Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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STEVIE

The ambulance reeked of seared flesh.

I was strapped to a stretcher, head lolling with every jolt. The paramedic examined my leg without me feeling it; the burn's numbness dulled everything. He suppressed a grimace, sat back, and peeled off his gloves.

"What happened tonight?" he inquired, reaching for a roll of gauze.

Staring at the ceiling, memories from twenty minutes ago snapped behind my eyes—shimmering veins, a black mask, flames blazing. I forced myself to blink so I wouldn't zone out.

My tongue dragged across dry lips, ready to remember how this trouble began.

I don't know how most hero stories start, but mine began in May—a bittersweet month burned into my memory. Finals, my birthday, and the last days of high school with a scholarship lined up. I was ready to crush exams and leave as valedictorian.

Yet it was also when everything started unraveling, when I truly opened my eyes and realized the depth of change within me.

I disobeyed my mom that Friday. She told me to go straight home after gymnastics. Like many of her instructions, I didn't listen. I used to brainwash myself into thinking that she didn't understand me, and the truth is: sometimes she didn't, but she was making sure I was safe. And of all nights, this should have been the night to listen.

Instead of the 8:00 subway to Hidale—my borough—I headed for the city's huge library. I wanted a book on materials engineering, my intended college major. Senior year wasn't over, but why not get ahead?

Yes, I could have bought it online. But like my late father, I preferred to be old-fashioned.

I lived in Havenbrook City, an expansive urban sprawl stretching along the Atlantic Ocean. Its mismatched skyline of rusted factories, unkempt apartment blocks, and glass towers stood shrouded in a perpetual haze—an aromatic mix of sea salt, car exhaust, and dampened smog that seemed to permeate every corner. The air, heavy and stale, colored everything in muted tones, as if the city itself wanted to remain unseen.

Every city has its problems—filth, bad communities, crime, or corruption. Havenbrook checked all these boxes, but our problem was worse.

Here, 'problem' meant Deviates—aggressive superhumans. One moment average; the next, mutated by some freak accident or intense stress. So, what fries their brains? The media and scientists speculate, but survivors barely had stories to tell—if they survived at all—leaving us with limited knowledge. Spreading worldwide and increasing in recent years, Havenbrook ranked highest in Deviate population and crime.

You could always spot a Deviate by looking at their skin. If their veins shone beneath, you ran. It was their tell, and mostly why they didn't reveal themselves during the day. At night, however, that was their preferred time to prowl the inky streets.

Deviates used their powers to break into cars, mug people, or kill...just because they could. In theory, they're exactly who you didn’t want to find after the strict 9:00 curfew. They ended our nightlife, beach walks, and late nights at work—things other cities took for granted.

Adults' curfew wasn't enforced—not officially. But if you valued your life, you followed it.

Most establishments closed at 8:30, though. Not a minute longer. If you needed a late-night fix, you might have found a bar open until midnight or a couple of bodegas with lights still on.

All that in mind, I made it to the library just in time, found my book as quickly as possible, checked it out, and hauled it to the nearest subway station. If I made it there in under fifteen minutes, I could have been home just by 9:00 with no second to spare.

Mom was probably watching the window and underestimating her prodigy daughter’s sense of time.

The plan was precise: thirteen minutes to the station, board the 8:45, ride for eight, and hit my door at 8:58, tops, leaving two minutes of wiggle room if things went sideways.

I loved calculating time. My mind repeated the numbers as I hurried down NE 60th Street, fingers tight around my book and backpack bouncing with each step as I crossed the street on a mission.

The street lights flickered on above, and anxiety ballooned in my stomach. Worry pressed down as I realized I'd never been out this late before. Truthfully, this was the one time I hadn’t been home by at least 8:00. The sun was still setting under an orange sky, but a distant skyscraper's shade draping over me made it feel like nighttime, which added to the eeriness.

Okay, maybe I was a bit overconfident with the timing this one time.

I wished I had someone to walk with me. Friends never stuck, though. My schedule was law, and Mom insisted they'd slow me down anyway. She had texted me twice, but pausing to reply would cost time. I figured I'd text her on the subway, given I was so close.

Sweat beaded on my skin, glasses fogging as I spotted the underground entrance ahead. My panic softened into relief, my steps slowing as I saw safety was finally within reach.

Then, a whistle floated through the closest alley to my left. It stole my attention enough to slow me down as I listened carefully to a melody I could only describe as magical. I turned curiously to meet a pair of eyes stalking me in the gloom, belonging to a man leaning nonchalantly against the brick wall.

