Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There's a kid in the interrogation room.

Lightspeed knows logically that weeks of her life, alongside her teammates’, have all been building up to this. She knows just how the… The villain in that interrogation room sent dozens of towers up in flames and massacred anyone who got in his way.

And yet, all she sees is a pale, too-thin kid getting swallowed by his own jacket.

A chill runs through her. The temperature seemed to have dropped the moment she stepped into the observing room, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the boy like a child’s misfiring superpower.

If it weren't for the super-suppressing cuffs chaining him to the table, Lightspeed wouldn’t be sure making it deathly cold wasn't one of the Wisperer’s powers.

Lightspeed pinches the bridge of her nose. Neither Arthur nor the rest of the Sovereign Five have gotten him to talk. Except for Bacon Man, but… well, all they got out of that was far too many crude bacon jokes and crazed laughing… You could smell roasted bacon a mile away after that particularly harrowing encounter.

“…Confirmation to proceed, ma’am?” The supervisor had felt it too, then.

Lightspeed sighed; it was now or never. “Affirmative.”

A hidden hatch flips open, revealing a blinking scanner. Lightspeed stands up straight as it scans her cornea. Secured doors open very, very slowly in the W.A.T.C.H. Headquarters.

It starts with a hiss, air-conditioned air seeping into the sterile, perfectly even-temperature room. The hum comes after as the two halves of the door open and recede into the walls.

It’s still cold. Lightspeed resists the urge to cross her arms.

Electric blue eyes lock with hers immediately.

Whether through supernatural means or just regular oh-fuck-jesus-christ instincts, her soul jumps from her body and takes its sweet time crawling back in.

“Wisperer.” She exhales, pushing the word out. The kid looks away and somehow sinks deeper into the fabric of his jacket. He almost looks disappointed.

Blinking, Lightspeed sees the bags under his eyes. They make him look too tired for his age.

Arthur hadn’t gotten him to talk. Bacon man. Pretender. She exhales, and Lightspeed chooses to find another way.

“… William Wisp.”

It’s hard to say there’s a shift the Wisperer Wisp is too good— far, far too good— at what he does to give away anything important. But. Lightspeed’s shoulders drop.

“My name is Lightspeed. I’m not going to hurt you— or force you to do anything you don’t want. I’m just here to talk, okay?”

It’s only when Lightspeed sits down on the cool metal chair, does Wisp meet her eye again.

“What are you doing here.” It’s quick like cold glass cutting flesh— She can see it in her mind’s eye, the flesh giving way far too easily, the pooling of blood.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t belong.” It’s a whisper, but the loudest thing in the room.

“The rest I get. They all click into place. The Pretender. Word-‘World’s Wost Uncle’-smith. I even get Bacon Man.” Lightspeed has half a mind to open her mouth and defend her colleagues but the Wisperer beats her to it.

“You want to know why?” Wisp leans in, teeth bared. “Because they weren’t real Heroes. Too neurotic, too cold, too fucking ridiculous.”

It’s like a switch flips, the cold blue fire in his eyes flaming out into a roaring blaze. “But. You. Are. You have the smile, the wave, and you obviously believe you’re a good person.”

“You’re supposed to be out there, kissing babies or saving actual people!” The sound of metal fills the room, Wisp finishing his tirade with a wild flick of the wrist. Lightspeed doesn’t flinch solely because of how many years she’s spent in this world. Then, faintly, she wonders why such a prodigious villain like William Wisp held such high standards for heroes.

In uncanny accordance with the reported mannerisms of one Mallard Conway, Wisperer recomposes himself like sliding back into his own skin.“So. What the hell are you doing in little ol’ Wisperer’s cell?”

Heart in her throat, Lightspeed lets herself have a moment of ‘why the hell did I agree to do this.’ before she chooses not to poke the kid’s glowing radioactive-red sore spot.

“I’m here to help. Teenagers, especially isolated ones, benefit from having an adult to talk with.”

“Oh come on— did they give you that script or did you make it all by yourself?” Wisp melts into the table, head in his arms, Lightspeed guesses that wasn’t the response he wanted.

Score? The teenager was acting like a teenager now, that’s for sure.

“I can catch you up on the recent news if you’d like?” Lightspeed can’t tell if he’s listening, head buried in his arms on the table. There’s no rise and fall of breathing.

