Aaaand I'm back. This story has been bouncing around in my head for about a year or so now and it's nice to finally get it out.
Inspired by the song "Last of the Real Ones" by Fall Out Boy, this is more of a drabble than anything. I can't promise regular updates, but I've written a lot of it already.
Onwards.
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The first time I meet the Vigilante, his dark mask is covering all but his eyes. Vivid, literally glowing green and he's furious, his mouth in tight line when it's not open and yelling at me.
"What are you doing?" he's screaming, the wind rushing around us in a way that steals all the air from my lungs.
I can only stare at him, my eyes watering, my mouth so, so dry.
We're free falling from the top of the Cullen Building and when we hit the ground, he absorbs all the impact-he holds me closely to him, squeezing me so tightly I might break apart along with the sidewalk around us.
We'd interrupted each other, him on his way to serve some justice somewhere in this shithole city.
Me, well, I was supposed to make this fall alone.
People are screaming around us, their phones already out and filming this rare encounter with the Vigilante-the man who's stopped subway accidents and terrorist attacks and rescued people from burning buildings.
"Show's over," he barks at the growing crowd. He turns to me,still angry. "Come on."
There's a motorcycle on the street near us, he looks around, as if for a helmet, and mutters to himself when he doesn't find one, "fuck."
"You'll need to hold on," he says. "I like this bike, I don't want to wreck it trying to save you again."
I try to speak, but I can't. Not that I have anything to say.
His eyes soften a fraction and he sighs, getting on and waiting for me to join him. He tenses when I press myself to his back, my arms stretching to clasp around his chest.
I feel his heart hammering against my fists, so hard and so fast.
He takes turns too quickly, and I think he begins to realize that there's someone a little more breakable on this trip because he corrects it before long and we're gliding down the streets, weaving in and out of traffic. He's got a police scanner going, I can hear someone announcing an armed burglary in progress and he's looking at his fancy looking watch, already syncing locations on a GPS.
"Change of plans," he tells me as if I had any idea about what the original plans were at all.
He takes a sharp right and his tires squeal as we skid to a stop in front of All Saints Hospital.
"What are you-" are my first words to him. Garbled and scratchy and weak. "Why are we-"
He's pulling me off the bike, still checking his GPS.
"You jumped off a fucking building," he growls. "I'm having you admitted."
I try to wriggle from his grasp, I try to plant my feet, I even try to go limp.
He ends up carrying me like I'm a child throwing a tantrum. The nurse at the front desk looks up, alarmed, either because a girl is throwing an absolute fit or because the Vigilante is the one delivering her.
"You can't do this," I plead with him, trying to muster an angry facade to match his. "This is like, illegal."
His laugh is derisive as he turns to the nurse.
"I jumped after her from the top of the Cullen Building," he explains. "She's a danger to herself."
The nurse scrambles to stand, which alerts another nurse coming down the hall.
"I can't afford to be committed," I whisper to him, hating the flush climbing my neck.
He glances at his watch, hesitates for half a second and says, "don't worry about it."
He's nearly outside when I yell at him, "it would've just been easier to let me die!"
Over his shoulder, he smirks.
"Trust me, I know."
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