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Wilbur’s eyes flicked across the scene laid before him in utter horror. An office, perfectly normal and boring. Only each worker was tied to their chair with handcuffs that beeped periodically, with piles of TNT on each of their desks in front of them. He didn’t dare touch it. He wasn’t that much of a fool.
Swallowing a gag, and trying to avoid eye contact with any of the gagged workers, he took a shaky step forward toward the cracked door at the back of the open plan room.
Sighing, he checked his communicator, and felt his heart sink yet further when he saw the text on the screen.
Reported Ace activity in district three. Possible hostages. Immediate action required.
Great. Just great. That was absolutely wonderful. Groaning, Wilbur turned and started flying towards the given address.
It couldn’t be that bad, right?
It had been that bad. One particular lady’s eyes followed him, brimming with tears as she fought to make a noise around the gag. Wilbur wanted to help her, so badly, but he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t know what other traps Ace had set for him.
Anger pulsed in his temple. It wasn’t fair for the villain to do this to him. No one else’s nemesis went this far out of their way to torture their hero. Just his luck, he supposed.
Another few trembling steps and he was out of sight of those staring, begging eyes. Ace you sick fuck. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the back office door, already sliding his communicator into his pocket. He knew it wouldn’t work near the villain.
“Ah! Just the songbird I was hoping to see. Do you have an appointment?” Ace spun around in the chair, grabbing onto the desk to stop himself. The villain’s grin was bordering on manic as he fiddled with a detonator. Wilbur scowled, sitting on the other side of the desk.
“You called me. What do you want, Ace?”
“A game, songbird. Just a game.”
Judging by Ace’s smirk, it was absolutely not going to be just a game, but it also wasn’t like Wilbur had much of a choice. Sighing, he waved his hands in a gesture for the shrike to continue.
“Sure. Why not? You’ve already dragged me all the way out here and made me look at your sick performance art shit.” He was beginning to realise the villain considered these hostage situations an art form. In some twisted way, he respected it. His nemesis put a lot of effort into this particular section of his craft, and it was hard not to admire it.
“Glad you like it. So, the rules.” Ace produced a stopwatch and another remote control from one of his pockets, laying them both on the desk between them. “Eighteen hostages. Eighteen civilians I imagine you would quite like to see leave here alive.”
“That would be preferable.” Against his will, he could feel himself smiling, ever so slightly. Stupid. He was on the job, and the stakes were far higher than a casual game. “So what do I have to do?”
“I’m getting there, songbird.” Irritation flashed in Ace’s eyes, and Wilbur swallowed hard. Not a game. Then his nemesis relaxed, smiling fondly as his eyes trailed across the magpie, making him slightly uncomfortable. “Each question you ask, one of them dies. Simple as that. Ah, don’t look at me like that songbird- you might be grateful for it in a minute.”
“Oh, excellent. Excited to hear what will make me want to kill civilians.” His deadpan tone made Ace snort with laughter, before carrying on.
“Oh, you’re going to love this then. Every five minutes you let me take care of you, one of them goes free. That’s it. How does that sound, songbird?”
He was just doing the mental maths, and looked up in shock once he got there.
“That’s an hour and a quarter. You can’t keep me here for that long.”
“Hour and a half, songbird, and you’re free to cut it down.” Ace restated the terms breezily, like it was no big deal at all. “Or leave, heaven knows I’m not going to stop you. But- fair warning- they will all die if you do.”
Ace laughed to himself as Wilbur sat, wide eyed, staring into space. Fuck. Yet another rather unpleasant thought occurred to him, and he suddenly needed to check something very badly.
“When you say you want to take care of me, what the fuck does that mean?” Maybe he was irritated. If he was, it was pretty justified.
“Wilbur, your wings have been driving me insane since we first met. If you don’t let me preen them now I will just tie you up and do it anyway.” Ace sighed like Wilbur was putting some great weight on his shoulders, then flicked his eyes up, smirking. “Plus, it’ll be fun watching you try to fight your instincts over me.”
…Wilbur hated this shrike. A lot. Annoyingly, his inner magpie didn’t. The bird was quite happy with Ace’s terms, and was chirping ever-louder in his ears for him to agree. Finally, he gave in, groaning and shooting a hate filled glare at his nemesis.
“Fine. I’ll play. But I have boundaries, I want you to know.”
“I’m sure. I’d like you to know I don’t particularly care for them.” Ace stood up, circling round the desk to lean on it just in front of Wilbur. “Oh, and songbird?”
“Yes?” He was getting more than a little impatient.
