CW: character death (not really a minor character but not a major one either), murder, cursing
Sidekick had known that there was something seriously wrong with the new superhero in town. They knew it since they first saw Superhero, when they were trying to calmly deescalate a bank robbery. Their boss, Hero, had always taught Sidekick to use violence and their abilities as a last resort, and never attack first.
Sidekick had been talking to the robber, who’s pistol was in their hand, hanging limply by their side. Sidekick had the entire situation under control, all of the other people in the bank had gotten out, it was just them and Robber. That is, until Superhero decided to burst through the fucking ceiling. In less than a second Superhero had moved behind Robber, and snapped their neck.
"STOP IT, PLEASE!" Whumpee screamed and twisted, struggling as hard as they could to try and get away from their kidnapper. "PLEASE, WHUMPER, I'LL DO ANYTHING, PLEASE!"
"Quiet," Whumper snapped, their hand quickly entangling in Whumpee’s hair, and sharply tugging the greasy, knotted locks. A cry of pain slipped from Whumpee’s lips, the asphalt digging into their bare feet as Whumper forced them across the road, towards the edge of the bridge.
“Please, Whumper,” Whumpee sobbed, thrashing against the harsh cables that bound their wrists behind their back. The inky black sky seemed to swallow every last bit of streetlight, the river below the bridge churning angrily. “You- you can’t do this,” They dug their heels into the ground, tears streaming down their flushed cheeks. A harsh wind sent chills creeping up their spine, only adding to the terrible sense of dread settling in Whumpee’s chest, weighing them down.
Their heart seemed to drop to their toes as Whumper forced them to the edge of the railing. Whumpee glanced down, which was a big mistake. Their stomach flipped as they stared at the dark, churning waters below.
“Please,” They breathed, as Whumper grabbed them by the back of their shirt.
“I hope you know how to swim,” Whumper grinned manically, before hauling Whumpee over the railing.
A terrible scream tore from Whumpee’s throat as they fell, before they hit the water and all went quiet.
***
“Oh fuck, call an ambulance,” Caretaker’s eyes doubled in size, spotting the body floating by the river bank. They dropped their backpack, and raced forwards, quickly hauling the person out of the water. Their skin was tinted blue, and their eyes were closed.
Caretaker quickly laid them down, feeling for a pulse. Nothing.
“Come on,” They grunted, entwining their fingers and positioning them above Whumpee’s chest before beginning compressions.
They paused, using one hand to plug Whumpee’s nose, tilting Whumpee’s head back before delivering two rescue breaths. They checked for a pulse, then started compressions again.
“Come on, come on,” Caretaker heard something snap, likely one of the stranger’s ribs, but Caretaker paid no attention as they pressed their mouth back against theirs, breathing two breaths into the person’s lungs. “You gotta live, come on!”
Water spurted from the person’s lips as they coughed, choking on it. Caretaker quickly flipped them to their side, pounding on their back as they choked up streams of water and vomit.
“It’s okay,” Caretaker’s brows furrowed as they just then noticed the ropes binding the stranger’s wrists. “You’re okay now.”
Cw: Death of a minor character, implied murder, manhandling, mention of animal centered gore, slap, cursing, mild stripping (nothing spicy), whipping mention, stabbing mention, branding mention, torture mention, aftermath of torture, aftermath of branding, female caretaker, angst, but also some comfort
Leonidas let the door slam behind him. At the noise, the King looked up from the book he held.
“Son. You never visit anymore.” He rasped. The king’s skin was wrinkled, and his hair had long since turned grey, but his eyes shined with a childlike light.
“I’m sorry father, I’m rather busy nowadays.” The prince murmured, setting the tray he held on the nightstand near his father, before taking a seat by the door of the bed.
“Is this for me?” The king placed down his book, and picked up the cup of tea.
“It is. Fresh from the kitchens,” Leonidas mumbled.
“What have I told you about looking at people when you talk,” The old king chided. “No king looks at his feet and delivers speeches.”
“I’m sorry father,” Leonidas looked up, just to see his father take a sip of the tea, his face twisting into a grimace.
“It’s bitter,” Phineas coughed. “You know I hate bitter tea.”
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