Thanatos
summary: You were not a good person, but you weren’t cruel, either.
pairings: DC (with surprise appearance) x antihero!reader
word count: 4.8K
cw: minor character death, unsafe, but post-death amputation AND unsafe alive amputation, unsafe castration, referenced rape but not described, guns, knives, mentions of drugs, alcohol and sex but not described either, morally gray MC (but not so much apparently), I spit on canon!
a/n: hi hello! this though came to me at work, and I obviously started writing it immediately. Theoretically, the MC's night name (antihero name??) is Thanatos, but they're commonly known as the Reaper because it sounded cool lmao. This one-shot is inspired by the fact that rapists should have their genitals cut off ^-^ Don't do this at home and enjoy!!
Masterlist
You have been in the hero and villain industry for as long as you could remember.
Although you were not born with a knife in your hand nor with bloodlust in your veins, you were still raised in a world that lived on the edge of both extremes, grew up with gunshots as bedtime lullabies and the scent of metal, gunpowder and nicotine a constant companion.
Yes, you had not been born an antihero, or a vigilante or villain as some people tried to paint you out to be, but you had seen the consequent violence of their actions all your life, so maybe it had been set in stone before you even took your first step, or maybe it was written in your fate with each mugging, each drug deal, each murder you witnessed.
So, what did it change if you donned a suit and became an active member instead of a passive bystander? What did it change if you smoked the cigarette instead of letting your constant neighbor do it? You were still going to die of lung cancer, but at least now you had the illusion of it being your choice.
You became Thanatos, because you would have a title to hide behind and a legacy to fulfill that would keep you going. It was inevitable, it was avoidable, none of it mattered when it was all you had and all you were going to be for the rest of your life.
Some justified your actions, how you only went after 'bad guys', how sometimes you were on the 'good side'. But what was good or bad? Who determined it? You preferred not to linger on it, since you had gone into a life of violence instead of philosophy, so there was no use in ruminating on it.
Beneath the surface, however, was a much darker truth that many news stations and reporters omitted, though that did not make it any less true.
Deep down, in the twisted planes of your heart, you wondered why anyone expected softness from a person known as the Reaper. But humans tended to inch towards things if they were not actively aggressive, especially when they were beautiful.
You were no different.
Despite being in the Justice League Dark on paper, and fighting on the same side as Justice League heroes if the occasion called for it, you were much more morally gray than your peers, much more open to violence. Some people called you a vigilante, many more called you an antihero, but you considered yourself more of a reckoning, karma ready to be dealt.
You moved in the shadows. Why fight alongside someone when alliances were fickle? They would sell you out to save another, and you had no plans in making your downfall easy for anybody.
However, your morals were not so skewed that you forgave the unforgivable, and perhaps the cities had grown too comfortable under the protection of heroes, but you had most definitely not grown lenient.
You tended to move around cities according to your whims and the whispers of the shadows. Your neutrality was well known, and the side of light wasn't the only one aware.
Moonlighting wasn't a well paying job unless you were robbing people, and though you might be an asshole, you weren't a robber - unless it was robbing the rich. So, you sometimes took up simple intel jobs from the underground. Still, your main job was ridding the scum of the earth, and where to do so if not at one of the biggest concentrations of such a thing?
Gotham was a breathtaking city, in both senses of the word. Its gothic architecture, which tied into its name, was all pointed arches, detailed carvings, and gargoyles that overlooked the streets were hypnotizing - the sections of the old town that survived, that is. It was also breathtaking because it was one of the most polluted cities, and each breath burned enough that newcomers felt like they were suffering from a fallen lung, but that is neither here nor there.
Tonight, you were on a deadlier mission - for your opponent of course - to take down the right hand man of one of the city's rising mob bosses. "It's best to cut off the head of the beast before it grows too powerful," this night's contractor had said with a slimy smile, which you refused to return out of principle. You were a killer and all that, but even you had limits. You simply asked for the details and the compensation, negotiating a higher price since you were quite famous in the underground.
So, you delved into the concrete jungle for another hunt.
The job was fairly easy on paper, and you had no plans to be theatric this time when all you wanted was money, and the pleasant feeling you got when you downed a rotten player. Tonight's target was not a good man, even if it was hypocritical of you to say so, but that just further proved your point. Generally, people who worked with the mafia were not good people, though you had found some scratched gems occasionally.
Therefore, you felt no guilt in killing him, only some regret from wasting a bullet.
You arrived at the club, the pounding music barely hidden - why would they hide it when the mob controlled the city? It's not as if the cops were going to come complaining, no matter how many calls they got.
