Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ember -

All living beings are hard-wired to recognize the smell of their dead. Whether or not they've smelled it before, from the moment the stench hits their nose, they will know it.

And Tybalt knew it.

From the moment he opened the door, he smelled death. He knew what had happened before he even saw the bodies.

There are many things that no five-year-old should have to see, but the death of one’s parents is at the top of the list. Of course, just because no five-year-old should see it, doesn’t mean that they won’t.

Tybalt still remembered the smell. He would never forget that smell. No matter how much smoke he inhaled, the scent never left his nose.

As time went on, he learned to forget the sounds of the coughing and the crying and the praying. He learned to forget the sight of his parents huddled together surrounded by vomit, shivering, shuddering, before slumping to the floor unmoving.

But he never. Forgot. The smell.

As he lay shivering in the alleys, utterly alone, he never forgot the smell.

As he nearly froze to death as the winter coated the world in ice, he never forgot the smell.

As the final spark inside of him flared up and left him with the warmth he so desperately needed, he never forgot the smell.

He’d heard stories of heroes with their special powers. Those who always came to help those who couldn’t help themselves. Those who weren’t here when he needed them. He would never be like them. He would use his powers to help himself, and only himself. But first, he needed to survive the winter.

The flames burned his palms, but he had no other choice. It was pain or death. And soon, he learned to relish the burns.

Of course, a now-six-year-old wandering the streets tends to draw attention. He didn’t remember quite how it happened, only that one day he showed up at an orphanage and had regretted it ever since.

For a couple of years, he hoped that he’d find a home.

But nobody wanted the boy with the burned palms.

And so he lived his days surrounded by people and yet entirely alone, watching children come and go, waiting for a family that didn’t exist.

The flames were his only comfort.

Someday, he would be powerful, but he had to bide his time. After all, you can’t have an inferno without an ember.

Infinity -

Benvolio would never forget that day. He could live a thousand years, a thousand lifetimes, and his memory would remain crystal clear. The glimpse of a group of strangers through the window. The sounds of the door opening and the muffled shouts. The sobs that echoed through the halls. The gunshots.

He had to remind himself to breathe— not too loudly, though— as he crept out the door and towards the main foyer.

And there they were.

His parents, slumped over in each other's arms, blood pooling beneath them.

He gasped, hand flying to his mouth.

That was his first mistake.

Generally, if you find your house has been invaded and your parents have been murdered, it is not advised to alert the armed and angry intruders to your location.

Benvolio raced back to his room as fast as his legs would carry him, heavy footsteps behind him every step of the way. After what felt like an eternity, he finally flung the door open and then promptly locked it and stepped back.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the invaders pounded on the door, but it didn’t give. Thank God it didn’t give.

“It’s just a little kid, leave it be. It won’t cause us any trouble. Besides, we can always come back for it later,” one of the intruders said, though the sound was muffled by the door.

Benvolio tried desperately to contain his tears as the footsteps retreated. He was trapped. The second he left his room, he would be killed. So all he could do was wait.

And wait.

And wait.

He sat against the far wall, staring at the door for what felt like eternity.

He was merely an observer as the sun rose and set, day after day. He watched as the shadows drifted from right to left across his walls. And he was dying. Time was passing him by and there wasn’t an end in sight. And so, at just 11 years old, Benvolio would die. Trapped and alone, he would die. As time went on without him, he would die.

And just as his strength and will gave out, the shadows stopped moving. The world stopped moving. Time stopped moving.

Benvolio looked up, eyes sunken and stomach empty, and felt something inside of him strengthen. A burst of energy, of power.

He stood and made his way to the door for the first time in eons. He flinched as the lock clicked and the door slowly creaked open, but no footsteps came for him. He crept out to the foyer again, cringing at the memories of the last time he had made this pilgrimage.

As he emerged onto the landing from the shadows, he felt his heart jolt. Where his parents once were was only a large reddish-brown stain. And standing a few feet to the left were the invaders.

Frozen.

They stood utterly motionless. And Benvolio felt something strange bloom in his chest. Something not unlike hope.

He made his way down the stairs, slowly at first, then becoming more courageous. He felt anger boil beneath his skin with every step he took towards those who had invaded his home, those who had killed his family. His fist flew towards the nearest one, but something stopped it from connecting. He tried again. It was like a forcefield, he was stopped just an inch away from them.

