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Insomnia was nothing new to the villain, but that didn’t stop it from being a major inconvenience. It was different from being shaken awake by loud children or flippity-floppity elves; it was the feeling of being betrayed by his own traitorous body.
Oh, he got a twenty minute nap in his chair when his exhausted brain clicked off before he was shaken awake by something (anything) making sound here, a couple hours of real sleep there. Generally, he could handle the stress of sleep deprivation like one could handle the buzz of a particularly persistent fly, but not like this unending torment. Was he being overdramatic? Maybe, but he’d already gone through the seven stages of grief and was currently on acceptance, and he was pretty sure he was the one who was dying—or going to die, as the case may be.
“I had a … well I wouldn’t say good life, but it was okay I guess.” Dangling upside down from the town hall by one slowly ripping spat, he couldn’t quite find the energy to protest his impending doom with any more bravado, even as the children shouted in alarm below him.
1.
The first night without rest hadn’t bothered him much. He nursed his exhaustion like one would nurse a mild cold; he brewed a cup of tea, added a whole tablespoon of sugar to it, and allowed himself a few extra minutes to blearily find himself. He felt a bit like someone had stuffed cotton into the spaces behind his eyes, his thoughts blurred and fuzzy, but concocted a genius plan nevertheless.
“Fishing! Teach a child to fish, and they will learn to be quiet for the rest of the day!” He downed the last of the tea and set the mug down on his end table in one fell swoop as he hoisted himself out of his fuzzy orange chair. He stumbled forward but quickly righted himself on his way to his disguise tubes where there waited a fuzzy cat mascot outfit, a cheerleader’s skirt and pom poms, his standard suit, and finally a fisherman’s garb. “Too catty. Too bratty. A work of art. Ah, here we are!” There was no way his perfectly plotted plan could fail.
With a spin he was ready to go, a box of tackle and seven fishing poles under his arm.
---
In retrospect, fishing was probably not a perfectly plotted plan. At first, everything had gone along well enough. The children all instantly accepted him as Rod Roetten without question and accepted their poles with excitement. Even Sportafool seemed excited about a new activity, and they found themselves at a pond well outside of town trying to catch fish. He only had to tell them a few times to be quiet or else they’d scare off the fish. It was wonderful!
And then Ziggy, in an attempt to wrangle a fish out of the water with his bare hands, had fallen in. At first Robbie hadn’t even blinked an eye, expecting the child to wade back out no worse for wear but a little wet. It wasn’t until he registered the rest of the shrieking children’s words—He can’t swim, he’ll drown!—That he went pale and launched himself forward to help. This was, looking back on it, not his brightest idea. He still hadn’t quite mastered his sluggish movements and found himself in the same boat as the child, pond water invading his nose and carrying away his hat. Before he could fully find himself panicking he was hoisted out of the water, spluttering and spitting, along with Ziggy. Distantly, he felt relieved that the kid was alright.
“Robbie Rotten!” As was tradition, they pouted and glared at him while he stared at them dumbly, his mind just a bit too slow to come up with a snappy comeback. Instead, he glanced at Sportacus as the elf set him down on his feet. He wished he hadn’t looked. The bare look of both concern and consternation left him feeling more embarrassed than he was used to. He wordlessly slinked away while Stephanie broke into song, pretending not to feel the blue eyes on his back as he disappeared into the trees.
By the time he got home he was a shivering mess of running makeup and could barely peel his costume off to get in the bath. He doused the hot water with lavender oil and Epsom, determined to get a good night’s rest. By the time he was done, he felt like he could sleep for fourteen hours straight, and as exhausted as he was, the tiredness was a relief. How was he supposed to be a devastatingly handsome and precise villain without his sleep?
2.
Looking back, he wasn’t sure why he thought he was going to get any rest. Of course not. Oh, he’d laid down in every possible way, draped over his chair in every configuration known to man as he squeezed his eyes shut, growled, moaned, and raged. It didn’t matter what way he lie though; he couldn’t find sleep. He gave up just before dawn and made another cup of overly sweetened tea and sat, desperately trying to blink the stars out of his eyes.
Trying to keep his thoughts straight was hard, but not impossible. A baking competition. I’ll make Sportaflop a judge and when he tries the sweets, he’ll go into a sugar coma and I can shoot him out of town. He wasn’t sure why his heart clenched at the thought, and chose not to examine it. He was pretty sure sleep deprivation caused high blood pressure.
He downed another cup of tea and shuffled above ground, not even bothering to change into a fancy costume.
