Oh my!

They are human! It's just that adopting mannerisms of the actual animals helps them keep their civilian identities away from their vigilante ones. And it's not much, not really.

It started with Dick. Kids have a tendency to stare at things the younger they are. Eight year old Dick Grayson thought that staring at the crooks and tilting his head was perfect for catching people off-guard. He found that cackling added to the effect, and he really did find it funny how these adults with scars and tattoos and such would scream like little girls and stumble right to Bruce. Dick managed to perfect this so that he acts like a real bird while in his suit, flying through the sky and being a blur of color that cackled at thugs pain.

Head tilts just a little too bird-like. Whistles and chirps to call out to Bruce without anyone knowing what was being said. A call sign for checking in as Dick got older and started to patrol areas on his own.

Bruce saw the usefulness in Dick chirping like a bird. He worked with Dick to create a language based on bat and bird sounds, and it's a small portion of why they work so well together.

Jason picked up on it. The head tilts, the chirps and whistles that Bruce made sure were distinctly different from Dick's calls. A way to tell which of his chaotic little shits he was calling out to.

Babs also picked up on it. She wasn't one of Bruce's kids, but she learned to be more bat-like and how to call out to the others, just in case.

Each bat kid has their own call, their own bird. Cass chose to use the sounds of a young bat calling to it's parent or others around it. Most of the Robin's have sounds that are similar yet different.

There's one thing that's true through Gotham. The sound of Batman's kids laughing echoing through the streets like some disembodied voice from a horror movie isn't something to be scared of. Their laughter said that they were in good moods.

*So I had to add oil to my car at a creepy gas station in the middle of the night this week… here’s my “what if” hero/villain snippet inspired by that. (ALSO: this is definitely not meant to be a ‘girls don’t know how to fix cars’ stereotype, it is just 100% that I personally don’t know how to fix cars haha) Hope you enjoy!* 

                       _______________________________________

Click. 

Hero lifted the gas nozzle and returned it to the pump, twisting the gas cap back into place before sliding back into the driver’s seat. 

She turned the key in the ignition. 

Silence. 

She tried again. 

And again. 

After the fourth attempt, she looked around at the nearly deserted gas station. The bright lights of the convenience store were a stark contrast to the midnight sky.

“Not tonight.” She groaned, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. She’d gotten off of a disaster of a twelve hour shift and decided she needed to get out of the city. 

Now she was stuck in the middle of nowhere at a creepy gas station. 

Hero pulled the phone from her pocket, then paused. Who could she call? 

It was the middle of the night. 

She opened her pitifully short message list and clicked on the top number. 

Are you awake? 

The reply was instant.

Yes.

She breathed a sigh of relief. It was the first time she’d been grateful for a sister with insomnia. 

What’s up? Is something wrong? 

I’m at a gas station off exit 31 and my car won’t start. 

I can come get you. 

Sister, you’re two hours away. 

Have you opened the hood? 

Not yet. I just need someone to know where I am in case….

Her phone rang. 

“Hey!”

“Hey.”

“Stay on the phone with me until you’re safe, ok?” 

“Ok.” 

She popped the hood and stepped out of her car. With the phone to one ear, she felt along the underside of the hood until her fingers caught against the latch. 

The hood swung open. That, at least, she could do. 

She frowned as she gazed down at the mass of metal and piping. 

People, she could fix. 

Cars, not so much.

“Hero?” 

“Ya.” 

“Did you check the battery?” She glanced at the battery. 

“It looks fine.” 

“Wow. Astounding diagnosis, Doctor.” 

“Ugh. You know I’m not a car person. The battery looks fine. I had it replaced like a month ago… there was all this gross white stuff on it…” she shuddered.

“You literally perform surgery all day, and you’re grossed out by a corroded battery?” 

She opened her mouth to retort when a car skidded to a stop behind her. 

A man leaned out the window. “You need help, sweetheart?” He pulled open his door.

A second man hopped out of the passenger’s side. 

She was vaguely aware of her sister talking in her ear as warning bells began ringing in her mind at their approach. “Hero? What’s going on?” She tapped the button to turn it to speakerphone. 

“I’m fine. Thanks.” She took a step to the side, towards the store. 

“It looks like you could use a ride.” 

A hand came down on her shoulder and gently pulled her back a couple steps.

“She said she’s fine.” There was something familiar about the voice. 

“We’re just offering a ride, sweetheart. Maybe you’d like one too.” 

