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TW: drugging, needle, death mention, technically male whump and the severe medical inaccuracy of this thing

“Good morning,” the hero said softly, standing over the bed,  as far as softly could go for him. 

The villain groaned as he sat up in bed, a light sleeper if there ever was one, rubbing at his eyes. “Mm - what time is it?” 

“It’s already past 11, sleepyhead,” his godfather answered with a rare, lopsided smile. 

This was about the most civil conversation they’d had for a week, maybe longer, constantly arguing about anything and everything, which was natural with two equally headstrong people but nonetheless unpleasant. 

 A few moments later, a servant walked in with a tray of food; Villain’s favourites - scrambled eggs, French toast and a glass of orange juice, setting it on the nightstand before leaving with a curt nod at the villain. 

“Letting me sleep in and breakfast in bed? I think I can get used to the princess treatment.” The villain let his upper lip curl into an amused smirk, pulling the tray onto his lap and already shoving a piece of toast into his mouth. 

All the hero did in response was smile, the kind of smile that would fool a stranger, one that couldn’t bring itself to go up to his eyes, weakened by the guilt simmering in his chest and threatening to make his heart burst. 

But the villain was no stranger. 

“Something wrong?” he asked, having already finished his food and downing the last of his orange juice. 

“I’m sorry,” the hero attested, gaze downcast, “but it’s for your own good.” He produced a glass syringe from his pocket filled with a deceptively  unassuming transparent liquid. 

And just before the needle could pierce the skin of the villain’s arm, he twisted the hero’s arm away from him, getting off the bed and knocking the tray upside down. 

“What the hell?” he screamed, running away from the hero with his godfather close at his heels. 

“You don’t understand, I’m trying to protect you!” He tried to pin the hero to his chest, needle still clutched in his hand, the grip nothing short of vice like. 

“From what?” the villain snarled, nostrils flaring as he managed to break out of the crime fighter’s hold, slamming the elder’s body against the wall.

“From your own recklessness. You are no match for a criminal like the Scorpion, and I’m not going to stand idly while you march yourself to your own demise!” 

The villain let out a scoff, making a beeline for the door, but the villain was quick to block his way. 

It was his godfather’s turn to scoff now. “Let’s suppose you do make it out that door.” His voice is low, dangerous, cold as a steel blade. “Anyone out there will answer to me if the choice was between both of us.” 

The criminal let a cruel smirk pull his lips up in a harsh line, a hoarse laugh escaping his throat. “I should know better than to bite the hand that feeds me now, shouldn’t I?”

And it hurt, hurt to see his godson lashing out like a wounded animal, only to be the one inflicting the pain. The boy had been through so much, and he was only nineteen. Yes, he'd made some mistakes, back when he had no one to guide him, but he had a good heart, far too good of a heart for the merciless cesspool that was their city. He wanted to take down the Scorpion with his own methods, ready to use some that may have been frowned upon in a hero's playbook. But the hero would take the pain if it meant he’d save the kid’s life. 

“You don’t seem to get that this - fighting the Scorpion - is a choice I get to make. I’m old enough to be responsible for my own life,” the hero bit out tersely, pushing the hero back against the wall with all his weight.

“I'd rather have you hate me than lose you forever,” the hero admitted, struggling against the villain's hold, noticing his godson had gotten much stronger.

“Maybe this is losing me.” 

The villain snatched the syringe out of the hero's hand, smashing it to pieces under his foot. Only for him to feel .  .  .dizzy? 

The whole world was spinning too fast for him to take, a moment in the light and a moment in the pitch black darkness he knew he would soon drown in. Slowly, painstakingly, the villain fell to his knees with a choked gasp, the suffocating nausea washing over him. 

“There was a sedative in the juice. Half as potent and more slow-acting than the injection. I couldn’t leave it up to chance.” There was nothing but shame drawn on the hero’s face, even as he tried to school his expression into a more neutral one. 

Fear. Betrayal. Hurt. All reflected in those wide, glassy eyes, a single tear streaming down the boy’s face. He fell back on the floor, his arms lying limp at his sides. 

That was all that was stuck in the hero’s head as he carried his godson in his arms and set him down on the bed, tucking him in. That and the villain’s words, like a knife slicing through his heartstrings, a knife he couldn’t blame the boy for wielding, no matter how much it hurt. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice soft and close to breaking, kissing the crown of his godson’s head gently. 

He’d never truly cared for anyone in this world, apart from his now dead best friend and his son he’d entrusted to him. Sure he cared about those he saved, but never this deeply, if he was being honest. That boy had always been the light against life’s darkness, the one person who seemed to resuscitate the hero's nearly dead heart again. There was no denying he was proud of the kid's willingness to change, but he was even more scared of what it could do to him.

The first person that kid had ever saved, even without knowing it was him. And maybe it was selfish, selfish to stop him from saving so many more, from taking that choice. 

Maybe he was no hero after all. 

Heya! Sorry this order took a bit too long, but I hope it's to your liking. Thank you for ordering from the Whump Drive-Thru!

