Caffeine and Magix

writing-prompt-s:

You’re classified as a villain in the eyes of the government. The truth? You’re actually just a therapist for villains who refuses to break patient confidentiality by giving out the villains true identity.

You’ve never been a particularly social person so it takes you a while to leave the house long enough to find out that you’re on the Villain List.

You stare at the TV behind the counter from your place in line. You nearly drop the cup of gummy worms you’re trying to buy as your face flashes up next to the news anchor’s again.

“—considered extremely dangerous. This new villain is confirmed to be in contact with Ripper and the Wreckage, both S-rank villains who’re notorious for –”

You twist out of line, chin ducking to your chest before anyone can turn to look from the screen to your face. Fuck. You need to get out of here. You shove your gummy worms onto a shelf filled with granola and try to walk as casually out the door as possible.

You don’t need to ask how this has happened. You know what’s happened. You told your clients that they could choose the spot for their appointments, assuming that they had even a modicum of sense between them. Or, at the very least, expertise.

It’s not completely their fault, you think as you scuttle across the parking lot towards your car.  I could have vetted the location myself. In the future, I’ll establish that boundary between us.

You still kind of feel like this is completely their fault. They’re villains! Good ones who don’t get caught! Shouldn’t they be better at hiding?

They should definitely be better at hiding.

——–.

“I am so sorry,” the Wreckage says  as soon as they pick up. There’s clanging in the background which tells you they’re at their lair. They’re always doing some sort of construction during your phone sessions. “I don’t know how that picture got leaked.”

You pull your phone away from your ear to frown at it. The closet’s small enough that, when the screen lights up, it illuminates all of your drab, court suits. “But you did know that it was taken.”

“…it was just in case I forgot,” the Wreckage says. Their voice is small over the phone and you can picture the way their humongous shoulders have hunched in on themselves.  “I’m sorry. I should have asked.”

You bite back the first thing you want to say which is something along the lines of Oh, you’re sorry? Sorry doesn’t get me out of this closet, the Wreckage. But you’re better than that and before the Wreckage is someone who’s compromised your identity, they’re your client. You know how hard it is for them to admit fault. “Thank you for the apology, the Wreckage. That means a lot.”

“Ripper and I already have a plan,” the Wreckage says eagerly. They didn’t notice that you didn’t accept their apology, which is probably for the best right now. They raise their voice. “Ripper! Doc’s on the phone!”

“Is she yelling?” you hear Ripper call back over the clanging. “I told you to tell me when she stopped yelling!”

“I told you she wasn’t going to yell!” The Wreckage lowers their voice and addresses you. “I told him you wouldn’t.”

Thank god I bit my tongue. You clear your throat. “Yes, well. You have a plan?”  

“I have a plan,” Ripper says. “We’ll get you out of this, Doc. Sorry for the trouble.”

“As long as we can resolve this peacefully,” you say, “since I have other patients.”

You do not, currently, have other patients. Ripper and the Wreckage are your practice’s first clients.

“It’ll be over by the weekend,” Ripper declares confidently.

Ripper is the problem solver between them and the Wreckage so, reluctantly, you find yourself nodding. “I’ll trust you on that.” You’ve been working on trust with them recently. “What’s the plan?”

The Wreckage takes the phone back. “We’re going to kidnap you?”

“What?”

“It’s cool,” Ripper yells. “We’ve done it before.”

———.

This is what you know about the Wreckage and Ripper:

They met in high school and became instant best friends. When their relationship evolved into something romantic, Ripper was the one with reservations, not the Wreckage. It wasn’t until they graduated that Ripper finally relented and let the Wreckage take them out. From there, according to Ripper, it was easy to fall—and stay—in love.

When they decided to become villains, it was a unanimous decision. It actually served to strengthen their relationship at first, knowing they could count on each other both on the field and off of it. It wasn’t until the Wreckage got hurt, in fact, that the first cracks began to appear.

You know that Ripper doesn’t blame the Wreckage for getting hurt. He blames himself which means every time the Wreckage forgets something, he takes it personally. Unfortunately, the Wreckage interprets the resulting silence as punishment and distances themselves from Ripper as a result.