The place, which's name you hadn't even bothered remembering, was humid and sticky, full to the brim with all kinds of clients. The people of Gotham had long learned to find indulgent ways to cope with the hand they had been dealt in life: drugs, alcohol, parties, sex - things found in abundance in this type of establishment that were set up by the elite who liked to fill their pockets with the suffering of the unhappy.
The rich get richer - it was a universal truth, and your target's boss wasn't the first to apply the law in the city.
However, despite the empathy you felt for these wandering souls, you were not here to save them, nor were you here to take the head of this operation down - it wasn't your job of the night, and with no contract, you had no reason to break your careful neutrality.
So, you entered the throng, maneuvering the obstacles with the agility of a person who had done this million of times before, and headed to the higher levels.
You were dressed elegantly, recognizable for those high enough in the underground to know what you looked like, and for those who didn't know who you were, you looked dangerous and powerful enough to avoid.
With little problems, you made it to the edge of the public area, the line physically visible by more bodyguards than anyone could need. You fought the urge to roll your eyes; you had a job to do, so you'd have to leave your disdain for later once you were somewhere safer.
You stopped in front of one of the bigger guards; their size was generally an indicator of their position in these environments, you had found out through many more jobs like this one. Your eyes raised to meet his, pushing forward confidence and seriousness, "I need to see Mr Farelli. Business."
The bodyguard raised an eyebrow, perhaps startled by your straightforwardness. You didn't care, since you knew that he'd let you through either way, "Business?" He asked dryly, you hummed in response, "Yes, private business."
His face twisted up as if he had bitten into something sour, but you had no reason to explain yourself; you doubted he would like the actual answer either. It wasn't as if you were lying, either - you were truly after business, even if that business entailed his boss's head pierced with a bullet and his ring finger, the mob's crest included, delivered to the one who hired you.
He spoke something into his earpiece, and let you pass reluctantly. You smiled superficially and walked past him towards your target's office. After one simple knock and a call to come in, you opened the door.
Immediately as you peeked through the small opening of the door, a knife embedded itself into where your head would have been. The corner of your lip quirked up, and you pulled the weapon out of the wood, holding it comfortably in your dominant hand - you wouldn't say no to a little souvenir.
"Is that any way to great a possible business partner?" You asked smoothly, Farelli's left eye twitched violently, you fought the urge to chuckle.
"Business partner? I'm not dim, Reaper, I know what you're here to do," he hissed like a cornered animal, though perhaps he was since you were already inside his walls, past his security and just a few meters away from the finish line.
You twirled the dagger, "That so? Does that mean that you already wrote your goodbyes and a will? Or are you going to make this harder for both of us?" Truthfully, you wouldn't mind if he fought back; you haven't had a fight in some time, and while you doubted that it would be long, it would entertain you some.
He pulled out a gun from beneath the desk in half a heartbeat, aiming it towards your head, but you didn't flinch at the motion, merely tilted your head, "Pretty toy you've got there. Know how to use it or do you need a demonstration?" You drawled. A gun fight was much less fun, but beggars can't be choosers. You twirled the dagger in thought as you dodged a shot.
His eyes widened before steeling when all it did was bring you closer. Perhaps you would end this early and treat yourself to an ice cream at that one place near 5th - you've earned it after all your hard work.
The gun shot out another bullet, which you avoided as well - no need to leave a trace in this dirty place - and sat on the edge of his desk, "Not much of a talker, huh? Though guess you would be more of a thinker with how fast your business is rising," you tilted your head thoughtfully, "Your boss certainly isn't the brains behind this operation."
A scowl, but you were bored of the back and forth already, especially with the lack of response; you had shit to do, ice cream to eat. So when he lashed the gun out in an attempt to knock you down with a blow, you stabbed the dagger into his wrist and yanked the weapon out of his hand. A loud, pained grunt before his expression fell into resignation - at least he wasn't stupid. For that, you granted him a quicker death, and shot a bullet into his brain.
You hopped off the desk, humming gladly when you noticed you got no blood on you, and circled the desk to the other side, nudging the man with your foot and watching for a few seconds to make sure he was dead. Reassured that he wouldn't get up again, you propped him in his desk chair - he deserved some respect for holding up until the end - and began taking the prize for your employer, which you wrapped in your target's embroidered handkerchief. You pocketed the gun and the dagger after wiping the blood off of it on the dead man's pants.
Pleased with the fact that the job was over, you went around the desk once more and left the office, closing the door gently behind you. Your watch told you that you had finished the job twenty minutes earlier than anticipated, so you allowed yourself the freedom of exploring the staff area of the club.