Caught

TW: captivity, mild violence

Dirt covered their shoes and clung to the bottom of their pants. The only sounds they could hear were their own laboured breathing and roaring heartbeat, pounding in their ears as blood rushed to them and left them red and overheating. They'd trained for this almost their whole life, trained to run until their muscles ached with the burn of lactic acid, until their lungs burned with the lack of oxygen, until their heart raced as fast as their tired feet did.

And yet it still hurt more than they anticipated. They couldn't stop, not for all the reasons in existence. They laughed wryly, feeling as though they were irritatingly reminiscent of an animal hunted by the early human, about to meet its demise at the hands of a creature that never seemed to tire out.

Persistence is a curse when the cards aren't in your favour.

They picked up more speed, adrenaline coursing through their veins with renewed vigor once more, determined to make it through the dense green thickets of  trees and winter fog alive and unscathed and free.

In their haste, they hadn't noticed a ridiculously large root, stumbling over it and hearing a resounding crack as their ankle twisted violently.

In an unforgivably short amount of time, Leader's voice that they thought they'd drowned out rang again in their ears. "I've got them," he panted, grabbing hold of their arm in seconds, his fist practically a vice around them.

They thrashed in his grip, but it didn't matter much because the rest of that insipid team came rushing in much like a stampede of animals, and Second Operative grabbed onto their second arm, their legs simply flailing weakly as they tried to kick their assailants away.

They were done for. Done for. They had no idea exactly how cruel the operatives were but stacked against their either horrific or impressive (depending on how functional your moral compass was,) list of war crimes, they didn't particularly enjoy their odds.

They spent the trip back to the base blindfolded (their clothing covered everything but their eyes) and handcuffed, practically sandwiched between two beady-eyed agents; two men built like solid brick, impossible for the criminal to possibly resist  without significant injury at the very least.

Blindfolds introduce a different kind of helplessness, submerging you in a darkness that cannot be blinked away, cannot be thought away  and even if it was futile, the criminal could not help shaking.

After what felt like an eternity, they were roughly pushed out of the vehicle, the two guards grabbing onto their arms with such force they were sure they'd bruise.

They were forced up a staircase, unironically stumbling up like a damned baby deer, legs shaking even with the "support" of their unwanted companions.

They were thrown into a room, make out hushed whispers that they new belonged to Leader's and Second Operative. The steel floor was bitingly cold, but at least they were sitting.

Not for long.

"Let's see what you look like, you little shit," Second Operative sneered, pulling them roughly to their feet. She ripped off their mask, but the reaction was far from what the criminal had expected.

The woman actually stumbled back, eyes wide, letting go of the criminal. The war criminal, the one with eighty confirmed kills, possibly more that they weren't aware of looked no older than a college freshman, nineteen at best, some of his dark hair falling into his eyes, the softness of youth in his face contrasting with the harshness of his eyes; an icy, angry grey.

"You - you're a kid," Leader interjected, a mixture of horror and surprise on his face, not even capable of looking the criminal in the eyes for too long.

The "kid" in question smirked coldly at the pair. "So I am," he started oddly calm, even though his heart was practically going to burst from the pressure in his chest. It hurt to breathe, but he wasn't going to let them find out, "does that make what you're eventually going to do to me harder? Are you going to toss and turn a little more before you put your heads down on your pillows?"

"Why?" Leader asked, voice uncharacteristically soft, surprising even his second-in-command.

"Does it matter?" the teen asked coldly.

"Just tell us, kid," Second said a little tersely, taking over when Leader was at a loss for words. She wasn't sure if this was some sort of well-concealed soft spot her boss had for younger people and as iffy as it was, this teenager was a threat, and there was work to be done.

"I don't think I will." He turned his head to the side, refusing to face the agents.

The second operative raised both her eyebrows in a mixture of surprise and indignation, the same sort of expression an annoyed parent or teacher would reserve for an insolent child, marching forward and pulling the teen up by his collar and slamming him into the metal wall.

"If you think any of this is a joke, then it really isn't. There is someone behind you, and I'm going to find out who it is if it's the last -"

"That's enough," her superior said, firmly tapping her on the shoulder and motioning for her to let go of the criminal.

He walked out and she followed suit, locking the door behind her.

"I know he's dangerous. And it's likely that there's someone behind him. But this is different. We've never dealt with someone this young before. And I don't think he'll respond to threats," Leader started, folding his arms across his chest.

"What's the other option, Leader? We get him string cheese and watch cartoons with the little bastard?"

Refraining from making a smartass comment about how college age wasn't typically the string cheese and cartoon age, Leader fixed Second Operative with a half-pointed, half-exhausted glare. "We ask the rest of the team. Maybe there's a way to get this kid to trust us and start telling on the big guns of his operation. But for now, we'll move him to one of the holding cells."

Second let out a huff, but she couldn't argue with that. She just hoped that this strange gentleness didn't cloud Leader's judgement. Eighty people was not an insignificant number.

The criminal let himself lie down on the flimsy mattress of his new prison, staring idly up at the ceiling. As inconvenient as all this was, at least the operatives believed he had some sort of greater power behind him.

And what greater power is there than the wrath of someone with nothing left to lose?

completed KILI scarf, ordered by legholas, taurielfed, and preciouskili! thank you all for ordering and i demand selfies when you receive your packages!  sorry about my lack of makeup omg