#mumensonic

so the guests here are:

Serizawa (beige jumper), Mumen (the cutie in glasses) Sonic (the edgelord) And this pale bishie is Amai Mask

(also there’s a part of teru’s head)

Unfortunately, Mob, who is a shy cookie, went home as soon as the part started

so Teru decided to get down on the dancefloor with Zombieman

Look at em go.

Serizawa was out of his party energy for the day, Amai Mask stands in the corner, busy with self-admiration

And Genos with Saitama took over the dancefloor!

(Also I think Sonic may be up to something)

WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO MUMEN SONIC???

!!!!! (well that was unexpected)

well, they;re having fun

ALL BYYYYY MYSELF

Mumen went home, and Sonic decided to get a drink. What a night.

whAT THE FUCK AMAI

the party is over and the boys went to bed

6:23 AM. The light go on. Someone comes inside.

wHAT THE FUCK MOB

wHAT ARE YOU DOING

Sonic shrugged. "Sure, whatever convinces you." He poked his burden against Mumen's chest.

"I'm not taking your money." Mumen had that stubborn, idiotic look in his eyes, the look that said he would stand there all day before he compromised.

"Look, I went to the trouble of getting this cash, and it's not like I'm gonna put it back," Sonic said, cocking his hip and leaning even more heavily on his good leg. As of yesterday morning, he'd been in good enough shape to walk-- and hence, to get out of Mumen's apartment-- but that didn't mean his injury was anywhere near healed. "That means you have two options: you let me pay you back right now and spare us both a lot of trouble, or I pay you back in a way that's really inconvenient for both of us."

"Then I guess we'll have to see what option two looks like," Mumen replied, starting to close the door in Sonic's face. As the opening narrowed to a crack, he paused. "How did you get back in my building, anyway?"

For the briefest of moments, Sonic considered telling the truth; in the past couple of weeks, Mumen had grown on him, in some infuriating way he couldn't quite put his finger on. Instinct kicked in, though, and he snorted. "Seriously? I'm a goddamn ninja. I can get into anywhere. And just so you know, you're gonna regret choosing the hard way." With that, he spun on his heel and strode down the hall fuming.

If nothing else, Mumen had to admire Sonic's tenacity.

The first few times the cashier at the supermarket had mysteriously ended up with cash in hand for Mumen's purchases courtesy of a black-haired gust of wind, it had been a shock; now, two weeks later, the staff had taken to simply holding out a hand to the side rather than waiting for Mumen to place his payment on the customary tray. And while most managed to keep a straight face, more than one had already inquired as to why the "money ninja" had taken to stalking the hero.

If they had known just how accurate the moniker was, they might have been significantly more frightened than amused.

It wasn't just the supermarket, either: in restaurants, at ticket windows, even at vending machines, Sonic was there every time Mumen reached for his wallet. (How he figured out which buttons Mumen was planning to press on the machines, he'd never know.) As adamant as the hero was about standing by his principles, it appeared he'd met someone even more stubborn than himself.

On the fifteenth day, Mumen called a truce of sorts with two bowls of ramen at his favorite stand. 

It had taken a solid minute of Mumen gesturing to the seat beside him, but eventually a familiar figure approached, clad in a track jacket and what appeared to be yoga pants. Whatever they were, they left absolutely nothing to the imagination, from either direction. Mumen tried to convince himself he was staring out of abject horror at how tastelessly Sonic was flaunting his... endowments. Still, he couldn't ignore the little voice reminding him that he'd seen said endowments enough times to be inoculated against any horror, and each time it grew harder to deny that he might actually be enjoying the view.

"You ready to stop being stupid?" Of course Sonic would forego a greeting in favor of antagonizing him further.

"Nope," he shot back, "But if you're buying me lunch anyway, you might as well get to enjoy it too."

"And what makes you think I'd enjoy having lunch with you, Boy Scout?" Despite his demeanor, Sonic hopped onto the seat, wiggling just a bit more than could have been necessary to get comfortable.

