of things we shouldn’t be doing. Namely, I shouldn’t commit felonies, you shouldn’t talk to a felon…” their friend trailed off.

This time, the hero was the one who laughed. Outside, a bird began to chirp with the sunrise, and the villain sighed.

“Time distance.”

“Time distance,” the hero agreed, and by god if the miles weren’t a wound in itself.

“You should sleep,” the villain murmured. The hero hummed.

“Probably, yeah.”

Neither of them hung up.

“If I promise to call tomorrow, will you go to bed, please? For me?”

The hero sniffed, eyes heavy as the sun peeked through their blinds.

“Promise?”

“Pinkie.”

The hero slumped backwards. “I won’t hang up though.”

The villain laughed, softly, with an affection the hero didn’t want to think about.

“I’ll do the heavy lifting, once again,” but the hero knew they smiled as they said. The line clicked off.

—————————

“Hey, Sunshine. Committing nefarious acts of kindness and good deeds, I take it?”

“Hey,” the hero was breathless, hand pressed against their side. It came back bloody.

Any humor dropped from the villain’s voice in an instant.

“You’re hurt.”

The hero managed a pathetic laugh, flinching.

“Just a little.”

“It doesn’t sound like a little.”

The hero eyed their wound, swallowing.

“Absolutely just a little.”

“It’s a good thing you’re the kid of a hero, because love, you absolutely suck at lying.”

The hero tried to pretend something didn’t warm in their stomach at the endearment.

“I have…bandages. And antiseptic. And some good old natural dirt to rub into it if all else fails.”

The villain sighed on the other end of the line, and the hero knew they were rubbing their brow. For some reason, despite the pain, it made the hero grin.

“I’m fine,” they promised, and when the villain stayed silent, they said it again. “I’m fine.”

“If you die I’ll be mad at you.”

“Fairly certain that is the wrong sentiment for a villain to have towards a hero—“

“Has the bleeding stopped?”

The hero slapped some tape around the edge of the gauze, blood still dried around the edges.

“Yes.”

The relief was palpable.

“Good. Go to bed.”

“You’ll call again?”

“Promise.”

The hero smiled.

“Pinkie.”

The villain hung up.

—————————

“You wouldn’t happen to have a flamethrower I could borrow, do you?”

The hero blinked, holding the phone away from their face for a moment.

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, don’t be, I just need one,” the villain snorted, and a loud crash sounded in the background.

“What on earth are you doing?” Concern rolled in the hero’s gut. The villain laughed.

“You’re going to want plausible deniability sunshine.”

“Right,” they paused. “But why a flamethrower?”

“It has flames, it throws them, what else could I ask for in an object?”

“I can throw flames.” Even though the villain couldn’t see it, the hero let a spark flicker on their finger tips.

“And again,” the villain’s voice lowered. “What more could I ask for?”

The hero didn’t have a response to that, but the villain somehow, like they always did, knew that.

“Any bruises I should know about?”

“And what would you do about them? You live on the other side of the country,” the hero teased.

“I can steal a fighter jet in less than half an hour.”

The hero blinked at the seriousness in the villain’s tone. They laughed, nervously.

“Please don’t do that.”

The villain sighed. “You ruin my fun.”

“I haven’t arrested you, so I think that should get me brownie points.”

“You live on the other side of the country,” the villain parroted.

“I could get there faster than a fighter jet,” the hero said. The villain snorted again.

“Will you—“

“Call again? Pinkie.”

The hero smiled. “Promise.”

The villain hung up.

—————————

The hero picked up the phone on the third ring, smiling.

“Hey trouble maker, what’s—”

All they got in response was a pained wheeze.

“Villain,” the hero said, gut plummeting. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” the villain bit out, breath short. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t sound okay.”

The villain gave something that was either a laugh or a sob.

“Mhm.”

“What’s going on,” their voice broke, and the villain fell silent.

“It’s going to be okay,” they murmured. And the hero knew.

Innately, in a painful, wretched way, they knew.

“My dad is there.”

Their dad, the superhero. Their dad, who had forbidden them from ever speaking.

Their dad, who wanted the villain, their villain, dead.

The villain made a quiet noise of ascent.

“I’m coming—”

“You won’t make it.”

The hero stilled.

“How bad is it?” Their hands were shaking. They couldn’t find their suit, why couldn’t they find their suit—

“Too fast for a fighter jet,” the villain tried, voice too light and wet with tears.

The hero slammed a drawer closer, throwing open the door to the basement, searching for something, anything.

“I can be faster,” they grit out, breathless. Their chest hurt.

“Not that fast.”

“Please,” the hero sobbed, and on the other end of the line, the villain did too.

“Don’t do this to me.”

“I don’t want to,” the villain swore. They coughed, and it was a deathly thing.

Something slammed in the background on the end of the line, and the hero’s fingers clenched around the phone.

“What was that?”

The villain let out a pained whine, phone crackling as they shifted away, before their voice came over the speaker again.

“I’ll call again tomorrow.”

The hero’s face was wet.

“Promise?”

The villain let out a small sob, but they still sounded like they were smiling, soft with affection.

“Pinkie.”

The hero didn’t mean to say what came next.

“I love you.”

The villain didn’t even pause, breath hitching. “I love you too.”

The line crackled.

“Sunshine, I need you to do something for me now,” the villain rasped, voice choked with pain and tears and love and fear. “I need you to hang up.”

The hero forgot how to breathe.

“No—”

“Please,” the villain took a sharp breath through their nose, and it sounded painful. “Just this once. I can’t do it this time.”

“Villain,” the hero began, but the villain cut them off as something crashed in the background once more.

It sounded like a building falling.

It sounded like the hero breaking, too.

“Sunshine,” the villain pleaded. “Just once. I’ll-I’ll call you back. I swear.”

They could both taste the lie.

The hero sniffed.

The villain sobbed.

And for the first time, the hero hung up.

The villain never called them back.

“You cannot run from me. I made you,” the villain soothed. The hero balked, like a frightened horse, all jerky limbs and anxiety.

“You may have made me, but you haven’t kept me.”

The villain looked disappointed, then, as if the hero was a petulant child.

“A fact I hope to remedy.”

The hero bared their teeth.

“Keep hoping, then.”

And they fled.

“I’m of the stars,” she confided. “I belong to them.”

She trailed a hand along the banister.

“But then, so does everyone else. The same material that makes up all of us is what makes up stars, you see?”

She tipped her head to one side in concession.

“I’m not made of stars in the way you are. I wield them, I control them, I breathe them. But they control me, too.”

They stared at her now, wide and terrified.

“They sing to me. It’s the kind of thing I can’t explain to you. I wouldn’t, even if I could.”

She paused.

“I wield the stars. And do you know what stars do?” She leaned forward, a breath from their face. “They burn.”

I beg of you

Haunt me forever

I’ll stay a believer

So long as you just

Stay

“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.

“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.