At first, the children had been distrustful of the villain, as they should be, but then something seemed to soften in their features and they agreed to the baking competition. Even Sportadumb agreed to his part without much fuss, which should have put Robbie on edge, but he was too tired to examine it too closely.
They all got to baking, including Robbie, who was doing very well for being as drowsy as he was. He’d picked a cornbread muffin recipe to offset too much suspicion. Who made unhealthy cornbread? No one. Now, what to make his cornbread more appealing to the sporty spurt? He glanced around, the movement of his head causing more fireworks to pop off behind his eyes before he spotted a clamshell of blueberries. “Of course. Sportscandy.” If he were more awake he’d wonder what they were doing in his lair, but as it was he wasn’t going to question a gift. With a half-hearted sneer, he tipped the berries into the mix before dumping them all into two muffin tins and set the first to bake.
Twenty minutes. That was how long it would take the first batch to bake before he could put the second batch in. Certainly he could set the buzzer and sit for that long.
…
“THIS WAS A TERRIBLE IDEA WHY DID I THINK I COULD SIT FOR EVEN A SECOND…” Thankfully, he hadn’t lit his oven on fire. Less thankfully, the first batch of muffins was a charred mess, and while he had nodded off for about thirty minutes, it wasn’t enough to chase off the exhaustion. If anything, it left him even more scrambled and his every movement felt as stuttered as a strobe light, as though half of his movements were left behind in teleportation. He wasn’t actually sure that wasn’t the case as he flung the burnt remains of the first batch of muffins in the trash.
He put the second batch of muffins into the oven and made another mug of tea, resigned to watch the food bake lest he let them burn again. If he destroyed the second batch, his plan would be foiled before it had even taken shape and he’d have to forfeit the competition. He was not about to waste all the energy he’d put into the day just because of some debilitating fatigue.
The sound of the buzzer jolted him out of his thoughts, his tea long cold and his brain trying to catch up to the missing gap of time as he pulled the muffins out and tested them. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed it (aside from being the best at everything, forever,) but they were a perfect golden brown and cooked all the way through. He heaved a sigh of relief as he gently removed them from the tin, only burning himself twice. He considered it a victory.
Once all twelve muffins were carefully placed on a lopsided platter he ascended from his lair to the small square where the rest of the children waited. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by one of them, he couldn’t tell which.
“Look, Robbie’s here! Now we can start!” He shut his mouth with a click and forced a smile that looked more like a grimace.
To their credit, the children had tried very hard on their baking, and all of them had taken Sportacus’s inability to eat processed sugar to heart. The Hero went down the line trying each child’s creation one at a time, praising each of them for their creativity and valiantly avoiding cringing at some of the more disastrous attempts. (“Stingy, did you forget an ingredient?” “No, there just wasn’t much baking powder left and it was mine.”)
When he got to Robbie’s muffins, he was visibly concerned. They made eye contact for a few seconds before Robbie grinned brightly, gesturing to the muffins. If anything, the worry lines on Sportacus’s brow deepened.
“Oh come on Sportascared. Are you that worried I might poison you?” He leaned in and did his best to look both dashing and daring, but it didn’t quite come off as dastardly as he wanted apparently as Sportacus’s face smoothed into a smile.
“…?” Sportacus spoke so softly that for a second Robbie wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all. He looked around to see if anyone else was paying attention and could help him out, but the children were talking animatedly between themselves about their baking adventure. Only Pinky was paying any attention, eyeing the villain’s muffins with distrust. He had just decided that he must be hearing things when Sportacus spoke again. “Robbie?”
Ah, so he wasn’t hearing things. “What was the question?”
Sportacus’s brow furrowed a little more, and Robbie thought the swelling of his heart might choke him. “What time did you go to bed last night?” He sounded genuinely concerned, and it threw Robbie off.
At first Robbie wasn’t going to speak, but then Sportacus gently touched his hand where it sat on the table. He stared at the contact, blinking dumbly as his mind shut down all together. “No.”
All at once the hero pulled his hand back, face slightly pink. “Well, if you don’t want to answer you don’t have to but—“
“I did answer. I didn’t go to bed.” Robbie’s mind was only starting to click back into gear, his sluggish thoughts catching up to him. “What has that got to do with anything Sportafuss? Eat the muffin.” All he wanted to do was shoot the hero off into the sun so he could finally get some sleep. The last thing he needed was another subject to never think about, like how adorable the hero looked when his face flushed…
No.
Not adorable.