You know that there’s a way back to a healthier and more communicative relationship for them.

This is what you don’t know about the Wreckage and Ripper:

You don’t know their real names.

You don’t know where they live.

You don’t know why they became villains.

You don’t know the location of their super-secret bat cave.

Which is why you’re very surprised when they arrive at your house, maskless, and tell you that they’re taking you to super-secret bat cave.

Right now.

————–.

“You know where I live?” is the first thing you say when you find them standing on your doorstep at 2am. Then you see their faces and your concerns over your own safety completely disintegrate. “Oh my god, I can see your eyes.”

The Wreckage and Ripper are known for their helmet-like masks. The lenses that cover their eyes extend halfway down their face and are completely opaque from the outside.

The Wreckage fidgets. They’re still as big as when you first met them, towering at 7 feet and seemingly just as wide, but their face is a lot softer than you thought it would be. Their jaw is round and their blue eyes are very wide as they look at you. “Hi.”

“We know it’s wrong to have stalked you back to your house,” Ripper says. Where the Wreckage is big and wide and soft, Ripper is all sharp angles and narrow frame. His eyes are black and obscured by the heaviest bang you’ve ever seen. “So. This is.” He struggles for the words. “Equal exchange of trust.”

“Equal exchange of trust is supposed to be agreed upon by both parties,” you say automatically. When he flinches back, you relent. “But I will accept this as a good faith move and won’t yell about how following me back to my house is a complete violation of my privacy and the boundaries of this professional relationship.”

“Much appreciated,” Ripper says.

“You ready to go?” the Wreckage asks. They look over your shoulder into your entryway and frown. “Do you need to pack a bag?”

“It’s probably not a good idea to get rescued with a suitcase,” you say. When the Wreckage still looks confused, you tap the side of your head. “Looks like I knew I’d be kidnapped.”

Their expression clears. “Oh, yeah. Shoulda thought of that.” Their eyebrows drop down and their lips purse. “Shoulda thought of that.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Ripper gets there first.

“Didn’t need to think of it,” Ripper says. He doesn’t make eye contact with the Wreckage and rubs the back of his neck briskly. “No one thinks less of you for not thinking it.”

“Oh,” the Wreckage says. Their shoulders straighten. “Right. And you thought of it anyway, didn’t you, Ripper? So I didn’t even need to anyway.”

“Right,” Ripper says gruffly. He turns on his heel to hide whatever expression is on his face. Unfortunately, you can hear it in his voice. “You and me. Between us, we got it.”

You smile as the Wreckage’s lips twitch into a grin. “Wonderful relying and communication. Very well done.”

“We’ve been practicing,” the Wreckage confides behind one colossal hand. “Don’t tell Ripper I told you—he doesn’t like anyone to know he tries.”

Ripper turns on your lawn, a furious frown on his face. Unfortunately for him, you can see the blush staining his cheeks. “Come on, the Wreckage, bring the Doc. She’s not going to kidnap herself.”

“She kind of is,” the Wreckage says, but ushers you towards the car parking in front of your driveway without further comment.

—————-.

The second part of the plan is your least favorite. It requires allowing the heroes who think you’re a villain to actually find out who you are. That way, when they go to your house to arrest you, they find the ransom note Ripper left on your doorstep.

“Who is it even to?” you grumble, curling into yourself in the backseat. “My brother? He doesn’t have the cash for a ransom.”

“They won’t look into it,” Ripper says. He keeps his eyes on the road. One hand is on the wheel, the other is clasped in one of the Wreckage’s hands. “Trust me. They’ll be thrilled to save the day and won’t even think further.”

You purse your lips. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“If it isn’t,” Ripper says, “then your uncle is going to get a really weird phone call from the Hero Force.”

“Uncle Graham?” When you see him nod in the rearview mirror, you pinch the bridge of your nose. “I haven’t talked to him in eight years.”

“Well,” Ripper says, “he’s the only rich relative you have. I did my best.”

You drop your hand at the hurt note you catch in his voice. Ripper is sensitive to criticism, especially when he actually tried. “I’m sorry, I was speaking from stress. It’s a really good plan, Ripper. Very thorough. Thank you.”

Ripper’s shoulders lose some tension.