If he couldn’t touch them, he would find another way to flush them out.

He got to work quickly, gathering supplies and materials from around the house and taking inspiration from a film he’d seen as a child to ensure that once time resumed, the intruders wouldn’t stay here any longer.

He retreated to the shadows, though he still peeked out at the scene from his hiding place.

With a twist of his wrist, time flowed through him and the world resumed.

As he watched the retreating forms of his parents’ murderers, he decided that no one would ever feel that same fear that he had felt. He would ensure that, even if it took everything he had.

Chapter Text

Flicker

Freedom was the second sweetest thing that Tybalt had tasted. Benvolio was the first. Every touch burned hotter than the flames he kept concealed at every moment. When they were together, Tybalt could almost forget everything that had happened to him.

Almost.

He shook his head, desperate to dislodge the thoughts of his love. If Benvolio could see him now… But that could never happen. It never would. He would keep this part of himself close to his chest, and far from his heart.

A small flame leapt from his palm, the familiar pain of the burns a cruel sort of comfort.

The remains of the mansion lay smoldering at his feet. The inhabitants would finally know how it feels to have nothing. Tybalt couldn’t suppress the grin that spread across his face. Deep down, he knew it was wrong, but God, it felt good to fight back.

“Ember… What have you done…”

“Fuck,” Tybalt muttered. It was Infinity. That bastard always managed to show up at the most inopportune times, ready to freeze time and make everything perfect again. He couldn’t stand it. Something about that voice that was just too deep to be natural made his blood boil, and the way he jumped around as he froze time was like a superpowered mosquito.

“Well, if it isn’t the time hero, too late to stop me. What good are you if you can’t even catch me in time?” Tybalt jeered, releasing more power into the sparks that flickered in his hands.

He could see Infinity’s muscles tense, he’d struck a nerve.

“Bold words from one who takes pleasure from causing pain,” Infinity spat, stepping towards him.

“Is that supposed to upset me? You are so lost in your own demented ideals that you don’t see why the world is better off burned to the ground.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ember. What you’re doing… It isn’t changing anything! It’s only spreading the suffering. Just stop this!”

Tybalt smiled.

He released the flames that had been brewing just under his skin, a raging inferno set towards Infinity. He’d learned long ago not to deny himself the freedom of letting loose. The searing pain of the fire only served to incentivize the onslaught.

When the firestorm finally ceased Infinity was nowhere to be seen. The victory was hollow, however. It was only a matter of time before Infinity would reappear somewhere, ready to take him out. Tybalt let the flames sputter out as he bided his time, examining the fresh burns. The redness covered his hands and climbed his left forearm, blisters just beginning to form. Benvolio would kill him when he returned home, but he couldn’t think about that now.

Suddenly arms wrapped around his neck, his airways suddenly constricting and sending a jolt of terror through Tybalt’s body. Flames jumped up as he desperately clawed at the arms locking him in a chokehold. The arms disappeared, Infinity jumping away through time, but the skin of Tybalt’s neck had been seared in the blaze. He gasped, the pain nearly unbearable. This was not a fight he could win anymore. He scrambled for purchase on the concrete, the ground scorched from the blaze.

The tears that streamed down his face as he ran burned red hot as he desperately tried to ignore the agony.

He just needed to get home, get safe. And not get caught.

Snuff

Benvolio peeled the supersuit from his skin, making a note of his fresh injuries. He’d made it out relatively unscathed, apart from one large burn across his shoulder. He touched it gingerly, immediately regretting it as pain raced through him. He gritted his teeth, making his way to the bathroom and grabbing a damp cloth and some ointment, bandaging it and pulling on a shirt to cover the wound. He needn’t worry Tybalt about this.

Speak of the devil.

Benvolio heard the front door shut as Tybalt presumably returned home. His timing really was uncanny.

“Hey, amore!” Benvolio called, adjusting his collar and ensuring the bandage was fully out of view.

He didn’t respond.

“Amore? Is everything okay?” Benvolio called again, trying to quell his sudden nerves. What if something had happened to Tybalt? What if he knew? He turned his hand, letting the energy flow through him and freezing time. And as he ran to the door faster than he’d ever run, there was Tybalt.

