Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“This is complete—” You clenched your hands into fists, your nails digging at your palms. Your nails were a bit overgrown, not having the opportunity to cut them since your capture. You’ve been biting at them though, the ends of your nails having sharp edges that lightly pierced your skin. “—bullshit!” You spat, gritting your teeth.

You flung your head back, giving a short yell to the sky. It wasn’t coherent, maybe a few curses then and there as you shouted. While you did so, you used your legs to begin kicking at the dirt out of deep frustration, flailing your arms around as if you were having a temper tantrum—which you totally were. Any sore loser would be in your situation.

Your hands jumped to the tight metal collar that the assholes from the G.D.A had forcibly attached to you, the feel of the cold metal only worsening your temper.

It was blinking a green hue, and as you dug your grubby little fingers between the small gap of your neck and the collar with the intention of ripping it apart—the green light changed to a ruby red, sending painful shockwaves of electricity through your body. It hurt like hell, and it was obvious that the G.D.A had tailored this electroshock collar specifically to you.

You’ve been shocked before—many hurtful things have happened to you. You’ve nearly experienced all forms of physical human suffering through heroes that tried to stop you. Sometimes even other bad guys such as yourself that tried to take you down because of their own personal agenda.

That’s why you know that secret—stupid—law enforcement agency had whipped this thing up just for you. It was ten times worse than regular electricity, like it was made with the use of something foreign.

Ugh. You felt like a dog strapped with an e-collar for punishment—you hated this form of entrapment. It came close to being thrown into that stupid underground cell with nothing to do but just rot while the guards looking at you with indifference.

After sprouting out more curses and grunts, you quieted down while huffing. You put your arms to your side, finally looking around you to take in the area you were dropped in by a couple of agents covered head and toe in gear. They dropped you off like you were an Amazon package, not sparing a second glance before leaving you be noticed by God-knows-what.

You raised a brow as you did a full 360, taking in the complete destruction that surrounded you. This was supposed to be somewhere in Chicago—you weren’t sure where with how there wasn’t any identifiable landmarks. Everything, literally everything, was wrecked and banged up in some way.

Blood splatter, broken structures, and pieces of human remains that were torn apart were scattered in every nook and cranny you could think of. It was brutal and barbaric. Many of the bodies were unidentifiable of who they were with how their faces were mutilated—complete fucking overkill.

An angry vein popped on your face, your eyes narrowing in annoyance. This... ruthless scene only served to fuel your bad mood. Those bastards had to drop me off at the worse spot in this joint, huh? You scoffed, clearly unimpressed.

Your ears perked up as you could hear civilians screaming from a distance, a mixture of fear and pleading. You clicked your tongue, rolling your eyes as you turned away from the noise. Whoever done this could’ve at least done a solid job and killed everything before you arrived—that was their goal, right?

You sighed, your thoughts drifting off to something else. Particularly the recollection of what had made you end up here in the first place plaguing your mind.

You had been captured and locked away after another confrontation with Invincible, and you couldn’t believe you had been such an idiot to have been caught off guard. It was just so... ugh! Just so stupid, idiotic, and confusing!

That dull-witted superhero, Invincible, got into your head and messed with you. It was crazy—it drove you up the fucking walls when you thought back to the moment in that small dingy cell of yours.

A phantom bitter taste flooded your mouth, and you couldn’t help but bite your tongue.

Even with his yellow mask covering half of his face and its lens shielding his eyes—his face was so expressive, and you could see it clearly. It makes your skin crawl whenever you have to stare at it whenever he comes to you like this.

“There’s no way you’ve always been like... this.” He said—God, why did every time he’d confront you, he used that tone? That soft, aggravating tone was like he’s talking to a scared animal rather than a criminal who wanted nothing more for him to go away.

His expression made your skin crawl, his voice dug under your skin like an annoying tick, and the way he tried to reason with you made you want to rip your own flesh off.

“The fuck you know about that, pretty boy?” You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest as you sent a hard glare his way.

He only continued to stare at you with that same look, his shoulders relaxed and not in a rush in ending whatever this is. “You know—how many times are you going to give me these pep talks? There is never this much talking during a fight—probably ‘cause it’s a goddamn fight, not a book club.”

Invincible sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “However long it takes. You don’t hurt people and that’s good enough for me to think you can be redeemed.”

“Tell that to the people I sent to the hospital. I don’t think they’ll find me ‘redeemable’ material.”

“Okay, fine, I misspoke—you don’t kill people. Even then, you’re... different from the other villains. Your different from... everyone else.” He replied, taking a step towards you, pushing past the debris you caused.

The way he said that last part was breathy, like he was referring to something else. “I mean, it’s not too late to turn a new leaf. Change your ways.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. You’ve done it so much already between this exchange that you’re afraid they might get permanently stuck.

“What makes you so confident to say that, huh? Did you waltz in and take a psychology course and suddenly,” you gestured to your head as if it blew up, “boom! You know exactly what I’m thinking? What I’m capable of? Who I am?” You dryly snorted, an unamused smile gracing the corner of your lips.

“Maybe.” He couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head. He found you effortlessly funny—entertaining. Whatever you do practically light him up like a Christmas tree in December. “We’ve fought long enough for me to know you pull your punches, drag out the fight just a few minutes more...”

“Oh really? Good job, detective. Thinking of changing professions now?” You sarcastically remarked.

Invincible hesitated, there was something at the edge of his tongue that he wanted to say but it was far too delicate to disclose. Or maybe he didn’t have the right words to articulate them well.

He cleared his throat, changing his mind. “... and I think you do that because you like the company I give you.” He continued, pushing past your sarcastic quip. “And I like giving it to you.”

There was a moment of silence.

Your breath hitches, a small—horrified squeal itching at the back of your throat. You took a step back, your face distorting into different emotions. What on Earth was he saying? “What—What the hell are you getting at?” You snarled, biting down the stutter that threatened to slip up your words. Though it seemed like he heard it as clear as day.

You clicked your tongue. “I’m going to kill you for this sappy shit your saying. You’re dumber than I thought if you reached to that conclusion.”

Invincible’s lips quirked into a smug grin, tilting his head to the right just slightly. “I don’t think you will—I also think we can be pretty good friends.”

... Friends? Is he crazy? Did some parasite go up his nose and into his brain that’s making him say these ridiculous things? Invincible is annoying, sure, but not downright delusional.

While you were lost in thoughts—wondering why the superhero was sprouting out less-than-regular nonsense—his shoulders stiffened as his eyes flickered behind you.

There was a G.D.A agent that had snuck up behind you, the invisibility they had on thanks to their high-tech gear disappearing. They had a gun in hand—and not the regular ones. It looked different, built with another purpose and functionality in mind.

“Wait, fuck, look out!” He screamed.

You immediately became tense, zipping around to see what was behind you. However, it was too late, the gun set off and a painful electric bolt stabbed into you.

The pain was irregular from just normal electricity; the pain was excruciating. Like one million needles were suddenly thrusted deep inside you at your very core. Your body immediately went limp, your knees first to fall to the ground as you were being subjected to absolute torture.

It hurt. It fucking hurt.

Invincible was shouting in the background—yelling about something. It was hard to focus with, you know, the pain.

Your body spasmed on the ground. You wanted to scream with how much it hurt, but only a squeezing choking sound escaped your throat.

“—what the hell! I had this all under control, why did you do that!” Invincible’s words seeped into your ear, and a quick ‘woosh!’ sound came faster than lightning to you.

The hero crouched next to you, quick to cradle your head in his lap as he watched your body involuntarily contract—each of your limbs shaking uncontrollably. It was difficult to watch.  

He held your face upright on his lap, looking down at you with panic and worry. He was in clear distress, feeling his hands tremble as he cupped your face oh so delicately.

This—This little shit! Why was he acting like he didn’t plan for this, account for this? It made sense now, saying anything to catch you off guard using fake notions for friendship while some goon came up from behind. You should’ve known—should’ve fucking known.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck! You’re going to be okay, I’m—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He apologized, sounding so apologetic as he continued to hold you.

You wanted to push him away, so you weren’t forced to look up at him and feel him. He held you so dearly and fearfully, and you didn’t like that. Not one bit.

His eyes shifted to the agent that had shot you, standing there silently. He glared daggers, anger swallowing him. “How do I make this stop! Tell me how to make it stop hurting them! Tell me!” He demanded.

Your body was quick to turn into a state of exhaustion, the pain being quick to overwhelm you. Black dots appeared in your vision, multiplying rapidly until everything just became a void as Invincible’s shouting faded into the distance.

The last thing you felt was your head being carefully set on the ground, a gust of wind flying past you. Then you heard the sound of someone choking, being strangled by something—Invincible still shouting.

You grimaced at the recollection. You couldn’t believe you easily got distracted by the—ugh—friendship talk. You should’ve known that he was just saying all that shit to throw you off, but with that hero it was always confusing! Everything he did threw you off!

Every other super would immediately get straight to business, throwing punches or whatever special ability they had when they came on scene and seeing firsthand at the absolute destruction you caused.

Sure, some of them stopped to say something cheesy and comical to make fun of you. Rex Splode was an example of this, his grating character throwing some bullshit joke. But even then, he and everyone else put the safety of civilians above ‘talking it out.’

Yet, with Invincible, it was the opposite. He seemed to be more concerned about you than the wreckage and terror you spread.

You would’ve brushed it off if he treated you and civilians equally—many superheroes had this high morality to their character, wanting to be a ‘bigger person’ so you were used to that—but that wasn’t the case for him.

Destroying downtown Chicago like it was a fun game of Godzilla loose on the town? He’d just sigh and shake his head, calling out to you as if he had just caught you in an embarrassing act.