It was horrible and he hated it. He definitely did not think that Sportacute was…
All at once, his mind whirred to a stop, overloaded by all the emotions he had been shoving away for the last few days. He barely registered it when Sportacus took a deep breath before taking a bite out of one of the muffins.
“Robbie, these are really good! Did you make them with honey?” Sportacus was grinning at him, eyes bright and smile wide.
The wrong recipe. He’d picked the recipe for muffins that he could make for the damn fool when Christmas rolled around again and not the super extra sweet sugary muffins he’d meant to make. For a moment he felt lightheaded and thought he might pass out, but of course he wouldn’t be so lucky. Instead, he meekly responded “and blueberries. There’s enough for the children too.”
“Robbie Rotten!” He thought it might have been Pixel, but he wasn’t sure. “You didn’t try to do anything nasty? It’s really nice of you to share!”
He opened and shut his mouth to speak before giving up, stalked up to the lever to his lair, and promptly disappeared into the ground with a huff. He only barely registered the blue kangaroo shouting “but I haven’t picked a winner yet!” before he was back in his home.
3.
Two hours.
He managed to get about two hours of sleep after passing out sometime around dawn. Two blessed hours of his mind turned off, not thinking about the elf, or feelings, or feelings about the elf; just two hours of silence.
That’s when the sound of a shrill shriek woke him up with a jolt, his broken thoughts slowly catching up to him. He was just as unprepared for the second shriek that seemed even closer than before and he immediately dropped to the ground and scuttled away from the perceived danger before he realized that there was laughter alongside the shouts, and that it was one of the children above him. He released his panicked breath and willed his heart to stop pounding against his ribcage before replacing instinctual fear with slow anger.
He had finally found sleep, finally after three days, and of course one of the brats had to wake him up. He could feel an angry growl welling up in his chest before the exhaustion snuffed it and he slid back into his chair.
No matter. I’ll just go back to sleep. It was easier thought than done.
He fished the headphones that Sportadork had given him out from under his end table, along with a small mp3 player. If the children wanted to be loud, then he would just drown them out! No problem.
Except that the world was determined to drive him mad. The ringing in his ears, he found, was not so easily drowned out and it was off-key no matter what song he played. It was always a single semi-tone off in every instance and just loud enough to keep him from ignoring it. After shuffling through at least thirty songs, he let out a gargled scream and threw the headphones and mp3 player at the ground as though they had personally wronged him.
There was a vague sense of fear that clung to him no matter what he did; a pervasive sense of paranoia that whispered destructive words to him any time he started to nod off. His heartbeat was a waterfall in his ears, vying for attention with the tinnitus and the little voice that told him that he was soon to be attacked and it left him disoriented and shivering.
He tried to cover his ears with pillows, with blankets, with headphones and earmuffs, but nothing sufficed. He couldn’t get comfortable; he was too hot or too cold, it was too bright or too dark, and his joints ached as though he was older than his years.
It was after three more hours that he gave up trying to get any sleep, and with a manic grin, stalked into what could pass as a kitchen.
“If I can’t sleep, then I can’t sleep! Why fight it?” His movements seemed too fast, too sloppy, but he couldn’t slow down. He dumped a cup of grounds into a pot, and five minutes later had a glorious pot of coffee. Foregoing cups (“who wants to do dishes? I can hardly stand”) he dumped an obscene amount of sugar and cream directly into the carafe and chugged as much as he could before his tired brain realized he was burning his tongue.
There was some primal part of him that acknowledged that a thousand plus milligrams of caffeine was, at best, a bad idea and at worst, a death sentence. He didn’t care. If he was going to be awake, then he was going to be AWAKE, consequences be damned.
It didn’t take too long for the caffeine to kick in, leaving him feeling a sort of joyless euphoria. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? Who needed sleep when coffee existed? And who cared if his heart felt about like it would explode in his chest, he felt ALIVE.
Utilizing his new found energy, however, was more difficult. His hands shook too furiously for him to write legibly or to sew. He didn’t trust himself to use even the smallest amount of magic; the stuff was temperamental and if used improperly it could kill him. Even if the idea was tempting, some distant sane part of him knew it was a bad idea, so he abstained.
So, he weighed his entertainment options. He was too hyped up to follow even the simplest of plots, so TV was out of the question. The tinnitus hadn’t gone away and wasn’t cooperating, so writing music was a no-go. Examining his relationship with the town hero was DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO HAPPEN, preferably ever. That left tinkering with some of his experiments. He quickly downed the last of his too-hot coffee and got to work.