Mumen raised an eyebrow. "I figure you might be stalking me because you miss my company and want an excuse to keep hanging around."

The snort that came from the ninja was oddly comforting. "Yeah, you got me: I miss your company about as much as you miss mine."

"So then you do miss me a little bit." The words had escaped before they registered fully with Mumen's brain, and in their wake, it was all he could do not to clap a hand over his own mouth. Slowly, painfully, he turned to face Sonic, willing his companion to just ignore the confession.

Sonic, for his part, looked like he'd been smacked in the face with a comically large phallus, or something of the sort. Shock, disbelief, and indignation rippled across his face, until an oddly vulnerable expression settled where they had been. "You're... you're serious, aren't you?"

A hasty denial nearly reached Mumen's lips, but he held it back just in time. He'd been honest with Sonic so far; now wasn't the time to break that habit. "I said a little bit. I... I guess I got used to company, that's all. I'll get over it soon enough." He shifted his gaze downward, eyes catching upon a perfect way to change topics. "How's the leg?"

"Hasn't turned green and fallen off yet," Sonic replied, seemingly as grateful for the segue as Mumen himself was. "Guess the guy who patched it up wasn't a total hack. Just wish he'd take my damn money and let me get back to my usual villain gig already."

Mumen's eyebrows shot up. "I'm holding you back from your life of crime? I'd better keep this up, then. If I start pinching pennies like Saitama does, I bet I can keep you occupied for months."

"You do, and I start stapling the cash to you. In small bills." Sonic's growl might have been humorous if it hadn't been impossible to tell if he was joking or not. Nodding carefully, the hero directed his attention to the bowl of ramen in front of him. Ramen was safe. He couldn't talk with a full mouth, either; that would be rude. If it happened to be a convenient excuse, that was... incidental.

All too soon, though, the ramen, as with all good things, came to an end.

Swallowing hard, Mumen glanced over at the man next to him. "So, uh... how's... things?"

Sonic sputtered, eyes going wide as he gaped at Mumen. "Seriously? You had like ten minutes to come up with another topic, and that's the best you could do?" He rose, dropping a small pile of cash on the counter between them. "I guess I'd better give you a couple days if I wanna have a halfway decent conversation."

"A couple days?" Mumen blurted, painfully aware of how awkward he sounded. He was totally off-balance, mind whirling at the prospect that Sonic was actually planning to spend more time talking with him. What could his motive possibly be?

"Was your broth made of whiskey or something? You suck at talking all of a sudden." Sonic's smile was somewhere between teasing and exasperated. "Whatever. Let me know when you're ready to just take the damn money and save us both the trouble." With that, he sprang off, seeming to disappear into thin air as usual. He wouldn't be far, though.

And for some strange reason, that thought wasn't nearly as frustrating anymore.

Okay, the music had to stop. 

Mumen was patient, sometimes too patient for his own good, but this had been going on for forty minutes since he'd started keeping track, which meant the total was probably close to an hour. Any music at a volume loud enough to pick out the vocals--if this screeching and growling could be called such-- through the ceiling, was beyond excessive. And if it was bothering him, the other residents were bound to be long past fed up with it as well.

Not that they would do anything about it, of course; not when they had the great Mumen Rider to save them.

Granted, being a C-Class superhero gave him certain advantages, especially when it came to convincing people to respect the rules, but his neighbors really were getting into a bad habit by never handling anything themselves. Facing down an S-Class villain was beyond the average person, sure, but how hard could it be to ask a neighbor to turn down their speakers?

Muttering under his breath, Mumen made his way up the stairs, eyes narrowing as the music grew ever louder with his approach. He raised his hand to knock politely, thought better of it, and began hammering the door with the bottom of his fist instead. Maybe Sonic was rubbing off on him a bit, but this way was undeniably more efficient.

After a solid fifteen seconds of pounding, the music came to an abrupt, blessed halt, leaving behind only a painful ringing and the sound of Mumen's hand banging against the door. Just as he stopped, it swung open, and a katana swished to hang centimeters from his forehead. 

