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Quincy could count on one hand the number of times he’d been stabbed.
He wasn’t the most agile, compared to his allies, but his strength was more than enough to keep him safe in a fight. And if his opponent got too close, he could knock them out with a simple touch. So he always put up a decent fight, even against those who wielded weapons.
…As long as he didn’t let his guard down.
He cringed as the sword slid out of his abdomen, the movement somehow more painful than the initial stab. He had to leave before it got any worse, but he was so dizzy he could only fall to his knees.
The knight said something to him, and he wasn’t sure what, but he figured it didn’t matter. At least the muffled sound of footsteps running away provided some security— for one reason or another, the hero didn’t want to finish him off. Some moral code, probably… he couldn’t remember the last time a hero had actually killed someone.
Quincy bunched up the front of his shirt and, as much as it hurt, he pressed down on the wound to slow the bleeding. He only felt dizzier as his other hand fumbled for his phone, scrolling through his recent calls. His fingers felt numb as he found Blade’s contact, and he grunted as he pressed harder against his wound. He managed to hold the phone up to his ear, albeit shaky, and heard it ring once… twice…
He didn’t remember lying down. But the next thing he knew, he felt hard cement beneath his head. He couldn’t hear the phone ringing anymore, and he realized his hands were empty. He wanted to move, to sit up again, but a pressure on his hips kept him from getting too far.
He opened his eyes and squinted at a bright light obscuring his vision. A warm feeling enveloped his torso, replacing the pain entirely.
Something was healing him. But it didn’t feel anything like Blade.
Instincts told Quincy to fight, to get the hell out of there before anyone else had a chance to hurt him. But between the light, his lingering nausea, and whatever kept him pinned to the ground, he couldn’t bring himself to budge.
Eventually, the light dimmed, and the warmth faded with it. His head still hurt, but his stomach felt completely fine, as though nothing had ever happened. Not even the lingering ache he felt when Blade healed him.
Quincy blinked to focus his vision, now completely unaccustomed to the darkness of the alleyway. But with the streetlights behind them, he could just barely make out the silhouette of the person straddling him…
Wings… halo.
Saint.
Quincy had heard of him, seen the stories on the news, the reports from random civilians describing experiences as though they took a visit to heaven and met an angel. He had yet to encounter the hero himself… until now.
“Be not afraid,” Saint spoke softly, and Quincy would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so nauseous. “Take a deep breath. I’m here to help.”
Quincy ignored the suggestion, instead moving his hands to feel where he’d been stabbed earlier. The skin was smooth to the touch, completely unmarked.
Huh.
At the very least, Saint didn’t seem to have any intentions of harming him. If he wanted to do that, he would have stepped on Quincy’s stab wound instead of healing it.
But he still wasn’t sure why Saint had bothered to heal him.
“How are you feeling?” the hero prompted, and Quincy realized he hadn’t said a word. He didn’t especially want to, but…
“Why are you sitting on me?”
Saint’s head tilted slightly. “I didn’t want you to run.”
A fair point, albeit… ominous. Quincy huffed out a sigh. “I’m not running. I have someone coming to meet me.” Maybe. Probably. At least Blade knew he was in trouble, if his call had gone through before he blacked out. And even if he didn’t, it was in Quincy’s best interest to convince Saint he had backup on the way.
As his eyes began to adjust to the dark again, he could barely make out a smile on Saint’s face.
“At least let me take care of your head before I leave, then.”
Quincy blinked. His head? It hurt, sure, but it wasn’t anything nearly as bad as the hole in his gut. “No.”
Saint frowned. “No?”
“I’m good. Get off me.”
Saint didn’t listen. Actually, he got closer, leaning over Quincy and caging him in with his arms.
He was trying, obviously, but Quincy wasn’t threatened one bit.
“You work under the Grand Sorcerer, don’t you?” Saint asked.
Quincy only raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve heard your name around… Insomnia. It’s a little on the nose, but I like it.”
Quincy stared blankly at the man above him. He didn’t have to confirm or deny anything. He just wanted to know where Saint was going with this.
“Why the Grand Sorcerer, though? Your power could be used for good things.”
Ah, there it was. Huey had warned him about heroes like this, so-called ‘good people’ who would try to recruit him to their side. But Quincy didn’t especially care about ethics at this point in his life, so he had no reason to play along with them. At least under Huey’s watch, he didn’t have to follow many rules.
