We Can Be Heroes [1/?]
Title: We Can Be Heroes [1/?]
Pairings: Eventual Eames/Arthur
Rating/Warnings: PG-13. There's blood, there's violence, there's swearing and spandex-related anger...
Notes: Beta'd by avidlie
Summary: The touching story of a young boy who takes the law into his own hands and manages to kill a lot of people while he's at it.
There is a perfectly good reason for why he is bleeding to death in an alley.
The only difficult part is remembering what that reason is.
He leans his head back against the brick, feeling the lumpy cement against his scalp and wondering, vaguely, what his father is going to think when (if) they find him. His father, who is so busy working to send him to fucking college, that they rarely see each other apart from the odd moment when their schedules miraculously overlap.
Maybe he’ll cry.
Not that he wants that, of course. After everything his dad’s had to put up with-first his mother and now him-he hardly thinks that the man deserves this kind of heartbreak, especially considering the stupid shit that got him into this mess in the first place. What kind of dumbass thinks it’s acceptable to be a superhero, anyway?
Being a superhero.
Oh.
He presses a hand against his abdomen, until the wound burns and he has to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out. Blood flows over his fingers and stains his horribly impractical spandex costume a deep red.
Spandex. Fuck. Should’ve worn a bulletproof vest.
And maybe he laughs. Maybe that’s the sound that bubbles out of his throat, wet and followed by the metallic taste of blood. Maybe it’s laughter, and maybe he’s going to die crying like a pussy.
Which would be really fucking ironic, considering his reputation.
Point Man.
And really, what kind of fucking name is that? What asshole actually makes himself a goddamn costume out of fucking spandex and calls himself ‘Point Man’? It sounds more like a fetish than an attempt at being a masked vigilante. Maybe that’s where he failed.
Or, he thinks, maybe I failed when I thought this was a good idea.
He’s lightheaded now, breathing in short, rattling bursts and fuck if he doesn’t feel like vomiting, just to make things that much better. His eyes close for a moment but he forces them open. If Point Man is going to die, it’s not going to be after passing out like some damsel in distress.
Again, that laugh. He reaches a shaking hand up to pull off his mask, but his fingers can’t quite find purchase on the slippery fabric. Fucking spandex.
How does someone fall so far so quickly? Not that he was that high up to begin with, but to be fair, most sixteen year olds don’t get their face plastered all over the news. To be fair, most sixteen year olds don’t get to be the star of the most-watched Youtube video.
Maybe his problem was that he hadn’t stopped at kicking that mugger’s ass. Maybe, and this might just be a wild guess but just see where this is going, he should have thought a second before busting into that apartment, that apartment where they were dealing drugs and shit why didn’t he think this through the first time?
Oh, right, because he’s an idiot in fucking spandex.
What will his father do if he’s gone? He coughs and this time doesn’t even bother trying not to curl up because he’s dying and he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants, thank-you-very-much. Ever since his mom-
“Shit.”
He opens his eyes, seeing the blurry outline of someone standing over him.
“No, ‘ma superhero,” he slurs, grinning at him. He wonders if his teeth are as bloody as he thinks they are, because god knows he tastes enough of the stuff. It makes his stomach churn.
There’s a soft chuckle, and then the mysterious alley-dweller squats down to get a better look. “No offense, but you’re doing a piss-poor job of saving people.”
He tries to muster up enough strength to tell the stranger to go fuck himself, but as he attempts to straighten up against the wall his head spins and he slumps sideways, blacking out like a fucking girl.
Pairings: Eventual Eames/Arthur
Rating/Warnings: PG-13. There's blood, there's violence, there's swearing and spandex-related anger...
Notes: Beta'd by avidlie
Summary: The touching story of a young boy who takes the law into his own hands and manages to kill a lot of people while he's at it.
There is a perfectly good reason for why he is bleeding to death in an alley.
The only difficult part is remembering what that reason is.
He leans his head back against the brick, feeling the lumpy cement against his scalp and wondering, vaguely, what his father is going to think when (if) they find him. His father, who is so busy working to send him to fucking college, that they rarely see each other apart from the odd moment when their schedules miraculously overlap.
Maybe he’ll cry.
Not that he wants that, of course. After everything his dad’s had to put up with-first his mother and now him-he hardly thinks that the man deserves this kind of heartbreak, especially considering the stupid shit that got him into this mess in the first place. What kind of dumbass thinks it’s acceptable to be a superhero, anyway?
Being a superhero.
Oh.
He presses a hand against his abdomen, until the wound burns and he has to bite down on his lip to keep from crying out. Blood flows over his fingers and stains his horribly impractical spandex costume a deep red.
Spandex. Fuck. Should’ve worn a bulletproof vest.
And maybe he laughs. Maybe that’s the sound that bubbles out of his throat, wet and followed by the metallic taste of blood. Maybe it’s laughter, and maybe he’s going to die crying like a pussy.
Which would be really fucking ironic, considering his reputation.
Point Man.
And really, what kind of fucking name is that? What asshole actually makes himself a goddamn costume out of fucking spandex and calls himself ‘Point Man’? It sounds more like a fetish than an attempt at being a masked vigilante. Maybe that’s where he failed.
Or, he thinks, maybe I failed when I thought this was a good idea.
He’s lightheaded now, breathing in short, rattling bursts and fuck if he doesn’t feel like vomiting, just to make things that much better. His eyes close for a moment but he forces them open. If Point Man is going to die, it’s not going to be after passing out like some damsel in distress.
Again, that laugh. He reaches a shaking hand up to pull off his mask, but his fingers can’t quite find purchase on the slippery fabric. Fucking spandex.
How does someone fall so far so quickly? Not that he was that high up to begin with, but to be fair, most sixteen year olds don’t get their face plastered all over the news. To be fair, most sixteen year olds don’t get to be the star of the most-watched Youtube video.
Maybe his problem was that he hadn’t stopped at kicking that mugger’s ass. Maybe, and this might just be a wild guess but just see where this is going, he should have thought a second before busting into that apartment, that apartment where they were dealing drugs and shit why didn’t he think this through the first time?
Oh, right, because he’s an idiot in fucking spandex.
What will his father do if he’s gone? He coughs and this time doesn’t even bother trying not to curl up because he’s dying and he’ll do whatever the fuck he wants, thank-you-very-much. Ever since his mom-
“Shit.”
He opens his eyes, seeing the blurry outline of someone standing over him.
“No, ‘ma superhero,” he slurs, grinning at him. He wonders if his teeth are as bloody as he thinks they are, because god knows he tastes enough of the stuff. It makes his stomach churn.
There’s a soft chuckle, and then the mysterious alley-dweller squats down to get a better look. “No offense, but you’re doing a piss-poor job of saving people.”
He tries to muster up enough strength to tell the stranger to go fuck himself, but as he attempts to straighten up against the wall his head spins and he slumps sideways, blacking out like a fucking girl.