Ominous Halo

Oh gosh, this is one of my prompt fills that I'll be posting on Tumblr sometime this weekend! This is in my superhero verse (and if you'd like a breakdown of that, please let me know!) and made me super sad, haha.

Here's the prompt from gingerly-writing.tumblr.com :

“You could save the world.”

“I could,” said the villain, “if I wanted to.” Behind them. the city burned.

“But you won’t.” The hero’s voice was hoarse with defeat, blood trickling from their lips. “You won’t.”

The villain’s shrug was silhouetted by the flames. “Convince me.”

--------------------------

Sharon doesn’t have a plan today, no schemes, no heists, no kidnappings, nothing. She’d thought she’d take a walk through the city, let people see her dressed up as Ominous Halo, let them remember that she’s here and she’s not leaving, no matter how many heroes they throw at her, not without reminding them of all she represents.

And, sure, the best way to do that is to actually be the Class B Supervillain the League has ranked her. She could probably rob a bank or maybe deface the capital again, but, honestly? She’s really tired after a long day of being Sharon, working as a dispatcher in the third precinct, and she doesn’t have the energy to trap a kitten in a tree, much less anything else.

It’s good that she doesn’t have a plan, in the end, because the city is already burning by the time she makes her way into downtown. Fire, ruin, and debris are tricky to plan around and it’s really never any fun without an audience. And since the only people she can see are either dead or actively running away, an audience is in short supply.

“What,” she asks aloud, voice echoing through her synthesizer, the dark rings circling above her head vibrating with each syllable, “happened?”

She’d gotten home at 8 am, slept until 6 pm, come out at 7. Between the end of her shift and now, something’s swept through Chicago, painting flames and gouges as far as the eye can see.

There are supposed to be heroes. Chicago isn’t one of those little, podunk towns that only had small-timers and police offers to depend on when evil came knocking. Chicago is huge, with nearly 20 active heroes and who knows how many vigilantes. It’s got it’s own League Chapter, it’s own structure, it’s own emergency systems after the New York breach of 2008.

Her eyes scan the sky through her aviator glasses, the edges fitting along her cheeks to prevent them slipping off in battle. There are no heroes leaping from the skyscrapers, no rescue choppers circling, no tell tale sound of a superhero zooming in to save the day.

Fuck.

Ominous Halo doesn’t give a fuck about the people streaking past her or even those lying very, very still in abandoned cars. This is the cost of superhero battles, of villain battles, and she knows better than to think she can make a difference by stopping every five feet to watch yet another victim cry. Besides, she’s not a hero (anymore) and it’s not her side of the equation that’s supposed to bring hope.

She walks on and on into the heart of the destruction, heart dropping as the gouges in the street get deeper, as the fires get hotter, as the sound of groaning metal fills the air. It seems impossible that anyone could survive this, that a hero could survive and let this happen.

“Looks like someone slept in,” she says and hates the way her metallic voice just sounds like another part of the chaos. She has to talk though, has to keep herself inside the confines of Ominous Halo, has to keep going because there are supposed to be heroes here and she needs to find them.

She’s nearly to the lakefront by the time she spots spandex, green and pink, like flowers. Her stomach twists because she knows this hero and she’s not a healer or impervious or indestructible or whatever.

No, she’s all too human in all the wrong ways especially consider the fucking building laying half on top of her.

Sharon forgets herself for a moment and is next to Sunrise between one breath and the next. There’s blood (so much blood) staining the other woman’s costume, twists of rock laying across her shoulders, dust turning the red of her hair a mottled grey.

The rocks are easy, still strung together with rusted rebar, and it’s Sharon, no super strength, who lifts them up and off the hero.

To her (not) disappointment, Sunrise immediately takes a deep, shuddering breath and rolls over. The sound that slips through her teeth is pure pain, followed by a rattling cough, but that’s fine, that’s great because she’s alive to fix it.

Sunrise’s mask is ripped to shreds, the barest scrape of fabric masking the left side of her face. The other side is covered in blood and ash, highlighting the deep grey of her eyes as she (thankfully) opens them.

“Not like you,” Ominous Halo says, taking a step back, “to lie down on the job.”

Sunrise’s fingers twitch, then her toes, and Ominous can spot a systems check when she sees one. Lights dance around Sunrise’s fingertips, specks of the the bright, sun-like lasers she’s capable of shooting. She sits up too fast judging by the hiss that slips through her teeth, blood seeping out the sides of her mouth.

Ominous is very careful to not start forward, to not help ease the coughing that ensues.

Finally, Sunrise has enough breath to say, “Were you part of this.”

It’s not a question, not really, because Sunrise’s known her long enough to know the answer. Still, the formality stings for all that they’re enemies. Of everyone she’s met, Sharon thought that Sunrise would understand her.

