Short Prompt #7
TW: Blood, destruction, injury, screaming mentions, fire, fear and begging (it's asking for help, not the very degrading kind, dw)
To call the city a ruin would be an understatement.
Entire buildings collapse, littering the streets with chunks of glass, bricks and debris. Black tendrils of smoke snake up from the burning asphalt, shrouding the baby blue of what was once a peaceful, sunny sky with a thick blanket of dark smog. Merciless, bright orange flames lick shamelessly at whatever victims they can prey on, be that a car, the street or worst of all, a human being, and the sheer heat of it leaves Hero sweltering even with the supposedly light material of their suit. Nothing but the wails of sirens and desperate screams of anguish can be heard, piercing the hero's eardrums violently enough to threaten a headache.
Even with all that, there is still something one would crown as the worst of what was happening to the crime-fighter's home; the streets start to run the deep, unmistakable crimson of blood, corpses well past the degree of identifiable scattered everywhere. It sends a shiver up Hero's spine because while destruction was no stranger to them, they hadn't seen it to such vicious degrees before.
Through all of it, a set of soft whimpers and ragged breaths catch the crime-stopper's attention, the sound not quite far from where they are. They walk towards the source, wiping the tears from their irritated eyes blurring their vision, glass crunching underneath their boots.
Huddled up against the wall of what remains of an alley, is the shivering, injured form of Villain. Their breaths come out sharp and uneven, blood marring their features, burns and bruises in sickly shades of brown and purple lining their body. Their suit is left no more than a dirty mess of fabric, more rips and shreds than an actual costume. Hero winces at the bits of glass wedged into some open cuts.
At least some of this had to be intentional.
"Hero, please. H-help me. D-don't arrest me, please," the criminal rasps out, eyes wide and glistening with tears threatening to spill.
This is a version of Villain Hero had never thought they'd see. Their enemy, cold and calculated, had always held their dignity in the highest regard. They left no room for displays of vulnerability and fought tooth-and-nail no matter what.
Yet here they are, on the verge of tears, begging the hero to save them. It almost pains them to see the villain this way.
They oblige, scooping them up gingerly against their chest. Had they always been this light?
"Please don't arrest me, don't take me to the agency. I didn't. . .didn't start this," they sob into the crook of their enemy's neck, saying the word 'agency' like it was hell. And suddenly, the hero was hit with the inclination to know why that was.
"I know," they answer softly. The villain, no matter how intelligent or scheming, did not possess the resources to lay siege to their city like that. It didn't seem like something they would do anyway.
They run their fingers through their nemesis's hair soothingly, trying to get them to relax even slightly. "I'm taking you home, okay?"
They feel them nod fervently against their neck.
Hero doesn't quite understand the exact mechanics of why they wish to know who had been responsible for turning Villain into a terrified mess of emotions clinging to their form, why they want to tend to their wounds back home, or why they seriously want to know why the villain tried to avoid the agency like it was the plague.
All they do know, is that they want all this like a visceral urge clawing at their heartstrings with sympathy and another emotion they couldn't discern for their nemesis.
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