can i order hero drugging villain for their own good thank you
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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.
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