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“Patrol. Now.”
Wilbur knew it would be his last when his handler had said that. He’d taken the top heroes’ shifts all week and had gotten about two hours of sleep.
And it was Prometheus, his public archnemesis.
Wilbur didn’t hate Prometheus. Not in the slightest, and in fact, he hoped the villain would accomplish his goals.
Wilbur ducked under the blast of fire that Prometheus fired at him. “Come on, Pan, surely you tire of our daily fights!”
They weren’t daily.
Or they hadn’t started out that way.
Once a month turned into twice a week into practically every day.
On top of his exhaustion, Wilbur couldn’t use his main power, it was tucked away behind a power suppressor. Few powers slipped under the radar of such a powerful one, but his enhanced speed and a small bit of time-slowing abilities.
It made him able to dodge hits more easily while using his bow (what a stupid weapon in the day and age of technology) to fire arrows at Prometheus.
“Of course I do, but do you think I can just leave?” Wilbur laughs as Prometheus grabs his throat and pins him against the wall. “I want to leave, please, please, just end this.” Wilbur was tired of feeling so lost in his own mind.
The heroes needed to be overthrown, but with Wilbur under their thumb they would never be able to be usurped.
If he was out of the equation though….
“You’re…” Prometheus hesitates, “You want to die?”
“Yes, please ,” Wilbur begs.
He was tired of getting back to headquarters after a rough patrol only to be met with harsh glares and harsher fists. The needles that injected more power suppression into his veins and set his nerves alight with fire unlike anything he’d ever felt before just so that he wouldn’t accidentally turn someone into a pretzel.
It had only gotten to happen once before he was being pumped with drugs.
No second chances.
He was tired of no second chances.
He was tired of getting up every morning with a headache and a soreness in his muscles that never seemed to fade.
He was sick of hearing how awful he’d done that day and getting cut out of dinner for a week.
He didn’t want to try to nurse his wounds in the privacy of his own room with people pounding on the door telling him he had meetings to attend and interviews to go to.
“I can’t anymore,” he tells Prometheus. “Do me a favor before you kill me, though?”
“What– what is it?” Prometheus has never looked so out of place, so lost in his actions that he doesn’t know whether or not he wants to face the consequences.
That wasn’t like him.
Prometheus relied on his energy manipulation to get out of any situation, or his enhanced strength to slide a sword through someone’s arm.
“Hold me. Just–” Wilbur exhales shakily, “Just until I’m gone, then you can toss me aside or put me in a dumpster.”
Prometheus’ eyes look at him before he sighs. He says nothing and something sharp enters Wilbur’s neck. He lets himself go, happy to be free.
“Thank you,” he says, letting a smile finally grace his face. Prometheus holds him close, and it’s so close to a hug. So close to something he’s never felt in so long.
A smile hadn’t been on his face in over ten years, and finally, finally…
He was free.
His eyes drift closed as Prometheus holds him against the other, the iron armor not a soft surface to be laid against, but Wilbur found he couldn’t complain.
He lets himself go.
The last thing Wilbur expected was to wake up.
He groans as he looks around. His mask lays on the bed beside him and new clothes sit folded on a chair by his bed. A side door in the room leads to a bathroom and Wilbur looks around.
His power suppressor cuff still rested against his wrist, but he could feel the drug version of the suppressant seeping out of him.
“Hey, you awake in there?” A voice calls from outside the door. Wilbur jerks.
“Wh–Where am I?” He asks, his voice rough from lack of drink. When was the last time he’d drank anything?
Was it when the higher ups had forced him to drink the suppressants in a hot sauce bottle?
Or was it when one of the higher-tiered heroes had forced him to drink expired milk?
He couldn’t remember.
He notices that he feels better rested than he has in years, he which makes him wonder how long he was asleep for.
The door opens and a man with pink hair and brown eyes walks in with food on a tray and a cup of water balanced on the tray.
“You’re at my house in the country. My brothers will be home later this month. I found–” The familiar voice startles Wilbur so badly that he feels his heart skip a beat.
“Prometheus??” Wilbur questions. “Wha–”
“I should’ve figured. Yeah, I brought you to my home.” Prometheus sets the food on Wilbur’s lap and drags a hand across his neck. “You’ve been out for a couple days. I tried to pull the power suppressor off, but it seemed to be hurting you, so I stopped.”
“You kidnapped me?!” Wilbur tries to pull away but Prometheus lays a hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah, but you weren’t happy with the heroes clearly. I mean you were–” he stops and Wilbur can hear the begging me to kill you that wasn’t explicitly said, “yeah, so I figured here would be better.” Prometheus seems so sincere. “Besides, you had so many injuries, they weren’t ones I’d given you and no one else but the heroes could’ve given them to you so–”
“Have you been stalking me?” Wilbur feels so confused.
“Well duh, I was trying to figure out where you lived but couldn’t find your house.” Prometheus shrugs. “Now you’re here so I don’t have to worry about you being homeless.”
“I had a place to stay,” Wilbur grumbles.
“And where was that?” Prometheus asks, raising a brow. “Tell me, Pan, where were you staying that is so much better than here?”
Wilbur looks at the blankets covering his lap before answering. He pauses when he opens his mouth and whispers, “A storage closet.”
“A what.”
Wilbur flinches back at the anger in Prometheus’ voice. Wilbur watches him with wide eyes, terrified of what the other was going to do to him.
Would it be liquid power suppressant that he had to drink raw?
Would it be sitting alone in a room for a few days, no food to eat, or a good place to rest?
Terror overcomes him as the many thoughts of what his punishment could be rang through his head like the sound of gunshots.
“Sorry, I’m not mad at you, it’s just… that’s not okay.”
Wilbur blinks. “Why not?”
“I–” Prometheus pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “I don’t even know how to respond to that. So this whole trauma thing seems like a problem for when Phil gets home.”
“Phil?”
“Angel of Death,” Prometheus says, “Tommy is Loki, and I’m Techno.”
Wilbur blinks. He doesn’t really know who those other two people are. Does he dare tell Prometheus?
Wilbur and Prometheus–Techno share a look and silence rests awkwardly in the stale air.
“I don’t know who that is.”
“What, did you live under a rock?” Prometheus looks at Wilbur in disbelief.
A jolt of irritation bubbles up in Wilbur.
“No! It’s not my fault the heroes have had custody of me since I was eight!”
“What.”
Wilbur huffs and crosses his arms, not bothering to look at Prometheus–Techno.
“Y’know what, let’s try this again. I’m Techno, and you are?” Techno extends a hand and Wilbur looks at it for a second before sighing.
If he was staying here, he might as well.
“Wilbur.”
“A pleasure.”
“Not really.”
“I will force-feed you this food.”
“Can’t make me. I’ll spit it back out in your face.”
“I wish Phil was here.”
Wilbur snorts.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all. He’d never thought Prometheus–Techno was a bad guy, just a man labeled a villain by the heroes.
So how awful would it be to stay here?
Even if Techno was a little weird.
“Please eat.” Techno says, pushing a forkful of food toward Wilbur’s mouth.
“I’m good.” Wilbur turns away and looks purposefully at the wall.
“I’m going to defenestrate you.”
“Good luck trying.”
…
“Here comes the airplane~”
“I’ll let you defenestrate me now.”