Throwing a civilian in the air at full speed to slow him down because he had to catch them otherwise they’d die? Oh, Invincible will just catch the guy and go, “Come on!” in a stupidly playful way as if you had gone a little bit too far with playing around.

“Weirdo.” You shivered, his weird behavior never failing to make you feel wrong.

The next time you see Invincible, you will, for sure, kill him. Or erm, the Invincible of this dimension?

You had been dragged out of your cell and been briefed about some evil alternate Invincibles wreaking havoc all over the world, and they needed every available resource they got out there to fend off the evil variants.

And apparently you were included as an ‘available resource.’ Great.

Well, you supposed you could practice the best way to kill your Invincible with the knock offs. Even though you’re forced to do it, there’s no harm in seeing the good in the bad.

You jumped in the air, using the ground as a surface to leap off of. You were high in the air, peering down below.

Squinting, you scanned the area.

The destruction stretched for miles. Blaring cars and screams filled the air. You saw some injured civilians using each other as support to try and run to safety.

You averted your gaze to not look at the innocent people below—all those government assholes told you to do is fight off variants, not save lives. That’s their mission, not yours.

“NO! Please! AARRGHH!” You heard a blood curling scream screech up ahead, and your ears perked curiously. You decided to make your way towards it, jumping off destroyed buildings like a frog leaping off lily pads.

When you were close enough, you landed a few feet away.

You looked up ahead, seeing a tall figure standing before a freshly dead body. The skull was crushed, bits and pieces of brain spilled out from the cracks. You tilted your head, observing—assuming they were what they are from an educational guess—a variant.

He had no mask, his face on full display along with his mohawk haircut. His suit was torn on his shoulder, dust debris sticking to the spandex of his suit. He had a large shit eating grin on his face, visible smile lines accompanying it. He seemed to be having fun.

You were surprised. Is that what Invincible actually looks under the mask? Huh, I guess he is actually a pretty boy. You remarked in your head.

You put a hand on your hip as you continue to watch this Invincible variant. He began cackling to himself as he turned his head, his back facing you as he was choosing where to go next.

A smile creeped on your lips, your eyes dilating like a hunter watching its prey being unaware of what was behind them.

Without a second of hesitation, you leapt off the roof of the building you were on as you hurled towards Mohawk Invincible. You raised your fist, landing a solid hit on the upper part of his back between his shoulder blades—sending him flying to a brick wall.

“Score!” You whistled, his legs up in the air as his head was shoved into a patch of dirt. It reminded you of a groundhog burying its face in the ground, and it made you snort.

You slowly approached the downed variant. “Those G.D.A motherfuckers kept me in their basement for way too long, my body is all tense. Thank God I’m out, but fucking sucks I got a shock collar on me.” You hummed, talking to yourself.

You used the tip of your foot to leap from the floor—sending yourself flying to the variant with your leg ready.

Mohawk grumbled under his breath in a daze, “What—”

A harsh kick dug in his side, sending him flying once more. Though this time, he caught himself, jamming his hands into the ground to stop the momentum of your kick. He whipped his head up, swatting at the dust of dirt to see his assailant.

You used the cloud of dirt to your advantage, a tight fist meeting his jaw. It sent his head backwards, but he had dug his heel in to catch himself from being sent flying. He whirled his head back, extending his arms to tackle the person who had just sucker punched him.

You grunted, falling backwards. The mohawk variant didn’t waste time climbing on top of you, putting his whole-body weight to trap you.

You felt a hand grasp at your neck, a large amount of pressure squeezing at your throat following swiftly afterwards.

Mohawk Invincible raised his free hand ready to beat the shit out of whoever ambushed him, his eyes darting to your face.

His eyes were wide and angry, but an undertone of excitement in his emotions. That faded quickly, however, as the dust settled to reveal who was underneath him. His clenched fist softened, surprise and complete shock itched in the features of his face.

Mohawk blinked, taking in the familiar face that was struggling against him.

He waited for just a moment to see if your face would change into someone else’s, testing to see if his vision was playing tricks on him. Or maybe he finally went crazy with how long you two have been apart.

But no, nothing changed. You looked the exact same—minus a few details. Like how your hair was disheveled and the eyes that used to stare at him so lovingly held nothing but sharpy pointed daggers.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was staring right at this dimension’s version of you, and it made his stomach squeeze in delight. Mohawk was in disbelief and in awe.

“Oh, shit... (Y/N)?” He called out your name, a name that he hadn’t spoken out loud for the longest time. It felt strange to use it, but it felt so right too.

Your eyebrows furrowed, confused. Your chest felt heavy as the tone he used was the exact same one your Invincible used for you constantly.

“That’s me.” You hissed, watching how his gaze bore into you. Not with malice, hatred, or anger—just... nostalgia. His brown eyes blinked to the collar on your neck that was underneath his hand.

With him distracted, you took the opportunity to land a hit on Mohawk—his weight lifting as he didn’t brace for it.

You rolled the two of you over, and you connected your hands to his throat, pushing down.

“How do you know that name?” You questioned. He shouldn’t know your real name.

"Fu—Fuck—(Y/N)," He choked out, staring up at you with something you couldn’t recognize. It was something warm yet wretched, and you squeezed down harder as you stared into them.

Your Invincible always wore goggles so you never had to see his eyes. You faintly wondered if he had this look every time he looked at you. You scowled, that thought made you uncomfortable.

The look wasn’t hatred nor fear, not even anger. It was... some form of desperation. Not desperate to live, but desperate for something else. But that wasn’t right. It was more like... desperate for someone else.

"It's—It's you. Shit, it's—it's really you." He heaved out, his hands jumping to reach your arms. You expected him to dig his nails in your skin or try to snap a bone, but instead, he was holding them. There was no effort to tear your arms away.

Hell, he was actually using his thumb to caress you.

Your eyes squinted, not understanding what was happening but you didn’t release your hold—and he didn’t seem to mind as he sat his neck up, bringing it closer to the chokehold you had on him. He looked up at you with half lidded eyes, enjoyment in his eyes.

Your hands were—damn, they were still perfect. He could feel rough calluses which were certainly new, but it added to the experience rather than diminishing it. The familiar weight of your body on top of him threw him into euphoria and—oh, fuuckkk, he even got a whiff of your scent.

He wasn’t expecting to find this dimension’s version of you so soon. He held hope that this dimension of you was still alive, planning to go looking for you after he wrecked some shit to satisfy his end of the deal with Angstrom, but instead you found him.

He also wasn’t expecting you to jump at him like this—with incredible strength too. Your punches actually hurt a little bit, Mohawk still feeling the sting on his jaw.

Are you a super in this dimension? That would certainly make sense on why you jumped at him—but your suit looked like shit. It looked like a prison uniform rather than a functional superhero suit—

Actually. God. Who cares? Right now, he doesn’t care about whatever backstory you had. He could learn about it later because currently this little act was pretty fucking hot.

He bit his bottom lip, his hands sliding down from your arms to your waist. Jesus, that was the same too—he squeezed the familiar curve that he used to grab so much. He loved it—and he still does.

You were currently sitting on his stomach, but if you just moved your sweet ass a little lower, you’d be at a much more perfect spot. You can continue choking him however much you wanted, but if he could just nudge you a few inches down— [1]

You gasped, pulling your hands away as you recoiled backwards—jumping away from the man. The touch of his grabby hands lingered on your waist, and you shivered as you made a disgusted face.

“What kind of perverted freak are you?” You asked in disbelief, taking a defensive stance. So, your Invincible likes to scold your ear off and—what? This one likes to be touchy?

The Mohawk variant merely coughed, a laugh escaping him as he stood up from the ground. He brushed a hand over his Adam’s apple, his throat feeling empty now.

“What’s wrong, babe? Figured your Mark liked being choked with how quick and comfortable you were to do it to me.” He chuckled, his arms outstretched. "Can't blame a guy for enjoying the sample. You know—I'm kind of itching for another one, round 2?"

You shot him a quizzical stare, looking at him like he was crazy. “... Who the hell is Mark?”

“Your boyfriend, duh.”

Now you looked at him like he was an insane asylum patient.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Mohawk Mark rolls his eyes, snorting. “He doesn’t bag you?—Ah, whatever. Your friend or something. Looks like me but less attractive.” He brought a finger to rub the inside of his ear.

You only continued to stare at him like he was nuts. “I don’t know anyone with that name.” You reiterated, irritated at this odd interaction. The fact that he called you babe was not lost on you, and you wanted to punt his face in with the audacity he had to call you that.

That seemed to genuinely surprise him, his eyes wide.

Every single Mark variant had some sort of relationship with you. Friendship, partners, mentorship—anything up there. “You’re a super, right? You gotta know Invincible at least.” He asked, leaning forward trying to gauge what the hell this dimension’s Mark was up to for you not to know his civilian identity.

You scoffed. “Me? Superhero? Don’t fucking play with me. I’m not fighting you out of a heroic duty. I didn’t have much of a choice here.” You corrected his assumption, tugging at the collar that was beeping on your neck. "But Invincible? Yeah, I know him. He's the reason I got thrown into G.D.A's little dungeon and have this thing on me."

Not a superhero. Huh.

That left him a little dumbfounded. Actually, your whole attitude and demeanor left him dumbfounded. Not that he didn’t like it—he really did—but it was just different.

You were soft in his dimension, physically and personality wise. It was the same for the other dimensions according to some of the variants that shared stories about you on the ship. He didn’t contribute, only half listening. This certainly was not what he was expecting—but he liked the surprise.

“You’re not a good guy? Wow, that’s new to me. What’d you do to get thrown in there?”

You groaned, your shoulders sagging. You were frankly done hearing the nonsense that this Invincible variant was spitting at you. It makes you confused and annoyed. Does each version of this guy make it a point to talk so damn much each fight?