I watched him, transfixed by his tune and strangely calm, as all my previous anxiety dissipated even as unease flickered beneath the surface.

"Hey, what are you doing out so late?" the figure asked. His voice was as inviting as a warm blanket. I wanted to be wrapped up in it and sung to sleep.

I swallowed my dry throat as words suddenly slipped from my mind. "I—uh...I came from the library."

Why was I even talking to him? My nerves flared briefly, but his presence seemed to smother my worry.

"What a weird place to risk outrunning curfew." His silhouette remained motionless as he whistled again. The lilting tune eased my mind and body, while the ominous darkness dissolved into oblivion.

"Maybe to some," I muttered. I didn't want to speak too loudly, worrying I would overpower his music.

The shadow paused his song. "What's your name?"

Distantly, I replied, "Stevie."

Stop talking.

"Pretty name," he soothed.

Something inside me relaxed at his compliment, a strange warmth pushing aside the dread I felt. I didn't speak, craving another kind word, even as my instincts kept screaming for me to run.

"Perhaps you can help me with something, Stevie."

My eyebrows raised in question as my body slackened. I quickly straightened myself, my backpack weighing more than normal.

The silhouette emerged from the dark, the streetlight above revealing a young man, shadows framing his eyes. His messy black hair hung down to his ears, and his unkempt facial hair covered his cheeks in uneven patches. He was older but not by much, which put me at ease—or maybe it was the music. Thinking about it tired me.

"Tell me how my whistling sounds."

He leaned close, lips gently parting to release the most beautiful melody, so soft and perfectly in tune that I felt myself swaying, like being coaxed to sleep.

"It's..."

I faltered, drawn to him as my vision blurred at the edges. Numbness crept into my limbs, the urge to yield so tempting. Then, sudden pain shot through my foot, snapping me to my senses.

I averted my eyes from the stranger, seeing the library book next to my feet, and a sudden wave of remembrance washed over me. I was supposed to be catching a subway home, outrunning curfew.

My daze melted, and I snapped to attention, feeling the stranger's grip on my backpack strap tighten.

When did he grab my backpack?

I looked at him, and I saw a different mood haunting his eyes. He looked panicked, no...desperate.

I tried to back away before he yanked me into the alley by the strap of my bag, a hand cupped over my mouth to suppress my surprised scream. He overpowered me and slammed my stomach into the brick, cursing with a firm hand on the scruff of my neck.

The figure leaned close, a shade of yellow glimmering as every one of his veins sparkled under his skin, showing me what he really was and how screwed I'd become.

A Deviate?

A shaky whistle tickled my ear, but I was beyond the point of falling for that trick again.

He struggled to hold me down and remove the backpack, but I refused to give in. His grip on my neck slipped. I moved my arms, letting my backpack slide off my shoulders. I grabbed it with my right hand and spun around, adrenaline shooting through me.

Nearly seven textbooks rocked his head, leaving him reeling and slamming into the wall. The momentum twisted my shoulder and nearly spun me down, but I dug my shoe into the concrete to keep my balance.

I flung my bag over my shoulders and plucked the book off the ground before rushing away into yet another backstreet. I heard the Deviate grunt angrily, now issuing threats and curses as an echo behind me. To his dismay, I had already turned the corner.

My heart careened as I bolted to the next alley, lungs burning, praying for escape. The sound of the Deviate's pounding steps in the distance punting fear into me. He wasn’t going to let me go.

Another turn, then I can lose him.

60th Street awaited me at the end, the stairs to the station just in sight. Hope and desperation tangled inside me, but not until I hopped on the ride would I feel safe.

Then, a figure came running into the scene, bumping into me just before I crossed the threshold over to the sidewalk—an older man with salt-and-pepper hair that connected down silver sideburns, ending under his square jaw. His dark eyes, once serious, widened with shock when I fearfully clung to him, shaking like a tree branch in a windstorm.

"Please help me, sir," I cried.

"What's going on?" He gripped my arms back urgently, specifically the sleeves of my shirt.

"There's a Deviate chasing me in the alley," I blurted excitedly, pointing down the path from which I came.

We looked back to find my attacker turning the corner, running over with a twisted smile when he spotted us. Terror strangled my heart all over again, letting go of the man as I anticipated him to run with me, feeling sudden guilt that I had brought danger to him.

He remained still. The hold on my shirt tautened, forcefully tugging me toward the Deviate.

"Wha-what are you doing?" I demanded, fighting for freedom under his grip.

"Shut up!"

His order sent panic shooting down my body. Practically dragging me as I refused movement, we approached closer to my attacker, who was staring at me smugly as he slowed down to catch his breath.

