Work Text:
The city was burning. They had tried to get most of the civilians out of the city beforehand, but it was difficult enough with Martyn and Cleo playing at their allegiances, and they were nearing the end of this game They were playing with all of the heroes and villains (or the in-between). It was enough to make Scott want to slump against the glass window and wish for it all to end already.
Hadn't They orchestrated enough for them to go through? But Scott knew better than that. There always had to be a dramatic ending, and he would oblige, if only to get himself out of this hell they had found themselves trapped in, fighting over and over again.
Scott winced as his feet suddenly thrummed with a dull, stinging pain—Pearl must've dropped from somewhere high, he absentmindedly thought, than almost laughed at himself. All this play at being heroes, the agency deploying them uselessly throughout the city, the vigilantes who rightly accused them of corruption then horribly damaged things themselves, the villains who sought chaos as a means to an end—they were already falling apart. They never needed someone to come and tug their heartstrings, bind them together, only to tear them apart.
Scott was a selfish man, and he would reject her again, and again if only—
(if only he did not care)
Either way, it didn't matter that much, did it? It all would be fine tomorrow, and the only residual exhaustion anyone could see would be the reflection in the eyes of a vigilante with bright wings.
"Scott?" someone asked, loudly and with a tinge of concern in his voice—Bdubs, he noted—approaching with Impulse behind him.
"Woah, you okay, buddy? Looking a bit rough there," Impulse said, kneeling down to check him over. It was all very nice, if the sirens weren't wailing below them, buildings lit up in a helpless, orange-yellow glow as infrastructure crumbled around their pretty agency tower. Impulse reached out and clasped his shoulder, rubbing back and forth in a soothing motion. "I know it's looking pretty bad, but we can survive, y'know? Don't let it... all get to your head."
His voice was high, and nearly too sad to be typical of how Impulse usually sounded—maybe, subconsciously, he knew how it would end. This game only had one winner, and it certainly wasn't any of them.
Scott looked up at them, laughing a little before standing to wave them off.
"I know, I know. Don't sound so sad, Impulse. We'll go back to our lives after this, won't we? But in the mean time, we have villains to stop, people to save," he sighed, watching as Bdubs intertwined his fingers with Impulse, holding onto his hand tightly as they turned towards the exit.
"Yeah!" Bdubs grinned, waving with his other hand. "Tango geared us up for our next shift, so we'll be heading out soon. You're still good working solo, yeah? We can pair you up with Ren and BigB if you want."
"No, no, it's fine," Scott shrugged, sitting at the edge of the meeting table, still staring out the window. "I'll take over once you guys come back—it's a mess out there and we need to cover as much ground as we can, anyways."
"Okay... if you say so. We'll see ya later out there, Scott!" Bdubs laughed, marching out to war, Impulse still held tightly in his hand. Fire kissed the sides of his ankles, then up his legs, and Scott decided to get some ice packs for himself.
Scott knew they started fighting when pain lanced through his legs, bright, searing pain that had him biting down on a golden apple he scrounged from their supplies. There was only one team that was anywhere near close where Pearl most likely was, and he wondered if they would be good enough to kill her. Maybe he could just stay in the building and wait for it to end—but he pulled on his armor and suit anyways, heading down the stairs and out into the battlefield.
Who was left? Martyn, Cleo? He hadn't seen anyone flying about, or Joel and Etho's signature, new, fiery trail of destruction they were now leaving behind. Ren and BigB hadn't reported back, despite their shift ending an hour ago. Tango and Jimmy were missing, reported most likely dead.
Scott would wake up the next morning, and smile as he passed by Jimmy, still whole and alive, brightly burning with those new yellow wings on his back.
He made his way down to the battleground, wincing as his hearts slowly drained, blood making his suit uncomfortably slick and difficult to move in, but Scott carried on nonetheless. He stared at her from afar.
Pearl was giggling to herself, unstrapping the armor from Impulse's body, the motion too delicate yet jerky to be elegant. She was surrounded by her wolves, the red of her cloak matching perfectly with the blood staining the ground, white fur permanently dyed with death. She unstrapped her iron chestplate, tightening the straps as she donned the diamond like a trophy. Pearl raised her head, and he could see her face for a second— her hair matted, blood dripping from her lip as she absentmindedly wiped it away.
Scott barely noted the sting of dirt against an open wound. Pearl fell to her knees, broken bodies surrounding her; but her eyes were only for her pack.
"Oh, my babies," she cooed, still curled around them. "I'll raze the city down to the ground for you. They won't get away with this."
Martyn and Cleo were still left, except they were no longer his allies—or well, Martyn wasn't—but they were the only two teams left. Maybe it was obvious that they would turn on him immediately, but it didn't matter. He was running, feet mindlessly leading him somewhere. Tomorrow, he would wake up—
He paused as he heard a distant boom, staring down at his hands. Pearl had killed them. She had barely taken any damage, really, and Scott was proud of her. It was funny wasn't it, because tomorrow he would wake up and there would be one more person who could see him.
Scott opened his communicator, standing at the front of the agency building, now slowly crumbling to the ground as fire began to make its way closer to the center of the city.
<SMajor1995>: Pearl, come meet me
<SMajor1995>: at the place where it all started
Scott knew what he had to do.
(It wasn't really about the city, or the civilians, really. It never was. He was too selfish for that.)
"Oh," Pearl murmured as she approached him, a twisted smile on her face. "Hello, Scott."
She fed her dogs rotten flesh, humming happily as they ate it from her hand, running around him and circling her.
"I'll be honest, I didn't have a lot of faith in us. I didn't think it would end this way, with only the two of us," he laughed, fiddling with the explosives in his inventory. One more minute. It would be over, then tomorrow.
"Mhm," Pearl mused, tilting her head. "I didn't have a lot of faith in us, but I had a lot of faith in Tilly, but Tilly's dead, so."
She giggled, high and exhausted, dulled bloodlust glinting in her eyes. Scott would save her another fight, but really, she had deserved better than that. He would give her a show; one for her only, and nothing for Them.
"I see," he said, smiling almost affectionately at her. Pearl backed up when he placed the explosives at his feet, flint and steel in hand even as she nocked an arrow, her head cocked in confusion.
"Well, I think you deserve this more than I do," Scott shrugged, and her eyes blew wide, aim pointed to the ground. It was her win, after all—even if she wouldn't know until tomorrow.
"Scott?" The TNT lit underneath him, and it glowed an almost beautiful red-orange. "Scott, Scott, what are you doing—!?"
Tomorrow, maybe she would forgive him.