Not entertaining his question, you lunged forward.

He blocked your attacks, dodging your fists and leg jabs. “So, you’re bad? That’s pretty cool, I’m getting pretty excited.” He joked, though the way he said it indicated he meant it.

My God, he’s going to continue to talk?

“You’re going to definitely like me then. I’m pretty naughty, especially when it comes to fucking.” He cooed, winking at you flirtatiously. [2]

“Shut the fuck up.”

“It’s fine, we don’t have to get to the ultra-good stuff right now—we can continue this foreplay. Fun!”

“You’re more annoying than my Invincible.” You took a jump backwards, Mohawk leaping at you with a wild grin. You steadied yourself, preparing to hold your ground before a blur of black and blue intercepted.

You whipped your head to see what happened—and eyes widened as you saw that another variant was here. They wore the same black and blue palette that the Mohawk wore, but their face was fully covered by a black mask.

“Ya dick!” Mohawk screeched, pushing off the newly appeared variant. "I'm in the middle of something here, go somewhere else!"

The fully masked Invincible only slapped the other’s face to the ground as a response, standing up hurriedly to take a good look at you.

He had heard the commotion when passing through, and your voice had made his ears perk up.

It had been so, so long since he heard your voice. It’s been so long since he heard you speak—breathe. His body started moving before his mind could process that you were alive in this dimension, his instincts overriding his brain.

He breathed out your name, feeling his whole body go light as he took a hesitant step towards you. It really was you; his ears didn’t play tricks on him—not this time. “Your alive here. Alive and healthy...” He scanned your figure, and you tensed. “... and strong. That’s good.”

You clicked your tongue. "What am I supposed to be? Dead?"

“Yeah. In my dimension you died. You were sick.” He answered solemnly, his voice breaking as he took more steps to reach you. You responded by taking the same amount of steps back, keeping the distance.

This one was different than the other one—he was sad but still held that same desperation. Instead of it being shown through his eyes, it was through his quivering voice. "I've missed you; I've missed mom. Both of you meant so much to me—"

“—What is with this sentimental bullshit?” You cut him off, talking more so to yourself than him. You felt like you were intruding in some sort of sad romcom scene that wasn’t supposed to be directed at you, but it was.

This was really killing your appetite to kill Invincible.

You couldn’t help but ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "Did we know each other?" You apparently knew the pervert and now this sad guy too.

He flinched, looking physically hurt from the fact that you didn’t know how deep your two’s relationship was. Words compiled into one big ugly lump in his throat. He wanted to say everything and anything—and so much in between. “In my dimension we knew a lot of each other. We were—”

“—Well, I’m not whatever lame ass version you think I am.” You cut off, snapping, not wanting to learn more. You shouldn’t have asked anyway, that was your fault.

Your eyes darted to him and the mohawk one. You maybe had a shot in killing him, but two of them? It’s best to sneak off. It’ll be even worse if more Invincibles showed up.

Worse in the fighting aspect and worse in the... whatever you call this strange thing happening between you and these variants. Some alternate version of you apparently had relations with these mentally unwell men, and you didn’t want to find out how many more Invincibles had the googly eyes for you.

"That's okay! As soon as we find mom, you can get to know me, and I can get to know more of you. Then we can go home.”

“Hey! I found them first, I get dibs, dipshit!" Mohawk didn’t waste a second to spring into action, his face contorting at the fact the masked asshole wanted to be the one to take you home. He was taking you home, not a second-rate version of him.

He jabbed his finger into the masked Invincible’s chest, “Go cry to your mommy instead of moping around here! I was here first, fair and square.”

“Don’t talk about them as if they’re an object!” He shouted.

"Waaa! Waaa! That's what you sound like!"

You sweat dropped at the scene. They were acting like children fighting over a toy, though it worked out great in your favor as it gave you an opening to escape from this situation.

Turning on your heel, you were ready to make a break for it.

“You’re both immature.” A cold voice pointed out, and you froze. You snapped your attention up, spotting two Invincibles hovering in the air.

When did they get here? How long had they been there?

One adorned the signature colors of Omni-Man on the design of an Invincible suit; a red cape attached to his shoulders being a new addition to the look.

The other one wore a white uniform, with no resemblance to the Invincible suit beside how it was snug on his body. A cloth draped over his lower area, stopping just above the knee.

The Omni-Invincible had his arms crossed, his strong biceps popping out. He had a head tilt aimed at you. [3]

“Let me take a wild guess,” You sarcastically began, “you know ‘me’ too?”

They both answered at the same time with a clear resounding ‘yes.’

The red and white one looked over to the two variants that were squabbling with each other, but the white one kept his eyes on you, unblinking, making sure to see each move you made.

A move of a limb, a twitch of a finger—he wanted to see it all.

Your nerves screaming for you to get moving. I’m getting out of here. You jumped in the air, bolting through the sky, wanting to go literally anywhere that was far away from them.

.

.

.

You could hear something whirling a few feet behind you, nearing you hot and fast.

Amazing. Guess you weren't going to escape so easily.

Chapter Text

Cecil approached the big screens that hung on the wall, his hands on the hips of his suit as he narrowed his eyes, his blue eyes trying to analyze what was happening. “Donald,” he called out, “what is this? What’s going on now?” He asked, his voice stern but obviously confused.

The dots on the map indicated that multiple Invincible variants were gathered at one place, and there was a green dot in the center of it—and that green dot was you. You were smacked right in the middle of it, and from the consistent blinking, it was telling them you were alive.

He had given orders to throw you out there in hopes to help the war effort. Cecil knew you wouldn’t help willingly even with Earth on the line, so he strapped you with a technological advanced electric dog collar with a tracker embedded into it.

With evil variants of Invincible causing havoc and destruction all over the world, every resource that Cecil had was getting stretched thin. He needed more manpower to pour into this war, and he wasn’t against using an enhanced criminal to achieve that.

Cecil had seen multiple times you holding your own against their Invincible, hell, even had the upper hand a couple of times with how banged up you left the kid. It was an annoyance with how you had Mark be out of commission from time to time—thankfully his healing factors from his Viltrumite heritage really sped up the recovery process.

Whatever reason why you chose to injure him than kill him wasn’t something Cecil was going to do gymnastics to understand. He was thankful you didn’t, but he didn’t necessarily care to dig up the reason why. There were more pressing matters at the time.

Donald, however, theorized. He had a running speculation that you enjoyed breaking things and destroying anything you got your hands on rather than killing. There have been times where you did, but they were so rare it’s been assumed to be more of a ‘last resort’ thing for you when cornered.

Still, Cecil didn’t care. You were still another destructive piece of shit that had their own agenda that caused him to have a headache at the end of the day. The headache he gets from you just isn’t as big as other incidents—like the deaths of the Guardians of the Globe, the betrayal of Nolan, Viltrumites, and every fucking thing that threatened the safety of Earth.

But, having collected data about you, he was confident that you could at least remove one or two of the evil variants of Invincible when push came to shove. The ‘shove’ being a shock collar and threat of never seeing daylight.

Cecil wasn’t that horrible though; he had something in mind for you when all of this was over.

Shorten your time in the G.D.A slammer and then after that’s up—you get to be moved to somewhere better. Still contained, but just overall better. He calculated the chances of you being alive to experience that though, and they were pretty low. You’d probably be dead before the war was over.

And he assumed he was right at the first glance of the screen. You were surrounded by four variants, and while you were one tough cookie, you should be dead. There was one of you and four of them, it was a no brainer to see who would lose. But the blinking green dot showed you were still alive.

“It... seems like they’re not fighting them, sir. They've been more of the aggressor so far, actually.” Donald observed, having been watching the screen this entire time. He pushed his glasses up. “She was fighting this one,” he pointed at the red dot on the screen, “then this one showed up—then these two.” His finger drifted to the other circles.

“Pull up the cameras around there.” Cecil ordered, and Donald’s fingers were quick on the keyboard to pull up the surveillance around the area.

A window appeared on the screen, and the lens were cracked so that view wasn’t the best. However, it was clear to see that you were surprisingly not beaten up and battered as he had expected.

The two men watched you leap into the air, bolting through the sky. An alternate Mark dressed in a white Viltrumite uniform followed suit, the two of you become a blur in the distance.

A Mark variant dressed in a similar fashion as Omni-Man turned to speak to the others. Whatever he was saying made the others more upset than they already were. The one with the black mask shaking his head in disagreement while the one with the mohawk rolled his eyes.

“Is there no audio on this thing?"

"Nope."

“Great.” Cecil popped his cracked lips; his grainy voice filled with sarcasm. He silently observed the three variants—and it was plainly obvious that they did not like each other. Their body language was tense, ready to pounce if one of them moved the wrong way. Yet, they continued their conversation.

Whatever they were talking about kept them grounded enough to talk even with their clear distaste for each other.

He squinted at the screen. The men would occasionally glance over at the direction you had sped off to.

Donald spoke up. "I think they're discussing (Y/N)."

"Who?"

Donald repeated your name, adding your last name as well while looking over at Cecil. “It’s Vandal’s real name.” he added. Vandal had become your nickname since you never proclaimed a villain identity for yourself. [1]

From the heaps of destruction and damage you caused to property before your capture, it was a fitting name. Albeit a little lazy and too on the nose.

The old man let out a tired sigh, turning around to step away. His mind was turning gears at this new piece of information and development. Strangely enough, his mind drifted to Mark who was currently still at Eve’s bedside.

He paused for a moment as something formulated in his mind.

What he was thinking of was an... admittedly strange idea, but his gut was scratching at him to try it out. It couldn’t hurt to give it a shot, and Cecil would do whatever it takes to put an end to all of this as quickly as possible.