---
Four hours later and he wasn’t sure exactly what he was standing in front of, but he was pretty sure it was impressive. He was also pretty sure that he needed more coffee, because he was pretty sure he was starting to hallucinate Sportacus’s voice, and that wouldn’t do.
It was only when he turned to see Sportacus standing in front of him that he squinted, swaying in place, before speaking. “What are YOU doing here? Or are you unreal? I can’t tell the difference. Say something only the real Sportacus would say.” He didn’t wait for a response before careening back into the kitchen and making another pot of coffee.
“Robbie, we haven’t seen you all day. Are you okay? You’re not going to drink all of that by yourself, are you?” Sportacus looked distraught by the very idea, even as he watched Robbie pour a cup of cream into the pot and drink directly from the spout.
“Never better, Sportanosy! Hey, you’re an elf. Do you like cream?” If the hero hadn’t known better, he might have confused Robbie for drunken as he wiggled the half-empty carton of cream in his direction. “I can pour you some. With or without honey! Your choice.” He took another drag off of the coffee pot, his hands shaking violently. There was a thin sheen of sweat on the brow he was furrowing as his thoughts seemed to catch up to him. “Why are you here? How did you get in here?” Before Sportacus could answer, Robbie snorted, and then cackled. “Oh right, beep beep! Tell your hunk of rock that I’m okay. Better than ever! Doing swell. This is the most productive I’ve been in months.”
“Robbie, your heart is beating so hard I can see your pulse in your throat. You really need to get some sleep.” The elf’s voice bordered on sorrowful and the emotion struck Robbie so hard he recoiled. The hero reached a hand out to steady him, but the villain slapped it away.
“No no! Don’t touch me. I don’t need your flippity floppity pity party. I’m fine! I’ve got coffee, and tea, and cake, and I’m definitely not dying.” His eyes darted wildly to where his newest invention sat, to his TV, to the pair of headphones the blasted elf had given him for Christmas, anywhere but Sportacus’s eyes. Anywhere so he wouldn’t have to see the disappointment or disgust. Or the fear, his tired mind supplemented before he shook the idea away. He wanted to rage more but he was suddenly hit with an overwhelming feeling of nausea and instead wobbled to his chair and sat back, too tired and ill to shove Sportacus’s hands from his head.
“If I brought you a glass of water, would you drink it?” Sportacus’s voice was soft and gentle, and Robbie considered for a few moments that the stuttering of his heart had nothing to do with the exhaustion or caffeine intoxication. He should have known better than to think he could get away with never examining his own emotions. He couldn’t speak, so instead he just nodded.
The hand on his forehead left, and for a few minutes he thought he really had dreamt the entire experience, but then the elf was back with a cold glass of water. The exhaustion crashed over him again in waves, even as he sipped at the drink.
Sportacus picked the orange blanket up off the floor and draped it over the villain, careful not to disturb his glass. “You really need to take better care of yourself Robbie. Have you still not slept?”
“Slept two hours.” Robbie slurred. “Kids woke me up.” He shifted a little as Sportacus took the cup and set it on the table within reach.
The frown on the hero’s face made him turn his eyes. He couldn’t stand to look at it. “I’ll ask them to play quieter tomorrow. Maybe you could get some rest then?” For a moment Sportacus didn’t move, but then he reached out on impulse and ran his fingers through Robbie’s hair. In all the time he had known the villain, he had never seen the dark hair unstyled and he couldn’t resist touching the soft curls. He quietly sighed out in relief when Robbie leaned into the touch instead of yelling.
“Sure, sure.” He closed his eyes and sat back in his chair, holding the blanket closer to him. “Shouldn’t you be eating dinner Sportasweet? Go on. Get out.” He made an exaggerated hand gesture in the general direction of the ladder and for a moment Sportacus could almost pretend his friend was okay. He shuffled out of the lair as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the gently snoring villain, only realizing the latest nickname when he was well away from the hatch.
4.
After four hours, Robbie awoke in a cold sweat, heart beating frantically and his breath coming out in choked sobs, frenzied as the last of his nightmare dissipated into nothingness. He couldn’t quite recall the details, like trying to grasp at smoke, but he honestly didn’t want to. Blood and broken bones and death. The details didn’t matter; all he had to know was that he vividly dreamt of one of his inventions going haywire and maiming Sportacus. Normally he would chalk it up to the general gore upsetting him, but he was running out of ways to kid himself about his growing affection for the hero.
He made a cup of tea and cradled it in shaky hands, staring at the clock as though it would give him answers. It was 8:23pm, and he knew from experience that Sportacus would already be asleep. He could feel the anxiety and fear well up in him again and he took a deep breath, knuckles white around the mug.
