Pillows #4

Can you continue Pillows please?

“I can’t help them if you don’t tell me what the problem is,” the villain said, through clenched teeth. “Isn’t that your whole supposed spiel? Helping people?”

“If they wanted to tell you-“

“-Why won’t they tell me?”

The hero blinked at them slowly from the other side of the glass. They were cuddling the avocado pillow, looking obscenely harmless and slightly bleary-eyed because the villain had woken them up.

The villain had the truly absurd and terrifying urge to apologise for interrupting them. The hero. Their prisoner. Heat crept up their face. Their fists clenched too, everything in them winding tight.

“I could make you tell me, if you know,” the villain said. “I have methods.”

“Mm.” The hero considered them, head tilting to one side. “Such as sleep deprivation?”

The villain glared.

“Look,” the hero stifled a yawn behind one hand, before massaging idly at their temple as they continued, expression a little pinched. “You’re clearly very concerned for them. That’s commendable.”

“Don’t try and distract me. I could do it.”

“But how do you think your sidekick would feel if you ignored their boundaries and pressed on the issue behind their back?”

“So you’re saying they don’t trust me! My sidekick.”

“Ignoring clearly set out boundaries does not foster a relationship of trust and respect.”

“I don’t need them to feel respected, I need them to feel safe.”

“How safe do you feel around people who don’t respect your boundaries?”

The villain’s scowl deepened, and they folded their arms across their chest. The pit of their belly giving an angry squirm.

“I mean,” the hero said, with a strange little smile, “that’s one of the reasons you hate me, isn’t it? That I could suck out your energy and power and there’s not really a damn thing you can do about it when you don’t have me in your fancy cage?”

“We’re not talking about me. Or you. My sidekick was bleeding out in an alleyway and I-“ The villain faltered, damningly, over the dozen ways they could have finished.

And I wouldn’t have been able to save them. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how to protect them. I don’t know what’s wrong. I don’t know what I’d have done if you weren’t there.

I could have lost them. I could have lost them. I could have lost them.

The hero sighed.

“There are any number of reasons why we don’t reach out for help when we should or could,” the hero said, with a sudden gentleness that made the villain feel like a knife was twisting inside them. “Asking for help can be difficult, can make us feel vulnerable and exposed and fearful of being judged.”

“Which is precisely why it’s stupid to waste time waiting for someone to ask for help,” the villain snapped. “And why you should tell me what the hell is going on.”

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s not like they went behind your back to ask for my help. I was just there. They didn’t ask anything from me.”

The villain couldn’t decide if that made them feel better or not. The thought that the hero might be actively trying to make them feel better definitely didn’t help. The villain dug their nails into their arms; the urge to ask the hero if they thought their sidekick was safe now or if they might end up bleeding out in an alley again was like bile in their throat.

“Have you tried talking to your sidekick about your, er, feelings on this matter?”

“I don’t see how it’s your business.”

“You’re making it my business when you come down here yammering when I want to sleep.”

“You’re in my cell, you—” The villain caught the hero’s too sharp too grin, and closed their eyes, exhaling a sharp steadying breath. “I hate you.”

“Oh, I know. But you’re still here begging for my help in your little way.”

“I’m not-“ The villain turned away from them, sharply, but towards the door was their sidekick and whatever was going on with them and – they pivoted back to the hero, who had already flopped to lay atop the pillows again like a particularly comfortable viper waiting in the grass for a chance to strike. The villain’s fingers flexed. “I could torture you for information.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

The villain ground their teeth hard enough to hurt.

The hero didn’t deign to sit up again, or open their eyes.

You saved them. But the villain couldn’t say that, the hero had enough advantages over them already without being wilfully and stupidly given another one.

“I am not – my skillset is not to be nurturing,” the villain said instead, eventually. There was a pause. “I will eviscerate whoever touched them. You do not need to give me a name, but a description, a lead, and I will find –“ They cut off, realising that they’d stepped up against the hero’s cage, one hand pressed against the glass. They closed their own eyes, and then dropped, gracelessly. “You say I’m begging for your help. Is that what you want? Fine – here I am on, on my knees –”

They heard the hero say their name, but ploughed on.

“Or is this your bargaining chip that I will free you? As if you wouldn’t suck me dry after this – I mean, you said yourself that you could, and we both know-“

There was a bang on the glass.

The villain opened their eyes – jumped, flinched, at how close the hero had got, kneeling on the other side. The villain hadn’t even heard them bloody move. An unnerved shiver crawled down their spine and they promptly froze back into place, breathing hard.

Perhaps satisfied that they had got the villain’s attention, the hero’s hand curled into a fist, knocking against the glass much more quietly. More like a frustrated twitch of movement. The hero rested their forehead against the cool surface, studying the villain through it for a moment.

The villain wasn’t sure if it would be better or worse to look away. They couldn’t seem to.

“If I thought your sidekick was in immediate or upcoming danger,” the hero said, “I would tell you. Okay? Are you capable of believing that about me?”

The villain hesitated, then managed a reluctant nod, given the circumstances.

“Right,” the hero said. “And is your need to know more important than your sidekick’s trust and comfort?”

“I should stab you.”

“I’m going to take that as a no.”

“I need them to be safe.”

“I know.”

“If I know what happened, what the threat is, I can make sure they’re safe.”

“From everyone but you.”

The villain really didn’t think they’d ever wanted to stab the hero more, to make them stop looking back like that, talking like that, saying that.

“You won’t feel like you have more power over me,” the hero said, “by getting control over the rest of what happened. So let it be.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do”

“What are you going to do, lock me in a cage with an absurd number of pillows to assuage your guilt?”

The villain’s head dropped against the glass, suddenly exhausted with the whole day and everything, mirroring the hero’s posture. The hero fell silent too, though the villain could still feel the prickling weight of the hero’s gaze.

“It’s not in my nature to let this go,” the villain whispered. “They touched my sidekick. Mine. Even – regardless of everything else –“ They faltered again. God, why were they telling the hero, their enemy, any of it? This was supposed to be an interrogation. They were supposed to have won.

“It makes you feel weak,” the sidekick said. “Look weak.”

The villain tensed, but the hero didn’t move. They heard the sidekick’s footsteps approaching the two of them and was hyperaware of the scene they must make of themselves. How much had the sidekick head of the conversation?

“I’ve decided that l’ll tell you what happened,” the sidekick said, then. “If you let them go.”