Mark Grayson always held this odd, favoritism-like air towards you. It was hard not to notice with how he practically jumped at the chance to be the first one to respond to a scene that had remotely anything to do with you. Even went as far as butting head with other superheroes that tried to respond first.

The weird behavior was subtle to anyone who wasn’t paying attention, but Cecil noticed. He didn’t comment on it, but he definitely made mental notes on a few things.

1. Whatever harm that he would inflict on you would conveniently be placed where it wouldn’t hurt too badly, as well as heal up much faster.
2. You always somehow end up escaping from his grasp after each fight. It was excusable in the beginning with how he was wrapping his head around being a superhero—but with his progression and improvement, you still somehow ran off.
3. He seemed happier and chipper after fighting you, like instead of the loss of the fight hindering his mood—it uplifted He would walk, talk, and act like he had just won one million bucks.
4. When, on the occasion someone had to fight you instead of him because of various reasons, Mark’s mood was sullied. He would be miserable upon learning this fact, sulking like someone had taken his designated spot in class.
5. There were times when someone—that someone being Rex—would make fun of you. He had turned you into the butt of a joke during training and missions with Invincible, and Mark, without fail, came to your defense. Always too quick and too protective.

And much more.

The biggest thing on the iceberg, though, was when you were finally captured thanks to the intervention of the G.D.A. The agent had done their job, and Mark threw quite the fit.

“I had it all under control!” He yelled, speeding straight to man he knew had the main role of your capture. He glared at Cecil with so much anger and rage, possessiveness seeing into the words he spat.

Cecil was momentarily taken aback with how worked up Mark was over your capture. “You guys didn’t have to step in! Especially—Especially like that!” 

Cecil sighed impatiently. “Talking to them, throwing a couple of punches here and there, and letting them escape each time is not you having it ‘under control,’ Mark. He rebutted. “They needed to be caught and contained, and you were doing a lousy job at that.”

"I was gonna-"

He cut in, not letting Mark get a word in. It was clear that his words weren’t getting through the boy, so he continued. “If I had let this ridiculous method of yours play out, they would’ve continued to destroy more property. That means more tax dollars are being poured into rebuilding the constant messes they leave behind, and more important projects being underfunded.”

Cecil continued his lecture, stern and logic backing up his words. “That money is better off spent on better things, not Little ‘ol Vandalism. With how things been going lately, we need each dollar financing something useful.” [2]

What he said made perfect sense—but the logic and common sense only seemed to add fuel to Mark’s insatiable anger. Mark exploded into an emotionally charged rant that was incoherent and didn’t make sense at all, reaching for straws to defend himself.

Cecil paused before releasing an exhausted sigh. He flickered his gaze away from Mark and to a nearby wall. He was at a loss on why the young Viltrumite was still worked up over this.

He needed to calm him down. Having Mark upset would get in the way of calling him for help and he needed his cooperation to get things done, deal with issues, and protect this planet. Cecil flickered back to Mark.

“Okay, okay—I get it.” Cecil interrupted, raising his hand to stop Mark from his rant. “Kid, they’ll be in jail whether or not you like it. They’ll be locked up—but fed, clothed, and away from being a menace.” He halted before continuing, taking in how Mark seemed calmer on the fact you would be fed and clothed rather than your destructive habits being put to a stop.

“You can... even visit.” He said lightly, treading carefully.

“... I can?”

He was a little bit too happy to hear that, his anger completely evaporated.

“Sure. Not something that usually happens but—after we deal with all the big stuff happening out there first, I’ll authorize how many visits you want.”

Cecil turned to face Donald, “I’m going to pay a visit to Mark. I’m sure he’d love to hear what’s going on out there—especially with his favorite vandalizer.” Donald stared, not understanding what telling Mark about this would achieve.

Without elaborating, he teleported with a flash of blue.

You took another look behind you again, the wind rushing past you—howling in your ear as you met the intense stare of the evil variant in white. His hair moved wildly against the wind, his eyes hard.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer!” You shouted. He was unresponsive to your words, his eyes unblinking even though the wind must’ve been drying out his eyes. You rolled your eyes, but his silent demeanor caused a burst of goosebumps on your skin.

Even though you would love to continue being in the air for longer, if you did that it was evident that he would catch up to you. With each small glance, he was inching closer and closer—and there a number of things that would go against your favor if this white Invincible got ahold of you in the air.

You looked up ahead, scanning what was in front of you. There was a large building that was abandoned, surprisingly not demolished.

The path you are on currently would make you slam your head against a solid wall. Shifting to the right, you brought your arms to your head as you braced for impact.

The glass window immediately shattered as you rammed through it, different sizes of glass shards falling. You dodged the walls of the office floor, breaking through windows and passing by cubicles.

You broke out of the other side of the building, sunlight hitting your back as you pushed yourself to float above the building. Not a minute later, the building vibrated widely as the sound of walls breaking sounded in the air.

You let out an amused huff. He continued the original flight path you were on and busted through the walls.

The white variant broke through the final wall, leaving a gaping hole on the side of the building. He looked right and left, searching for where you had ran off to.

"Up here!" You sang out, diving down with your hands raised and joined together to make a ball. You brought it down, sending him flying downwards.

The Invincible's reflex was incredible, his arms quickly rising to protect his head before being slammed to the ground.

The harsh impact made a big crater on the ground, with him in the middle. The abandoned cars near the crash site began blaring like crazy, the headlights flashing.

"You're strong." He flatly commented, his eyes returning to looking at you while the dust settled. His unblinking eyes were really creepy—like that of a doll. His face was smooth and untouched too, just like that of a meticulously crafted doll.

Mohawk had laugh and smile lines that were prominent and bold, however, with this Invincible he didn’t have any—not even a wrinkle. It was like he didn’t use expressions—or even knew what they were.

His arms vaguely tingled at your attack. He hummed, somewhat impressed. A crack of a smile appeared, but you had to squint to really see it. "You were never strong in my dimension."

“Does that burst your bubble, Whitey?” You fake whined, copying the lean of his head. "Disappointed? I didn’t come as advertised?”

“I’m not disappointed.” He shook his head. “How could I be disappointed at you? You were perfect. Perfect for me, perfect for Viltrum. You're still perfect, no matter the differences across dimensions." He replied, hovering to close the distance between you two.

There was a deep-rooted longing in his eyes. The same desperation.

You gritted your teeth. You did not like where this was going at all. You hated it. In fact, the way he spoke to you as if he were the version he knew personally rubbed you the wrong way.

It seemed to be a running trend among the Invincibles so far, and it was already becoming insufferable.

“I’ve missed you, my life partner.” He breathily began, “The spot I carved out for you remains empty since the day I lost you.” His eyes morphed into one of a battered dog without its owner. “You miss me too.”

Fantastic, this one likes to run his mouth during battle too.

"Is that a question or a command?" You frowned. "I'm not them. Do you hear yourself?"

"You are them."

"I'm not.”

“You are.” He stubbornly insisted.

“No! I’m not! I'm going to put that through that thick skull of yours." You dashed towards him, your hand grabbing a hold of the top of his head as you slammed it down—the back of his head hitting the cracked concrete of the crater.

You dug your nails inside his scalp, lifting it and smashing it back down repeatedly. The hole deepening as you continued.

Viltrumite Mark allowed this to happen, his head being slammed against the pavement over and over again. Your fingernails were prickly from being bit at as it dug inside his scalp

There was a dulling pain at the back of his head, but he didn’t care to listen. The only thing he could focus on was how incredibly long it has been since the last time he felt your touch. How long ago has it been since you committed suicide? How many long, grievous nights did he go without you?

It has been so long that he had lost count. Actually, he was unsure if he was counting in the first place. Probably not—because then it put in perspective how long it’s been since your death.

The light, throbbing pain didn’t mean anything to him with the sensation of your hand holding his scalp. It brought him back to those blissful times when he would come back from dealing with the responsibilities of the Viltrum Empire with you welcoming him with open arms.

Oh, how he loved laying his head on your stomach while you massaged his head—running your delicate fingers through his hair as you asked all sorts of questions.

Usually about what he did, Viltrum, and what was happening outside the walls of the home you two shared. Mark didn’t like to think about the outside world when he was inside the haven of the bedroom, but indulging in your curiosity was always cute. It made you happy, and how could he deny giving simple joy to his partner?

You were also eager, albeit more than he liked, to learn any updates about Earth. Even if it was something minor, you always liked hearing about the planet you once lived on. Sometimes you'd ask if you could ‘finally go out’ and be somewhere else on Viltrum beside the house, even hinting the idea of going to go visit Earth—to at least see it—but Mark always shot it down.

He guessed he understood in some capacity why you would ask repeatedly. It was natural for any species to think about home and long to go back to it. Though, that doesn't mean Mark didn't find it ridiculous—you shouldn't want to go back to Earth. Even for a visit.

Viltrum is your home now and a much better suited place for you because he was here. This place was where you belonged because this was where you two could be together.

Mark would've granted permission for you to walk around Viltrum alone, but when you had first arrived at this planet—you had such antsy feet. You would run off, trying to escape from the planet.

It was always a hassle to bring you back. You could've gotten into danger and if he hadn't been alerted each time you ran off and arrived at the nick of time. You could've hurt yourself. Worse, you could’ve actually succeeded.

Sometimes you came too close in leaving, and that scared him.

You cried, you begged, and you pleaded whenever you were caught. Those incessant beseeches only amplified when he had to deliver the consequences of your attempts of escaping—but he did it in mind of your human physiology. Spraining your ankle, first-degree burns to the skin, twisting an arm or a leg until it contused... things that healed in a week or two. [3]

He knew you didn’t have the healing factors or durability as a Viltrumite, so he went easy on you, but that didn’t mean you were exempt from the consequences.

