#whump comunity

And, yet, here Villain lay. Against the odds.

When Supervillain had heard the knocking, the weak, almost whimpering of flesh on wood, they had assumed the worst. The next attack. The next attempt to break into their lair. And, yet, their surveillance systems had reported nothing of the like, and a quick sweep by their henchmen had confirmed that there were no heroes laying in wait nearby.

It wasn't a trap. At the very least, if it was a trap, it wasn't obvious.

If it had been a trap, they could have at least cleaned up their bait a little better. That was their first thought when they at last felt confident enough to open the door. What in the world was one supposed to do in this situation? At the moment, their reaction was, more or less, 'staring in shock.' While perhaps not being the most helpful, to them, it seemed the most natural.

Closing the door wasn't an option. They knew that.

Supervillain didn't take pity, not on anyone. There was a reason they were feared-- they weren't known for their mercy. But, leaving a fellow villain like this... It was something that was just wrong. Evil as they were, villains still had morals. They took good care of their hostages. They released children, the elderly and the sick. They kept their own henchmen in good health and spirits.

And...

And they didn't leave fellow villains on their doorsteps, half dead.

Biting the inside of their cheek out of nerves alone, they leaned down, picking up the shivering burden. The cold struck them in an instant-- a terrible, shivering cold. The kind that was reserved only for those with powers that related to ice and snow.

But Villain- No, Villain was a pyrokinetic. A firebender. And they always ran hot.

Not frigid. With a hiss, Supervillain spoke a few words into their earpiece, before disconnecting it. Ordering their henchmen to keep watch, while they dealt with something very, very important.

They laid the pyrokinetic upon a couch-- having holed up in their living area-- and examined them in the better light.

Their eyes were closed, as was their mouth, except for the slightest parting of blue-hued lips to inhale the tiniest of gasps.

Moving downwards, their neck, skin pulled taut and pale to the point of nigh-translucence, was marked pointedly with a series of angry, red lines. They seemed to wrap all the way around. Some were broader, while some were fine, delicate, nearly sharp enough to draw blood.

Strangulation marks.

If their body showed anything, it was that either whoever had kept them captive had had no intent for them to escape, or had simply not cared in what condition their bait was found. They were draped in a cotton top and trousers that were only thick enough to maintain their modesty, but not nearly enough to maintain the slightest fiber of warmth. Sprouting from sleeves and neckholes, bruises of both a deep blue and a sickly purple bloomed, formed into shapes did not so much as attempt to hide that they had been sourced from hands or bats.

It was only when Supervillain's scan reached their feet that they found definitive proof of escape. A single foot, the left, had been torn nearly to shreds, as though it had been chewed by a wild beast. The biting circle of a metal restraint could be seen marked into mangled skin, from where it had once sat upon the ankles, to where it had been slid all the way down, without care for bodily destruction.

Villain had escaped. Villain had escaped, and they had come to see... Supervillain? It didn't make sense.

But, with all the others in hiding...

They were their last hope.

It was with an almost superhuman speed that the supervillain contacted their medical staff, stating to arrive as soon as possible, that any traffic tickets would be paid off.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes to their arrival. Could Villain make it that long? They were so, so cold.

Supervillain was just about the furthest thing on the planet from a doctor, but they were also rather far from being an idiot. No human was meant to be this cold, especially one whose body was designed for the production of flame.

They took a decorative fleece, draped over a nearly ottoman, and held it nervously before their chest. What were they supposed to do?

Villain was too cold. Supervillain wasn't going to let them die!

They pulled the blanket about their back, wrapping it around their front, covering as much skin as they could manage. They expected a reaction, a shout, or- Or something.

But, their newfound, injured ward did little but blearily open their eyes. Behind them, there was nothing.

"Are you okay?" Supervillain spoke to a brick wall. "What happened? What did they do to you?"

A heavy blink, and their eyelids drifted back closed. What was wrong with them?

"Villain!" They snapped, raising their voice loud enough to scare away any wildlife in a one mile radius. "Look at me! Wake up!"

Their tone took on that of what they used during interrogations. Anything to wake their ice-cold ally up.

Their eyes once more opened, focusing ever so slightly. They opened their mouth, gaping momentarily like a fish, before once more closing their jaw.

This wasn't exhaustion, Supervillain realized with a start. This was drugs. Heavy sedation. Nigh-paralysis. That was all that could be seen in their gaze- exhaustion and fear.

What were they afraid of?

"My henchmen have cleared the perimeter." They spoke as though someone in such a state could understand words of such a length. "You're safe."

It did nothing. With a shaking hand, Supervillain reached a hand forward, placing it upon their shoulder.

That elicited a reaction. A whimper.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay."

In their eyes, something shifted.

"Whoever did this to you..." Public enemy number one, the most dangerous person at Metropolis, the terror of every child growled. "I'm going to make them suffer."

“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t heard,” Whumper says, tilting Whumpee’s head back with a rusty and serrated knife. “Caretaker died a few months ago.” Whumpee scoffed.

“No, they didn’t. You’re lying.” They inhaled sharply as Whumper drew a thin line across their victim’s neck, wiping at beads of blood with their gloved hand.

“I’m not.” They sheathed their knife, running their index finger along Whumpee’s jaw. “You should have seen how they screamed, Whumpee. They asked for you, you know. Blamed you for their death-” Whumpee surged forward, their wrists straining against the zip ties binding them together.

“Sut up!” They screamed. “You’re lying!” Whumper’s grin was hidden behind their cloth face mask as they grabbed Whumpee’s face.

“Look at me- no, don’t turn away. I want your eyes on me. Caretaker is dead-”

“Lia-”

“Shut up!” Whumper screamed at them, squeezing painfully.