“That was a question, a moment ago.”
Grinning, the shrike pressed a button on the detonator, and the floor shook with the force of the explosion as one of the desks blew up the room over. Wilbur shrieked in surprise, wings flaring behind him as his eyes widened in terror.
“Fuck! Ace you- you didn’t have to do that. I said yes!” The magpie glared pointedly at the villain, who just raised an eyebrow, amusement gleaming in his visible eye.
“Oh, I wasn’t doing it to make a point, amor. I told you the rules. Sit on the floor.”
Wilbur twitched, both at the nickname and the command, but grudgingly obeyed, settling cross legged on the vinyl flooring. He knew his nemesis. The shrike didn’t exactly go for doing things for no reason.
“Ace… do you really have to- to preen my wings?” He was struggling to keep the whine out of his voice, trying to conceal the way even the thought made his heart pound too fast.
The shrike tutted as he closed the door, then came and sat behind Wilbur, not touching his wings, but close enough for it to be a genuine threat.
“Songbird, you really should learn… that was another question.” Another explosion vibrated through his bones, and Wilbur had to grit his teeth, trying not to think about whoever he’d just killed. He shouldn’t blame himself. This was Ace’s fault. His finger on the trigger, his rules. “And yes, or at least I’d very much like to. Why shouldn’t I?”
Trying not to choke on the concern in Ace’s voice, Wilbur composed himself enough to attempt an answer, very deliberately not thinking about how close the villain was to his wings.
“I- it’s not- no one touches my wings. Except my brother. I- I get twitchy about it.”
“What about me? Do I not count?” There was a playful tease in Ace’s voice, and Wilbur let out a gentle sigh of relief that he still wasn’t touching him. But every second the shrike didn’t the anticipation got worse.
“I- I hadn’t- I mean, you do, but…”
“Oh, I get it. I’m a special case.” There was a softness to Ace’s voice that made Wilbur think that maybe, just maybe, the villain was actually listening to him. “So you’re ok with me touching your wings when we’re fighting, yes? Not trying to attack them, just touching.”
“Y- yes. I… suppose.” His felt heat rush to his cheeks, and was glad the shrike couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t really thought about it, but Ace was right. It had never really bothered him.
“So how is this different? I’m the same person, and I’m still not trying to hurt you. So, what’s bothering you, songbird?”
Ace did touch him, not his wings, but stroking his hair, which was basically an off switch for any sane thought. The magpie felt a small chirp escape him as he leaned into the shrike’s warmth.
“I- I’m not sure. I… I guess it’s ok. Just- be careful. Please.”
For a moment, there was no reaction from his nemesis, just more affectionate ruffling of the heros hair as Ace considered it.
“Ok then. You can tell me if it’s too much, you know that?”
“Mhm.” He kept his mouth firmly closed, ignoring his magpie’s ridiculous happiness at being noticed. That was a stupid thing to be happy about (but it happened so rarely)
As it turns out, he was absolutely right to be worried, because as soon as Ace brushed against the base of his wings he chirped in a panic, flinching away and half falling onto the floor as he tried to just breathe.
“Shit, ok. Wilbur, can you hear me? Sorry songbird, I’ll try to be gentle.”
Shaking slightly, Wilbur sat up again, nodding sharply at nothing in particular in a vague attempt to convince himself that he was ok. For once, he couldn’t blame Ace at all, although it did sound oddly like the villain was blaming himself.
“O- ok. Sorry, I- I’m trying.”
“I’m not asking you to try, songbird.” Ace chuckled slightly, seeming to find something about Wilbur’s nervousness endearing. “It’s my game I’m making you play. So if you’re ok, I’m going to start the timer.”
There was a beep, then a few seconds pause, then a feather-light touch, barely brushing against his wings as Ace stroked outwards, along the arc of his wing. Wilbur took a deep breath, letting his magpie out, just a little, and letting himself enjoy it. As long as he stayed calm, he was doing the right thing. No one had to die.
Ace’s confidence increased as Wilbur stayed quiet, smoothing down his feathers in wide motions. Eventually, the shrike felt bold enough for start picking through his feathers, and the hero let out a deep breath in an effort to keep calm. Each feather set in place gave his magpie a little more confidence, until he felt a small purr rising in his throat, which he forced down immediately. It was pretty hard to start a conversation without questions, but he had a go anyway.
“I… wonder why… why you would bother to do this.” He fought to keep his voice level, to see if he could pretend he wasn’t asking anything.