It feels like an eternity of talking to a brick wall, mentioning benign things like the prime force’s successors’ debut, or school being suspended due to one of Atlas’ weather mishaps again. It reaches a tipping point when Lightspeed starts weighing the pros and cons of mentioning Bacon Man’s recent ‘incident’ in the lunchroom, which is very much confidential.

“We don’t have to talk about heroes or villains.”

“Why else would you be here?” Wisp’s head audibly rolls on the metal table, as he finally peeks up, one eye squinted.

Screw it. She was already in too deep, why not dig deeper? “To talk. But it was never specified what about… William.”

Wisp scoffs, looks around, and seems to decide he has nothing better to do. “I like your style, hero lady.”

Lightspeed smiles. “Let’s start. What is… your favorite color?”

“OH COME O—“

- - - - - - - - - -

“Lightspeed, you can't be serious.”

“Just listen to me—”

“He’s infiltrated scores of super-protected establishments, squashed their security systems and contingency plans like bugs. It took us a miracle and a half to get him where he is—a miracle– a miracle I'm not entirely convinced is our own—”

“God, Arthur, he's a kid!”

“He chose this life, he killed those people, he is not a kid!”

“How can you be sure!?”

“…what?”

“Talk to him. Like an actual human teenager. Just once. Arthur.”

“Fine.”

Chapter Text

[CLICK]

WORDSMITH

Test… Test… Test… 1, 2, 3… Right.

[SOUND OF PAPER HITTING A TABLE REPEATEDLY.]

… This is Arthur Cunning, WATCH alias: Wordsmith. This tape was recorded with the purpose of archival, as all attempts to store these files digitally failed… under, ah. Mysterious circumstances.

[WORDSMITH CHUCKLES LIGHTLY]

However, if you ask me, supernatural means are not only a possibility but the most likely explanation.

[WORDSMITH CLEARS HIS THROAT]

WATCH file compilation: THE WISPERER. No WATCH agent under clearance level 03, as well as anyone outside the organization, unless given express permission, may access the written or recorded version of these files.

Record begins.

- - - - - - - - - -

“—don't have to, you know,” Lightspeed leans back on the black granite countertops of the Sovereign Five breakroom. “But I am happy you’re making an effort to connect with the kid more.”

“Ah, well, that’s certainly one way to put it.” Arthur hands her a cup of coffee and pulls his own closer. Gods, the warmth leaking into his hands was incredibly appreciated. WATCH… hasn’t been in the best shape; there's been an extreme emergence of demonic possessions. Too much evil, too little good. Though Arthur supposes it's always been that way.

At Lightspeed’s expectant gaze, Arthur snaps out of his rabbit hole. “Well. It’s more of a… personal curiosity, honestly. A way to rationalize. Know thy enemy and all that.”

For a second, Lightspeed opens her mouth, a rebuttal Wordsmith knows very well, no doubt already on her tongue— She closes it, and her gaze slides off him, landing on the countertop to glare half-heartedly at instead.

Ah… that was concerning, Arthur frowns. This was the third argument they'd avoided simply by calling it quits before they started. Even in the academy, they'd had an “uncomfortable amount of disagreements” and that was the dean’s words, not his. However, they never let the other be reassigned to a different team. He peers at Lightspeed again and it’s like a weight sets on his shoulders, like the world comes back into focus, no more silly plays of heroes and villains, just two people and the ache between his shoulder blades.

The two of them sport twin pairs of exhaustion, and it’s Arthur’s turn to make a shit joke.

“I bet the people in the Academy don’t have to deal with this… shit coffee.” Contrary to his statement, Arthur takes a full swig of it. “We had a French press, imagine that!”

“They had better pay too,” Arthur grumbles, then sips at his coffee normally, this time. “And I wasn't covered in bruises.”

Very obviously relieved for the topic change, Lightspeed laughs and bats at his arm. Arthur could cry at his success. “You can't say that, we’re heroes… we protect the world and shit!”

“You kiss babies with that mouth?”

Lightspeed scoffs as fake offense paints her face. “I wash my mouth before. Proper sanitation is very important around newborns! How dare you?!”

She jabs her finger in his face at the last part to really emphasize the point. Which, rude. It lends him a closer look at her nail, though. The on-brand purple polish was halfway peeled off already.