“You only healed me to recruit me?” Quincy asked.
“Of course not,” Saint replied. “I healed you out of the goodness of my heart.”
Right. Heroes. Part of him wanted to ask why the knight had attacked him in the first place, if they were so good, and Quincy wasn’t even doing anything wrong to begin with. But he was too tired to argue. “Leave me alone, then.”
It was Saint’s turn to sigh. “You won’t even let me take care of that concussion?”
Quincy had no idea how Saint knew he had a concussion, but it would explain why his head hurt so much. He wasn’t sure if Blade could heal concussions yet. “I’ll live.”
“Hmph.” Finally, Saint climbed off of Quincy, his wings stretching as he stood. He had a pretty impressive wingspan… although Quincy had nothing to compare it to, since he’d never seen wings on a person before. It was a little freaky.
“You can find me if you change your mind,” Saint said. “You’re always welcome with us.”
Quincy didn’t bother answering, only watching as Saint flapped his wings and soared above the buildings around him.
As if on cue, his phone vibrated on the ground beside him— he was surprised Saint hadn’t bothered stealing it when it was right there. He looked at the screen to see a notification from Blade, but he didn’t even have time to read it before another figure appeared out of thin air and landed on the ground beside him.
Quincy wouldn’t admit to anyone that he’d jumped a little. But it was only Blade crouching by his side, his expression neutral as ever.
“You called.”
“I’m fine,” Quincy assured. “...Concussed. Maybe. But I’ll sleep it off.”
“Sleeping with an untreated concussion is ill-advised,” Blade reported, just like Quincy knew he would. “After my initial assessment, I’ll take you in for a more thorough examination.”
Quincy sighed, although he knew it was for the best. While Saint’s intentions seemed harmless, he couldn’t be entirely sure the hero hadn’t done something weird to his body.
Blade’s hands found Quincy’s torn shirt, which he lifted in search of an injury that was no longer there. “Is this your blood?”
Quincy looked down. Despite the lack of visible injury, it seemed Saint’s healing hadn’t cleaned up the mess it left behind. “Yeah,” he answered. “Another… healer found me. I’m fine.”
Blade’s eyes locked on Quincy’s. “Explain.”
Quincy glanced towards the sky, then back at Blade. “Saint.”
Blade blinked a few times, like he always did when he was processing new information. Then, “Are you injured anywhere else?”
“No.”
Blade nodded. Since it seemed he had the go-ahead to move on, Quincy started to get up. But before he could get far, Blade scooped him up off the ground and darted away.
It was faster, albeit humiliating.
Blade’s infirmary wasn’t the coziest of places, but it didn’t need to be. He did most of his work on the field, in emergencies, and any visits to his room were quick. This was easily the first time Quincy had been there for more than a couple minutes.
“Master is on the way,” Blade said as he set Quincy down on his exam table. “Remove your shirt. You can tell us what happened when he gets here.”
Quincy stayed quiet as he pulled his coat off, then his shirt. The coat was mostly unscathed, at least, but his shirt would require some mending… or maybe a replacement. His stomach was still bloody, so he let Blade clean it up while they waited.
Huey arrived only minutes later, looking surprisingly put-together for three in the morning. At first, he was silent, only staring at Quincy’s unmarked torso.
Then, “He doesn’t look like he got stabbed.”
“I ran into Saint,” Quincy reported. He wasn’t entirely sure what Huey already knew, but he figured he should start from the beginning. “A guy in a knight helmet attacked me. Unprovoked. And then Saint showed up and healed the wound.”
Huey’s head turned slightly, presumably looking at Quincy’s face from beneath his mask. “Interesting. Why?”
“He wanted to recruit me.”
A pause… and then a laugh. It was all too amusing to Huey, apparently. “He healed you, asked you to join his little posse, and then… what? He left?”
“Yeah.” Quincy grunted when Blade pressed down on his abdomen, probably looking for any internal damage.
“Funny. I would have thought they’d be more persistent.” Huey folded his arms behind his back, turning his head again. “Blade, make sure Angelface didn’t tamper with anything he shouldn’t have. I wouldn’t trust him with a bandaid.”
“Yes, Master,” Blade answered.
