#some sidekick watching them: 😑 they’re at it again jfc

[save-the-villainous-cat]

hey, me again!

I raise you: hero/villain where one shows up to the battle already injured and the other one is very offended because how dare you fight anyone else you cheater

“You little cheater,” the villain whispered, eyeing the injury with something close to compassion, yet possessiveness. They moved the hero’s jacket to the side and pushed them a little forward, observing their bleeding back. It wasn’t pretty but the villain had seen them in worse conditions. “Got shot by a coward.”

“Maybe I was the coward for running away.” The villain let out a sigh and tilted their head. The hero looked frustrated in a suspicious way. As if they were hiding something.

“We both know there’s nothing further from the truth than that.” They took a step back and looked around the alley. With astounding annoyance, they realised that it was jealousy they were feeling. Jealousy. Overwhelming abundances of jealousy.

It wasn’t the fact that someone had hurt the hero. That wasn’t the goal, that wasn’t what they were chasing after. It was the fact that they had a deep, fleshy relationship that was complicated and something they usually didn’t acknowledge. Neither of them.

And that someone dared to come close to that, someone dared to hurt the hero. Dared to kill them.

Thankfully, the hero didn’t seem too miserable. But that was to be expected, wasn’t it? That was to be expected from someone who had grown up fighting, someone who didn’t seem to know anything beside that. Both were fools when it came to that. Fighting every single day. No breaks. No family.

The villain let their thumb follow the hero’s cheekbone, smearing blood across their face but the hero grabbed their wrist.

“I don’t need your compassion,” they said coldly. They didn’t move the villain’s hand though.

“No,” the villain agreed. “You want it, though.”

The hero scowled and let go of the villain’s wrist. Disapproval went over their face. And they looked frustrated.

Disoriented. They took a few steps back and their breathing got heavier. They put a hand on the wall to stabilise themselves.

“Fucking hell…” they gasped.

“Some medical attention wouldn’t hurt.”

“Smart-ass.” The villain rolled their eyes.

They grabbed the hero’s jacket and helped them out of it. The hero wasn’t protesting but they were cursing quietly every now and then.

“I can’t believe you’re fighting other people.” It was meant to be sarcastic. Because, obviously, the villain wasn’t supposed to care about that.

“I thought we had an open relationship,” the hero answered. The villain couldn’t help but smile. They hadn’t expected the hero to go along with it.

“We don’t. Put your hands on the wall.”

The hero did.

“Oh. Then I’m really sorry, my love.” The villain stopped for a second, their hands floating over the wound. They were supposed to be the angry one. But the hero, they were…melancholic? The villain didn’t know.

Before the villain could lose themselves fully to this thought spiral, they put their fingers around the wound, trying to find any broken bones underneath the many layers of skin.

Unsurprisingly, the hero hissed.

“You should see one of your medics. Being a hero doesn’t mean you can walk around with a bullet in your back all day.”

“Eh, should be fine. I can still walk,” the hero answered. They turned around.

“You being in emotional distress doesn’t help the situation,” the villain noted. God, poor hero.

“Well, I got shot. I guess that caused it.” The villain stared at them, unimpressed by the dishonesty.

The hero had been shot a million times throughout their career. The villain had seen their reactions to it. They were getting used to it.

Which was horrifying in its own way.

“And who pulled the trigger?” The hero looked at the ground. “A friend?”

“…yeah, best friend,” the hero mumbled.

“Do you want me to take care of the wound?”

“Yes, please.”