"I thought I told you to fuck off," a familiar voice growled. A second passed, the sword wavering in midair, before it dropped to the figure's side. The light from the hallway illuminated pale skin, crisscrossed with even paler scars. "Oh, it's you."

"Sonic?" Mumen's eyes had to be wider than the rims of his glasses. 

"No, it's the other sexy ninja assassin you see all the time." Sonic's words were a bit slurred, his gaze less focused than normal.

Mouth working silently, Mumen fought to make sense of the situation. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here, genius. What's your excuse?"

"Wait, you... what? No." Mumen shook his head. "You don't live here."

One of Sonic's eyebrows rose, and he leaned against the doorframe, hooking one finger into the waistband of the briefs that were his sole garment. Mumen absolutely did not notice how the motion tugged them down to provide a better view of that well-toned V of muscle. "Fun fact about apartment buildings, Boy Scout: they have multiple units, which means that multiple people can live in them. Novel concept, I know, but try to keep up."

"But... I live here."

"No, you live one floor down from here. In fact, I think you might live directly... under..." He trailed off, a wobbly smile sliding onto his features. "You're here to bitch about the noise, aren't you?"

Mumen nodded, mute. He'd already established he was incapable of saying anything intelligent at the moment.

A grin split Sonic's face, that mixture of childish glee and diabolical intent. "Want me to keep it down? Get in here." He brought his hand back up from where Mumen was pointedly refusing to look, and crooked a finger.

"Huh?"

"C'mon, I know the music didn't make you deaf." Sonic took a step back, gesturing to the interior of the apartment with his katana. The casualness of the motion belied the deadliness of the implement in his hand. "I'm inviting you in."

Mumen shook his head, even as part of him protested that there was no harm. "I can't. There's... Association paperwork I have to do." Technically not a lie, though he had a few days left to do it.

"Mmhmm. Sure there is." The ninja's smile turned mischievous. "Well, good luck with that, I guess. I'll just go back to enjoying my music. Maybe I'll crank it up another notch or two."

Crossing his arms, Mumen glared at Sonic. "Why do you insist on doing this?"

"Because I'm booooooored," Sonic drawled, tugging one of Mumen's hands free and leaning back slightly. "Entertain me. I swear I won't even molest you unless you make the first move."

"No, Sonic." Mumen planted his feet. The ninja could hurl him bodily anywhere he wanted; he took it as a good sign that Sonic was leaving the choice up to him. "Not tonight."

Sonic's hand dropped away, and his gaze drifted to the doorjamb. His teasing demeanor had evaporated, leaving behind that same vulnerable young man Mumen had glimpsed at the ramen bar. Those piercing blue eyes shone with the faintest glimmer of hope, overshadowed by a certainty that that hope was going to be shattered. "Look, if you seriously don't want to, I'll stop," he murmured. "No more music, and you can go do whatever you need to do. I just..." He trailed off and shrugged, carefree armor sliding back into place. "I could use some company tonight, that's all."

It was a bad idea-- a horrible idea, really. If anyone in the building noticed Mumen going into Sonic's apartment, he had no excuse. Sonic wasn't even injured anymore. Still, this was the second time Sonic had looked at him with those eyes; this was really, truly important to Sonic, and somehow, that meant it was important to Mumen as well. Swallowing hard and pushing away the implication that followed that line of thought, Mumen nodded. "I guess the paperwork can wait a little while."

Finally, an eternity later, his stomach stopped wringing itself dry. He coughed and spat and spat again, and he was lifted up to breathe fresh air. Those hands, too gentle to be anyone who knew him well, turned him onto his side. A few deep breaths, and he lapsed into unconsciousness once more.

Wind rushed by, chilling his ears. His leg hurt. He was holding onto something in front of him. Something warm. With a discontented murmur, he rested his ear against the source of comfort and drifted back to sleep.

"...get you inside, let you rest up." That voice again, those hands untangling his arms as the warmth shifted. Sonic opened his eyes, the blurred building in front of him coalescing into a familiar sight. Ice streamed into his veins, and he seized his benefactor by the throat, fingers tightening with the threat of a crushed windpipe.