His Tybalt.

Battered and burned and frozen in a mask of agony. His eyes squeezed shut, arms wrapped around himself, posture slumped. The sight brought tears to Benvolio’s eyes.

“Tybalt!” he screamed, letting time resume. He was being careless with his powers, but he couldn’t care about that now. “Amore, what happened?” Tybalt practically collapsed into his arms, tears slipping down his cheeks. He was hurt.

Burned.

Questions could wait. Now Tybalt needed help.

“In my drawer, salve,” Tybalt groaned and Benvolio thanked whatever being was above that he understood. He laid Tybalt on the bed and with another flick of his wrist time stood still around him and frantically searched Tybalt’s bedside drawer for any sign of something to help. He was so lost in making sure he was okay that he didn’t even stop to think about the situation, about all of the strange little coincidences. He took several deep breaths, unfreezing time and desperately applying the salve to Tybalt’s skin. His worst fear had come to fruition: Tybalt was hurt and he hadn’t been there to help.

“Tybalt, hey, amore, you’re gonna be okay, okay? It’s-”

“I know, Benvolio. Burns won’t kill me.”

The sudden relief that washed over Benvolio knocked him to his knees. Tybalt would be okay. Of course he would. Burns wouldn’t kill him. But they could make his life miserable, so he continued to tend to Tybalt’s injuries.

And then there was the elephant in the room.

“So… How… How did this happen?”

Tybalt sighed, wincing at the movement.

“Ember was battling Infinity and… I got caught in the crossfire.”

Lying. Why was Tybalt lying? Benvolio had been there when Ember attacked, he hadn’t seen Tybalt. He was sure of it! So why did Tybalt say he was there?

He shook his head. Tybalt had a good reason. He had to have a good reason.

“You okay, caro?” Tybalt asked and Benvolio almost laughed.

“Am I okay? Of course I’m okay, tesoro. Are you okay?”

“Well, no, but I figured you could tell that already.” That time, Benvoio really laughed. And, God, it felt good to laugh. “But I am already feeling much better… Thank you.”

“Of course, amore.”

Benvolio settled onto the bed next to Tybalt, not protesting when the other man rested his head on his chest, nuzzling close. Tybalt fell asleep quickly, but Benvolio couldn’t help the questions racing through his mind.

Where had he gotten hurt like this? Why had he lied about it? Why did he have burn cream in his bedside drawer? And had he always been this warm?

He tried his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut as his love lay sleeping.

He awoke the next morning to the sound of Tybalt's soft breathing against his chest. He looked him up and down, scanning to see what damage remained after the burns of the night prior. Everything looked much better than it had been, but it still made Benvolio's heart ache.

Tybalt groaned and shifted, the sudden absence of his warmth sent a shiver down Benvolio's spine.

"Morning, tesoro," Benvolio cooed, suppressing a giggle as he took in the sight of Tybalt's bedhead. He looked truly dreadful, a living, breathing zombie. And Benvolio loved him despite it all. "How are your burns?"

"They burn," Tybalt grumbled, ambling towards the bathroom, towel in hand.

"Well, no shit! C'mere, let's get you some more ointment."

"No, I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"You aren't fine, Tybalt. You're hurt. Let me take care of you. Please."

Tybalt sighed.

“Alright.” He took the salve and sat on the edge of the bed. Benvolio could tell that he was in more pain than he was letting on.

Benvolio sat next to him, taking the ointment and gently applying it to the burns, apologizing profusely each time Tybalt winced.

“All done,” Benvolio mumbled, planting a kiss on Tybalt’s forehead.

“Thank you, caro.”

“Of course, amore. Now go take care of that bedhead.”

“Fuck you,” Tybalt grumbled, punching Benvolio’s shoulder playfully.

He didn’t notice the tears that sprung to Benvolio’s eyes.

Chapter Text

Burned
Tears dripped slowly down Tybalt’s face before evaporating and leaving only their tragic footprints. He trembled. He knew what had to be done, but for once, he felt his resolve slipping.

Memories flooded his mind. Memories of days spent starving, freezing, alone. Days spent watching as everyone he knew left him for some family. But what is family if not those who stay with you through the worst of times?