A short girl clad in black leather stepped between Hero and the men, her shoulder-length black hair swinging as she shook her head. 

“Boys, Boys. We’re fine,” she growled, pushing her jacket to the side to rest a hand on the gun at her hip.

“Woah there, little lady. We didn’t mean no offense…” The men made a hasty retreat to their car, and she turned to Hero as they peeled out onto the road. 

Hero let out a slow breath as she looked into the face of her rescuer and her fading panic returned ten-fold. It was Villain’s Sidekick. 

Hero looked at the unwrapped box in their hands. It was small and tattered, but the flaps were neatly sealed with a strip of clear tape. "What's this?"

Sidekick shuffled their feet. "Just something small." They glanced up at Hero - their hero - waiting for them to open it.

Hero did so. They unfolded the cloth they found inside, freezing in place when they saw the full length of it.

"I, um... saw you were throwing out your cape. You've always said it's your favorite one, so I- I tried to fix it up a bit." Sidekick snuck a glance to see Hero's reaction only to feel their stomach flip at the utterly blank stare on their face. "I-I'm sorry! I know how much you loved it so I thought I'd try-"

"You did this?"

Sidekick's jaw snapped shut with an audible click. They nodded.

Hero's cape had been ruined. Countless fights had worn it down over the years. It was full of holes and poorly mended rips and tears, the seams all split and frayed. But what they had in their hands wasn't their cape. It was a patchwork of cloth, almost quilt-like with the vague idea of a pattern sewn throughout. Hero swallowed down the lump in their throat as they realized that Sidekick had chosen to use their favorite color to fix it.

Remember to include anchors when you change scenes - touch, taste, smell, sight - when you move to a new place/time to ground the reader back into the setting so that they’re not just floating around in thin air doing whatever they are doing. 

Skip the boring bits. It’s a bit like when people make Facebook statuses about their breakfast. Relevant to a cookery blog, boring to the rest of us. Keep it relevant to the story. If you don’t care about what’s happening in the scene then no one else will, and it probably shouldn’t be in your story. Same with if you have people going somewhere, unless the journey is the point or something interesting happens on the journey, you can skip it or give it like two lines to explain point A to point B.

Basically: write the story that you would want to read. 

Further to skip the boring bits: you want to transition and change to something else when the point of that particular scene has been made. If your scene does not have a point, be it plot development or character development or whatever else, then that scene probably shouldn’t be in your novel if you can’t tell me why you have included it. That’s not to say everything has to be action boom boom pow, a little filler is important, but it should be filler that tells your reader something about your characters. 

The other transition points: new place, new time, new person.

I hope this helps. 

Imagine you’re with/at the character/place, and then start with the details that you would first notice if you were actually there. 

Character description, at first (you can and should drop in little bits throughout your story, but in the first description) is often kinda like a brief summary. Like a police sketch. 

Focus on the bits that matter more, that distinguish them from the other characters.So, for example, if there is something really odd about a character you would write that first as its what the eye would be drawn to, or if your protagonist is really short they might first notice how tall the other character is. We don’t necessarily remember people by eye colour/hair colour - we remember them by mannerisms, quirks. I’m not saying don’t use eye colour/hair colour, but it’s not always the most interesting or memorable part of a person.

Focus on your protagonist’s reaction to them. If they’re a thief, they may notice what is easy to steal. If it’s a fight first meeting, they may notice weapons first. 

What do they make a room feel like? Do they take up a lot of room or are they more of a wallflower? 

If your protagonist is particularly attracted to the other character, then you have a lot more room for physical description as that is something that is going to be more relevant in a romance and something that your character will be lingering on. 

It’s similar concept for places. If there is a huge mountain, the mountain is going to dominate the description because oh look there’s a huge mountain. If your narrator is a botanist they might give undue details to flowers. Again, if in doubt, description is a quick paint to anchor your reader in the setting/what’s happening. 

"He is not your father."

"He made me," the android murmured. Their head tilted as they examined the protagonist. "What would you call that if not parenthood?" Their lip curled. "Playing at godhood?"

The protagonist's jaw clenched. They concentrated, and failed, at keeping their breathing even.

"I understand why it would be difficult for you," the android continued. "Why you would feel the need to compete. He made being the hero so effortless for me. It's in my programming. In my bones, as they say."

"You're soulless."

"Perhaps, but I do good. You though..." The android's head tilted the other way. "You killed your maker. You would kill me, damn anyone who gets in the way. You are not good."