Somehow, you ended up in front of the head of the operation's office, or maybe you had known where you were going, wanting to see who was the face of this business, and you were simply lying to yourself.
However, you don't know what pushed you to enter the room like a shadow under the night.
Nevertheless, you ended up in a mob boss's room for no apparent reason, though you were nothing if not an opportunist, so you did what you do best - snoop.
The room was elegant - something unexpected due to the chaos just downstairs. Full blackout curtains and mood lamps that could oscillate between making the ambiance sensual and creepy. The furniture screamed new money - not unexpected from a man who had just recently risen in the Gotham ladder - with diamonds embezzling corners, sofa cushions from luxury brands. You would've scoffed if you had less restraint.
Then, a whimper.
Your head snapped towards the noise, fingers instantly clenching around the dagger you had just taken. A noise of the sort wasn't unexpected, especially in this kind of environment. You should have walked out; ignorance is bliss, and you didn't make it this far in your career path by uncovering truths.
Still, just like the unknown force that pushed you to open the door also seemed to push you toward the noise. You pursed your lips in irritation - if this was some kind of horror story situation and you died here, you'd be pissed. The thought didn't stop you from putting one foot in front of the other, though.
And when you saw the source of the sound, you were glad it didn't.
There he was, the Icarus of the evening. But he wasn't what your eyes stuck onto.
A kid. A crying kid. A half-undressed, crying kid.
In that moment, for the first time in many years, you saw red. The gun in your pocket whipped out and shot the hand that was clenching onto the child's hair in less than a second. They screamed, though it quickly turned into sobs, but the hand came off their head. It made you wince, something that didn't happen with noises of fear from your targets.
You yanked off your suit jacket, and threw it over their head, pulling them behind you by the sleeves of the garment, whispering a sharp "Wait outside," before turning back around to face the assaulter.
The first thing you noticed was that he was wailing - an ugly whining that made your head throb; a bomb going off near you would have been preferable. However, he would need a lot more then some acoustic pollution to keep you away.
You pulled him up by the hair, eye to eye, enough that he could see you clearly, but still low enough that you were looking down on him. You finally tuned into his blabbering.
"I- I wasn't - it was an accident, I swear," he sobbed like a child who had broken their mother's favorite plate, but what he had done was much worse.
"So, what you're saying is that you couldn't control yourself? Like an animal?" You asked flatly, voice not giving away any of your feelings about the matter. One could confuse you for a statue had it not been for the steady rise and fall of your chest.
He swallowed, perking up as if he had finally seen the light at the end of the tunnel, nodding so quickly it was shocking his head didn't fly off, "Yes! Exactly!" He stammered, "It was out of my control - my instinct just took over," his shakiness subsiding since he felt like he had the understanding of the imposing person in front of him.
You raised an eyebrow at his reaction, the first expression she had let through that stony mask of hers since this awful conversation began. Then, you brightened, though it was the reflection on the smooth metal of a knife instead of the sun peeking through her expression, "Then you shall be treated like an animal."
Like a guillotine, his expression fell, dread slowly creeping into the man's face. A predator's glee was never a good thing, after all, and he was beginning to realize that perhaps he would not manage to get the upper hand.
"I would have let you go with a threat and a reminder had you done anything else, but I have no mercy for rapists and molesters. Much less ones who prey on children." You spat, and beneath the shadows of your hood, your eyes glimmered with cold glee. The man fell to the ground, the trembling that had slowly been fading coming back with renewed vigor, finally noticing that he might not make it out in one piece as he had believed.
He cried apologies and pleas for mercy, to reconsider, offers for riches and power. But you were already rich and powerful, and even if you were not, you found no mercy for this man. You wouldn't kill him - that would be too kind - but you'll make him wish you had, make him wish he had never woken up that morning, wish he had been born without hands so he would have never had the opportunity to lay his dirty hands on someone.
You grinned, something sinister, "Generally, mutts are castrated before they even get the chance to be horny dogs. But as they say, it's better to be late than not to do it," you cooed with sticky sweetness, the kind that stuck to ones ears, drowning everything else out.
The dagger glimmered in the warm, dim light of the room, your voice deceivingly soft, "Fortunately for you, I'm kind enough to be quick with the process. You won't be able to stick yourself in anything else again."
His scream echoed in the adjacent streets even with the pounding music of the club downstairs.
The kid stuck to you like a chewing gum. You didn't mind children; you had grown up surrounded by them on the streets, but none of them had ever chosen to stay by your side.