Rage began simmering inside of him. Flames leapt to the surface, jolting him back to reality.

He had to do this.

This was the last bridge to his past.

And it was time for it to burn.

He let the flames grow, engulfing him just like his rage.

“Ember, stop this! These people are innocent!”

Tybalt whipped around, his vision blurring with hot tears. “Clearly you don’t know the meaning of the word! You only dole out justice as you see fit, well what happens when it doesn’t fit with your limited view? What happens when the judge, jury, and executioner are wrong? I have every right to do this. Now leave me to my business before you regret it,” Tybalt snarled, fueled by the burning of his own flesh.

Just as quickly as he appeared, Infinity vanished.

Tybalt turned, returning his focus to the orphanage that would soon be no more.

He was met with a swift punch to his jaw and a flash of blue.

Infinity never knew when to quit.

A scream echoed through the city, though no one took notice. They had grown used to the agony of others. Surely a hero would be there to save the victim. Surely someone would end their suffering.

But no one is ever there to save the villain.

Tybalt allowed himself to lose control, unleashing an inferno upon the hero. He could feel his own flesh grow brittle and charred, but he didn’t care. He had long since been turned to nothing but ash.

The flames sputtered out alongside his soul, after all, a fire can only burn as long as there is fuel.

Infinity reappeared in front of him, though his form was blurred by tears.

“It’s over, Ember,” the hero growled, pushing Tybalt to the ground. “You’ve been defeated.”

With the last ounce of his strength, Tybalt launched a flame to the face of his enemy, catching him off guard. His mask caught fire, smoldering until there was nothing left to conceal the identity of Infinity.

Tybalt froze.

Bridges

The sudden heat followed by the sudden absence of heat was startling, but not nearly as startling as the realization of just why there was a sudden absence of heat.

Ember’s flames had caught his mask.

His identity was revealed.

Ember froze, and Benvolio seized this moment to level the playing field. He fell to the ground, straddling Ember and reaching for his mask.

“No,” Ember breathed, voice filled with an emotion he didn’t seem capable of.

Benvolio didn’t listen, ripping the mask from his face.

Tybalt.

It was Tybalt.

How could it be Tybalt?

How could he do this?

“Tybalt,” he breathed, numbness settling upon his heart.

“Benvolio, please, I can explain! I can—”

Benvolio didn’t let him finish.

With a twist of his wrist, time froze.

And Benvolio cried. It was a pitiful sound. A hiccuping, screaming, gasping thing. He collapsed into Tybalt’s frozen body, cursing the forcefield that prevented him from touching his love just once more.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, sobbing for a life ripped from his fingers too quickly.

He took in the details of Tybalt’s face one last time. It was frozen in a mask of agony, of desperation, an apology that never made it past his lips. Those lips, Benvolio would give anything just to kiss them once more. And his eyes, big and wet and the color of new leaves in the spring. They were so full of fear. Benvolio took in the sight of his hands, burned and scarred and yet still so gentle. How had he not noticed that the hands that had thrown flames at him in battle were the same hands that had held him close for so long?

But it was all over now.

Reality hit him harder than anything he’d ever felt. All of the things that Ember had done… All of the evil... That was Tybalt. The man that he loved had done all of that without so much as an ounce of guilt. He had killed people, he had destroyed their homes, and he had kept it all hidden from him.

How long had lies spilled from his lips as easily as he said “I love you?” What had been real? Was any of it real?

He would never know.

Benvolio stood, burying his emotions deep down where he would never find them again.

And he turned. He left Tybalt in his wake. And he didn’t look back. He knew that if he took one more look at Tybalt lying there, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

And leave he did. He ran faster than he had ever run in his life, faster than that fateful day at Montague manor, faster than his heart had shattered at the sight of Tybalt unmasked. He ran until he was certain that he would never see Tybalt or that city again.

Deep down, he knew that he should have stayed. He was a hero, after all. His job was to defeat the villain.

But he couldn’t bear if anything bad happened to Tybalt. Even after everything that he’d done, he still loved him. And he refused to see Tybalt hurt, even if it meant that he wouldn’t see him at all.

The city would burn, but Benvolio couldn’t care.

And he was alone.