Pillows #2 (Patreon)

Can you continue Pillows when you get a chance?

Part 1 

“What the hell?” The villain heard the hero’s voice drift, bewildered and groggy, through from the other room. “Why are there so many pillows?” Then, a much quieter, earnest “fuck”. A few minutes later, after some solid flumps of sound – escape tried and failed, no doubt – another soft and vehement, ‘fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck me sideways,” followed.

The villain cleared their throat and allowed themselves to enter, a ready smirk poised like sword and shield upon their lips.

They may have gone a little overboard with the pillows, they could admit that privately to themselves. However, by the time they realised they may have gone a little overboard, there was a risk of the hero gaining consciousness and so the cell door couldn’t be opened anymore to haul everything out. And the only other thing to do would have been to hover idle and useless at their sidekick’s bedside, waiting for them to regain consciousness, and that notion had simply been unbearable. So, there the hero sat, in a specially fortified glass cage, surrounded by a veritable nest of pillows. They looked like a particularly startled and deadly bird.

“Are you planning to smother me to death?” the hero asked immediately. “That’s cruel and unusual.”

“What?” The villain’s smirk faltered. They didn’t think it was very fair for the hero to have them instantly thrown off balance, when they were the prisoner. They’d planned on something witty and withering as an opener, or maybe a cool ‘how’s your head?’ or ‘my, my, what would your fan club say if they knew you had such a foul mouth?’ Something that proved, once and for all, that they had all the power and all the control.

The hero gestured at the pillows.

The villain resisted the urge to swallow, or kick themselves. “You asked for pillows. Not that I need to explain myself to you.”

The hero blinked at them, head tilting, clearly not remembering that. Damn it.

“Either way—” the villain pressed on, in a haughty tone, icy against the threat of blushing, of being caught out in anything as dangerous or ridiculous as concern or compassion.

“Why do you even own this many pillows? Did you panic buy because of me? Where did you get the avocado one?”

“I don’t believe that’s the point at the moment,”

“I thought they’d all be dark and gloomy with suitably evil vibes, but this one’s actually really cute. And soft.” The hero flipped one in their hands. “Do you have any paracetamol?”

It was the villain’s turn to blink at them. The hero wasn’t quite themselves yet, were they? They were still reeling through conversation topics too distractingly fast. It was unnerving.

“You know, paracetamol.” The hero pushed themselves wobblily to their feet, barely able to balance over the variety of cushions. “Painkiller? Helps with headaches? I’ll also take an aspirin. Baby aspirin, even? No.” They peered at the villain’s continued silence. “Heroin?”

“…I assume you’re joking.”

“Eh. Mostly. My head really is killing me. If you give me a single baby aspirin and have the gall to call it mercy I might have to go against my code and murder you.”

The villain swallowed, then. Painkillers. It hadn’t occurred to them that the hero might need something as obvious and ordinary as painkillers or even a glass of water after their earlier injuries. The hero had always been able to heal themselves in some terrifying and mystical way before but, of course, it wasn’t like they could use their powers in the cage. That was the point.

The hero looked at them expectantly, albeit with a slightly strained pained expression. They rested one hand on the glass to stay upright and managed to make it seem less like a desperate clutch for support, and more like a dignified sort of lean. Casual. Conversational.

And, so, the villain somehow found themselves slinking back out of their own dungeon and returning with a bottle of water, and something to help with a headache. The hero surely couldn’t bring their entire lab down with something so small, right? Even they weren’t that powerful. They needed to touch things to be able to draw their energy.

“Get back against the wall,” the villain said. “Hands where I can see them.”

The hero did as bid, and the villain posted the items through the small slot meant for such things, before locking it again with a click.

“Cheers, mate.” The hero grabbed the drink and the pills, and downed them both. The villain watched the hero’s throat move as they gulped the entirety of the water so fast it was like they inhaled it. Then, they set the bottle aside and flopped back down on the pillows. With their eyes closed.

The villain cleared their throat.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Wake me if you decide to kill me, yeah?”