It’s disappointing (still) that that’s not the case.

Regret flashes across Sunrise’s face as the silence stretches. “Ominous, that’s not what--”

“Unfortunately, no one invited me to this little soiree,” Ominous cuts her off. She looks down the burning street. “So, what? All of the Chicago League out there chasing down villains? Not like them to leave one of their own dying in the middle of the street.”

“Leviathan,” Sunrise says shortly, prodding along her abdomen. “And Coriander. They’re out over Lake Michigan at this point. Maybe in Canada.”

Ominous closes her eyes. Fuck. She remembers when team ups used to only be for the smaller villains, the ones who needed money or attention or something that meant so much less than human lives. Those days are gone if a multi-ton water-snake-dragon-thing is teaming up with one of the most powerful magic-users on the planet. That, at least, explains the level of destruction.

Coriander was always fond of golems and fire. Leviathan, of course, needs no explanation.

“You didn’t say you’re not dying,” Ominous says. She can’t stop Leviathan and she especially can’t stop Coriander. She’s got practically no mental defenses against some of his nastier spells, something she’d like not to publicize.

“Part of being a hero,” Sunrise says, “is knowing that lying is wrong.” Blood drips down onto her chest cut out, streaking across previously unblemished skin. Now there are knicks and hurts stretching down far past where her cleavage ends.

Ominous averts her eyes and kind of hates herself for being attracted to Sunrise right now of all times.

“The people need you,” she tells Sunrise. She watches the flames lick up the nearest building. In the distance, sirens finally begin to wail. “Dying here isn’t very heroic of you.”

“Well,” Sunrise says, “we all fail sometimes.” Her hands shake as she presses them to the ground, trying to stay sitting up. “One less hero to stop you now.” She cracks a bloodied smile.

It’s supposed to be a joke, Ominous knows that, but it sends a shudder through her, unlocks all those emotions she’s been keeping at bay. The snarl that rips out of her mouth is distorted by her synthesizer, crackling in the air like lightning. “Fuck this.”

“Fuck what--”

Sunrise breaks off on a gasp as Ominous extends one hand, black energy gathering there. It moves like water, slow and insidious as is flows down to her vulnerable stomach. The hero tries to move away, but her arms collapse on her, sending her more fully onto the ground.

Ominous watches dispassionately as the cuts and bruises and abrasions littering Sunrise’s skin heal before her eyes. The blood doesn’t disappear, nothing like that, but the rattle in Sunrise’s breath eases and her broken finger straightens and she stops guarding her stomach slowly, slowly.

There’s a long moment between them, of silence, of trepidation, of shock, as Ominous’ true power fades between them leaving Sunrise hale, hearty and whole.

“You’re a healer,” Sunrise says. There’s no thin wheeze at the end of her sentence’s now. Just empty surprise and a growing anger in her eyes. “A distance healer? But there aren’t any.”

Ominous shakes her head, the rest of her unmoving. “Just me.”

“There’s a cost,” Sunrise says. She’s guessing, trying to wrap her head around it. “You can’t heal someone from too far, it drains you, you can’t save everyone--”

“No,” Ominous says evenly. She meets Sunrise’s eyes and tells the truth. “No cost. No limit.”

Sunrise stares up at her, breath stilling in her lungs. Then she bursts into motion.

Sunrise jerks up to her feet, shaking like her body doesn’t quite believe it doesn’t hurt anymore. “You could save the world.”

And that’s what Ominous was afraid of. She stands strong, lifting her chin and says, “I could.” She pauses. “If I wanted to.”

Behind her, the city burns.

”Why?” The word is gasped out, Sunrise reeling. “Why don’t you?"

“Because who would save the world after someone like me?” Ominous asks, the question leaving her feeling raw. Maybe it’s seeing Sunrise so close to death, maybe the destruction is getting to her, maybe she’s tired of Sunrise not understanding. “How do people pick themselves up after I take away their pain? Their hurt? What is the world supposed to do after me?”

“That’s bullshit,” Sunrise says. She jabs a finger towards Ominous, naked anger writ across her face. “Thousands die every day from villains and accidents and you--you could wave it all away. Even just one life is worth more than--” She waves a hand, taking in Ominous’ black uniform, her halo, her synthesizer, ‘--than being this.”

“The world needs Ominous more than they need a healer,” Ominous says. She knows the hurt is leeched out of her voice by her synthesizer, but she tries to hide it anyway. She’d thought Sunrise would understand. “I don’t hurt. I don’t kill. But because of me, the people are ready. They know how to heal themselves. You know how to heal yourself so that when something evil comes you know what to do. They know what to do.”

Sunrise’s chest heaves. “You healed me.” The accusation is there, in her words. Why me? Why now?