"Tell me how you knew," he growled.

A choking gasp, fingers scrabbling in vain against his own. "Knew what?"

"This place. Tell me," Sonic repeated, squeezing for emphasis.

"What? This is my home!" the man sputtered. "I live here!"

A few seconds passed, pieces falling into some vague semblance of order, not that it mattered; that last burst of fight-or-flight had left Sonic utterly spent. Sonic's grip loosened of its own accord, and he slumped against the warm body beside him. He barely registered his arm being wound over the man's neck, his legs being lifted. Everything blurred and faded again.

The next time Sonic awoke, it was to a stabbing pain in his thigh. Eyes shooting open with a hiss, he jerked upright and took stock of his surroundings. It was an apartment, a studio from the looks of it, sparsely decorated. He didn't recognize the furnishings, but apart from that, the place was strangely familiar-- the layout, the cheap appliances in the kitchen, right down to the godawful shade of greenish beige that covered the walls.

Shifting aside the blanket that had fallen to his waist, he was greeted by the sight of fresh, carefully applied gauze, as well as the most obnoxious plaid flannel boxers that had ever touched his skin. Apparently this apartment belonged to a Boy Scout who'd gone for a merit badge in first aid and skipped the one for fashion. Sonic swung his legs over and rose to his feet; he had to get out of this place before his mysterious savior decided to bring him pamphlets on the virtues of community service clubs or some stupid--

The first step Sonic took with his left leg sent a bolt of white-hot fire lancing up his thigh, and he crumpled forward with a squawk, one arm reaching out to catch himself on the coffee table and only succeeding in shoving it across the floor as he continued downwards. The groan that escaped his mouth, cheek pressed against the faux wood floor, was more from resignation than actual pain; if the apartment's occupant was here, there was no way he hadn't heard the ungodly racket of the coffee table shifting.

"Hey, take it easy!" That gentle, soothing, infuriatingly sweet voice, fast-approaching footsteps. "It's okay, you're okay."

Despite his position, Sonic snorted. "Of course I'm okay. Now fuck off."

The footsteps shuffled up to stop just in front of him. Sonic cracked an eye to find a matching set of cartoon bear heads smiling inches from his face. Wasn't that just fucking adorable. "Here, let's get you back up." The Boy Scout squatted down, hands reaching to slide under Sonic.

"Touch me and I will beat you to death with those slippers," Sonic growled.

The man above him stiffened. "I was just--"

"Don't. Touch. Me." He placed his palms flat on the floor beneath him, pushing up. "I can do this my..." He trailed off, arms trembling as though he were lifting an elephant, not just his own body weight. He strained, gritted his teeth, gained another inch, then collapsed, panting with exertion. His heart fluttered, fast and far too light. "What's..." He closed his eyes, trying in vain to stop the world from spinning around him. Finally, he let his head rest against the floor once again, breathing a near-silent expletive.

"I get that you're not used to this," that voice said, the sympathetic tone setting Sonic's teeth on edge, "But you lost a whole lot of blood, and unless you feel like going to the hospital for a transfusion, it's going to take a while to get back to normal."

"No hospitals," Sonic murmured. The floor was cool against his clammy cheek, soothing. If he concentrated on how nice it felt, he could almost forget the pain in his leg for a few seconds at a time.

"Then let me help you. We need to get you back up on the couch and elevate your leg again. That's all I'm going to do. Do I have your permission to do that?"

The fingers on Sonic's right hand curled, leaving only one extended. "You have my permission to suck my dick." It probably wasn't the wisest choice to be confrontational when he couldn't even stand, but he'd be damned if he was going to play nice just because he was at a disadvantage.

"Actually, you don't have enough blood in your body for that to work right now." There was a strange note to that voice, almost mirthful. It was bad enough having to stomach this guy's sympathy; was he developing a fucking sense of humor now?