Arthur bristles. “We are going on a spa day the minute after we finish this case.”

“Yeah, yeah, you big frickin’ baby. Not everybody has 30 products in their hair—” Arthur hisses at that. Lightspeed, accustomed to his theatrics, dismisses it with a flick of the wrist.

“—C’mon, wrap up already. He’s expecting us.”

- - - - - - - - - -

WORDSMITH

—High possibility of escape. As such, special containment protocols have been issued.

The villain is currently being held in WATCH base, Sovereign Wing. Both the holding cell and prisoner’s quarters have been lined with lead and a standard issue reality anchor. Such measures have not been tested against the Wisperer’s… specific type of supernatural, though there have been no escape attempts as of this date.

There needs to be an airtight seal on all of the subject’s actions. There is no predicting the Wisperer’s capabilities. No communication will be facilitated.

(Addendum: Everyone, Bell Tech is knocking at our door. 4 weeks. Sort it out. —Silhouette.)

The Wisperer will be escorted and observed by three WATCH agents at all times. Additionally, a WATCH hero must be present near the villain.

Next, we have—

[PAPER SHUFFLES]

WORDSMITH

Ah. Well.

This seems like a waste of printer toner.

The entire section for the Wisperer’s capture along with his abilities beyond pyrokinesis and construct creation is blacked out.

… It says here you need 05 clearance… it makes you wonder what exactly needs to be hidden.

Well, as they won't be using this recording anytime soon:

(under his breath) To be completely honest, the only reason we’re so focused on the Wisperer is his supposed connection to the outbreak of demonic possessions. But. It seems there might be other factors at play.

Whatever they're looking for, it won't be easy. I had my own little interview with the Wisperer. Needless to say, it did not go—

- - - - - - - - - -

“—call that cooperation!?”

“He’s a teenager! Gosh, Arthur, you ever met one before?!”

“Oh my gods, please do not get started on that again...” Arthur rubs the bridge of his nose. The two of them having stalked back to the dingy break room, one storming away and the other giving chase. And yeah… here was the fight. Why did Arthur think he prevented it? “And for the record, I have, and I failed all the mean ones.”

“You antagonized the hell out of him!”

“He did it first, and in case you forgot he—”

“Oh, shut up! He's a—”

“So help me gods, Light, if you call that serial terrorist a kid one more—”

A passing agent gives them a side-eye. Ouch.

Lightspeed’s glaring at him like he’s the criminal. (And really? He doesn't even jaywalk.) But still. Fuck. He’s—they’ve fucked up, huh? Fuck. If Arthur has to be the one that takes a step back two times in a row—

Arthur clears his throat. “I just think… that maybe we need to start pushing more. The amount of possessions still hasn’t given up… it’s— Lightspeed, if we don’t find a remedy soon…”

“I know. Fuck. I know. I’m trying okay. Give me time.”

“We don’t have time.”

Lightspeed ignores that. “Think about it, it's been a month and The Ghoul still hasn't come knocking. Maybe we should stop treating William as an accomplice and more like a case of Whitestone Syndrome. If we show him we aren’t threats…”

Arthur sighs into his fifth cup of coffee. “He has the white hair, I'll give you that.”

“It’s simply…I can't piece him together, you have to understand. He's like a jigsaw that shifts every time you blink. Contradiction is the natural human state, but I've never met someone so… dialectic.

It’s unnerving. He possesses a great well of power; At some moments, he seems to thrive on it, feed into whatever demonic deal he’s made, and he’s more god or spirit than human— but then, he’s just… who you say he is. But my point still stands: who are we to assume humanity in someone who doesn’t even breathe anymore? If we do take this risk, cross this line, we’re putting more than ourselves at risk if we're wrong. What if it worsens the epidemic or— he’s the root of the demons?”

“You and your goshdamned metaphors. Okay, yeah, I’ll push harder next time. I get what you're saying.” Lightspeed’s face had eased into more contemplative than argumentative, the crease between her eyebrows that had become a concerning staple smoothed out.

Something shy of the kind smile Light usually wears sneaks its way onto her face, and Arthur feels some of that weight lift. “Doesn't mean I have to like it though.”

Arthur exhales, looking down at the decidedly empty cup he didn’t even notice he finished. “No. You only have to heed it.”

