A Fate Worse Than Death (Patreon)

I loved the story that recently went up on tumblr about the hero whose best friend is the villain! I’d love it so much if you could continue that some time

First part included below for ease of reading.

“You knew who I was this whole time?”

“What, because you were so subtle?” Their best friend, their villain, raised an eyebrow. Almost amused. Maybe mocking. “Please. You’re a terrible liar.”

“But-” The hero didn’t know how to finish. It felt like all of the air had left their lungs. When they’d finally realised that their best friend and the villain were one and the same they had assumed there was no way they could possibly know who the hero truly was - because if they knew, the villain would never hurt them. Except…

The hero swallowed.

You, they wanted to say. How good a liar have you been this whole time?

The villain took a step closer, looming over them as the hero scrambled backwards on the floor with their suit and mask in tatters. Every movement ached.

“I told you to back off,” the villain said, softer, with a flash of fury and anguish and teeth. “I told you that you’d get hurt.” They slammed their weapon down, blocking the hero’s retreat. “You refused to listen.”

“So, what, now you’re going to kill me?” The hero’s heart raced.

The villain’s head tilted.

“No,” the hero said. They tried to think through the blinding hurt, to not doubt every moment the two of them had ever spent together. They met their villain’s eyes. “No, if you were going to kill me, you could have done it before now. If you really wanted to.”

“I never said I wanted to.”

The hero faltered. They fumbled for a weapon, a defence, a stall - anything. There was too much left to do. Too many people counting on them.

They could think of absolutely nothing.

The villain levelled the tip of their second weapon in the hero’s direction, power rippling dark tendrils around them, and pressed it oh so gently against the hero’s throat.

“I should kill you,” the villain said. “You’re going to be nothing but trouble for me. You’ve been nothing but trouble for my plans.”

“This isn’t how we help.” It came out barely above a whisper. “You’re better than - than those plans.”

The villain smiled at that, though there was something sad to it. “You realise you’re the only person who ever thought I was better, right?”

“I thought I knew you better. Prove me right.”

The villain stared at them for a moment longer; apocalypse incarnate, death wrapped up in human form. Then they shook their head, laughed, and pulled the weapon back from the hero’s throat.

“Thank-”

“Don’t thank me. I won’t kill you,” the villain said. “I’m not anywhere near through enough with you for that.”

They slammed the weapon back down to knock the hero out.

“But we’re both going to wish,” the villain crumpled next to them, cradling the hero’s head tenderly in their hands, as everything spun. “That I did, love.”

And everything went black.

***

When the hero regained consciousness, everything was still dark. It took them a nauseous second to realise that they had been blindfolded, as opposed to simply blinded. It took another moment of bottomless panic, of a sort of mourning, before they could even think to take stock of the rest.

They were restrained, as was usually the case when one woke up blindfolded, with their wrists and ankles locked down to what felt like a squashy and comfortable armchair. There was good back support. Absolutely no give for escape. Whatever the cuffs were made of was clearly intended to limit their powers, because their usual ability to shapeshift and squirm free was gone. They felt entirely themselves which, frankly, was the last person they currently felt like being.

Their head hurt. Their heart hurt worse.

There was a hum of machinery in the background, of clacking keys. The sound of breathing, steady compared to the ragged hitch of the hero’s own. Villain.

“I feel,” the hero managed, with a bravado they absolutely didn’t feel. “That if you were going to torture me, you wouldn’t have put me in such a nice chair. The blood will be difficult to get out the upholstery, you know?”

“I see no point in making you unnecessarily uncomfortable,” the villain said. “Though I could also remind you that there are neater ways to hurt someone than to make them bleed. You know that. Don’t get stupid on me now.”

The bravado wobbled, mostly because – well. The villain was no longer putting on the accent they had clearly always put on before, because they simply sounded like the protagonist’s friend. They didn’t trust anything they said next to not sound like please and don’t and I was your friend, regardless of what the actual words were.

Because, no, there was definitely more than one way to inflict pain and their best friend knew them well enough that they probably knew all of them.

The silence stretched between them as the villain continued with whatever they were doing.

“I know you want to help people—” the hero began, because they couldn’t simply sit there in silence.

“—And I will,” the villain said. “Perhaps, with time, you will find some comfort in that.”

The hero’s jaw clenched. “You’re planning to enslave anyone who doesn’t have powers. I know you're trying to protect you're own but-”

“Then maybe they shouldn’t have tried doing the same to us.”

“That’s not what they’re doing!”

“No? Early tests to learn who has powers so they can allocate them onto the right and only track they’re allowed in life? Those ridiculous hero agencies they’re starting up now, which you are so enamoured by? They’re certainly not freedom.”

“It’s more – more complicated than that—” Frustration welled bitter in the hero's throat. They’d never been the eloquent one, the inspirational one, out of the two of them.

The villain’s voice was cool. “I didn’t bring you here to argue with me. I think we have already made it perfectly clear we disagree on the finer points of the matter.”

“Then why did you bring me here? For a fate worse than death?”

There was a long, long silence. The hero’s brain flashed to the villain bent over them, holding them close as they passed out, and wondered for the first time if the blindfold was less for their disadvantage and more because the villain couldn’t bear to see their eyes. To see them looking back like an open wound and a home that felt too long gone to return to. With a blindfold covering half their face, they could have been someone else. Anyone else.

“You have a useful skillset,” the villain spoke finally. “Quite enviable. I have considered how quite a number of projects could be advanced with you on my side, though I know will not be willing. Still.” Their voice was quiet. “If I am not going to kill you, I will not do my cause the discourtesy of wasting you. I am not an idiot."

The hero’s stomach twisted. “Projects?”

“You’re not going to make me monologue.”

“I’m not-“ They honestly weren’t trying to. If the villain could see their face properly, they would no doubt know that too.

I’m scared. 

But the hero couldn’t say that, and expect it to count for anything anymore, so they fell silent again and tried not to think about dissection and needles and all the ways the villain might encourage them to shift form to provide them with the retina scans or fingerprints of hair samples they desired to make their plans go smoothly.

They remembered their best friend sitting by them, one evening, a little drunk.

“You,” they’d said, looking at the hero with shining eyes, like the hero was the most fantastic thing they’d ever seen. “Are going to change the world. You’re the key.”

They’d felt flattered, bolstered, believed in at the time. Now they felt sick. Now, they couldn't breathe.

We, the villain had said before the hero passed out. We’re.

The villain didn't want to hurt them, but they would, so it was almost worse. 

They didn’t expect the villain to speak again, given their apparent stance on monologuing, but after a moment they did.

“I have come too far, come too close,” the villain murmured, “to go back. I have hurt you irreparably, violated your trust. I know that.” They heard the clacking go quiet, heard something in the machinery in the room shift, heard the villain rise from their chair and walk towards. “So, really.” They rolled up the hero’s sleeve. “What’s a little more now?”

The villain knew they hated needles. Knew they couldn’t deal with tests, with anything like that. They jerked against the restraints, but it did no good.

“When you beg me to stop,” the villain said. “Remember that I did that first and you refused to listen.”

The terrible thing was that, working together, willingly or not, there was nothing that could stop them. The hero was the reason everything they fought against came to pass. 

It took the villain only six months to claim the world.