"I'm human."

"That's hardly a heroic act."

"Easy to say when you're not human."

The android smiled, or at least mimicked such a thing. Their sibling. They looked the same as they had always done, going from eldest child to youngest as the years clawed their way past. They reached out a hand, and gently pressed the bruise on the protagonist's cheek.

The protagonist wasn't sure if the smile was sad because it was a poor imitation, or because...well. The other because was worse.

"I am programmed to hunt villains," the android said. "To stop them. This could be me stopping you. This conversation. I'd like that."

"Go to hell." It came out raspy.

The android let their hand fall, more convincingly warm and reassuring than the cold touch of anything living.

"I am superior and I am alone," the android said, softly. "I am already there."

Their hero appearance flickered into place.

"You deserved better than our father," the android said. "I think maybe I did too."

"You look worn down to the bone."

It was probably true, but the hero didn't even find themselves jumping or tensing at the unexpected voice. It may as well have been another inevitable shit show that was going to happen one way or another. They did turn, though, after a beat to clock the villain standing a few rows behind them.

The church was empty, somewhere between peaceful and eerie in the solitude, heavy with dust and expectation.

"Am I interrupting your praying?" the villain asked. Their lip quirked, as if amused.

The hero shook their head, and turned forward again, turning their face up to the light filtering through the stained glass windows. A kaleidoscope of sacrifice and martyrdom and suffering.

The villain moved closer, stopping behind their pew, fingers curling into the wood on either side of the hero's shoulders. The hero stayed as they were, leaned back, feeling the back of their head brush against the villain's chest as it rose and fell with metronome breaths.

"People never come and talk to me in here," the hero offered, after a moment of silence.

"I'm not people."

"If you're here to fight, I'd rather take it outside."

"I'm not here to fight."

The hero glanced up at them.

The villain's hand rose immediately, palm tracing the air an inch above the line of the hero's throat, not quite touching. Mapping. "I remember that you used to pray," the villain mused.

"I remember that I used to do a lot of things."

"Mm. You were a bright eyed thing - all shiny. All new. So hopeful."

"I can still kick your-"

The villain laughed, softly, and curled their fingers around the hero's throat. Gently. More like they wanted to cradle the hero's pulse in their hands, like a baby bird, then do anything especially untoward. Or, perhaps, more like they wanted the hero's eyes on them instead of the icons and the saints and old hopes of the city before superheroes came along.

"Yes," the villain said. "You could."

The hero stopped talking, more out of surprise than anything else.

The villain looked down at them with such blazing, breath-taking fondness.

"I told you they'd wear you down," the villain said, and their kindness was almost cruel, or maybe their cruelty was almost kind. The hero wasn't sure which was which, only that the villain loomed over them with enough presence to fill entire cathedrals. "I told you that the tide would turn, and as the miracle of you became mundane, everyday, they would stop appreciating you." The villain squeezed, just slightly. "All gods die. All pedestals crumble. All heroes must fall."

"Ah, I see." The hero kept their hands at their side, unafraid or perhaps uncaring. "You came to gloat."

"Not especially."

"You sound like you're gloating. It's very speechy. Did you practice?"

The villain's lips quirked again. "I have...considered approaching you many times, if you would like to call that practice."

The hero's brow furrowed.

The villain's grip loosened once more, but the hero kept their head tipped back lazily against the bench, watching the villain inverted and upside down.

"I come with an offer," the villain said.

The hero raised an eyebrow.

"You have saved this city from me time and time again," the villain said, "more times than anyone can possibly know about."

"It's in the job description, yeah."

"But they know enough. Enough to know better. Enough to treat you better."

The hero's head tilted. They blinked up at the villain and (perhaps, always perhaps) there was - if not fondness in the hero's eyes, than something more enduring. Understanding. "And you would make them pay for that," the hero said. They finally moved their hand, but only to set it atop the villain's on the edge of the pew. They squeezed, too, gently. "You're always so ready to make someone pay."

"They deserve it."

"Maybe," the hero shrugged. "But I don't."

The villain frowned.

"I didn't work this hard to help them, just to let you have them now," the hero said.

"I know you're tired."

"So you thought you'd try me when my defences were down?"

"That's not - I'm not-"

"No," the hero said, a little wondering, "you're not, are you?"

The villain yanked their hand back. Their jaw clenched.