“I know it's what you do… but don’t overthink it too much off the job, okay? You'll turn your hair completely gray,” Lightspeed settles down on a stool next to the black counter and unwraps a donut he finds disproportionately and unnecessarily decorated.

“Nonsense, first of all, it is what I do– like my whole life. And I would absolutely pull a gray hair look off—”

Lightspeed flicks some of the donut’s many, many sprinkles at him with a fork. “Fuckin’ old man.”

“We are two months—”

Arthur’s mouth snaps shut at her very loud laughter. He could find it in himself to feel relieved, but playing pretend pissed off is far more hilarious.

The jokes and easy switch from work to life, the dim lighting, the ungodly hour of the night… it reminds Arthur of their days in the academy, how simpler everything was when they still had professors telling them what to do with clear-cut reasons and rewards. Back when they were still students at the Academy, before Light left and Arthur stayed.

Lightspeed’s laughs peeter off, though she's still wiping at her eyes. Arthur… stays quiet and still.

An uneasiness churns in his stomach, would there come a time when neither of them could step back, when fleeting superficial moments of levity won't be enough? When the plays of supervillains and heroes overtake and swallow them whole?

… okay, maybe Light was right about the overthinking, and maybe he should lay off the caffeine.

Blinking back to himself, Arthur says, “Ah. Yeah, I’m set to document Wisp’s files on tape later.”

Lightspeed hums in response and points to the (melting??) donut. “You want any?”

“Uhm. No th—”

“Oh right! This could help,” Lightspeed leans in as if about to tell a secret, “I wasn’t sure about telling you this, but when you left… William said someth—”

- - - - - - - - - -

WORDSMITH

—nal accounts on the Wisperer:

[REDACTED] is an eight-year-old girl. She had an, up until now, suspected interaction with the Wisperer outside of costume.

[REDACTED], six years old at the time, was present during the Wisperer’s (suspected second) infiltration of… Bell Tech central. Shortly after the initial explosion, [REDACTED] had been separated from her guardian. Corroborated by both the guardian and child, the guardian had told [REDACTED] to stay outside in the 5th-floor lobby while they rushed through another door to find other workers stuck in the flames.

[REDACTED] was suffering from acute smoke inhalation and had been backed into a corner surrounded by the cerulean flames when a man dressed in all black with a black surgical mask over a pale white face approached her, startling the girl when he repeatedly tapped her face and pulled her to a standing position.

The man, now identified as William Wisp, then asked her to “close her eyes” as he stayed holding her hand. The girl described feeling the heat recede as she was pulled along by the man. Strangely, she also recalls the man asking her inane questions in a stilted manner.

Notably: “What’s your favorite color? Have you eaten lunch? Do you like candy? Do you like the color blue?”

(Addendum: This may be a tactic employed by the Wisperer to humanize himself in the eyes of both the girl (so as to not scare her) and the public, though the desire to do so even after everything else is questionable. —Assistant Researcher Bookworm)

Followed by: “Can you count to ten before you open your eyes?”

[REDACTED]’s guardian found her in the building’s outdoor park and after questioning the girl was told she was “playing hide and seek with the nice boy”

Upon further discussion, the guardian was able to identify the man as one he’d seen early on in the day in the building, wearing all black and hunched over his phone. Disturbingly, the guardian later described his actions as seeming like those of a teenager carrying out a chore for their parent.

[WORDSMITH CLEARS HIS THROAT]

WORDSMITH

… This concludes WATCH’s files on the Wisperer, now identified as William Wisp.

[CLICK]

- - - - - - - - - -

“I know he’s your friend or something but that guy has an extreme amount of problems,” William says a beat after Arthur storms walks out.

“It may have something to do with the demon possessions you apparently have nothing to do with.”

“Oh my go—“ William chokes on the word though a sly smile plasters itself on his face, quick as lightning. “—gosh. I told you! Absolutely no involvement. To-ta-lly different spooky stuff from mine!”

Lightspeed raises an eyebrow in scrutiny.

“…Okay. I take it that wasn’t entirely believed.”

“Look. I’m only saying this for your sake because you need... like a nap and new compression socks. But. I might be able to do a favor for you guys.“

“Just gimme somewhere without lead poisoning.”

“William—“