It hurt to see you like that. He couldn’t bear for those situations to happen again, so he had momentarily removed those privileges.

He was going to give them back, he swore he would've at one point. However, he hadn't noticed so much time had passed. For Mark, it was a blip—so short. While for you it had been long, excruciating years. You couldn't take it anymore; Mark's monopolization was suffocating.

So, one day when Mark arrived back home after a conquest, your lifeless body awaited him. Pale, empty, and unresponsive—but free. Free from him.

For what happened, Viltrum Mark will let you hurt him this time for being such a neglectful husband. Being pummeled was what he deserved for being forgetful—it was only right.

You let go of your hold of the white variant's head, snatching a hold of his arm and standing up. You lifted him off the ground, chucking him at the loud line of cars.

During the process you twisted his arm, causing him to wince as he felt his bone dislocate before colliding with the line of blaring vehicles.

The obnoxious honks stopped, and you huffed as you straightened your back.

You sneered in disgust as you realized a small smear of blood made its way to stain your fingers, being quick to wipe it on your clothes.

However, in the blink of an eye, a white flash appeared before you. Arms wrapped around your torso, and you were shoved into a wall.

As soon as your back hit the wall, you gasped, the wind knocked out of you. You felt the Invincible nestle his face to your stomach, his arms tightening around you.

You shrieked.

Even though there was a clothing barrier between your bare skin and his face thanks to the prison uniform the G.D.A had you worn, it was thin. This act was clearly intimate, and you flushed in anger.

His sudden clinginess to your stomach made you puke out curses—this fucker was taking an opportunity to feel you.

“Get off of me you bastard!” You demanded, using your elbow to dig inside his back, striking down rapidly.

His grip loosened with each hit but would recover as quickly as it unfastened. With how hard you were hitting, it was a guarantee there would be multiple splotches of bruises stretched along his back, the muscles soon to have developing colors of purple.

You repositioned your elbow that was nearest to his twisted shoulder, slamming it.

A grunt howled from the variant’s throat, his arms untangling from your waist. He fell to the ground, on his knees as he hurriedly grabbed his shoulder—popping the dislocated shoulder back in place.

He picked himself up, swiping at your shin. Caught off guard, you wobbled and the viltrumite didn't waste time to place your leg on his shoulder—the one that he had corrected the displacement of the bone—and leaned forward to you.

Being off balanced and your leg being pushed up with your back against the cracked wall, you slid down. His height towered over you as you were in a compromising position. You hissed, your hands reaching behind you to grip the wall.

"That was enough to atone for my neglectful actions. Your death alone already served as punishment for how blind I was towards our time." He spoke, staring down at you.

A small line of blood traveled from his scalp to the back of his neck. "I'll be a much better husband for you, I swear to it, (Y/N)." the Invincible exhaled, turning his head to your leg that was lifted to his shoulder.

Even though his voice was monotonous, there was a scratch of pleading behind his voice. He said it in hopes you’ll believe him, and in turn that he would believe himself that he would actually become better towards you. Not repeating his mistake that got you taken away from him.

It wasn't hard to piece together that whatever happened to his version of you, you had died, and he played a role in it.

He exhaled; his lips parted slightly as they were just centimeters away from your leg.

“You can’t be a better one if they’re dead.”

“Don’t say that.” He snapped, pushing your leg further up, making you suck in a breath. “You’re right here. Even if you don’t remember me that doesn't mean you can't be lawfully wedded to me once again.” His grip was firm as his hand snaked up to your knee.

His hand squeezed, feeling the muscles and bone. "I'll take you back home. Back to Viltrum. Back with me. Everything we had will be back once again."

You tense, the mention of being kidnapped to somewhere else cause your fight or flight response to yell bloody murder. The fully masked Invincible had mentioned something about bringing you 'home’ too, and now this one was spitting out the same threatening garbage.

Something nagged at you that this would be a pattern among the other copies—and everything within you warned you not to let any of them take you. You were most likely better off dead than with any of them.

“I would rather fucking die than be like them and go anywhere with you.” You spat; venom laced with each word. "Whatever way they went was probably a blessing in disguise." You taunted, watching him twitch.

Clenching your jaw, you wheeled your head forward and then banged it behind you. The building shook, cracks branching out from the point of origin. You used the back of your head to hit it once more, pooling all your strength together.

The thick wall crumbled, and no longer being shoved against a wall you wrapped the leg that was on his shoulder around his neck and your other leg around his torso, seizing his whole body and throwing him over you.

The viltrumite burst through the multitude of walls, making the building unstable. Sounds of the building cracking and falling apart filled the air, the structure collapsing.

You scrambled to run, the building collapsing in your direction. Though your foot slipped on a piece of debris, causing you to trip onto the ground. Shit.

Whoosh!

The office building collapsed, and you hesitantly blinked your eyes open. You looked down at the collapsed structure. It once stood tall and mighty but now it was closer to the ground more than ever.

Your legs dangled in the air, and your eyes traveled to your chest as there was an arm that was slung underneath them—holding you loosely.

"Ha! Now that was a funny sight to watch. You really got some sweet upgrades to you—fun." A chilling voice commented, pointing out the superhuman strength you possessed. A dangerous edge was in his words, and you straightened your back to look at the source.

You whipped your head around, an Invincible with a black and yellow suit grinning wildly at you.

With the black and yellow palette, it gave off a warning sign—and his demeanor gave just that. He was a warning, something you should be aware of and run away from.

The sinister-looking Invincible leaned in to focus deeply at your eyes, using his exceptional hearing to focus on your heart that was beating furiously.

He can hear the panic and the fear melting in.

He memorized the way your heart beats its unique rhythm, pumping blood through your system. It was a window that he used often to decipher how you really felt at any given moment, listening to the living organ that was like music to his ears.

He hated how he missed something so simple. He hated it even more with how he recognized it from miles away, his ears subconsciously trained itself to zone in on that wretchedly beautiful heart of yours.

It was like a melody that drew him out—his own personal trap with you inside it.

It nauseated him how quickly he froze at the first beat—then came speeding at the second knowing full well it was you.

This dimension's version of you, anyway.

"Another one?" You snarled, not happy to see another variant.

This dimension’s copy of you was feisty, just like his—outspoken, mean, and nasty. However more powerful considering you did some damage to Viltrum Mark, having been watching from afar. Though he didn’t pay attention to that guy, focused and swooped up on the fact he was on cloud nine with how he was able to hold you like this again.

He let out a deranged laugh, throwing his head back. "Ha! Ha-ha! I forgot how much better you felt with your flesh still intact." He laughed, rearing his head back to shove his face to your cheek. "Soft, squishy—so much more different compared to your skeleton."

... Skeleton?

"Jesus, I went insane after I killed you, you know?" He took a large inhale, the memories of the temper tantrum he made after accidentally going too rough on you—breaking you—resurfacing.

Everyone and everything were not safe from his rampage; the rampage fueled with the rage of accidentally killing you. “I bet you had fun watching that, huh? Torturing me by being so weak and dying.” He yapped, out of his mind as he continued.

"I kept your body, watched the stages of your corpse bloat then decay—leaving the dry remains of your skeleton behind." He spoke of it with a smile on his face, but you felt the hand that was wrapped around you flinch, tightening.

"It wasn't as fun when you were alive, but it was still you, so I made do." He vaguely referenced, and your skin crawled at what he could possibly be implying. All sorts of things popped in your head.

You had an inkling that whatever your brain conjured up may have been tamer than whatever this... thing did to his alternate version of you—dead or alive.

"I don’t have to know more to know you're a sick fuck."

"-And I made you like it." He hissed, his hot breath hitting your skin. He tilted his head away, his eyes wandering to the electric collar around your neck. Sinister recognized the craftmanship—Cecil throwing you in this war and forcing you to work for him meant you were tough.

Mark was excited to see how exactly tough you were. If you’re stronger that meant you could endure him, right? "And I can do it again. Just this time, you won't be so easy to break.”

Chapter Text

Cecil sighed as his eyes fell on Mark Grayson. The boy was still near Eve’s bedside, not having moved a single inch since the last time he saw him. Both of his hands were cupped onto Eve's that lay motionless on the bed.

"What do you want, Cecil?" His tired voice called out, not having to turn to know that the old man was behind him. "I told you I wasn't working with you ever again."

"I heard that loud and clear, Mark." Cecil nodded, "I figured you weren't against updates, though."

The young man merely stayed silent, his whole-body language screaming that he didn't want to hear him speak anymore.

Cecil grimaced, biting the inside of his cheek. The idea he had seemed like it wasn't going to work, only made up with a few clues then and there, but he was already here so it would be a waste not to try it.

"There's a lot happening out there. It's difficult to keep up with everything."

Mark stayed silent, unresponsive as his eyes were staring only at the injured red head.

Cecil carried on, "I had to come up with creative solutions to the issues of not having resources, people—superheroes to go out there and protect the world."

Mark stayed unmoving, not reacting an inch.

"Do you remember the criminal you ‘helped’ capture? Vandal?—"

"It's (Y/N)." Grayson jolted, turning to look at Cecil with stern eyes. His hands were still on Eve's, though he noted the small pull away. Mark repeated your name again, making sure to glare at him.

"... That's interesting. I didn't find out until today that was their actual name." The older man was quick to point out, raising a brow. "How did you know that? Didn't care to share with the rest of the class?"

Mark hesitated, his eyes flickering away from Cecil. "They told me it the first time we fought. Must've slipped my mind." He vaguely dismissed, clearing his throat.

He had accidentally crossed your path when he first started out his career as Invincible. He was still getting a hang on things, training to be a great hero just like his dad.

It took him a little bit too long to register that you were a bad guy—a criminal that he should've jumped to stop as soon as his eyes laid on the path of destruction you caused without care of who you hurt.