Quincy expected Huey to leave now that he had some answers, but to his surprise, the man stayed close by while Blade continued his exam. The room was mostly silent until Blade made it up to his head, and stated a decidedly quick diagnosis.
“You have a concussion.”
“Can you take care of it?”
“Possibly.” Blade looked towards Huey. “Master?”
“Yes.”
Blade wasn’t asking for permission, as Quincy had quickly learned; he was asking for assistance. As Huey stepped closer, Quincy’s headache dulled.
“Go ahead.”
Blade held the sides of Quincy’s head, Huey’s hand settled on the top, and Quincy felt a familiar pressure. It didn’t hurt like it normally would… at first. But the longer Blade went on, the more Quincy’s headache made itself known again, pounding even harder than before.
“Stop,” Quincy spoke through gritted teeth, and Blade released his head immediately. Whatever he was trying to do, it wasn’t working— Quincy couldn’t imagine what it would have felt like without Huey’s assistance. “Hurts.”
“Hm. Maybe we still need to work on your skills with internal injuries,” Huey told Blade. “We can see about that in the morning. Keep an eye on him tonight, would you?”
“Yes, Master,” Blade answered.
“As for you,” Huey said, looking to Quincy once again. “Rest up. I’ll be sure to deliver a message to our fallen angel.”
Quincy only grunted in response. He was too tired to think about his encounter with the hero; he just waited for Blade’s go-ahead to knock himself out.
The following day, Quincy was cleared to go home. He just had to take it easy for a bit so he didn’t make anything worse, which was fine by him.
He was sitting in his kitchen with a cup of tea when a thunk behind him made him jump. He stood up to inspect the window there, but even when he opened it and peered outside, he saw nothing—
“Heyyy, Quincy!”
Quincy whipped himself around, ready to attack at a moment’s notice. But he relaxed immediately at the sight of a familiar face, red eyes peering at him through red-tinted glasses.
“Did you… crash into my window?” Quincy asked as he connected the dots.
“What?” Morvay looked offended. “No. I came in through the door, just like any respectable man would.”
Quincy looked at his door, where the deadbolt was still locked. He knew there was no point in asking more questions.
“This is a nice place you’ve got here,” Morvay continued as he wandered around the room. “Cozy!”
“Did you need something?” Quincy asked.
“Oh!” Morvay smiled. “Yeah. Master sent me to let you know you’re on the news. Like, everywhere.”
Quincy frowned. Huey had warned him about the media, so he wasn’t too concerned. Anything associated with the Grand Sorcerer was bound to gain some media attention. But Huey kept close the things he wanted to hide, and Insomnia’s existence was no longer one of them.
It was still weird to be known, though.
He stepped towards the couch and turned on his small TV, switching channels until he found one of the big news outlets. Sure enough… there he was.
They had his image already: grainy footage from a traffic camera, right where he’d walked before his encounter with the knight. Thankfully, he had his mask on, but he had to wonder if the camera was how the knight had tracked him down in the first place. He also wondered if they actually had any idea how his powers worked, or if the description of ‘powers involving sleep’ simply came from his alias.
…More likely the latter, since Insomnia had only made a handful of appearances in the city, and none of them had involved the use of his powers.
“See?” Morvay chimed in. “You’re a big-time villain now. Cool, huh?”
Quincy shrugged. He honestly wasn’t sure why it hadn’t happened sooner, since Saint apparently already knew who he was. But he supposed the hero was just waiting to speak to him, to be absolutely sure he was on the Grand Sorcerer’s side before they branded him as a threat.
“Did he say anything else?” Quincy asked as he muted the TV.
“Nah.” Morvay rubbed his forehead. “Just wanted to make sure you knew Insomnia’s name is out there now. You’ve gotta be a little more careful going out in your mask, that’s all.”
“I figured.” Especially since the heroes were already keeping an eye on him… he’d have to be more conscious of how he presented himself, even out of his disguise. “Do you want some ice for that?”
Moray froze before his hand dropped from his forehead. “For what?”
“Your crash landing.” Despite Morvay’s feigned confusion, Quincy headed towards his refrigerator. “Give me a warning next time, and I’ll leave my windows open.”
Morvay sighed, and when Quincy looked over his shoulder, a little bat was floating near the ceiling. Quincy huffed out a laugh and walked over to open his window, which Morvay promptly flew out of.
He was still getting used to that, too.