#i love the betas ive had so far but god. the mortifying ordeal of being known as well as actually finding people interested

[raineandsky]

#121

The barrel of the supervillain’s weapon turns a bright white as it charges. The villain is ready for this—they’ve planned it, they’ve imagined it, they know that this has to be the thing that redeems them.

The supervillain laughs as he turns to face the weapon towards them. The heroes never really believed they’d changed. Why would they? A villain once is a villain for life. Whispers followed them, hard glares burned into their back, the odd ‘accidental’ shove followed by laughter that could’ve been as cruel as a villain’s.

The supervillain says something, but they’re not listening. Well. The villain’s about to show those stupid heroes what change looks like. They’ll die here, the hostages will have that extra time to escape, and the heroes will finally see the villain as one of them. As a person.

The villain closes their eyes. The machine in front of them whirs excitedly. This is it. This is it.

Something hard collides with their side, sending them crashing to the pavement. No! their mind shrieks. Gravel digs into any bit of skin it can find, the sharp ache of future bruises under their clothes. Painful, but not as much as this was meant to be.

The supervillain grunts in frustration as the villain risks opening their eyes. A hefty crater is smouldering in the concrete where they were just standing, puffing smoke into the air like a grim image of what they’d have ended up as—ash, at best. They can’t move; somehow, seeing the destruction that could’ve so easily been them is paralysing.

“Oh, god,” someone says from behind them. “You’re not dead, are you?”

The villain finally notices the tight hold around them and manages to wriggle out of it. “Wh—” They push away from the hero, incensed. “What are you doing?”

The hero lugs themself to their feet. “Making sure you don’t die?”

The villain follows them up, ignoring the hero’s hand held out to them, as the supervillain tuts irritably. “Heroes cannot save you, [Villain],” he calls with a cold smile. “You really think you are anything more than a stain to scrub out to them?”

The villain lurches back towards to supervillain, the hero grappling for them and missing. “Then give them something they’ll physically have to scrub out of this road!”

The hero appears next to them, their hand around their arm. “[Villain], stop.”

The villain shrugs their hand off, but it’s back immediately. “Go away, [Hero]. Let me do this.”

The supervillain’s weapon lights up. “No,” the hero snaps stubbornly. “Why are you so set on this? What is dying really going to do?”

Whirring hums in the air again. The barrel turns that heavenly white. “Because maybe then you’ll see me a little more as a person and less as a mindless criminal.” They shove the hero away. “There’s hostages, you know. Go be a hero and help them.”

“The other heroes have that sorted,” the hero says coolly, “because I’m a bit busy trying to save someone else right now.”

The villain doesn’t get a chance to pull away from the hero this time. Their hand tightens on the villain’s arm, and before they can react they’re pushed to the side and out of harm’s way a second time.

“Stop!” the villain cries, their voice barely a rasp. “You think I’m blind? You think I can’t see that all of you would rather I was dead?”

“Maybe a few of the nastier guys, sure. They don’t like anyone,” the hero says sharply, “but I promise you, [Villain], not everyone wants you dead.”

The supervillain’s weapon clicks. The villain recognises the sound; a reload, a brief respite in the war. The hero pulls the two of them behind a slab of upturned road, out of the weapon’s line of sight. Not that it wouldn’t blow this thing to smithereens if the supervillain wanted it to.

“You are a fool to think the heroes will ever think of you as one of them,” he says with a grim smirk. Another click, another bolt in. “But if you do not want to accept that, I am happy to erase the thought from your mind.”

“I need this,” the villain snaps. The hero’s still clinging to their arm. “Let go of me.”

“No you don’t,” the hero says shortly. “You need redemption.”

“This is redemption.”

“No it’s not.” The hero’s hold on them tightens, almost painfully. “This is sacrifice. For nothing.”

“I’m— I’m buying time, the hostages—”

“You realise,” the hero cuts in, “you can buy more time if you don’t keel over.”

The villain stares at them. The supervillain’s weapon clicks one final time. “Come out, [Villain],” he says brightly. “Let us relieve the heroes of their moral duties. I’m sure they’ll thank you for it.”

“Dying doesn’t fix anything,” the hero says lowly. “Don’t make amends by avoiding what you’ve done. Surviving—living with your mistakes—is the biggest atonement you can make.”

“Come on, [Villain],” the supervillain says again. The smile is audible in his voice; coy, knowing, confident. “I’ll make it nice and easy for you, I promise.”

The villain’s stare has long stopped focusing on the hero. They’re well beyond looking at anything. “Okay,” they say weakly. “Okay.”

When the shot of the supervillain’s machine crushes their hiding spot to pieces, the two of them are long gone.