"Ha. Ha. Ha," Sonic growled. "Hilarious. Know what else will make me laugh? The sound your neck makes when I snap it."

A sigh. "Look, I just want to help. You don't seem to want my help, so I'm going to leave you alone again. If you need something, let me know." With that, the bear slippers shuffled away.

Sonic tried once again to push himself up off the ground, to no avail. Right hand reaching up to the coffee table, he attempted to use it for leverage, and only succeeded in making the world spin even faster than before. Rolling onto his back was all he could manage, his reward a view of a blurry ceiling as his heart tapped a light, frantic rhythm against his ribcage. He lay there panting for seconds or minutes whose passage he didn't bother to mark, nor would he have been able to if he had tried. Finally, shame forming a lump in his throat, he bit his lip. "Okay," he croaked.

"What was that?" The voice came closer, but not all the way over to Sonic's side.

"I said... okay. I'm okay with you helping me now." As the last word escaped his mouth, Sonic cringed in anticipation of the gloating and taunting that was sure to follow.

What he received instead was a pair of hands looping under his arms and lifting him gently back onto the futon, his benefactor climbing on to bring Sonic's head and torso into place, then scooting back off to repeat the process with his legs. A cushion was propped under his feet, just tall enough to keep his legs elevated, and the blanket covered him once more. "That okay?"

Sonic took a deep breath, then another one, trying to produce some witty retort just to show he hadn't given up completely, but nothing came to mind. "...yeah."

"All right. I have some juice and painkillers for you if your stomach can take them. Want to try?"

"Sure." This prick was so damn kind and gentle and sweet and it was fucking maddening, but Sonic was stuck here regardless, and antagonizing him didn't seem to deter him anyway. Might as well just save his energy.

A minute later, the pills downed and waiting to work their magic, a plastic cup of juice clutched in Sonic's trembling hands (there was no way in hell he wasn't going to hold his own cup as long as his hands were still attached to his body), he peered over the rim of the cup at his savior. "Look, I don't know if you know who I am," he began, voice echoing around the vessel, but a glance from his benefactor silenced him.

"You really don't recognize me, do you?" The young man had a strange look on his face, somewhere between curiosity and surprise and... a touch of disappointment?

Sonic studied the face before him, trying to match it to his memories. He eliminated the features that could be easily obscured: cover the hair, put something over the eyes. That jaw was familiar, those lips, that permanently concerned face. Someone from TV--

"Shit," he murmured, eyes going wide before he crushed them into a scowl. "Of all the people in this damn city, it had to be Mumen fucking Rider."

Mumen shrugged, looking away quickly, but not quite fast enough to hide the tinge of hurt. "I'd apologize, but seeing as how you're not in the hospital or jail right now, you might be pretty lucky it was me, don't you think? By the way, nice to meet you too, Speed o' Sound Sonic."

Hot and cold bathed the back of Sonic's neck, a feeling he hadn't experienced in quite some time returning to redden his cheeks. "I..." He bit his lip, looked down at the blanket covering him. "Look, apparently you do know who I am. That means you know I don't do all that polite shit you heroes do. But when you put it that way, I guess... maybe you're not the worst person to find me."

Eyebrows rose above the rims of Mumen's glasses, and a little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'll take it."

Minutes passed in silence, punctuated by sips to mask Sonic's lack of conversational skills, until there was no juice left to hide behind. "So," he mumbled, tugging the blanket aside to expose the plaid travesty that was his sole garment. "Are hideous boxers for guests a house rule, or am I just lucky?"

Pink tinged the hero's cheeks. "Well, your suit was basically torn to shreds already, and to get you out of it and clean off the blood I had to, uh..." He gulped. "Cut it off with medical shears."

Sonic's eye twitched. "You chopped up my suit?"

"It was either that or leave you soaked in blood with a shoddy dressing on your leg," Mumen said, raising his hands. "And I don't know if you've woken up covered in dried blood before, but it's not pleasant."

Mouth twisting in distaste at the memory of precisely that, Sonic gave a little nod. "Fair enough."

