Chapter Text
“Well, well, well. Look what we have here…” He drawled, a sickly smile on his face, as he approached the hero, tilting his head as his foe made no move to, well, move.
“What? No witty quip? No smart mouthing? Cat got your tongue, or did the Snake finally rip it out?” Usually a comment like that would get a snarl from the hero, his little firecracker, but now… now the hero just shivered, something that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle coming from his nose.
“Oh come on, Lightning bug, you don’t expect the waterworks to work on me, now do you?” He asked, grin feral as he tilted Tempests’ chin up with one clawed fingernail, digging it into the underside of his windpipe.
What he saw froze the smile on his face, icy rage rushing through him.
His feisty little twister is missing most of his mask, only torn shreds hanging over his eyes hiding his identity, matching oozing red scratches across each eye. Now that he was looking, he realized thunderclap’s chest wasn’t just heaving from fear, he was in pain. It was hard to tell, given his deep violet outfit, but there were definitely dark patches, rips and tears, dark blood leaking from his lithe frame.
“Who. Did this.” His voice is a growl, deep and rabid, his touch gentling, so he was cupping the hero’s chin, a thumb lightly stroking his cheek.
“please… please, I can’t… I can’t do this anymore, I can’t…” his cloudy day’s voice is hoarse and hopeless, tears slipping down his face, as his eyes slip shut, the only thing holding him up the hand under his chin.
“Shhh, Stormcloud. Breathe, for me. A few nice, deep breaths.” He could tell Tempest tried, but a spasm of pain rocked his face, and he crumpled over, clutching a hand to his chest. His eyes narrowed, spotting the deep purple bruising encircling the hero’s wrists, rage spiking once more.
“Just… just end it, just, please, just make it stop… just finish me off quick, please…” Tempests’ voice breaks, and his heart cracks.
Someone had hurt his nemesis, badly hurt him, and that was a line crossed that was unacceptable. He’d taken care, not hurt his Tempest, not to injure him too badly, not to seriously harm him, to keep him coming back for more, because dammit, he liked the bitch.
Liked his fast wit and dry humor, liked the electric fire that crackled in his eyes, matching the sparks that played across his hands, he loved the way Tempest genuinely fucking cared. It fascinated him. Everything about Tempest fascinated him, and part of him itched to strap him down to his dissection table, to take him apart piece by screaming piece, watching the red, red, red, drip, drip, drip off the table and into the gutter.
He’d done it before, when his heroes got boring. When they got predictable, when they were no longer a challenge, instead a mere nuisance. That was when he had some fun, mutating and injecting and twisting, twisting, twisting, until nothing was left. It was soooo… entertaining, watching them writhe and beg and plead.
But something is… different, with this one. Something that softens his blows, that makes him pull his punches, that makes him hold back the truly mind bending horrors he can conjure, because he doesn’t want this one to get scared off. He wants this one to stay.
Because this one… this one cares.
He tried to hide it, probably because he knew it would be used as a weakness, and usually, he would use it to his advantage. He would target civilians and make Tempest take the bite himself or watch an innocent die, he would fill local parks with ravenous beasts, just to hear the children scream, he would raise a kraken from the bay and have it devour the boardwalk, and yes, he still does those things, but now… well, there’s significantly less casualties coming from his chaos since Tempest showed up, and it isn’t necessarily due to the hero’s efficacy, though he would never admit it.
And he isn’t in it for the glory, or fame, not like some of the other heroes, some of the other villains, for that matter, because he never does interviews, never accepts gifts or sponsorships, never partners with a tech company or some other hoity toity for an edge, selling himself out to The Man in the process. He does his work as quietly as possible, avoiding the spotlight at all costs, and when other fights break out, Tempest always appears, blasting debris, using his winds to hold up buildings, ushering civilians to safety and throwing himself in front of whatever threats come their way, often at mortal peril to his own safety. But he never, not once, hesitates.
He’s brave. Stubbornly, stupidly, brave, and someone has tried to snuff out his light.
He growled again, easily scooping his whirlwind up into his arms, a protective rumble vibrating his chest as the hero doesn’t even fight him, just shivers harder, a hiss of pain, or perhaps protest, escaping his lips. He’s far too light, far too easy to heft up.
“No. No, I won’t.” Tempest sagged against him further, a defeated sigh escaping his lips, and he worries more at the lack of protest, as the hero's grip goes slack and his eyes roll back, losing consciousness. He hisses out a curse and moves faster, bypassing his lab and all his toys, instead beelining it for the living area of his lair, grabbing the rather substantial first aid kit on the way.
“it’s alright, sparky. I’ve got ya.”