Then it took him even longer to move from his spot with how strangely enamored he was with you. Mark was overcome by this sudden rush of attraction that he had subconsciously held his breath.

If it weren't for his viltrumite make up, he would've passed out with how much oxygen he deprived his lungs.

Did criminals usually have this effect on heroes? Fascinated, interested, curious, enamored? (Mark later found out that no, villains did not have this effect on heroes—for whatever reason, it was only you).

Once he finally snapped out of it, he was quick to try and stop you. Though with how inexperienced he was with fighting and your brawniness, you won. Beaten to a pulp, his body was sore and tired as he lay on the ground, groaning from the punches.

"Ah—shit." A whine escaped his throat. Was being a superhero going to be this painful all the time?

You crouched down to his level, eyeing his costume that hugged his body. "It isn't a good idea to jump at a bitch wrecking the place while being a baby super." You commented, your eyes filled with pity.

You didn't take amusement in practically beating up an infant. His reactions were delayed, he didn’t know what to do when you did this or that—it was embarrassingly obvious he was new. "Downright idiotic." You muttered. They just let anyone play hero, huh?

"Idiotic and Invincible shares the same letter," he coughed, shifting to look at you. A sharp pain jolted up his spine. "Ah, that hurts!—So, uh, I guess they go hand in hand." He let out a nervous smile, giddiness budding at the pit of his stomach as he wiped off the blood that had dried out his upper lip.

It's wrong to feel so... so excitedly nervous about how close you were. Sure okay, you got close so you could punch and throw him around while you two fought—but right now Mark had the time to take you in fully.

You snorted, a giggle jumping out your lips. You weren't expecting him to crack a joke like that while he was beaten to a pulp and wow—that giggle of yours was beautiful. That made his heart dance and his stomach sick with how many butterflies there were.

You quickly covered your laughter, rubbing a hand over your mouth. "Invincible is a stupid name. You don’t even live up to it with—fucking, y’know." You gestured to the tip of head to the ends of his feet.

"What's yours? We can compare."

"… I got the name Vandal, it's a stupid name too." You shrugged, pushing yourself to stand.

He tried to sit up, though shots of pain riddled him to fall. He didn't want you to leave so quickly—not out of fear you would go back to destroying stuff but out of fear he may not ever see you again.

"Is there another name I can call you? I-I mean, I would like the person who beat me up to at least like their name." Mark stuttered out, a strained smile on his face.

You eyed him, raising a brow. Unimpressed at his lame reasoning. "What kind of reason is that?"

"Uh, I—well you know, erm—" His cheeks flushed a baby pink.

You sighed, finding yourself pitying the new hero more. Did no one teach him anything? "Fine." You’ll humor this. Giving you his name wouldn't hurt, besides even if he told others, it wasn't enough to track you down. “It’s (Y/N).”

"Hm. Okay. Moving on." Cecil hummed, not convinced. “I had her be taken out of her cell. She's out on the field."

Now that got a response out of Mark. He let go of Eve's hand, his body moving in the blink of an eye as he appeared in front of Cecil. It caught the older man by surprise, taking a hurried step back.

“What do you mean out in the field? They shouldn’t be out there. They’re supposed to be in a prison cell. They’re supposed to be safe. I remember you saying that word for word!”

“That was after this shitshow started. Prior arrangements had to be moved around and changed.” He defended himself, narrowing his eyes at how quickly he was to mad when you were handled in a manner he disagreed with.

This pattern of possessiveness he had over a criminal was wrong.

Cecil had chosen to ignore this, chalking it up to some petty rivalry over the fact you had beaten him a couple of times—but now it was clear as day that it was definitely way more than that.

Just how much more was what Cecil was curious about. He needed to see exactly what you meant to him and if he could use that for his own gain. “If they can handle fighting against you, then hell, they can certainly handle themselves against one of those variants. I needed all the manpower I can get, and they were the perfect option.”

“That still gave you no right!” He screamed.

“It does when the guy who can go head to toe with those invaders out there won’t leave this goddamn room.” Cecil retorted.

“So—So what?! They can die, Cecil.” He huffed, his fists clenching at the idea you were out there in harm’s way.

“Why does that matter so much to you, Mark? What exactly are they to you for you to be worked over this? I don’t have to be omnipotent to know they don’t give a damn about you—not a single thought. Yet you’re here caring for them as if you’re their friend.” He paused, “Are you?”

Mark hitched breath, a lump in his throat as he brought his hands to hold onto his face.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you, and he knew that he shouldn’t be thinking about you as much as he should, but he couldn’t stop. His mind always wandered.

Day and night without fail at some point his thoughts would be consumed by you, someone he barely knew anything about—someone that he shouldn’t be thinking of.

Mark tried to stay away from you—at least that’s what he told himself to make him feel better. He always jumped at the chance to get to you whenever you were back on your rampaging antics. Other heroes noticed, offering to take his place instead but he sternly refused.

He was territorial about being the one to stop you, being the one to fight you, being the one to be with you.

Mark told himself that he thought about you so frequently because of that pitiful ‘kindness’ you showed him at your guys’ first encounter.

From that, you must’ve been much better at being a reformed criminal than a bad guy who took joy in seeing wreckage.

So, he tried to convince you to change your ways.

That’s what a superhero does, right? Not just help distressed citizens but everyone, even criminals. He offered to help you lead a better life than the one you had right now, guide you on how to use your powers for good rather than bad.

He also offered you companionship, friendship—a chance to have a deeper relationship than the close to nothing relationship you two currently had.

He was hurt every time you rejected him. Not hurt from the fact you rejected turning a new leaf but hurt that you rejected his friendship. Fine, you turned down being a good guy, whatever, but why turn him down?

Couldn’t you see that Mark ran to you each time? Couldn’t you see that he had got stronger, faster, better, each time you fought just to impress you? Couldn’t you see that he craved to know you more, the one who he knew nothing about yet haunted him every day?

The bruises that you left on his body were the only thing you gave him that held a part of you—and he would stare at them in the mirror as he traced over them remembering the fists he came to memorize.

The bruises were the only thing you didn’t reject to give, and he hoped they never faded so he can carry the ghost of your touch on his body. It was ridiculous how distraught he’d become when he noticed the purple fading, disappointed when his regular color came back.

Mark Grayson tried to drop it—drop you. He was driving himself crazy over a stranger that wanted nothing to do with him. He tried tearing himself away from the idea of you, but he came back running whenever he heard you were out there.

Why couldn’t he have you? No. Why couldn’t you have him?

Cecil voice snapped him out of his thoughts. “Well, Mark, are you?”

“No, we’re not friends.” He responded, his torn voice muffled by his hands.

“Then what is it? What is it ‘cause with how I’m seeing things no one should be caring so much about a stranger as you are right now.” Cecil bombarded, continuing to pile more questions on him relentlessly, pushing the boy’s buttons.

The half-viltrumite ran his hands to his hair, his fingers intertwining with his black locks as he let out an exhausted, fed-up groan. Why was Cecil asking this? Why was he asking this like he knew the answer? God, he wished he knew the fucking answer.

“Mark, say something. Say something Mark. For the love of God, fucking say something—”

“No! No, I don’t know them at all, I don’t mean anything to them! I’m not their friend. I’m nothing.” He snapped, his voice raised and shouting, his mouth running wild.  “That doesn’t mean that I don’t want them safe! That doesn’t mean I don’t care about them! That doesn’t mean I don’t want them.”

A tense silence fell on the room; the sound of machines next to Eve’s bed beeping.

“... So that’s it. You’re whipped.” Cecil finally broke the silence, scoffing in utter disbelief at what he had just discovered.

“What twisted fascination do you have with them? A criminal who never gave you the light of day, yet you hold this… ” His face contorted, looking away from Mark. “I don’t even know what to call this. Sick? Twisted? Pathetic?”

“… You have no right to berate me or even fucking shame me with your track record.” Mark whispered, “So, shut up. Just shut up.”

“Can’t do that because I’m not done talking.” He side eyed, “Your little crush is being jumped by multiple variants. Last I checked, they ran—but got a suspicion it won’t be easy for them to run away.”

Cecil felt himself slammed to the wall, the white collar of his shirt being tightly gripped. “What? Why didn’t you lead with that!”

“Sorry, kid, didn’t think you’d get your panties in a twist over lawbreakers.” He grunted, staring into Mark’s brown eyes.

“Just tell me where they are.”

“Thinking of joining the fight now? Don’t want to stay here by Eve anymore? All I had to do was dangle something you can never have in front of your face to finally leave this room?”

Mark raised a fist and hit the wall behind the man he pinned. “Just tell me where (Y/N) is.”

Cecil dug his hand into his suit pocket, pushing an earpiece to his chest which Mark quickly caught. “Plug that in and Donald will tell you.” He stated. The grip Mark had on his collar loosened, pushing him aside as he went to grab his mask from the end of the bed.

He took a look at Eve before tearing his eyes away.

As always, he comes running when he hears you’re out there.

"I am having a blast," This sinister version of Invincible smirked, his breathing heavy as he had you pinned to the ground. You made him work up quite a sweat, and he was getting quite thirsty. "You're so new, so fun, so entertaining, so enticing. I'm working up a fucking appetite. Been forever since that happened."

It felt like it has been ages since you were stuck fighting for your life against this man, but it has been only a couple of minutes.

Your face distorted in disgust. A hand of his was holding your two legs together so that you couldn't kick him away even though you were desperately trying to squirm your legs away from his tight grasp.

"Eat shit." You cursed, collecting the saliva that accumulated in your mouth and spitting it to his face—the wad of spit hitting the corner of his lips.

His smile faltered, before grinning again as he cooed at you. "That bitch of a mouth of yours needs work, though." Sinister Invincible parted his lips, his tongue licking the side of his face, collecting the saliva you had thrown at him and swallowing.