“Oh, clever songbird.” Ace laughed, carefree and slightly impressed. “Still a question, by the way. But I’ll let you have it. I actually thought of this while I was trying to work out how to make you take care of yourself. I figured if you thought it was for the greater good or whatever the fuck they drill into you in hero school you’d be ok with it. And look at that. I was right.”
Humming in self satisfaction, Ace carried on sifting through his feathers, and Wilbur tried not to take his explanation too personally.
“So you- shit, scratch that.” It was hard, not letting anything he said even drift into the vicinity of a question. “You… set all of this up… just to preen my wings. Shit, Ace, I didn’t think you cared.” He laughed at the mock surprise in his voice, trailing off when the shrike just hummed again, thoughtfully.
“I can’t exactly fight you if you stress molt from not preening for too long. And I do enjoy taking care of you, songbird. Especially when you don’t want to enjoy it.” Ace sighed fondly, now more or less just brushing down his feathers, making sure they were all in the right place. “Oh- it’s been fifteen minutes, by the way. Well done.”
Wilbur chirped in surprise, partially just at the reminder there was a reason to him being here in the first place. It hadn’t felt like fifteen minutes. He supposed the quicker time passed the better.
“If you’re worried about me being stressed, I’d suggest not calling me out at all hours for these games, Ace.”
In fairness, this wasn’t as awful of timing as the shrike had been known for recently. Two pm was a perfectly reasonable time for a hostage situation. Still the highlight was the break in at four in the goddamn morning that had turned out to be the villain looking for a nighttime walk and chat. He got it too, and Wilbur hadn’t quite been able to convince himself he hadn’t enjoyed it, just a little.
“Now that would take all the fun out of it. I want you healthy, songbird, I never said I needed you to be relaxed. I like keeping you on your toes.” Without warning, Wilbur felt warmth breath on his cheek, and Ace bit lightly at the side of his neck, making him squeak and blush a horrific shade of crimson. “Calm down, amor, I could do worse.”
Nope. This wasn’t happening. Not to him, not here, not now. Just no.
“Fuck off.” It didn’t help that he laughed. This was so fucked. He was sitting in an office with his nemesis, letting said villain preen his wings while about fifteen people were still very much in danger of being blown to pieces if he stepped out of line.
“Now I’m half tempted not to let them go after all…” Ace sounded thoughtfully tempted, and Wilbur stiffened in alarm, making the shrike chuckle. “Joking. Look,”
There were three beeps, one after the other, and Wilbur heard the scraping of chairs in the room over, then the hurried sound of footsteps rushing away. He wondered if Ace had considered the consequences of releasing the hostages as they went, then rolled his eyes to himself. Of course he had. There was probably another bomb waiting in be lift down to ground level, or something equally sadistic.
“No way you’re actually letting them go.” It was so difficult, avoiding anything that might let his need for answers show, keeping his tone light and airy, like he wasn’t acknowledging the situation.
“Why shouldn’t I, songbird? Trust me, none of them are going to go running to the heros. After all, you’re here. And I want to show you I’m a villain of my word.” There was a pause, and Ace laughed under his breath, lilting and insane. “Actually, don’t hold me to that. But in this case, yes.”
Laughing, Wilbur shook his wings a little, and was surprised how much he could feel the effects of his feathers actually doing… what they were supposed to do.
“Oh- that… that actually feels really good.” A breathless laugh escaped him, and he half wanted to go and fly immediately, but reigned himself in. Calm down songbird, it’s not that big of a deal. But it was his magpie reminded him, preening was a big deal.
“Told you.” Ace sounded far too pleased with himself, and Wilbur could hear him moving away slightly, as if just to reassure him the villain was done touching his wings.
Tommy did a good job of course, but he couldn’t deny his brother didn’t get a chance to nearly as often as avians should, and Wilbur point blank refused anyone else. Except Ace. The shrike was rapidly becoming the exception to all of his rules.
After a few seconds, he realised he’d fallen silent, and his nemesis still wasn’t saying anything to him. Just letting him have his moment. This was ridiculous. Whatever it was between the two of them was so plainly ridiculous it was hard to take any of it seriously, and why should he, because Ace made sure whatever game they played still appealed to his morals, so he couldn’t complain he was neglecting his duties.
It just… it was confusing. He was saving the city, yes, but he was saving it from danger his presence had prompted. One thing he was certain of was that the shrike wouldn’t be making this much trouble without a nemesis to torment. And he was fairly sure it was specifically him that was making the villain so bold.
“Ace… what do you do in your free time?”
There was a sharp, curious intake of breath behind him, and he heard a shocked chuckle from the shrike.