The hero twisted on the seat, so they were facing the villain properly.

"You're a fool," the villain spat.

"It's the one bit of me I haven't lost yet."

The villain closed their eyes.

The hero's lips curled in a smile. They reached out again, taking the villain's hand and winding their fingers together. "But, in defence of my foolishness, you do give me hope occasionally."

"One day you'll say yes."

"One day you'll say no."

The villain did laugh again at that, seemingly despite themselves, a bitter thing. Their eyes opened and they looked at each other - both exhausted and both relentless.

"I would be your dark side."

"And I would be your good."

"They don't deserve you," the villain said, again.

"And do I deserve you?"

The villain, it seemed, had nothing to say to that.

The hero pulled the villain's knuckle to their lips, and pressed a kiss to it, before letting go.

"Thank you," the hero said. "For offering. Really."

"I'll ask again tomorrow."

They couldn't do this.

The villain had never been great with attention. Attention, in their experience, typically meant trouble. It meant the flash of a father's furious eyes, or the scorn of their classmates for being just a little too much as a person. It meant punishment. It was much safer to make a study of invisibility, in short, and if that wasn't an option - to make oneself so terrifying that nobody would dare meet your eye.

"No comment," the villain snapped, not even listening to the question.

Unfortunately, in this instance, neither invisibility nor intimidation was having any effect at all.

Their words didn't stop the demands for comments. It didn't stop everyone from staring at them or the cameras from being shoved blindingly in their face. Too much. Disorientating.

"I said no comment - and no pictures!" They held a hand up in front of their face, struggling to shunt through the crowd. Their heart pounded in their chest, like a grenade about to go off. Unease wailed like a siren in their brain. They could feel their powers itching beneath the surface, desperate to slam everyone away from them, to find some room to breathe and "don't touch me. Get back. Please."

The questions grew louder. Some inane. Some cutting. All wanting a piece, and then another piece, until the villain felt like vultures were circling them, ripping at their flesh bite by bite and-

"Excuse me! Coming through." The hero's voice rang out through the crowd, just as the villain was about to completely lose it. Their arm encircled the hero's shoulders, and the villain would have been annoyed, except it was such a merciful shield against the lights and the sound and the madness. "Alright?" they muttered, into the villain's ear. "Just - hold on. Gonna get you out of here."

The villain released a shuddering breath. Their powers itched, clawing beneath the surface. The hero had to be able to feel the ominous hum of it.

"Thank you all for your support!" the hero said. "We just have some business to take care of, alright? Crime waits for no autographs!"

There was some good natured laughter at that.

The hero smiled and answered a few questions with their usual easy charm, and the villain hated them, and they hated themselves more for the lightheaded relief they felt. They wanted to bury their face in the hero's chest. The moment after that, the hero had pushed them up off the ground and into the air, away from everyone.

They landed on a rooftop some distance away.

The hero immediately let go, taking several large steps back.

The villain fell to their knees, and let their powers go. It leeched into the concrete beneath them harmlessly - no life there to touch, nor destroy. They cursed under their breath.

"Alright?" the hero asked.

"I'm going to kill them."

"You did well."

"Ugh." Horribly, the villain's ears prickled with tears. They swiped at their face, shoulders hunched. "I hate them."

"They don't mean any harm."

The villain looked up, and glared.

The hero took a step back seeming on instinct.

"I'm not a piece of meat." The villain's teeth bared. "I'm not some - they can't just - how do you stand it?" They used to mock the hero for loving the attention of their adoring fans, sometimes they'd even wondered what it would be like to be so loved, but this...

It had been barely a week, and the villain had never felt more powerless in their entire life. Everything they did was watched and they knew, they just knew, that the second they inevitably screwed up the whole thing would come tumbling down and everyone would hate them even more for having the audacity of not fitting the pedestal they'd been given. As if a pedestal wasn't a tiny, very high to fall off, thing that allowed no room to manoeuvre.

The hero eyed the remnant tears on the villain's face, and the villain looked down. The hero sighed.

"I'm sorry," the hero said. "I know it's - difficult. And I know that just because they don't mean any harm, that doesn't mean they don't it."

The villain stilled. They'd half expected the hero, even after all they had been through together, to mock them for not being able to handle it. Certainly, they'd expected the hero to take the side of the adoring public, who could do nothing wrong ever, and obviously had every right to their curiosity.