"You gross sick fu—hhmp! " Your voice quickly got muffled as he had snaked his gloved fingers inside your mouth with his free hand, the taste of rubber filling your taste buds as you thrashed under his hold. You used your hands to scratch and slap his face, though that seemed to only amuse him further.

His fingers moved to feel your teeth, your tongue that tried to escape the taste of his gloves, and the soft as well as hard palate. You yelled muffled profanities, biting down on his fingers.

Your canine fangs broke through the rubber material of the glove, and he let out a small—was that a fucking moan?—sound as that only served to give him more reason to push his fingers deeper down your mouth. His fingertips scooted to the entrance of your throat, making you choke.

"Bite down harder, cunt." He demanded, and you instinctively listened.

Your teeth pressed down on his skin, the bite breaking it as a metallic taste seeped into your taste buds joining the taste of the rubber gloves.

"Ouggh my god." Sinister Mark moaned; the pain brought by your fangs serving to be pleasurable. Thae hand he used to hold down both of your legs shifted over to one, squeezing hard against the muscles and into the bone. [1]

CRACK!

"HHMP!" Your scream gurgled into his glove, and you gagged soon after from his fingers hitting the back of your throat. The scratch and hits to his head were doing nothing to him, and you scowled as your eyes darted around to find any way to get out of this.

You noticed how your broken leg wasn't immediately healing, like how it should be, and your eyes widen as you remembered the collar the G.D.A had placed around your neck. You had forgotten about it, and you closed your eyes as you knew what to do.

Your hands reached eagerly to the shock collar, digging your fingers between the metal and your neck as you began to tear away at it.

It instantly began sending electricity through your body, riddling your body to the seizing and overwhelming pain that resembled the same sensation when you were hit with that gun during your capture. Your eyes opened, rolling to the back of your skull from the intensity.

You clenched your jaw as you continued to rip it from your neck, trying to keep your eyes open and not lose consciousness as the metal began to rip apart—the wires being revealed.

Whatever was sending the electricity was no longer contained to just your body, zapping in the air and reaching to the black and yellow Invincible that was on top of you.

The electrifying pain met him too, and he yanked his digits out of your mouth as the bolts traveled up to him.

You felt his weight lift off as you ripped the collar in two, gasping for air and rolling to your side.

Your body twitched, there was still electricity coursing through your body—and you felt an intense wave of exhaustion flood you.

No, I can't pass out, I need to get out of here. No, no—

You tried to resist, though black spots were already filling your vision as shapes and colors became a blur. Even then, you tried to crawl to distance yourself from the Invincible.

A sudden tight grip to your hair pulled you toward his direction.

"You disobedient bitch. Who told you to do that?" You heard a growl, the pull of your hair making you whine.

Your hair was suddenly released, feeling a strong gust of wind behind you as Sinister Mark’s voice was thrown off to the distance. You didn’t care to look back, trying to squint to see what was ahead of you.

Your  vision became increasingly blurry and you gagged from having his hand shoved down your throat a few seconds ago. You tried to sit up but failed, your head feeling heavy as it hit the ground.

You internally screamed to stay awake, but darkness hugged you.

Before that however, you felt someone crouch next to you, a hand draped over your forehead as they said something to you. Whatever they said, you couldn’t tell, and you just prayed they were more of a friend than a foe another crazy Invincible.

Chapter Text

The Invincible that wore a red and white suit had his arms crossed, eyeing the other two variants with a knowing smile that breached condescension. “We absolutely know I’m right.” He said, watching Mohawk Mark’s drown deepen. The masked one simply stayed silent, but displeasure was clear. [1]

“I’m not stupid, dipshit.” Mohawk remarked, rolling his eyes in mild annoyance. “You don’t need a lightbulb shoved in your ass to get that idea.” He commented, unamused at how self-satisfied his one of many counterparts looked.

“Why are you angry, then?”

"Because your fucking annoying, that's why." He exhaled.

In truth, he was angry because his time with you was so incredibly short. He found out you were alive, and he didn’t get any time to just... be with you until it was interrupted by his annoying variants.

The lingering squeeze of your hands wrapped around his throat was still there, mocking the fact that you were no longer here to provide him with the touch that his body had been so deprived of.

It made him so upset, so extremely upset. The vulnerable feelings that he had worked so hard to shove down into oblivion were resurfacing, stronger than it ever had been before. It weakened him to his core, and he felt like a helpless victim as it overwhelmed his entire state of mind.

Up until now, Mohawk hadn’t realized how much he missed you.

He tried to convince himself that your death meant absolutely nothing to him, turning his attention to ruling his empire with tyrannical fists without a care how his actions affected everyone and everything around him. He made each lower lifeform worship him like a god, the entitlement he earned from being the strongest.

Mark didn’t only stop there—he drowned himself in luxury, warm bodies used for sex, and booze like there was no tomorrow. Or more like, there was a tomorrow—and he was determined to increase his indulgence because of that fact.

The booze was merely for taste as well as the burning sensation that it would leave in the lining of his throat. It actually tickled than burnt, and he enjoyed the stir it caused. His viltrumite blood that coursed through his veins made it so he was immune to regular toxins and poisons which included every liquor known to man.

It was a bummer that Mark never could have the true experience of being drunk—being absolutely fucking plastered out of his mind. If he did, he would be an alcoholic—well, he guessed he already was with how he couldn’t stop his endless drinking. He just didn’t get the fun perks.

With the people, he stuck his tongue in one of the many women’s throat of his harem. It was frequent with how much sex they had together, day and night whenever he didn’t have to attend to his empire.

It always left their taste in his mouth after he was finished with him though, and he despised how filthy it was. How filthy they tasted. The wet, sloppy kisses were slimy and putrid, and it made his skin crawl.

The people tasted lowly, disgusting, and like whores. The booze was strong enough to wash away the gross after taste that threatened to stay in his tastebuds. He came reliant on the amber liquid, becoming routine to have one in one hand after he was finished with his harem.

The rare times when he didn’t erase the taste of the warmth, Mohawk felt absolutely sick to his stomach. He wanted to claw at his own tongue and rip it off.

He felt ill, becoming distressed at the fact that he wasn't driving away the foul traces of their tongue by endlessly downing alcohol like it was water.

Mohawk recycled through and sought out after so many women, trying to find one that could replicate the toothsome taste of you. One that could also replicate the touch, feel, and sound of you.

So many people on Earth—surely at least one of them could hold all the qualities you had. All the qualities he wanted so badly to feel under his fingertips once again.

However, there was never one singular person—thing—whatever that held all the things he was looking for. The components of you were spread throughout each women he roped in his harem, but even then, they were pathetic downgrades. No matter how much Mark tried, they always came cheap compared to you.

Each time he failed to find someone that fits you, a whirlwind of emotions would fill him. Disappointment, anger, sadness, and longing that made his stupid heart ache.

He chalked up the longing in his chest to the fact you were the best sex he ever had, forcing himself to believe that it wasn’t because he was so ridiculously in love with you.

Sex was easy to get, easy to have. Just one snap of his fingers, he'll be serviced however he fucking wanted without needing to do anything.

But love? Fuck, how could he ever have that with someone other than you? Somewhere deep inside him, he knew he couldn’t love someone else like he did with you. He didn’t want to love someone else other than you.

In denial of his feelings—of everything—he made each one of the individual in his harem dress up in highly sexualized versions of you. Cosplaying you through descriptions he would give out, ordering them to change themselves to your image no matter what. They had no choice.

The human slaves would try their best to replicate you, having the same color of hair that he loved messing around with, having the same color of eyes that would look only at him, and so many more of your physical characteristics that they tried their best to mold into.

It became easier to look at them and pretend those sons of bitches were you each time Mohawk fucked them, imagining each word they moaned and the lustful touch that grasped at him was you.

Despite that, they can never have that same touch that made his body feel like it was on fire. They can never have that same warmth that made him feel like he was right at home, no matter where you two were. They can never have that same smile that made his heart swell in pride that he was the cause of it.

Most importantly, he didn't love any of them. Not like you. Never like you.

At the end of the day, they can never be you. No matter how many times he attempted to have you through them, it was never the same. It was never the fucking same.

He knew that he was in such denial of everything because of what happened. Every time his mind wanders off at the thought of you, the same thought sneaked into his mind.

It would ruin his entire day whenever it popped up, putting him in a sour mood that all his subjects had to deal with. Which was basically every day.

Mohawk could've had you.

He could've had you right next to him as his lover while he ruled his empire. He could’ve spoiled you endlessly with whatever you wanted. He could’ve had a spot designed just for you in his empire. You two could’ve been monarchs where everyone worshipped you and him like the perfect beings you both were. Whoever objected would’ve been slaughtered in an instant, Viltrumite or human.

However, Eve stood in his way, in a way he didn’t expect. Her last act as a righteous hero.

Mark looked down at the ground, the last remaining survivor of Teen Team being Atom Eve. She was breathing hard, her ginger hair disheveled and her costume ripped with blood dripping down from the sides of her body. It was a mixture of hers and the others, the horror of what Mark had done stained on her figure.

He had offered the chance to enlist them into the Viltrum Empire, willing to accept them as subjects under his ruling. He had fully expected them to join but was met with a surprise refusal. It was a shock to him, but he didn't hesitate to quickly dispose of them without any hesitance.

He wasn't that close to either of them anyway.

"How could you go against humanity like this, Mark?" Eve hoarsely asked; disbelief and disdain laced in each word. Her hands were shaking out of a mixture of anger as well as fear that she was going to die from the hands of someone she had known for so long. Her mind was racing, her heart beating as Mark had a shit eating grin on his lips.