The villain’s jaw tensed as they managed to keep from spluttering. It felt like the hero should have the decency to at least show some small flicker of fear at their current, vulnerable circumstances.

“If?” the villain demanded. “Do you not believe I could kill you? You haven’t regenerated your barriers, you know. You can’t while you’re in there. I designed it myself, so—”

“So if you were planning to kill me,” the hero said, “you would have done it by now.”

The villain stopped.

The hero shrugged, eyes still closed, still deceptively peaceful-looking. “One doesn’t normally give accommodations and pain medication to someone they plan to immediately kill or torture, and besides, you can’t open that door properly without me escaping anyway. Can you? You could probably use the vents in the ceiling to knock me out again if you needed to, but I can’t really do anything about that.” The hero waved a hand vaguely in the air, as if to etcetera the vents and their entire predicament. “Or, you know, do anything except maybe throw a pillow at a wall? So. Whatever. I’m going to take a nap. I’m knackered. I assume the kid is okay or you’d be screaming at me already?”

The villain’s mouth worked wordlessly around words for a moment. The hero was, of course, correct, but…

“They’re fine.” The thank you, that awful thank you for saving them, bubbled like bile in the villain’s throat once more. The hero probably deserved to die just for making them feel like that. "They're sleeping."

They were forced to remind themselves, too, that their enemy was not to be underestimated, even without their abilities. Even in what was probably (possibly?) genuine pain, the hero had already clocked the vents and the way their prison worked, assessed their options, and deftly decided on the single most aggravating course of option possible.

They were, in short, horrifying. The villain should have made the glass thicker.

They didn’t let the flicker of fear, chasing the swell of gratitude, cross their own features. It slid icy down their spine.

A moment of silence passed as the hero lay there, making themselves comfortable while the villain’s heart slammed.

“You’re not remotely concerned what I might do with you, after all this time?” the villain managed. 

“Will being concerned save me?” The hero cracked open one eye, squinting at the villain’s expression. “Yeah, nah. I thought not.”

The villain couldn’t quite keep from swallowing that time. The hero’s eyes looked the same as before they’d gone all delirious; mentally sharp, but simultaneously weirdly unfocused. It was somehow even rawer and more piercing than their usual expression. Maybe, because the hero usually went to greater efforts to appear like a  normal person. Of course, the villain had always known the hero wasn’t a normal person by any means, but…

The villain shivered.

The hero smiled at them, and there was something terribly gentle to it. “I don’t think you know quite what to do with me, do you? You never really thought this would happen.”

The villain bristled. “I knew I’d beat you eventually.”

“Ah, yes. Because that’s exactly what happened. You finally beat me.”

The villain’s fists clenched at their sides, their breathing quick in their throat, and they could feel the heat burning on their face.

“And I know,” they bit out, “exactly what I’m going to do with you, for the record. I merely also know you’re goading me to talk – to reveal my plans like a fool. I’m not! I won’t!” They’d learned their lesson on that already.

“Of course you won’t,” the hero said, closing their eyes again. “You’re much too scared of me for that.”

“Scared!? You are in a cage. You are powerless. You lost.”

“And yet you can’t even bring yourself to come near the glass.”

“A reasonable precaution, given your abilities.”

“If you say so.”

“I do!”

“It’s okay,” the hero said mildly. “I know I’m very scary. I might smother you to death with an avocado pillow. What a way to go!”

The villain couldn’t breathe. They felt themselves take two steps towards the glass, wanting to – needing to – they caught themselves before they wrenched the door open, one hand against the glass.

They wanted to scream. They wanted to shake the hero until they made sense. Until everything about them wasn’t so entirely overwhelming. Until the villain actually felt like they’d won and all the unexpected feelings tangled in their head went away. This was a moment of victory. Of triumph. The hero simply had a good poker face, was all!

The hero did nothing. They lay there, like they were entirely harmless, waiting for their pain medication to kick in. Ignoring the villain entirely.

And the villain – the villain went to check on their sidekick.

It totally didn’t count as running away.