“That was absolutely a question, songbird.”
“I know. Answer it.”
There was something almost bewildered in Ace’s laugh as he came round to sit in front of Wilbur, toying with the detonator again. Before the villain replied, he made sure the magpie was watching as he pressed the button that sent shockwaves rushing through the floor. But the hero kept his smile carefully still, and the shrike’s grin grew.
“Oh… I’m impressed. Very well then. Since you ask, I’m quite fond of gambling. Or other games, I don’t need luck.” The shrike scoffed derisively, and Wilbur felt his heart tighten a little. “And… I like plants. But it- it’s mostly the gambling.”
Ace shrugged, lost inside his head for a moment before he snapped back to reality, eyebrows raised to ask if Wilbur had the answers he’d wanted. The hero wasn’t quite sure. It wasn’t like it was surprising in the slightest- except for the plants thing- but… there was something nice about hearing it in the shrike’s voice.
“Huh. Nice. I guess you’re not exactly lacking money.” There was no judgement in his voice. Currently, his major hobby was having taunting conversations with his nemesis, so he couldn’t really argue.
“Have you ever seen me robbing a bank, pretty boy?” Ace looked mortally offended that Wilbur would even consider him doing something so common while the magpie was frozen at the nickname. “I get my income from other places. Villainy is more of a… hobby.”
“Good to know driving me insane is a fun pastime to you.” He was relaxed, sue him. Ace clearly wasn’t about to do anything drastic (aside from killing more people) and he should get to enjoy his job every so often.
The villain smirked, eyes flicking up and down the magpie, something almost hungry in his gaze. Then he spoke suddenly, a nearly cathartic rush of words that somehow formed a coherent sentence.
“I- I’ll let half of them go if you let me give you something.”
Ace blushed, and glanced away from Wilbur immediately, but the hero was intrigued.
“What- say I agreed. You… wouldn’t make me do anything too bad.” With Ace’s proposal, any inclination he might have felt towards killing a few of the hostages off had vanished, and he was back to being annoyingly careful with every word.
“You know I don’t have to answer that, songbird.” Ace was teasing, having recovered slightly from surprising himself. “But no. I wouldn’t.”
There was no prompting, no threats. Just the question. If he wanted to spare six peoples lives, in return for some unknown cost. Really, it wasn’t a question. But it was pretty obvious Ace wanted him to accept badly, and that made him uneasy.
“Then yes. What is- yes.” He kept a careful handle on his breathing as the shrike grinned wickedly, finding something in his tailcoat pocket.
“Hand, please, songbird”
Holding out his arm, he held his breath, trying not to think about all the ways this could be a very bad decision. But Ace just clipped something golden around his wrist in a few seconds, and chirped happily. His magpie cawed in irritation at the sparkle, itching at something in the back of his mind, but he kept quiet, lowering his arm and staring in anticipation at the villain.
“Ace. You said…”
“Yes, yes, patience, songbird.” Holding up the remote again, Ace made sure Wilbur was watching as it beeped six times. “Happy?”
“Fine. So what’s this… oh.”
Raising his wrist to his eye level, he trailed off as he got a good look at the bracelet. It was made of a twisting golden chain, and looked delicate, even if he couldn’t really see a way to take it off. Set in the chain were tiny diamonds, spades, clubs and hearts, the perfect ring only broken by a gleaming ruby, shaped into a diamond and shining crimson against his pale skin. The colour of blood.
Wilbur laughed nervously, in no more than an effort to suppress his magpie’s joyous chirping, the itchiness of glitter forgotten. gift flock kind mate. He swallowed hard. Ace did not need to hear about those thoughts.
“Do you like it?” There was something so pure and excited in the shrike’s voice, an eagerness that Wilbur couldn’t find any words for aside from loving.
“…yes. Ace, I’m not sure how to take it off.”
“Why do you want to?”
“It’s pretty… you.” Glancing up, he froze at the disappointment in his nemesis’s eyes, and a stab of guilt hit him. “Sorry, I- I do like it. But I’m not sure I can wear it around my family.”
“I guess you’re going to have to, songbird.” Ace’s voice was hard and unforgiving, an unspoken or else tacked on the end.
Well shit. He’d fucked that one up really, and he couldn’t blame anyone but himself. He was suddenly rather glad he’d made Ace release the hostages a minute ago.
“Twenty five minutes.” Ace’s voice hadn’t changed, making the hero jerk his head up in alarm as he heard two beeps before he realised what he meant. “You’re doing well, songbird.”
He really did feel bad. It was pretty clear the shrike wasn’t just playing around. Wilbur had upset him.