There are five disguise tubes in my lair. I haven’t changed the outfits in a while—they are a cat, a cheerleader, my favorite suit, and two are currently empty.
There are four cakes in my fridge--two chocolate, a vanilla, and a lemon crème.
I once hired three impressionists. Their names were Bobby, Tobby, and Flobby. Flobby didn’t speak and Bobby couldn’t quite pronounce my name.
I have two recipes for banana bread, but I’ve never tried either because bananas are gross health nut food.
There is one hero in town currently. His name is Sportacus, and he is not dead. He’s probably sleeping right now. Sportacus is probably not his real name.
He sucked in another breath of air and blew it out his nose, opened his eyes and stared at the empty coffee pot. He had a lot of work to do and he was going to need more energy than a brief nap had allowed him. Sure, Sportafuss would be worried if he knew what Robbie was planning, but the elf was asleep and his little rock apparently hadn’t alerted him to Robbie’s panic attack, so he was sure it would be fine.
---
It had been another ten hours and three pots of extra strong coffee when Robbie finished all of his work and collapsed on his favorite bench. He had started with his newest invention (he thought it might have been designed to throw pies? He wasn’t sure) and then moved on to all the other traps and machines he had littered around town. It had been especially exhausting, but it would put his panicked brain to rest. If everything was just a little safer he could maybe find just a little peace. Maybe.
His heart still raced against his chest, but the sun rising over the distant hills soothed him from his existential dread. Despite the way the light washed over him, he found himself drifting off, mind too tired to stay awake anymore.
It didn’t last long.
True to his word, Sportacus had convinced the children to play quietly inside. That didn’t stop Ms. Busybody from walking by and loudly talking on her phone. He didn’t even have the energy to jerk awake, only to groan with a sneer while he struggled to keep his burning eyes open. Bessie at least had the good sense to look at least somewhat apologetic.
“Yes, Tillie? I think I’ll have to call you back. Something’s just come up. No, thank YOU. Alright, good bye!” A manicured nail swiped across the screen of her smart phone and she shoved it in her purse before turning on Robbie. “Dear, your eye bags have bags of their own. Have you slept at all this week?”
Robbie stared at her, willing his tired mind to catch up to the present and register her question. After a few moments of silence he met her eye. “I don’t know. What day is it exactly?”
She tutted under her breath, taking in the sight of the gangly man who looked like he might melt off the bench he was laying on at any second. “Well, come on. We’ll get you fixed up nice and proper—even if one can’t feel their best, they should look their best.”
He regarded her for a few more seconds, trying to determine if he should be wary, but he was too exhausted for paranoia. In the end he followed her back to her house, slouched over nearly enough to make him as tall as her. She quickly set about brewing a cup of coffee and he felt a spark of appreciation for the overly chatty woman as she poured in a good amount of cream and sugar.
“I wasn’t planning on doing much today, just a face mask in the sun, but you’re more than welcome to join me Mr. Rotten. We can have some lemonade and gossip.” She sipped her coffee and he couldn’t help but admire the mischievous gleam in her eye.
“Do I have to wear all that sports candy junk that you do?”
“I would suggest two on your eyes. It’ll do wonders for that insomniac chic you’ve got going on.” She smirked and it looked nearly predatory. How could he say no?
That’s how he found himself on his back in the sun, grinning wide as Bessie filled him in on the goings on of entire town in the world of the adults. He couldn’t put names to faces and most of the information went in one ear and out the other, but the sheer scandal of it all kept him enthralled and almost made him feel better about his lack of sleep. If nothing else, the cold lemonade was refreshing and resting in the sunshine (on a comfortable chair no less!) was better than nothing. She didn’t even poke fun when he’d nod off for a few seconds here and there.
“And what about you, dear? I saw Sportacus heading towards your…” she paused for a second as though trying to find the word she wanted. “…Home last night. Care to share some details?”
“Kiss and tell? Honey what makes you think I’d do anything of the sort?” He could play just as coy as she could, even as exhausted as he was. Honestly, she could take notes. He took another long sip of lemonade before laughing. Somehow the idea of Ms. Busybody thinking he was having an illicit affair with the hero was less embarrassing than the truth that he had overdosed on caffeine and was having a manic meltdown.
To her credit, her gasp sounded absolutely scandalized. “Mr. Rotten, you scoundrel!”