At first you believed it was because the child was naked - which, valid; you would choose to stay with the closest person who gave you something to cover up with as well. However, after taking them to a convenience store to get them some clothes and food, and even letting them keep the jacket so they'd have a sense of stability, they still stuck by your side.
You were extremely confused, and by sunrise, you had yet to declare your finished contract because you still had a imprinted kid with you.
The two of you sat in the park awkwardly, as you hadn't ever had to deal with a kid for such a prolonged time. What did one even talk about with kids? You couldn't talk about your job, that was a big no for a child who had just lived through trauma, nor could you talk about your morals, since you most certainly didn't want to influence anyone, much less an easily manipulated mind, to follow in your footsteps.
You swallowed back your urge to bolt - it'd do you no good, after all - and smile tensely at the child, "So, you got parents, kiddo, or am I going to have to keep you?" you said, half-joking, but hoping deep down that you would not have to return this child to the streets or an orphanage - you already knew how bad the orphanages were.
They nodded slowly, full of hesitance, though they seemed to tense when they saw you sigh slightly in relief. You froze, and scooted a bit closer, "It's nothing against you. I'm just not used to hanging out with people, much less with kids, so I'm a bit out of my element", you reassured, "And I'm glad I have somewhere safe to return you to."
A small smile, which you couldn't help but return tentatively. Somehow, the words made their tight hold on you loosen, and you hadn't realized how much they had been pulling your pants until the looser than usual fabric returned to rest properly on your leg.
You blinked at them - the child actually did look a bit familiar. A Crime Alley stray? No, you would have recognized them before. You squinted, dark hair, green eyes. But if you hadn't recognized the kid from the streets, then...
A thought barged in intrusively: what if this was one of the heroes' kids, or worse, one of the villains'? You held back a shiver, not wanting to scare the child, or make them think you were cold when they looked so cozy in your old jacket.
You kneeled down next to them, an attempt to make yourself look smaller. "I haven't even asked your name, yet. Nor have I introduced myself. How rude," you tutted at yourself, mostly for show. Their smile brightened, a hint of amusement in their eyes, a laugh held back out of respect.
"I'm [Name], but most know me as Thanatos, or the Reaper," you offered your name freely, a sign of trust, and when their smile dimmed slightly, as if recognizing your pseudonym, you quickly added in reassurance, "But those are just some spooky names. I'm only mean to bad guys, and sometimes very annoying people. I'd never hurt a kiddo like you, or anyone who hasn't done anything bad."
That brought back the smile, with the small crinkles in their green eyes, "I'm Lian. Lian Harper." Your heart dropped to your ass, but they - she, Roy's fucking daughter, oh God - continued speaking, "My dad lives on the other side of the city. He has custody of me, and he's real nice," she told you proudly.
Your smile turned wobbly, "Yeah, and who's your dad?" You asked, because maybe you were mistaken, and Harper was a common last name in Gotham and so was Lian. She beamed, and you knew that your optimism was useless.
"Red Arrow! He's mentioned you, saying to avoid you, but your nice as well!"
Fuckity fuck fuck. Your smile verged on a grimace now. Maybe you could leave the child on the vigilante's doorstep and leave before he opened the door. But she had already been taken under his nose once, what if she was taken from the doorstep while out of both their eyesights? Maybe you could watch from a nearby rooftop - yes, that was a great idea!
You nodded with renewed determination, "Yes, I know of your dad. How about I get you back to him now, kiddo? He's probably worried sick about you being missing."
She pouted, eyes downcast and her hands fidgeting with the long sleeves of your jacket, "He'll be angry at me for not listening to him and opening the door while he wasn't home," she mumbled beneath her breath, eyes teary again. You bit your lip hesitantly before opening your arms to offer a hug, only getting a second of doubt before she dived into the embrace. You patted her back awkwardly.
"Maybe later he'll scold you, but that's just how parents are, kiddo. He'll just be glad to see you safe and sound."
A small sob sounded from the juncture of your neck and shoulder; on an unrelated note, your hold tightened on her, "But I'm not sound! That man-!"
It was the first mention of what had happened that night, and you scowled at the reminder. You should've done more, gotten there quicker. Instead, you rubbed her back hesitantly and shushed her softly. She quieted down, her sobs dying down into sniffles.
You began separating slowly from her, wishing to give the kid space - and maybe needing some space as well to process what you had seen. But as she had done since you found her, she clung onto you. Resigned to your fate, you simply patted your hair and asked for directions to her dad's house - you could probably find them yourself, but you were emotionally exhausted.