“Ace, I’m sorry-“
“Don’t. My game. My fault. Good to know where we stand, Magpie.”
The name was a harsh blow to his heart, and he felt the regret lingering in his throat sour and turn to anger.
“Don’t call me that. You- you don’t call me that.” (It was half begging, a child desperate not to be forgotten again) “I’m sorry, but you’re asking me to chose between you and my flock, and you should know I choose- I- I will-“
He faltered. His magpie, even wounded and betrayed as it was, wouldn’t quite let him say that. The anger simmered, and retreated, leaving a strange kind of emptiness in its wake.
His magpie wouldn’t let him lie. He was lying when he said he’d choose his family over Ace. His magpie wanted him to choose Ace.
In the end, it was a long few minutes before either of them spoke. Wilbur held out for a long while, but eventually the need to make things right overwhelmed him.
“…I’m sorry. Ace, I- I’d choose you. I think. Fuck, I- I would.” And he was cut off again, this time by another rising tide of emotions. How had he ended up here, saying he valued his nemesis more than his family? He wanted to cry, but no tears came, just a hollow shock.
“You’re lying, songbird. Don’t say that to me. I don’t- I can’t hear it. Please. Say it again when you’re sure.”
“I will.” It was a promise. One day, he knew with absolute certainty, he would be sure. And maybe that was the start of it all, really. Or at least when he realised there was something at all. Maybe. But in the grand scheme of things, it was probably inconsequential. Just another pebble bouncing down the mountain before the rockslide.
A brutal decision clicked into place, and Wilbur stood up, misery shining in his eyes.
“Wilbur, are you leaving?” Despite his own despondency, Ace still sounded surprised.
“Mhm. Go on. Have your moment.”
Crossing his arms, he waited, leaning on the desk. But Ace didn’t move. His mouth twisted into a frown, and the shrike’s wings twitched in irritation.
“No. You’re not meant to just- leave. That- that wasn’t-“
“I’m going to. Kill them or don’t, my beloved nemesis. I think we’re done here.” If it had been any other time, he would have relished the pure confusion on the villain’s face, creasing his brow. But this wasn’t any sort of victory. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
It was a deliberate question, and that seemed to break Ace. The shrike stood up suddenly, crossing his arms and glaring.
“Fine. You can leave. But you have three more questions.”
Wilbur blinked in surprise for a second, then smiled, and laughed softly.
“Oh… you and your games.” It was clear the shrike was absolutely serious, and he sighed, thinking about what questions he had left to ask. “Ok. How long have you had this?”
Holding up his wrist, he waited silently for an answer.
“A week. Maybe a few days.” Ace clicked the detonator twice, rattling the flooring again. “Next?”
Wilbur was falling into the rhythm of the fast pace, and let a little more of his smile show.
“Why did you choose me as your nemesis?”
“I’m sure I’ve told you, songbird.”
That was all he was getting. That was fine. A little life had returned to Ace’s eyes as he set off another of the bombs. One left. Composing himself, Wilbur took a risk.
“Do you really want me to keep it on?”
Ace hesitated, something predatory and angry clouding his visible eye momentarily before he sighed and shook his head.
“It’s ok. I won’t force you. Just… remember you’re mine, ok?”
It was so genuine, so vulnerable that it caught the hero off guard. He’d heard Ace say it before but… it sounded different (it sounded like him asking not to be forgotten). Without hesitation, he nodded, offering a reassuring smile.
“Not sure I could.”
Ace looked him over one last time, worry creasing his brow, then nodded in acceptance. One final explosion shook the floor, and Wilbur let out a long sigh as the aftershocks died down.
“I’ll be seeing you, songbird.”
“Fabulous. Don’t fancy giving me a break?”
“No.”There was a moment of tense silence, then Ace grinned, and jerked his head towards the door. “Leave, pretty boy, before I change my mind about letting you go.”
On his way past, Wilbur deliberately let his hand run lightly down the inside of the shrike’s wing, making the villain jump and laugh breathlessly.
“Payback, Ace. Thanks again.”
He saluted as he walked out, just knowing Ace was looking over his wings. For once, he didn’t mind.
The ruins of the office floor barely registered as he made his way to one of the many shattered windows, gingerly finding a spot without too many sharpened glass shards poking from the frame like grasping branches of century old trees.
As he flew through the skies, he smiled even wider at the sensation of his wings working perfectly with him, exactly as they should, smooth and sleek as he glided through the air.
He didn’t take the bracelet off until he was a block out from the tower.