"And then you were..." Mumen made a strange noise in the back of his throat, gesturing vaguely. "I mean, I didn't know you don't wear anything under the suit, and then it was just... y'know?" The pink crept up to his ears as awkward silence hung in the air. "Don't worry, I didn't peek or anything like that."

Sonic smirked, crossing his arms. That was a pretty blush on Mumen's face, but it could be redder. "Why not? Afraid I'd put you to shame? Or that you'd like what you saw a little too much?"

Rather than the expected blush, Mumen's face turned to a frown. "I don't look at people naked without their permission."

Undeterred, Sonic pushed a little further. "And if you had permission?" One thumb hooked under the boxers, tugging them down millimeter by millimeter.

The hero made a gurgling sound as he went bright red. There was that blush Sonic had been looking for. "Okay then! I'm going into the kitchen to, uh, do some things. Now that you've got some fluids back, you should rest." He shot to his feet, snatching the cup from Sonic's hand, and strode off to the kitchen, walking with the jerky gait of someone trying not to run.

The little chuckle of victory that Sonic allowed himself turned abruptly to a yawn. As much as he wanted to stay awake and tease the Boy Scout, he was truly exhausted. Pulling the blanket back up to his neck, Sonic let his eyes drift closed, hoping for a dreamless sleep.

“How the hell can you call it pretending?” Sonic’s eyes bulged, pulse hammering in his ears. “Do you have any idea how many of your worthless lives he’s saved? How much of his own blood he’s shed, how many bones he’s broken keeping you ingrates safe?”

“Saving lives doesn’t make him any less of a murderer,” a woman called out, face contorted into a sneer, a tearful child held in front of her like a shield. As if he couldn’t instantly remove any chunk of her body he chose without so much as touching the kid.

“Murderer?” Sonic whispered, voice and body alike quivering with rage. “You want to see a murderer?” Teeth ground together, and Sonic sprang forward, only to be halted by Mumen’s arms around his waist. “Let me go, Mumen! I’ll show these filthy insects what a true murderer looks like!”

Mumen’s head shook against Sonic’s back. “No.” His voice was soft, barely audible. “Let’s just go home.”

“But–”

“I need you to take me home, Sonic. Please.” At the last word, his voice cracked, and Mumen Rider, the hero who never admitted defeat even against impossible odds, began to weep openly before the masses who had once adored him… and the one person who still did.

One deep breath, two, three, and Sonic slowly turned to pick his lover up bridal style, katana still clenched in his hand. “Know this,” he barked out over his shoulder. “Mumen Rider just saved all of your lives. Again.” With that, he dropped into a crouch, ignoring the screams of both the crowd and his injured leg, and sprinted off, carrying his beloved away from the city in the blink of an eye.

SIX MONTHS EARLIER

There were a number of reasons Mumen Rider would say he rode his bike: to be environmentally friendly, to patrol the nooks and crannies where a car couldn’t reach, to provide an example of healthy exercise for citizens of all ages. All were true.

But none were the reason he was riding now.

What he would never admit, could never admit to anyone, lest it reach the ears of those who looked up to him, was that a bike was the best way to run from demons. With the wind shrieking past numb-tipped ears, it was easy to drown out the screams that woke him in a cold sweat, the cries for help he had been too slow or too weak to answer, the whispers.

God, the whispers.

They were creeping into his bedroom now, robbing him of the few hours of fitful sleep he had been managing to collect all these years. The ancient fan he had purchased for its rattling whir was no longer enough to hold the voices at bay; they merely crawled closer, dripping poison directly into his ear however firmly he covered it with his pillow. And so he fled to the streets, to his bike, where they blended into the roar of an alphabet of cities passing by. Maybe if he rode far enough, fast enough, made enough hairpin turns in the back alleys, he could leave them behind long enough to fall asleep.

It was a lie, and not even a good one at that, but it kept his legs moving.