“Yes,” Ominous says. “Your work isn’t done.”

“Heal the city,” Sunrise says. “You said no limit. Show me. Heal them.”

Ominous slowly shakes her head. 

She’s not prepared for the way Sunrise lunges, grabbing Ominous by the front of her uniform and slinging her to the ground. The hero pins the villain, thighs tight along her hips and snarls into her face. “You can.”

“I have rules,” Ominous says. She doesn’t bring her hands up to wrap around Sunrise’s wrists though her arms shake at the restraint.  She meets Sunrise’s eyes through her glasses, her halo digging painfully into the back of her head, and lets the hero see her sincerity for once. “I don’t heal what heroes and villains leave behind. They don’t learn if I do. So I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Sunrise corrects. Her knuckles are white around the fistfuls of Ominous’ uniform. Her shoulders slump at what she reads in Ominous’ posture. She slides off of Ominous, collapsing next to her as she grasps what Ominous is saying.  “You won’t.”

And Ominous, as she watches the truth settle in, can see it break something in Sunrise. The knowledge that the people she’d seen screaming as buildings fell could be healed, but wouldn’t, that the children she’d failed to protect from sprays of debris could be whole, but wouldn’t, that the citizen she’d sworn to protect could be saved, but wouldn’t.

Please, Sharon whispers inside of her. For her. 

And those are feelings she’d promised herself wouldn’t compromise her beliefs, feelings that stood to destroy everything Ominous had brought about. She can feel her foundations quaking under the despair in Sunrise’s eyes and she wants--

but

Ominous Halo is so much a part of her now that she’s immovable, a monument to the folly of too much hope in finite resources, finite people. She’s not so easily set aside, no matter what Sharon wants. 

She doesn’t know who opens her mouth, Sharon or Ominous, when she says, “Convince me.”

Sunrise jerks, head whipping to where Ominous is sitting up. “What?”

Ominous twists so she’s sitting cross-legged across from Sunrise and swallows heavily behind her synthesizer. “Convince me,” she repeats.

“These people didn’t do anything wrong,” Sunrise says immediately. That’s what Sharon loves about her--she doesn’t waste an opportunity. She doesn’t give up (Ominous had almost made her give up). “You know that. They didn’t ask for Leviathan and Coriander to come in and destroy the city. It’s not their fault that the--” she stutters “--the heroes failed today.”

“Heroes fail,” Ominous says. Her voice is mocking even as her heart drops. Not good enough. “You know that. The people need to know how to recover.”

“They don’t need to recover from asshole supers like us,” Sunrise explodes. She comes up onto her knees, fists shuddering at her sides. “They’re supposed to only deal with high cholesterol and--and car crashes! Dying from an eldritch beast teaches them nothing.”

It’s not enough. 

“Tell me why you want me to save them,” Ominous says. She matches Sunrise, coming up onto her knees, and she doesn’t care if Sunrise can see that she’s begging her. Please. “I’m a villain, I don’t care what the people deserve or don’t! Why do you want me to save them, Sunrise?”

“Because I don’t know if I can keep doing this if you don’t!” Sunrise looks surprised by her words, gutted even. Her hands flex. “Because I’m an A-list hero and there’s nothing else after me. People will die when I fail and I-- sometimes I need the day saved just as much as they do.”

“I can’t be there every time,” Ominous murmurs.

Sunrise swipes at her eyes. “I’m not asking you to. I’m--it’s my job to make sure that things wind up okay. That things get to be okay. And today I can’t. I can’t do it.”

The admission destroys something in the hero, Ominous can see it. Sunrise curls into herself, arms pressing into her stomach like she can still feel the wounds there, open and raw.

Ominous reaches up and undoes her synthesizer. Finally, finally, it’s enough.

“Sunrise.” 

Her voice is too real without the metallic distortion, too soft, too feminine, too vulnerable. The shock of it catches the hero’s attention, has her looking up with wide, wet eyes into the depths of Sharon’s aviators. She reaches out without meaning to, skims her fingers along Sunrise’s smooth cheek.The warmth races up her hand, to her arm, and she pulls back with barely having made contact. It’s too much, the feeling of her skin, and not enough all at the same time. Like touching the sun. 

“Today, you can’t make it okay,” Sharon tells Sunrise, gently, the way she barely remembers how to be. “That’s not your fault.” She looks to the burning city and feels Ominous finally, finally relent. “It’s not your fault.”

Sharon stands, heart crashing in her chest and mouth filled with ash because she’s about to break another promise. She can feel Sunrise’s eyes on her though and it’s worth it.

It’s worth it.

Her power floods out of her, torrents after so long and so little use, waves of black light that washes across the streets. The fire sputters when it touches it (not going out, but not growing at least) and the rubble can’t stop the healing waves when they go over, around and through it.

