#beniceiscared

[omniscientreaderr]

hi! need input lol i found out about the villain wrangler au and got so inspired :) haven't actually written in a hot 5 years but apparently i can bang out 1.1k words for a story but not my homework :" i actually wanted to write more but didn't know if it be offensive in any way. so yes input thank you - be kind djfkdkke I'm scared but I'm really open to feedback :)) ok dankes to whoever actually sees this! have a great day

- (this is after the VW gets saved, and the one that saved him is meeting to give the girl a pep talk) -

The villain shuffles into the hospital, meeting with the eyes of the VW as he glances up from his clipboard.

VW: “hey! Thanks for saving me the other day :) appreciate it! You ready to meet the girl?”

B: “yeah…as ready as I’ll ever be, I guess? What am i suppose to say? I don’t do fancy motivational speeches like that captain, I don’t know how i’m supposed to encourage and help her…she’s going to be insecure, she’s going to be wallowing in a pit of uncertainty over whether she’s ever going to be…accepted. How am i supposed to help a girl with that?!”

The VW looks over at him with a gentle smile, steering B into a nearby seat, setting his clipboard on the nurse’s tray next to them.

“Hey. Hey. The fact that you know how she will feel, the fact that you worry about whether you can help her, is all that matters. You don’t need fancy words designed to psychologically rouse the masses - i personally have always found them pretentious - you just need to tell her what you’ve always wished to hear. Speak from the heart. Words really don’t come easy, but the rawest, most truthful and touching ones are those that come from the place of absolute vulnerability. Words from the mind, touch the mind. But words from your heart? They touch the heart.” He laughs, taking a pause. “Honestly, I could go on a whole spiel about why is it the speeches of villain appeal to the masses, and how they always gain so much support. You’ve got this.”

B simply nods, giving the VW a small smile, before resuming chewing on his bottom lip. Standing outside the girl’s door, he lifts his hand to knock on the door, before dropping it again. He pauses, leaning backwards against the adjacent wall. “What am I doing? Me? A fuckin pyromaniac helping a little girl? Heck, I can do fighting that obnoxious righteous moral spewing jackass in tightey-whiteys. I can do getting dropped from 10 stories. I could even do pickin up ladies with just my words. But this? No. No way in hell am i walking in there, just to disappoint that kid.”

He walks away, ready to tell the VW that sorry to disappoint, but he couldn’t do this.

The door to the room swings open, a nurse bustling out with her cart. He presses himself against the corner, hiding from the view of the nurse. He glances over, catching sight of a tiny, fragile girl in that all-too-big white sterile room, sitting up on her bed with a sad smile on her face. The door closes all too soon, but that sparks something inside him. He walks towards her door and knocks, as if guided by some impulse, a duty towards this little child.

“Come in! Did you forget something, R? I promise you that if it’s your stethoscope it’s gone!”

He takes a step in, still shrouded in the darkness that the entryway is covered in.

“OH! Hello! Are you lost? Do you need help getting somewhere?”

She beams at him, turning her body slightly to see him, and he sees it. He’s struck by the image of a child scarred across half her body, snaking past her uncovered arms and legs…and across her face, where a pure, warm and joyful smile sits.

He brushes his long fringe back and finds himself rolling up his long sleeves, almost unconsciously. For the first time, in possibly his whole life, he was willing to let someone see him. See him, with his scars on display, not hidden behind a mask, or his hair, or the long sleeves he always wore. He wanted someone to see him. He…wanted to let this girl know she was not alone, that she was not broken.

He stepped forward into the light, quirking his lips into an awkward, unsure smile.

“Hi, Emilia, I’m B, and a little birdie told me you wanted to meet me, so here I am.”

The child shoots upright, nearly clambering out of bed to rush to him.

(Ok she becomes quieter because the dialogue is meant to be poignant. The atmosphere is quiet. It’s two people reflecting, basking in the presence of the only person who understands their pain. There’s no need for pretences, to push the traits that make you likeable.)

Alarmed, he takes large strides to her bedside, catching her before she topples over, having gotten tangled in her blankets. He lifts her back up, before scratching his head, taking a seat next to her bed.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to touch you without your permission.”

The child says nothing, simply nodding her head excitedly, grinning at him. She reaches for his arm, and he places it in her open hand. It’s so tiny. She’s so small. She’s adorable.

She traces his scars, and he waits for the wave of insecurity to hit him. For the voice that urges him to pull back his sleeve and not let anyone see his wounds. But today, it stays quiet. She points to her own healing wounds from the grafting surgery, saying, “Same.”

Now that he’s near her, he’s hit by the full brightness of her smile, the enthusiasm at seeing him, the anticipation of what he would do or say, and something pulls at his heartstrings, and loosens the string of tension and worry that has been restricting his tongue.

“Sorry. I’m not very good at this, haha.”

He pauses. The child offers another encouraging smile, holding his calloused hands with both of her hands.

“I guess…I wanted to let you know that these scars don’t matter. They don’t. They don’t take away the warmth of your smile, the fact that you brighten up the day of everyone around you. They don’t…they don’t…take away your worth. Or any of your beauty. Fu- AHahah don’t listen to anyone who tells you this. It’s a long road, but you’re not alone.”

“Not alone”, the kid repeats. “Not alone”. He notices tears in her eyes, tears that he doesn’t realise are reflected in his own eyes, and he is struck by the comfort that he finds in them. He isn’t alone.

He wills his tears back, giving her a brighter grin. “Did you know that in some cultures, scars are actually seen as signs of bravery? The more you had, the more brave you were among the tribes. They were warriors, feared, esteemed, respected for their wounds. You must be a mighty fine warrior. I bow in your presence, my lady.”

Their peals of laughter reverberates through the ward, ringing in the ears of concerned nurses, hiding watery smiles, in the ears of the kid’s anxious parents, sobbing into each other. She’s laughing. She’s happy. Not those calculated smiles and calculated giggles that hide a lot of pain and insecurity, full of the desire to be…desirable, but one of pure joy. One, of a child rediscovering their youth.

(Unfin.)