Another block, another, another, blurring into a stream of streetlights and neon and shop windows, and Mumen slowed to a halt, panting. Years of patrolling had given him a sixth sense where trouble was involved; things his conscious mind failed to register tickled the back of his brain, prompting him to investigate further. Sometimes it was a false alarm, but more often than not a second pass revealed something amiss. That sense was telling him there was trouble two blocks back.

Shifting gears and standing upright, he began to backtrack, slow and methodical. Something had caught his attention off to the right, and as he peered at the storefronts, he spotted it– the window to the veterinary clinic was shattered, a spiderweb of cracks radiating from the impact point. Still more concerning, while a large portion of the glass remained in place thanks to its safety lamination, a section toward the bottom appeared to have been sheared off and pushed inward, and a trail of bloody left footprints led up to the window and presumably inside.

Mumen Rider dismounted and locked his bike to the nearest lamppost, heart pounding from far more than just his ride. His Kevlar was at home along with his reinforced helmet and goggles; shedding his costume provided him a degree of much-needed anonymity on nights like this, but with nothing more than spandex to protect him from whatever had sliced clean through that windowpane, he might as well have been naked. Still, he couldn’t leave this to someone else and risk them being hurt, or worse.

The hole was more than large enough for him to crawl through, even avoiding the smear of dark crimson that ran the length of the glass. This blood was dry, perhaps half an hour old; Mumen briefly entertained the hope that the one who had shed it was already long gone. The discontented medley of animal noises from deeper inside the clinic put an end to that thought as quickly as it arose, though.

Light streamed from an open door, a streak of blood rounding the corner; peeking inside, Mumen caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure seated on the operating table, head bowed as he took shuddering breaths. As Mumen’s eyes adjusted, more details became apparent– the glint of the needle in the figure’s hand, the bottle of pills tipped sideways to scatter its contents beside the young man, the purple scarf clenched between gritted teeth failing to muffle his agonized moans.

This was Speed o’ Sound Sonic, Class S villain, one of the most wanted criminals in the nation. He had a gaping wound in his left leg, which he was trying to sew shut. And judging by the sway of his torso and the roll of his eyes, he would pass out before he succeeded. Mumen should have run away, should have dialed the Hero Association and let them capture Sonic at his weakest, should have–

“Hey.”

Should have done anything but call out to a professional assassin who could– and likely would– murder him without blinking.

Sonic jerked upright, katana replacing the needle in his hand faster than Mumen’s eye could track. “Show yourself,” he spat, scarf falling from his mouth.

“It’s okay,” Mumen reassured him, hands in the air as he stepped into view. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

A delirious giggle, and the sword dropped to Sonic’s side. “You couldn’ hurrme ify’ tried,” he slurred.

Mumen swallowed hard, then nodded, taking another step closer. “I know. I’m just here to help.”

Sonic’s brow furrowed. “Fuck off. ’m fine.”

“You’re about two minutes from passing out from what I really hope is blood loss and not an overdose,” Mumen said, still approaching Sonic as he would a wounded animal. There was nothing he could do if Sonic decided to gut him; he wouldn’t even register the movement until it was all over. “Do you remember how many of those pills you took?”

A shrug. “Some. Taste like shit.”

With a sigh, the hero reached slowly, very slowly, for the bottle. “All right. Let’s see what they are. Hopefully they’re okay for human consumption and you won’t need to get your stomach–”

The clatter of metal on tile sent Mumen springing backwards out of reflex, arms crossed in a futile attempt to protect himself. One eye cracked open just in time to watch Sonic crumple to the side, unconscious. A few deep breaths amid the cacophony of barks and shrieks from the kennels next door, and Mumen stepped close enough to tap Sonic’s cheek. No response. A glance at the pill bottle confirmed his suspicions: Tramadol. At least it was something approved for use in humans.

“Make that ten seconds from passing out,” Mumen Rider said to no one in particular. Sighing, he strode to the sink to wash his hands. There was only one thing he could do at this point, short of calling an ambulance. He just hoped Sonic didn’t wake up in the middle of the process; among the things that would put a crimp in his hero work, a broken neck was pretty high on the list.