"Long time, no see. Is this one yours?" the older man shouted down the aisle, jerking me up by the sleeve.

"Thanks, Leon. How could you tell?" the Deviate jested.

"You never were good at keeping people under that lullaby of yours," the other responded, nonchalantly holding me close as I squirmed.

The other smiled, though clearly scorned. "I'm working on it."

"Yeah, well, you'll never get anything that way," the one named Leon said. He finally acknowledged me, then looked back at the other. "I'll show you."

My eyes widened as he went to force me to the ground. I stiffened my muscles, refusing to be overpowered again. I managed to drive my foot into his stomach in the struggle, a gasp evicted from his lungs.

Such a bad move.

The older man's face contorted with a scowl, pulling back an arm and crashing his fist against my cheek. I swore the impact rattled my brain. My whole body swung sideways and struck the ground.

I opened my unfocused eyes, seeing my glasses and book scattered to the side under twinkling stars. Clambering to stand, my heavy backpack made it impossible. I crawled instead, refusing to just lie there. If I wasn’t going to make it out, I’d make sure it wouldn’t be easy for them.

"Get up," The young Deviate ordered, looking to the other for confirmation.

Leon nodded, flexing the fist he clobbered me with. A crooked smile twisted his face as he watched the smaller Deviate grab a fistful of my hair to wrench me up to my feet. I cried out as my head twisted, facing his angry stare as he ripped my backpack off and carelessly tossed it down the corridor. He didn't care about it anymore. It was clear that his purpose was to ensure I could never fight back again. He wrapped his arms over my neck as his companion examined a nearby trash pile for something I couldn't yet see.

I screeched with what stamina I had left, pleading for help instead of pointlessly struggling. Where were all the workers closing up shop? Where were all the passersby heading home?

Was I really so alone in this stupid city?

Guilt sank in my guts, the anxiety and stress my mother must have been feeling at that instant flashing through my panicked thoughts. I should have listened to her and come home after gymnastics.

I guessed dying over a material engineering book was a very Stevie way to go.

Leon found his desired item in the trash, plucking out a rusty pipe that looked about a yard long and heavy enough to knock my brain out of my skull in one clean swipe. Then he crept closer, mocking my pleas with screaming of his own that sent a flock of nearby birds into flight. It dulled into an odious snicker at the sight of my face.

I shuddered at the thought that Deviates were worse than I had ever imagined them to be. They really were crazy.

"No one in their right mind would help. Do you know what happens to brave people on our side of town?" The pipe thudded on his palm with every other word.

"Show her," the younger sneered behind my ear.

Then Leon’s eyes blazed with streaks of fire erupting from his eyes, whipping in the wind like candle flames. The veins in his body glimmered bright orange beneath his light brown skin in response. Then, the metal pipe steamed in his grasp.

Another Deviate. My body went stiff with shock.

He directed the pipe to my bare left ankle, pressing it down and making direct eye contact through the inferno in his pupils. The intense heat sizzled under my wite skin, steam lifting and haunting the air with the stench of cooked flesh.

I just screamed through the white-hot pain that shot through my leg, hoping that it would keep me from passing out. Yet when it just about reached that point, he removed the metal, watching my ankle swell and boil with sadistic satisfaction.

I dropped into the younger's grip as I sobbed, the searing agony swallowing my leg. He forced me up by the neck as his arms stayed locked, ordering me to shut up. I didn’t listen as I managed a glance, seeing my skin torn open and forming a bright red imprint of the pipe's shape.

Then, the fire Deviate shifted, and I looked up in time to watch him bring the pipe down on me. I shrilled and cowered, my short life flashing before my eyes as I braced for a beating.

Yet I felt nothing but a whoosh fast enough to blow my hair off my shoulders. I reluctantly opened my eyes to find a new person in front of me, facing the fire Deviate with the pipe clutched in his gloved hand. With one jerk out of the older’s grasp, he tossed it away.

From what little I could see, he was dressed entirely in black, his head hooded by a helmet. He was hard to make out as shadows seemed to cling to him, but I could make out that he was built like a tank, towering over the rest of us.

"You assholes need to run away." His voice was deep and commanding. Even muffled, he silenced the whole backstreet.

"Funny. I'll roast you first. Stupid mask, by the way," the fire Deviate sneered. He threw his hands down at his sides, emitting fire in his palms.

Even from behind, it seemed the man blended with shadows wasn't fazed. He shuffled his feet, started removing his gloves, and flexed his thick fingers.

"I was bored anyway.”