He laughed again and was about to speak when one of his cucumbers suddenly disappeared with a crunch. He cracked his bleary eye open against the light, only to see Sportacus eating the cucumber with an amused look on his face. “That touched my face you know” he said lamely, the hair on the back of his neck rising just a bit at the prolonged eye contact. “I don’t think that counts as less than five seconds.”
“You know Robbie, you shouldn’t imply things that aren’t true.” He finished the other half of the cucumber, completely ignoring Robbie’s spluttering indignation. “How are you feeling?”
“Honestly, I was feeling better before you decided to eat half of my beauty routine.” He pulled the other cucumber off and held it out to Sportacus. To his horror, the hero ate that too. “Where are your would-be clones?”
For a second it seemed like Sportaclueless didn’t understand the question before it seemed to click with him. “They’re at Pixel’s house. They’re using the internet to learn how to make origami animals.”
“No wonder you’re out roaming. Left without a sense of purpose, are you?” Robbie grinned and sipped the last dregs of his lemonade.
“No, I was coming to ask Ms. Busybody if she needed any help around the house. Since I have some time, I thought I’d ask for work.”
At that, Bessie pulled off one of her own cucumbers and set it aside. “Actually, I do have some chores for you if you’re available. First off, one of the gutters could use some straightening; it was knocked off kilter during the wind storm the other day. And perhaps Mr. Rotten would like a refill to his lemonade?” She looked his way but he waved his hand dismissively.
“As much as I’d love to have this blue buffoon tending to my every beck and call, I think I’ll pass. He tires me out when I’m running at full steam, and it’s been at least four days since I’ve had a full night’s rest. Maybe more? I don’t know, I lost count sometime around the third pot of coffee.” He pushed himself up, his back cracking in such a way that made both Sportacus and Ms. Busybody wince. “But, Bessie, can I call you Bessie? It’s been delightful. Now if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to go stare at a wall for the next several hours until I can’t tell the difference between my wallpaper and the back of my eyelids.” With that, he sauntered away, desperately trying to make a mental note to send the woman a cake when he was feeling less like warmed over death.
---
Getting sleep was still, essentially, impossible. Bessie apparently had several very physical tasks for Sportacus to complete, most involving hammers and nails and in one case a power drill. Not that Robbie was particularly keen on the idea of sleep anyway, not after the night terror from the day before. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why he had never sound-proofed his home. More pressing, he wondered why he had included speakers to the top world without thinking to include an off switch. Stupid.
But that still left him in a predicament. What was he supposed to do if he couldn’t sleep? He was quickly running out of projects that he could feasibly be expected to complete when he felt like the world was buzzing and he couldn’t keep his limbs straight. If he wanted to avoid more nightmares, he was going to have to come up with a distraction. And another pot of coffee.
5.
In hindsight, setting out to find a distraction without having a solid plan was not the greatest idea he’d ever had. That’s how he found himself in front of his blackboard at three in the morning, an unflattering sketch of Sportacus smack dab in the middle, and a second pot of coffee gripped in his other hand. He was veering towards mania again, alternating between untapped giggling and choked sobbing.
On the right side, in nearly illegible handwriting, was a list of words under “pros”.
Cute. Can carry me. Nice. Kids? Hasn’t hit me. Isn’t afraid of me. Elf. Thoughtful. Knows when to back off. Knows when to be there. Genuine. Arms. Shoulder blades. The rest trailed off into obscurity.
On the left side, in even worse handwriting, was a list of words under “cons”.
Too busy. Too flippy. Kids. A hero. His moustache is silly. Impossible.
He cackled again, wiping the tears from his eyes and pretending that they weren’t immediately replaced with more. “Of COURSE I’m in love with the damn fool! Why not? Let’s just complicate things EVEN MORE. Couldn’t be satisfied with the villain-hero shtick. NO! Had to go and develop feelings.” He shuddered and sucked down more of the coffee, tear tracks streaming down his face. He found himself praying to any god, spirit, deity, or local gemstone that for once Sportacus’s crystal wouldn’t bring him directly to the lair.
He was barely able to admit to HIMSELF that he had a crush, let alone to the object of his affection. With any luck, he’d quash the feeling with some sleep, but until then his best bet was to do what he did best; ignore it. The thought sent him into another bought of teary giggles.
“Because THAT’S worked so well for me! But, what else am I supposed to do?” The energy was momentarily sucked out of him and he collapsed in his chair, cradling his coffee like one would cradle an artifact or a child. He wanted to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he was met with terror. Sometimes it had a face (Sportacus, disappointed, hurt, dying) and sometimes it was simply nameless fear.
