Archive of Our Own ^beta

Theseus hates Protesilaus’ guts. He wants to rip that guy apart with his bare hands, twist every single one of his organs and chuck it out a window and pray it lands on some other supervillain’s head like the good, responsible superhero he is.

But there's this problem, a huge fucking problem at that. All Protesilaus does is mock him, taunt him over his choice of alias because he apparently likes reading Greek mythology in his free time.

Theseus thinks it's stupid, because no matter how much he wants to annihilate the villain, Protesilaus always seems to be a hundred steps ahead of him.

He probably thinks of him like some sort of fucking joke. As if junior heroes are to be tossed around like a game of hot potato. It's ruining his ego, alright? The only thing holding him onto the hope that Protesilaus will actually take him seriously is the fact that he's probably wasting the villain’s time, keeping him from doing..whatever shit villains do for leisure.

Well, Theseus is furious with a burning passion. But when he's just Tommy, he's too exhausted to even pay attention to his surroundings.

So he sits in the coffee shop he's been working at for three years. He awaits for customers, one* customer specifically, because he likes to annoy him.

Tommy waits for Technoblade like how heroes would wait for their day-off. As vital as oxygen.

“What is *up,* big man!” Tommy greets his bestest friend in the world. “I've got you coffee that I definitely didn't spit on.”

“How very kind,” Techno narrows his eyes at the blond, then directs his gaze to the coffee. “But no thanks. I have trust issues, and it's all your fault.”

“Oh come on,” Tommy rolls his eyes. “This is probably the best coffee I've ever brewed. You gotta try it.”

“One sip, and if it seems suspicious, I'm burning this place down,” Techno threatens, and Tommy doesn't even know if he's being serious or not. He takes a sip out of the supposedly safe coffee. “Okay, that's..that's pretty good.”

“I told you! You fucking pessimistic moron,” Tommy huffs.

“Needs a little more sugar,” Techno reaches for the packet of white sugar sitting on the counter.

“Jesus, what the fuck happened to your hand this time?” Tommy’s eyes trace around a huge burn mark on the older's hand. There is no way that could have come from cooking. He knows Techno is good at cooking anyways, or good at cooking baked potatoes, at least.

“Don't mind that,” Techno shakes his head, pulling back.

“And what if I *do* mind that, huh?” Tommy crosses his arms. “Be honest, do you work for the mafia or some shit?”

Techno chuckles loudly. “There is a slight percentage that I-”

“I knew it!” Tommy exclaims, slapping a hand on the counter. “I don't even need insurance if I die, you can just avenge me, right?” he asks. He's willing to hear a ‘yes’ as someone who works at one of the most dangerous fields ever.

“Sure,” Techno shrugs. “Bold of you to assume I'll let you die in the first place.”

“Aww,” Tommy coos.

“That's not an ‘aww’ moment, Tommy,” Techno sighs. “It's basic human decency.”

“No no, it's a very ‘aww’ moment, because if a stranger saw me dying in a ditch, they'd probably watch in disappointment then walk away,” Tommy explains.

“I'm not really a stranger, am I?” Techno counters.

“You have a point, I don't like that you have a point,” Tommy frowns. “But it's okay, because if those mafia guys end up kicking you out and putting you on the electric chair, I won't let you die either.”

“Good to know I have a *child* on my side.”

“Hey! I'm not a child, you fuckwit!”

…

Theseus stands at the edge of a building.

“Well, this is fitting,” Protesilaus jokes.

“I fucking hate you,” Theseus snarls. “You're the bane of my existence.”

“I didn't even do anything to you,” Protesilaus grimaces.

“Exactly. You aren't doing anything to me. You think of me like I'm some joke, don't you? All of you villains do!” Theseus yells.

“Alright then, show me what you got,” Protesilaus smiles. “If that's what you wanted in the first place, then I'll give it to you.”

*Finally.* “You’re going down,” Theseus bellows. And he charges at the villain at full speed, fire already tickling the tips of his fingers.

A fireball emerges out of his palms, it crackles and it illuminates. Theseus lets it go.

Protesilaus watches impatiently as the ball of flames shoots towards him. He simply dodges and watches the helpless fire erupt the machinery behind him. “Is that all you've got?”

“Asshole,” Theseus curses. *Yet this is exactly what he wanted.* It's always been his dream to fight Protesilaus one on one. It's a stupid dream, he doesn't know why he carries it.

Theseus wields his axe, and in turn, Protesilaus unsheathes his sword.

Metal against metal, a clashing sound itches both of their ears.

Theseus glares at the villain, but his nemesis looks nothing other than bored, an unwavering boredom plaguing his gaze.

*This isn't enough. He wants Protesilaus to be scared of him.*

Theseus kicks the villain square in the chest. He doesn't budge, it's not like he expected him to anyways.

Protesilaus isn't even attacking him, he's just playing defensive. He feels like a complete idiot for even getting himself into this fight. It's as if it was commenced out of mercy. Like a kid given a chance by his parents to spend another ten minutes at the playground.

Theseus attacks with his axe once more. He aims for the shoulder, the arm Protesilaus uses his sword with.

And he stops mid-air.

“..Where did you get that burn mark?”

“You caused that. You didn't know?” Protesilaus questions.

“I- fuck. Fuck. Sorry,” Theseus slowly backs away. “I can't- I can't continue this fight. Sorry. Fuck. What am I even sorry for?”

He runs. Theseus runs away from all his thoughts and from Protesilaus and from the fact that-

“You don't have to be sorry for anything, Tommy,” the villain calls.

Theseus snaps his head back, and looks at him with wide eyes.

“Do I still get to avenge you if you die?”

Tommy’s face falls.

Fuck.