"I've just got so used to it." The hero shrugged in their periphery vision, a little helplessly. "I didn't think what it would be like for you. Will it help if I say it will get better?"

"You mean I'll be so broken down that I won't care about my privacy, like you?"

The hero said nothing to that, but the villain grimaced into the silence, hearing the words back.

"Sorry," the villain added, softer. "That was - sorry."

"I used to care." The hero turned to look over the city stretched beneath them. "It got exhausting. If it doesn't matter how many times you stop saying no, it's sometimes easier to stop saying it. Hurts less. Makes it feel less like -" the hero's shoulders squared.

"Makes it easier to pretend it's your choice." The villain pushed to their feet. "That you're in control."

The hero glanced back, and their eyes met.

"God, why do we protect them." There was less bite in the villain's tone that time, because they both knew why. The villain moved over to the hero's side, to peer down too and break the stare between them. They cleared their throat.

"You're shiny and new," the hero said. "I'll do something big. Get some of the aggro off you. That should make it easier, if you keep your head down for a bit."

"What about you?"

The villain could feel the hero's attention on them again, but they kept their gaze trained on the horizon.

It was the hero's turn to clear their throat. "I can handle it."

"Meaning I can't?"

"You weren't."

"Screw you."

"I didn't mean -" The hero made another helpless little noise, and pivoted to face the villain directly. "Hey."

The villain considered ignoring them, because their skin was still crawling, but...well. The hero had come swooping in to rescue them, and nothing was exactly how it used to be. They glanced over again.

"I didn't mean it in a bad way," the hero said, seeming unable to find any of their famed eloquence now. Their cheeks burned. "I meant I don't, bloody hell. You don't like attention. That's what I meant! You start flinching like you expect them to hit you and - I'm making this worse, aren't I?"

"Completely." But a small smile crossed the villain's lips, without their permission, and their eyes softened a fraction. "But thank you."

The hero clearly had questions, about exactly why the villain reacted the way they did, but unlike the reporters and the crowds, they didn't ask. They didn't force themselves into the villain's space. They smiled back, tugging a sheepish hand through their hair.

The last of the tension left the villain.

The air, up high, was clean and cold. The world felt small and manageable, and far away.

"Any time," the hero said. "You're not on your own in this, after all."

"Ugh."

The hero laughed, at the expression on the villain's face and the villain...well, the villain found themselves laughing too.

I'm on vacation so you get this one early! Some things are addressed in this chapter, some things will wait for later.

Synopsis: Villain x Civilian. Civilian can sense other people's powers through auras but hides this ability. They are terrified of the most boring person at their office job, who hides the most powerful aura Civilian has ever felt.

Part one Here

Part 6 Here

The apartment had no personal effects whatsoever. Even if Civilian’s brain was firing on all cylinders right now, they’d be hard pressed to find something that spoke to his personality. Of course, temporary safe houses didn’t need decoration. Still, it was unnerving, even in their current state.

Jonathan returned, holding a thermometer and a glass of water.

“Open up,” he said, the thermometer chirping as he turned it on.

Civilian took the thermometer and placed it under their tongue. Jonathan reached out with his hand and Civilian jerked violently back again. Which was ridiculous — Jonathan didn’t need to touch Civilian to hurt them. But they couldn’t help the sharp spike of panic.

“My apologies,” he murmured, a strange look on his face. “I’m just feeling your forehead.”

This time Civilian forced themselves to hold still as he cupped their forehead. The fingers felt so blessedly cool on their skin they then had to force themselves not to lean into it. The thermometer beeped and Jonathan whisked it from their mouth before they can see for themselves. His expression turned stony.

“102.3,” he said, holding the thermometer out like evidence in court. “What utter lunacy drove you to come to work today?”

“I . . .”

Words failed them in the face of his obvious irritation.

“Well?” he prompted. He looked almost like an angry mother and it would be funny if Civilian wasn’t so terrified of him, trapped in his space with no way out.

“I . . .didn’t know what you would do,” they swallowed, “if you . . .thought I ran away.”

The hard edge of his expression softened into something Civilian didn’t recognize. His gaze darted back down to the thermometer for a moment before setting it down on the coffee table.

“I’ll be right back,” he said quietly before disappearing again.

"I know you care about them."

The villain's gaze flicked up, spearing through the sidekick standing on the other side of the prison cell bars. They raised a sceptical eyebrow, which made the sidekick smile.

"The hero," they said. "It's how you got taken in. I saw the moment where they were between you and freedom. You could have killed them and fled - you didn't."