Something about his nonchalance stirred a new fear in me. I didn't know what would happen, but I knew it wouldn't be good. If anything, I wished it would happen far away from me.

The sadistic one smiled as he went to launch his flames, but the dark stranger had thrown up his own hands in defense. Powerful, shadowy winds pushed out from them and smothered the fire blasting his way. Shock overcame the fire Deviate before the man kept the gust of winds going, shoving forward again with a concentrated grunt beneath the mask.

The winds thrusted into the older Deviate, sending him tumbling backward like a rag doll and flopping on his stomach with a pained shout.

Whoa.

If I weren't so scared of the shadowed man, I'd have thought that was cool, but I was witnessing yet another Deviate.

Three Deviates. One me. I could die in the crossfire of this fight.

This has got to be like one of those struck-by-lightning-twice kind of stories.

The dark stranger pivoted to the Deviate holding me. It was finally my turn to see, having to tilt my head up to such a daunting figure. The mask snatched my attention first, hooded eyes angrily staring at us through carefully carved out holes. He wore a black sweatshirt and black pants tucked into combat boots despite the sticky humidity.

I swallowed thickly, wondering how he planned to kill me when he was finished with the one holding me, but no longer to keep me still—I seemed to be more of a meat shield all of a sudden.

"Oh hell no," the young Deviate grunted in my ear.

My shoes skidded as he shoved me, my long legs betraying me. My heart soared when my weight fell into the Deviate wearing black before I could catch myself. To my surprise, he wrapped me protectively in his arms, forcing his body between me and the threat.

Unlike my other two attackers, his hold was... comforting.

We looked back at the younger one, flinching as he whipped a handgun out of his pocket. The masked man threw both of us to the ground just as ear-splitting gunfire rang in the alleyway. I didn't know where the bullet went, but judging by the pant escaping the shadowed Deviate, we had just missed it.

The stranger pressed me down. "Stay low!"

"I can do that," I said, my voice shaken.

He let go of me and charged at the other with his head down, zigzagging across the pavement and missing another sailing bullet that struck the space next to me. I flinched and rolled, though my eyes stayed locked on the scene.

The masked one stood up straight and bravely grabbed the gun and twisted the wrist holding it after triggering another bang that ricocheted off the brick. The younger’s cry cut off when the man jarred his head with a punch, disarming him like that. The gun skidded over near my trembling form.

This was my moment to get out of dodge, but when I turned to look at the exit, that Leon guy had picked himself off the ground, running back into the fight with flames roaring atop his fists.

The shadowed Deviate's back was turned; he was going to get cooked!

"Look out!" I screeched.

I impulsively stuck my clean ankle out in the fire-hungry Deviate’s path, tripping him just as he released a stream of flames that I knocked off target. His body smacked the blacktop across from me, his blazing eyes glaring into my soul once he realized what I had just done.

An involuntary shudder shot down my spine. Why did I do that?

"Get out! What the hell?" the masked Deviate shouted at me. He uppercut the younger as he tried to block him from reaching me, but he only rebounded by getting low and forced the big one to the ground by hugging his legs.

I scurried off the asphalt to run, but Leon grasped my left ankle as he crawled after, the same leg he scorched with the pipe.

"Where are you going?" he taunted.

I desperately scanned my surroundings, my eyes resting on the metal trash can a foot before me in a flutter of a second. The gears in my mind cranked. I lurched for the lid of that bin just as he yanked me down. I smacked the street, the garbage spilling down with me, but my clutch on the metal was strong.

He set his hand ablaze before I could react, roasting my ankle in seconds again. And it was double the pain than the blistering metal. I cried out so loudly that my voice cracked—surprised I had any wind left in my lungs.

I wriggled around and flailed my arm out, the metal thwacking his temple. I punted into his face with my other leg for good measure. I almost felt bad as his eyes rolled, clearly reeling and out of it.

Almost.

He lost the fight to stay awake, only to let his head gradually fall and rest on the ground. I watched in shock, directed at myself. For a second, a sense of pride washed over me, but all it took was a stinging sensation in my ankle to humble me.

I sat up with tears brimming, blinking them away so I could examine the burn. The skin was charred like the edges of a burnt paper, the second layer of bright red and pink meat still being eaten away.

My eyes flicked up, suppressing a child-like cry. It would have been well deserved, but I decided I was done whimpering. I was strong.

"Stop! STOP!" I whipped my head around to the gasping, pleading voice. The smaller Deviate struggled in a headlock of the shadowed stranger. "Where do you get off invading others' territory?"

I was baffled he still had some bark in him.