He blearily glared at the empty coffee pot as though it had personally betrayed him. “What is the point of drinking an entire pot of coffee if it isn’t going to keep me from sleeping?” A pause. “Energy drinks. I need energy drinks!” He jumped up with his usual bravado but immediately found himself slumped back in his chair, dazed and confused and a migraine steadily growing behind his eyes. He tried again, slower, and didn’t black out a second time. All he had to do was get to the store, buy case of sugary sweet energy drinks, and make it home without dying. Then he could drink enough to make his heart explode. “Easier than anything else!”
He looked at the disguise tubes and frowned. He still hadn’t changed any of them out, or made anything new. “Devastatingly handsome villain number one it is!”
Actually convincing himself to leave his lair was a little harder, especially when the hatch opened to bright sunshine and the realization that somewhere along the line, he had lost a few hours. Distantly, he could hear the kids playing some kind of sport at the field and he was all at once thankful that they were nowhere near him. He felt like a wire stretched to its absolute max and any more tension would cause him to snap. He wasn’t prepared for that.
Plus, wherever the kids where, the hero was sure to be. Maybe he could avoid two birds with one bridge. No, that wasn’t right. Burn two birds? He gave up on trying to work the idiom out in his head and stalked to the grocery store. He bought two cases of Blue Lightning, a bottle of Tylenol, and three boxes of snack cakes for good measure and started back towards his lair, downing one of the drinks as he walked.
He got as far as the town hall building before a tired thought started nagging at him and he glanced up at the roof. Didn’t I have a trap up there too? He honestly couldn’t remember, and if there was, couldn’t remember if he’d already disabled it. I have to make sure it’s safe.
With a scowl, he put his groceries down and quickly shimmied his way onto the roof, trying hard not to look at the ground. He was just starting to look around for anything that could be considered dangerous, and his fault, when he heard the accusing chorus of voices.
“Robbie Rotten!” Weren’t they playing some sportsball game in the field? How did they get back so fast? “What are you doing on the roof? You should get down before you hurt yourself!”
“Listen brats, kids,” he quickly corrected. “I’m doing some very important business things. Very important villain work. Very important… What are you doing?” One of them, Stephanie, was climbing up onto the roof next to him.
“Ms. Busybody says you haven’t been sleeping very good recently.”
“Very well.” At her confused look, he clarified. “Very well, not very good. Don’t they teach you grammar in school? Nevermind. That doesn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t be up here. What if you fell?”
She huffed and he ignored the way her brow furrowed. “I could say the same to you Robbie. What are you even doing up here?”
“If you must know, which I guarantee you don’t, I’m trying to remember if I ever put a trap up here.” At the dangerous flash in her eyes, he put his hands up in a placating gesture. “I was going to take it down if I found anything. Do you always look so cross?”
All at once her face softened into a laugh. “Only when you’re trying to be a big bully. So, did you find anything?”
He shook his head, ignoring the way it made him briefly and repeatedly see stars. “I’m not sure there was anything up here to begin with. I just wanted to double check…” His nose and lip twitched when he thought too hard about how he had unnecessarily climbed a building. He couldn’t wait to be back home in his chair, drink in one hand and over processed cupcake in the other. “We better get down.”
She agreed and stood to walk back to where she had climbed up, and that’s when everything went straight to Hell.
Robbie, in his caffeine addled and sleep deprived state only had a few seconds to process her soft “oh” and the way her eyes shot open as her arms pinwheeled and she fell backwards. Later, assuming he survived, he’d have time to pat himself on the back for how quick he reacted. He shot forward and grabbed her hands just as she tipped back with a scream, going over the side of the roof himself head first. One of his spats caught on a (thankfully now screwed in) gutter and ripped, but held. Stephanie’s legs kicked uselessly even as he held on for dear life and he bit back his own terror in order to quell hers.
“Listen. You’re only a few feet from the ground. I’m going to drop you, and I want you to back away as quick as possible.” I don’t want to crush you when I fall. “You’ll be fine. It’ll be like a… like an extra tall back flip. But you’ll be fine.” Another inch of seam ripped, and he wondered just how much he had left. Some distant part of his brain protested at the price of the spats he was ruining. “Three. Two. One.” He dropped her and she did exactly as told, scuttling away backwards even as another thread broke.
This left him where he was, dangling by one slowly ripping spat, his impending death quietly accepted as he swayed over the ground as the children shouted in alarm and panic. He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry at the fact that he was going to die listening to the children be loud. They were always loud.