After an hour of confusing directions and a stop by an opening cafe for a drink to wake yourself up and a meal for the kid, you finally arrived at the door. You let go of her hand, letting her hold the bag of all the things you had bought her, and offered a final, parting smile, "Be good for your dad, kay? And remember to be patient with him. Adults aren't always the most rational, especially when in emotional situations, so let him hover."
You rang the doorbell, but just as you were about to scale a house on the opposite street, she grabbed you with an iron grip, somehow holding you back. You barely had the time to look at her incredulously before the door slammed open and a gun was aimed at your head, and it was instinct that allowed you to bring out a gun and aim one back.
The red haired man in front of you looked like a husk of himself, a shadow of the hero you had seen on the battlefield, eyes more tired and hopeless than during a standoff. The standdown barely lasted three seconds before Lian yelped and jumped in front of you, and your appalled expression returned, pulling your gun down in fear of somehow shooting her, "Kid- Never jump in front of a weapon," you scolded.
That finally brought Red Arrow's attention to his daughter, and he dropped his own weapon, falling to his knees as his eyes filled with tears.
"Lian, baby, is that really you?"
Lian looked like she was about to snark him, but you nudged her shoe gently with your own, a reminder of your previous words. She swallowed loudly, her own eyes filling with tears again in response to her father's, "M so sorry for going missing, daddy," she managed to mumbled before jumping into her dad's arms, and he caught her with the ease of a parent.
You looked away, the reunion too intimate for you to watch. You settled for picking up the bag Lian had dropped and the gun.
Finally, Red Arrow looked up at you, trying to glare through red-rimmed eyes. You pursed your lips in response, "I don't know what role you had in all this, but if a hair on her head is harmed-" at his words, the kid intervened indignantly on your behalf.
"They didn't kidnap me! They saved me from some- from-" her bottom lip wobbled again, and her tears which had subsided began falling freely again. You bent down, offering a small smile, "It's okay. You're back home. I'm sure your dad won't ever let you out of his sight again."
The words were half teasing, but they held a hint of truth. When Lian turned back to face him, he nodded so quickly you thought his head would fall off.
"Besides, I dealt with him. He won't ever come near you again," you added, eyes narrowing. You should have made the man suffer more, but it was never too late. If he hadn't bled out yet, you'd have to give him another visit.
Red Arrow relaxed at her words, and he looked at you awkwardly, "Well, uh, thanks then. I owe you one," he shot a doubtful look at Lian, but he seemed to trust his daughter's word enough to add a small, "Would you like to come in for coffee?"
You blinked in slight shock and your jaw dropped. Quickly, you controlled your expression, but the shock remained, "You don't- I wouldn't want to impose. I'm sure you'd like to enjoy time together-" you began. Lian spun around in her dad's hold to look at you pleasingly, and somehow your heart began clenching in response to her puppy eyes. The vigilante seemed to sense the kid's intentions and retried, "I'd like to thank you. And Lian seems to have grown fond of you. Just come in for a coffee, and maybe breakfast. It won't be long."
Deep down, you knew you shouldn't accept. Getting close to anyone while in this business, especially to someone in the same business and on an occasionally opposing side, was never good. It would inevitably blow up in your face.
But you had already messed with someone you had initially intended to leave alone for future plans, and you had already done many things you shouldn't have in your career. What was a few more minutes with some people? You justified it in your head with needing to inform Red Arrow what happened so he would know all the elements to help his kid correctly.
You nodded slowly, offering a small, tentative smile, "Alright. A coffee, then I'm gone."
The responding beam and small, relieved sigh cemented your choice as the correct one in your mind, and you followed the small family into their house. You'd stay a while then go to confirm your contract was finished. Yet nothing was stopping you from enjoying some breakfast and coffee while you were here.
You had been in this cruel, tragic industry all your life, but maybe it wasn't always bad if you could be good every now and then.
a/n: HEHHEHEH. Anyways, I've been trying to better my descriptions because my writing sucks lately, but I hope they're not too long and boring. Also small disclaimer, I don't promote violence nor would I cut someone's dick off - this is fiction! I didn't intend for this to end up being so long, but oh well, the writing gods took me over. I don't know how Roy and Lian ended up here, the kid was supposed to be unimportant, but they called to me lmao. I want to add that the reason Lian is genderless throughout half the fic is because the MC is clueless about children (and because I wasn't sure at first oh well).
If you find any grammar mistakes please let me know!! I didn't reread this and I wrote most of it in one sitting on my notepad app on my puter at work.
Anyways!! I hope you enjoyed this creation of mine and I will see you soon for chapter two of the Icarus Metaphor! Byebye!