Under her skin she can feel bones mend, skin knit back together, lungs inhaling, pain free. She can feel the wavering lights of the people growing brighter and brighter until she’s nearly blinded by them all, shining especially for her.

(And if she mourns the lights she was too late for, wasted too much time for, that’s only for her to know.)

When she comes back to herself, it’s to Sunrise’s arms wrapped around her. They’re both on the ground again, Sharon in the V of Sunrise’s legs, the other woman pressed against her back. If Sharon thought touching Sunrise’s cheek was overwhelming, she was wrong. She’s nearly surrounded by the other woman now, her heat and her breath gentle against the back of Sharon’s neck.

“You fell,” Sunrise says, somehow aware that Sharon is back. “I didn’t want you to hit the ground.”

Sharon doesn’t know what to say to the way the hero presses her lips against the nape of her neck, to where the bare skin peeks out between the collar of her suit and the strap of her synthesizer. “There was a lot to heal.”

“You made it okay,” Sunrise says. A shudder runs through her. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Ominous tenses up in stops and starts, the reminder shoving away her desire to say in the circle of the hero’s arms. “They still need heroes, this doesn’t mean I’ll be there every--” She’s cut off by Sunrise’s fingers on her chin, turning her head up and around towards the woman at her back. “What--”

Sunrise kisses her, lips pressing softly against hers before becoming firmer, more insistent. Sharon responds on instinct, opening to the other woman, twisting so that she’s more on her side and able work her trapped arm around Sunrise to brace herself against the ground. She loses herself to the kiss, to the feel of the Sunrise’s body against hers, to the sound of their breathing under the distant sirens and the crackling fire.

When they come up for air, they’re both breathing heavily and there’s a pleasant hum running through Sharon’s veins as she blinks stupidly up at Sunrise. She doesn’t know what just happened, why Sunrise just kissed her, she doesn’t--

The look on Sunrise’s face is very soft. “Thank you, Ominous.” Her eyes flash, lips thinning. “And I’m sorry.”

Sharon blinks again, trying to work through the haze Sunrise’s kiss had left her in. “Sorry?”

Pain races up her back, the rays shooting from Sunrise’s hands burning her through her costume. Sharon shouts, trying to twist away, but Sunrise won’t let her, her arms tightening like steel bands, keeping Sharon from moving until the rays are all around her, binding her arms to her side and her ankles together like fiery restraints.

“I can’t let you go,” Sunrise says and maybe it should matter that there are tears and apology in her voice. “I’m sorry, but you could do so much good. I can’t let you go.”

“No,” Sharon (Ominous? They’re the same--) gasps. “No, I told you why I can’t. Let me go.” She hears the back of her costume rip as she struggles and she screams as the white-hot bands of Sunrise’s power burn her bare back.

“Don’t struggle,” Sunrise says. Something hot drips onto Ominous’ exposed cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Sharon grits her teeth, blinking back her own tears. She knew her feelings would ruin everything. “Last chance. Let me go.”

Sunrise tenses, but doesn’t so much as falter. “I can’t.”

This, Ominous tells Sharon, is what we were afraid of.

It’s Ominous who pushes through the pain, twisting so that she’s facing the hero. It’s Ominous who looks Sunrise in the eyes and bares her teeth, all of her rage and fear there for her to read.

“I told you,” she hisses, her voice so filled with fury that it almost sounds like it’s coming through her synthesizer, “to let go!”

Sunrise’s wounds come back all at once, ripping through her freshly healed skin and pounding against her insides. Blood spurts from her lips, right onto Ominous’ cheek and her power fizzles and dies from one breath to the next.

Ominous rips out of the hero’s arms, stumbling back until she’s well out of arm’s reach. Sunrise, without Ominous holding her, collapses to the ground, something Ominous pretends not to notice.She clicks her synthesizer back over her mouth and pretends her hands aren’t shaking as she lowers them back to her sides. 

She ignores the fiery pain ripping across her back. She’s a healer. She’ll get to it when the pain isn’t serving as a reminder.

“You got one free today, hero,” Ominous says. “There won’t be a next time.”

Sunrise twists onto her side, one hand extended feebly towards the villain. “Please...don’t...”

“Don’t worry,” Ominous says, lip curling as she deliberately misinterprets Sunrise’s plea. She knows the hero wants her to stay. To save the world. “You’ll be feeling right as rain in a few minutes.” She turns to go, boots crunching over the gravel. “After all,” she calls over her shoulder, “without a hero, it just isn’t any fun.”

Sunrise wheezes behind her, trying to form words. Ominous doesn’t stick around to hear them. As soon as she’s out of sight, she snaps her fingers, healing Sunrise in an instant.

Then she puts her head down and runs.