"You're deluded." The villain's expression remained cold.

"Perhaps." the sidekick slipped their hands into their pockets, and gave as small casual shrug. "So you won't mind if I kill them, then?"

The villain was on their feet before they'd even fully registered the movement, only the cruel chink of chains keeping them from clawing through the bars.

The sidekick smiled.

The villain's jaw clenched, before they wiped the emotion hastily from their features once more. As if they hadn't already betrayed the rapid thudding of their heart. They tilted their head, in mock curiosity.

"What have they done to offend you, so?"

The sidekick shrugged, again. "Cared about you? Loved you?"

Once again, the emotion slipped through the cracks of the villain's mask. Hope. Disbelief. An icy slither of fear and fury.

"It's pathetic, really," the sidekick said. "They should have killed you when they had the chance. They would have let you escape - if you'd only been smart enough to realise it, you know."

The villain's mouth felt very dry. "If you lay so much as a hand on them..." Their voice was a whisper, but no less deadly for it. "I will kill you."

"Oh, yes." The sidekick stepped closer, just on the other side of the bars, inches out of the villain's reach. "You're going to stop me from this cage you let yourself be put in. Big bad wolf with all his teeth willingly offered over to the hunter. Is that it?"

"They'll stop you."

"They trust me," the sidekick said. "They won't even see it coming, but ohh...it will be exquisite. I'll make sure to take a photo of the corpse for you. I mean, it probably won't be recognisable, but it's good to get what token keepsakes you can, right?"

The villain lunged, feral, so at odds with their normal veneer of unfeeling control.

The sidekick jumped back with a squeak, as the chains gave an ominous creak, before laughing as they held. The laugh was something wilder, shriller.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to get caught or killed, once I realised our hero had no intention of doing the job." Abruptly, any amicable amusement the sidekick had been projecting was gone, replaced by disgust and hatred. "I knew you'd try and stop me. I knew..."

"From one villain to another," the villain said. "You need to work on your urge to monologue. Your need for attention is pitiful."

"And," the sidekick snarled, sharp with irritation, "once they're dead, there'll be no one to stand against me killing you too."

In chains, still, because they both knew that was the only way the sidekick would manage such a feat.

The villain squared their shoulders. They jutted their chin, looking down at the sidekick with withering contempt. Because the hero being alive, their care for the hero, was the only thing that had ever stopped them from slaughtering the little rat.

The sidekick glared back at them, apparently seeing that point quite clearly in the villain's expression.

"Anyway." The sidekick found their pleasant voice again, with difficulty, and an affected sigh. "Things to do. Heroes to kill. I just wanted you to know."

"You will die screaming."

"Mm. We'll see."

With a last, triumphant smirk, the sidekick left.

Marinette works at/ owning a bakery where she infuses the goods with magic to dispel negative energy in Gotham (Yeah. That Maribat trope), with Jon working there.

Though I was imagining all of them as adults, this is so funny xD

Request #17.1

Part 1

A CAT?! A LIL FUR LOAF? YES - YES - I ALREADY HAVE TWO AND I WANT A THIRD, GIVE!!

The supervillain had been right: with their team divided, they had no chance of stopping both of them.

The hero stood panting at a fork in the alleyway, trying to decipher which way the villain had gone. If only superhero had listened to them - had listened when the hero had told them that they thought the master criminal was right, that they couldn't take both on at once. The other had simply dismissed them with a stubborn huff, saying they couldn't just turn a blind eye because the supervillain wanted them too. They'd also said that the hero was to be on the opposite team for that day. That they refused to let the hero anywhere near the supervillain again.

Taking a few more seconds to steady themself, the hero turned left and continued their chase - determined to catch up to the villain that had slipped through their grasp.

The superhero hadn't given them a reason why. It irked the hero somewhat, the way the superhero had regarded them ever since their run-in with the supervillain being nothing but suspicious. It was like their leader didn't trust them anymore - didn't think them sensible enough to know that the other was bad, evil.

The hero knew that. They weren't stupid: niceties aside, they knew the supervillain's intentions were always to be questioned. So what if they agreed with what the other had told them? It was true - their forces were stretched too thin; the hero was alone, exhausted, blindly chasing a trail that had long since gone cold whilst the rest of their team was busy dealing with the aftermath the villain had left behind. The hero had agreed with them because they'd been right, so why did that suddenly put them under question?