The Wreckage twists in their seat so that they can blink back at you. “Right? He’s so smart! It only took him an hour to put this whole thing together.”

Ripper’s ears are red. “It took me two hours.”

“That’s still very impressive,” you say. “The Wreckage is right to be proud of you.”

The Wreckage squeezes Ripper’s hand. “See? Told ya.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ripper clears his throat like it’ll distract you from seeing him squeeze the Wreckage’s hand back. “We’re nearly there. I think it’ll take an hour for the Hero Force to come get you.”

“That fast?”

“They don’t play around with civilians,” Ripper says grimly. “Not in this city at least.” He meets your eyes in the rearview mirror. “How good’s your scream?”

You’re uncomfortable with the question. “How good does it need to be?”

Ripper smirks. “Good enough to be heard from outside.”

“Outside of what?”

——-.

“I didn’t think you had a literal batcave!” you shout over the clanging of metal against metal. It turns out the noise you heard in the background of your phone sessions wasn’t construction. It was all the giant gears turning on the walls of their lair. “What does those even do?”

“Run the anti-detection equipment,” the Wreckage tells you. “It takes a lot of energy to hide a place as big as this—” they catch sight of the look on the Ripper’s face and cut themselves off.  “Oh. I wasn’t supposed to tell her that, was I?”

Ripper very obviously takes a moment to calm himself down. He breathes in deeply through his nose and then out through his mouth. “…no. Sorry. We decided together to trust Doc with this place. It’s okay if she knows about the anti-detection because we decided to trust her.”

“You don’t have to apologize for being worried,” the Wreckage says. “We have the same worries.”

Ripper nods twice and then, finally looks at you. “So. About an hour until they get here. The alarms go off, you take off down that passage—” he points to a narrow opening in the rock walls to your left “—and start screaming as soon as we close the door behind you.”

“They won’t find this place?” you ask. You know how much this place means to them. You’re almost a hundred percent sure now that they don’t have civilian identities like you first thought—they live here. “I don’t want them to take this place away from you.”

“They’ll never find it,” the Wreckage says. For a moment, their eyes light with something not-very-nice. “And, if they do, they’ll regret it.”

I am impartial for my patients, you remind yourself as a shiver works its way down your spine. You try to keep your face blank. Good vs. Evil doesn’t enter into your client/therapist relationship.

“So we just have to wait,” Ripper says. He looks between you and the Wreckage. “You guys wanna play cards?”

“Yeah!” the Wreckage says.

You hold up your hands. “Oooor we can take this opportunity to have a session since we won’t be able to have our usual one next week!”

For some reason, the Wreckage and Ripper don’t look particularly enthused.

—————-.

“—not your fault I got hurt,” the Wreckage is saying. They’re crying and not bothering to hide it. “How could you think that? We both agreed to the risks and dangers involved in becoming villains—”

“Because it’s my job to protect you!” Ripper explodes. Normally you’d stop him here for using his yelling voice, but not this time. This time you can see the tears welling in his own eyes. “Me, I swore to protect you and I failed—”

“I am,” the Wreckage says, “seven feet tall and over 400 pounds, I don’t need—”

A siren drowns the Wreckage out and they both look at you simultaneously.

You sigh and stand. “Time to run?”

“Time to run,” Ripper says and wipes his eyes. “Go on.”

“We’ll do the whole villain bit when we find you,” the Wreckage promises you. They reach out for Ripper’s hand, needing the physical comfort after a tough session. They smile when Ripper takes it without hesitation. “Make sure they know you’re not with us.”

You nod. “Great session, both of you. Excellent honesty and transparency. Contact me once the heroes stop sniffing around this place and we’ll set up our next session.”

“Will do.” Ripper jerks his chin towards the passage. “Scream like you mean it.”

“Oh,” you say, “I will.”

You run down the passage with the Wreckage’s encouragement ringing behind you. You smile until you hear the door closed. Then you start to scream.

——

Thank you so much for reading! This was super fun to write (though I don’t know all the correct vernacular therapists use lol). Ripper and the Wreckage might be my fave villains now! If you’d like to see stories like this, but sooner, feel free to check out my Patreon !  :)

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