“I had a … well I wouldn’t say good life, but it was okay I guess.” He huffed out. “The world will never have someone as fabulous as mE…!” His spat finally gave in and he plummeted towards the ground, slamming into something hard only slightly faster then he thought he would.
Silence.
Everything was as quiet as could be for a few seconds, and he cracked an eye open to see what was going on. He was cradled in Sportacus’s arms, the hero’s face a soft sort of relieved and his head haloed by the orange sun. “Honestly, I thought when I died I’d be somewhere… warmer.”
The relieved look was replaced with one of confusion. “You’re not dead.”
“Are you sure?”
The hero laughed and Robbie hoped that he’d attribute the red in his face to hanging upside down for so long. The villain didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when the hero set him gently on the ground, a strong hand still on his shoulder. “You’re fine. What you did was really brave! You saved Stephanie!”
“Did I now? Well, then I’ve had a very exciting day haven’t I? Alright, time for bed!” He didn’t actually think he’d be able to sleep, but he was tired and stressed and worried he’d blurt something stupid any minute if he stuck around for even a little longer. He wasn’t able to move forward though, thanks to Sportaloon’s grip on his shoulder. He hoped the look he leveled Sport with was just as impassive as he wanted it to be.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you remember the baking competition?”
Honestly, Robbie could barely remember his own name. Baking competition? He couldn’t remember anything about it other than a vague sense of familiarity. “No. Yes? I don’t know, did I light something on fire? Is this a lecture?”
Sportaflop laughed and Robbie’s heart did a backwards handspring into a triple spin. He tried not to scowl. “Not that I know of. No, you won! I was the judge, but all the kids agreed that your corn muffins were the best.”
“Not that it was much of a competition. You’re an adult and we’re kids.” Trixie sniffed from her spot. There was a brief squabble when Stingy elbowed her in the ribs and she took offense, but a stern look from Sportacus settled the fight before it could really begin. “Okay. And because they were REALLY good.”
“Yeah Robbie! They were so good! Can you teach us how to make them sometime? Huh? Can you?” Ziggy’s little face was filled with an obscene amount of hope and it took Robbie a few minutes to stutter slur a response.
“…Yes?” They all cheered and he was pretty sure it warmed his heart. He wasn’t certain though; it might have been all the caffeine and adrenaline finally catching up to him.
Eventually, Sportacus stepped in again and affectionately shushed the kids. “We thought you deserved a prize for winning first place, so we pooled together and got you a reservation at Crystal Lakes.”
“Crystal Lakes. You mean the fancy spa cabins outside of MayhemTown? Isn’t that a bit expensive for a handful of children and an elf? Wait…” The headache he was nursing flared as he tried to process all that had been happening recently. He knew that there was something about this that seemed off and he fished around for it for a long minute while the children shuffled and looked at each other questioningly. Finally, his eyes shot open and he looked at Sportacus with all the disbelief his tired mind could muster. “Is that why you were doing all those chores for Bessie?”
Sportacus at least had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. “You just looked so tired, and we all wanted to do something nice for you. Sleep is very important Robbie! You can’t function without it.”
Pixel looked up from his tablet for a few minutes to speak. “Crystal Lakes has the highest rated spa service within one hundred kilometers and is praised for its relaxation. I did all the research and we decided it’d probably help you sleep if you were out of town for a few days.” The “away from us” was left unsaid. “We booked you one day at the spa, but the rest of the time is a cabin reservation. You can decide for yourself what other activities you want to do.”
Sportacus held out the reservation paper again and Robbie looked over the details. It was for a three day stay, paid in full up front. He’d be in one of the more isolated cabins, with full mini fridge service and maid service. Wet spots appeared on the paper and distantly Robbie wondered why he didn’t know it was going to rain.
“Mr. Rotten, are you crying?” Stingy sounded outright scandalized at the idea.
The villain put a hand to his eye only to discover that yes, he was in fact crying. He scrubbed furiously at his face. “It’s only because, well, I’m just so proud. I’ve been trying for YEARS to run Sportadork out of town, and now he’s running ME out of town. He really is a villain!” He would never admit just how touched he was that the elf and children were so concerned about his health. That would be admitting to caring about his health himself, and that he cared about them, and that would never fly. As with all things, he was a MASTER of repression.
He was shaken from his thoughts by Sportacus’s laugh, and not for the first time he found himself comparing the blue kangaroo to the sun when he looked to see the warm crinkle of his eyes. “Robbie, I’m not running you out of town. You’ll be back in three days! It’s just a vacation.”
“Sure, Sportavillain. Whatever you say.”