"I go where I please." The shadowed Deviate released him, kicking the defeated toward the opposite direction.

"I'll bet you feel good about yourself!" The small one argued, stuck to the pavement like glue.

The masked one wouldn't respond, just...watching him.

"Why use your abilities for those Normals," he continued, gesturing to me, "as if they would care! Fucking traitor!”

"Shut up and run away while you still can, or I'll break your little chicken legs." The large Deviate's tone was threatening, rising angrily as he stiffened, puffing out his chest.

I was scared of him. And he wasn't even talking to me.

The other sluggishly crawled backward with a look of protest, yet the fear in his stare he just couldn't suppress.

"I said GO!"

The masked man raised a hand that made the other shrink back, anticipating that powerful dark wind to blow him away. He was so scared that he fell getting back up, scrambling to his feet to flee. The large Deviate watched him in silence until the light footfalls were no longer audible, eerily echoing off the walls, and then nothing...

I sat there in awe, wondering what thoughts flooded his mind as he stood in silence. I cautiously watched him shift his weight and slip his thick gloves back on. He stooped down to pick up the gun from the struggle, examining it.

My face paled when those mysterious eyes found my curious gaze. Even from a distance, wreathed in darkness, I could feel the tight grip of his stare. I was at his mercy.

Why was that dangerous thought so thrilling?

He tucked the firearm into his belt, and that grip between us slacked, but it was short-lived as the man moved my way. I flinched when he sat down beside me, the memory of his remarkable abilities and strength still fresh in my mind. But something so inviting about his eyes started letting my guard down.

They were rich, mahogany-brown hues. He blinked under the mask, his eyelids hooded with shadow. Even his bulky hooded sweatshirt shielded his neck, eliminating any trace of identity I could find in him.

We looked at each other for a while, taking in each other's existence one blink at a time. It was humorous in a way that we both seemed to find the other interesting. He wasn't trying to kill me, and I wasn't screaming and running from him.

An encounter most unheard of. Yet there we sat.

His gaze finally shifted to the space where the fire Deviate lay unconscious, widening suddenly. I looked for myself, surprised to see no one there. Leon must have been too concussed to care about winning.

"Damn," he groaned to himself, and he shook his head. "That was so stupid, by the way."

My mouth fell open.

Wait, what?

"He was going after you." I took in a sharp breath, struggling not to think of the burn gnawing my ankle. "And I didn't want him to."

It was true, something felt right helping him despite how freaking terrifying he was. I mean, he was helping me. Why would I let that sadistic Deviate get the chance to ruin that?

He only blinked at my dumbfounded response, then looked down at my injury awkwardly. "That's a nasty burn. Are you okay?"

I was surprised by his question. It was incredible how such a frightening voice could be altered into something gentle and welcoming. He actually sounded younger than he led on before. The longer he held my stare, the less he seemed...dangerous, or a threat, even. Still, holding a conversation without snapping and wanting to kill me. Weren’t Deviates supposed to lack this type of empathy?

"Um, no." I pushed through the stinging in my eyes.

He nodded. "Don't worry. The ambulance is coming.”

I listened carefully, noticing that there was indeed a symphony of emergency sirens ringing in the distance. They seemed to be Havenbrook's number one hit; I could hear them nearly every minute of the day to the point where I'd blocked them out.

Who even called the police? Couldn't have been him, right?

"Is this yours?" the Deviate asked, pulling out the library book I had risked my neck for. "And this?"

He held my glasses—surprisingly still intact after that hard punch from earlier. Then my pinkish skin flushed more than normal as he reached forward, carefully placing my glasses on my face. My chest hitched with an uninvited gasp, our eyes closer than before.

"Thank you," I managed to get out, my ribcage squeezing my lungs. I tentatively took the book, my gaze still fixed on his.

"I hate assholes," he said simply, shrugging it off. "You got some fight in you, I’ll admit. But you should really get home before eight next time. You're lucky I was nearby."

I only found myself nodding at his words, still enthralled by his deep eyes.

So he is sane. Fascinating.

"You're not like other Deviates..." I observed quietly, my voice trailing off as he pushed his gaze away from mine.

"What's your name?" I pushed curiously.

Suddenly, the usual sounds of life flooded back into my ears, and it was as if I had snapped out of another spell.

Blaring sirens drew closer, and lights danced into the darkness, cutting through the alleyway and bathing me in red and blue. I turned to them, seeing a police cruiser cutting sharply to park. My eyes got snared in the headlights, and I turned away, wanting my eyes to readjust to the gloom.

When I opened them, the masked Deviate had found his place back in the shadows.

Gone. Like that.