She didn't expect things to turn out this way, but looking back on it there were minute signs.

There were always signs that there was something... off about Mark. He didn't see things the same way as the rest of the Teen Team did. Some of the things that he would say made it seem like he viewed humans as a lower subspecies, always quick to say what made humans weak.

He held an unjust behavior towards humans, being straight up prejudice with his off handed comments.

There were other things that rubbed her the wrong way—but they were so small that it didn't raise any red flags for concern. The team had mostly ignored him, connecting the strange and odd things he’d say to his overly confident and hot-tempered demeanor.

A guy who acts like a jerk has jerk ideology they supposed.

It peeved Eve but she dismissed her concerns. No one seemed to be worked up about him, and she figured that Mark was just a guy with an inflated ego that would come down overtime. That had to be it.

After all, he was in a committed relationship with you, the sweetest person she had ever met in her life.

You were a stark contrast to him, and she often wondered how such an asshole of a guy like Mark could get a person so nice like you to be in a relationship with him. Even though you weren't so loud spoken and didn't put yourself in the center of attention, you shined brightly. Like a star.

While you were the sweetest, you still had the ability to push him back when he was being a jerk with the biggest self-importance that suffocated everyone in the room—putting him in his place.

You were always able to turn his rude outbursts into a joke, calming the tension Mark would cause with the others. Especially with Rex, the two’s booming personalities always clashing together.

It was helpful, since it seemed like he refused to listen to anyone. Anyone but you, that is.

She saw how much you meant to him, a jerk so in love.

The two of you were friends, close enough to have an honest conversation with each other. Sometimes late-night conversations would shift to Mark, and you always made sure to express how you genuinely believed that Mark was a good guy. You always hammered that Mark just needed more good people to be around to become a better version of himself.

Eve could always tell how much he meant to you, always defending and explaining his behavior with so much love in your voice. But Eve couldn't help but notice the rose-tinted glasses you wore whenever you promised her Mark was someone good, someone nice and loving.

Someone that just needed extra patience with how his dad raised him with an abrasive and antisocial upbringing—that it wasn't his fault he was the way he is.

Eve hesitantly took your word for it; however, she had this worry that nagged her with how quickly you were to justify and defend his actions. It sometimes felt like you were trying to convince yourself that he was good too, desperately refusing to think of him like how everyone else saw him: vain, cynical, and self-centered.

A laugh rolled off his tongue, "I offered humanity a chance to serve the Viltrum Empire, Eve. You all are just stupid not to submit to Viltrum ruling—to my ruling."

"What about (Y/N)? What happens when they don’t submit to you?—You'll kill them too?!"

“No, I know they’ll come around. I’ll help them.” Mark spoke, flashing his pearly whites. A bad feeling formed in Eve’s stomach at the word ‘help,’ his eyes flashing a dangerous glint.

“They’ll never ‘come around.’ You’re hurting people, destroying lives left and right without a care in the world! They could never come around, especially with you in the center of it," Eve's eyes flickered to the torn flesh of her teammates, mangled and disfigured with the complete overkill Mark had done.

She barely recognized who was who, the color of their suits soaked in blood. "Hurting the people they care about.” She hissed.

He hesitated, Eve bringing up a good point on how you wouldn't exactly be on board with it all. Then he laughed, a sudden idea popping in his head. "There's nothing like pumping good ol' medicine to make them compliant. They won't even notice anything is amiss." Mark shrugged his shoulders, whistling.

He continued, making up the plan as he talked. "It isn't hard to replace you guys. I'll just—I don't know—get some slaves who look like the part. They won't notice the difference with how doped up they’ll be!" He started laughing at the thought, finding it cute at the imagination that you'll hardly notice your friends were dead.

Eve's face contorted into horror, gasping. "Do you know how horrible that is! They don’t get a choice in anything—they don’t get to even think normally! You plan to impair them and lie to them—how could you even think of doing that to your partner?!" She yelled, her eyes welling up in tears at the thought of you mentally imprisoned.

"Ugh, you’re making it seem like a big deal." He rolled his eyes, indifference in his voice.

"How could you not think it is! Don't you love them?! Your—Your fucking unbelievable! Your fucking selfish!"

As soon as that left her lips, she felt the wind get knocked out of her lungs. A suffocating pressure compressed around her neck, her hands reaching to claw the blood-soaked hands that held on to it. With how tight Mark’s grasp was, she couldn't even get a sound out.

Eve's eyes rolled to the back of her head, her legs kicking in the air as she was lifted up. "You’re the ones who refused to join. They could've had all of you, but you decided to abandon them. I'm not the selfish one here. They still have me." His voice was low, digging his fingers deeper into Eve's neck.

He was ready to snap it off.

A choked sob could be heard in the distance, and Mark turned his head. His eyes went wide as you were staring right at them, eyes puffy and shaking like a lamb. The things you've witnessed, the things you overheard, you were at a loss for words.

He dropped the hold he had on Eve, her body dropping on the ground as she coughed hysterically. Tears burned at the corner of her eyes as she gasped to get air in her lungs. A harsh red imprint of Mark's hand was on her white skin.

You weren't supposed to be here; you were supposed to be back home.

His eyes darted to the butterfly knife you held in your hand. It had fresh blood at the edged tip. There was a small puddle of blood that dripped to the ground from your forearm, and you turned your arm over so that he could see what you had done.

You carved sentences on your skin using the knife you held, making sure they were deep enough that it’d leave permanent scarring. They ran deep, the layers upon layers of skin visible to the naked eye.

The sentences were of you telling and reminding yourself not to trust Mark no matter the cost, detailing the things he did to your friends and the past harmful actions you stupidly chose to ignore in your guys' relationship.

"Mark, even with how much drugs you pump into me I will," you shuddered, the open wounds of the slashes in your arm were burning, "always remind myself why I hate you. One way or another." You promised, your gaze unwavering as you scowled at Mark.

"Baby, you weren't supposed to be here!" Mark spread his arms open, gesturing at the mess he created. The smell of metallic death was in the air, it made your head dizzy, and your heart hurt more than it already was with the deeply embedded wounds in your arm.

He began to step towards you, his foot slamming down on a lifeless clone of Dupli-Kate. The crunch of her skull made your skin jump, goosebumps embellishing on your skin.

"Ya know, you weren't supposed to find out about all this either. You mad at me? Don't be mad at me, babe." He grinned.

"It's better this way!" He claimed, no hint of remorse in his voice. His eyes flickered to the self-harm you inflicted upon yourself. "I knew you'd be unhappy, so I didn't want you to find out—but you don't gotta be dramatic, jeez!"

"... I hate you, Mark. How could you fucking do this? I thought we were doing good—I thought you were doing good." You asked, your voice breaking between a sob.

"Yadda, yadda—I know, I know. I'll make it up to you, like I always do! What do you want? Hm?" He chirped, "I'll have the world by my feet, and I can give you whatever you want, better than what you dream of!"

Eve coughed, lifting her head up to hazily look at you. Mark was slowly approaching you, rambling to you as he was wiping off the excess blood that was on his suit. "Your sad and overdramatic because of your dead friends, it's whatever—drugs will be good for you! You'll feel fucking amazing! I don't want you to be all mopey in our forever honeymoon during my reign."

You stood there, clenching your fist and the bloody knife as you stared at him with hatred. You were ready to defy him every step of the way, but Eve saw how you already accepted your fate through the quivering of your lips and the sag of your shoulders.

You couldn't do anything against Mark, having no power to rival him—even if you did have power, it wasn't a guarantee you could stand against him. You knew that. Eve knew that.

Your gaze broke a second away from Mark as he continued to talk, making eye contact with Eve who was on the ground.

You gave a small, crooked smile. This was the last time you'll ever see Eve alive, and it broke your heart. She was a good friend. You'll miss her, you’ll miss everyone.

You hated how weak you were in that moment, just accepting your fate. You couldn’t even kill yourself with how weak you were, fearful of pain and death.

Eve blinked hard, sucking in a breath. She balled her hands into tight fists, hitting the ground puddled with blood. Her body wanted to give out, tired from the relentless abuse Mark had inflicted on her—but she refused. Not right now. Not yet.

She knew she was going to die here, no matter how hard she tries—Eve sadly knew that she couldn't kill Mark. There was no way to save herself—even if she ran away now and try to fight back against the Viltrum empire, that was just moving her death date for another time.

That didn't mean that she was going to let you be trapped with that monster forever, however. Incapacitated and intoxicated so that you can be easily manipulated by him. That was a cruel fate, a crueler fate worse than death.

You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve that at all! She... She loved you and, thinking of leaving you to the hands of a monster hurt more than the pain she was in.

She needed to save your life, but she can’t kill Mark no matter how much she wanted to. instead, she’ll do something she can do—kill you.

She forced her legs to move, lifting herself up from the ground. Pink matter formed on her hands, and she pushed herself from the ground as she came running to your direction. Eve used the last of her strength to fly to you, curving pass Mark.

You dropped the sharp knife; it hitting the ground as you took a step back from the sudden appearance of Eve right in front of you.

Eve slashed the air, the pink matter cutting through the air and traveling towards you. You watched as it inched closer and closer to you, the sound of it crackling rushing to slice through you.

You had enough time to move, enough time to save yourself.

However, Eve’s last act was doing you a service. A heroic service so that you wouldn’t be stuck with a man that would drug, deceive, and lie to you to get his way.

What Eve was doing was saving you and letting it happen was saving yourself. You parted your lips that formed a relieved smile, mouthing a 'thank you.’ You didn’t have the guts to kill yourself, but Eve did.

Your smile shined so brightly.

You shined so brightly. Like a star.

The pink matter met your skin, phasing through your neck. It sliced through your skin, your flesh, your hair, and your bone.

Your head went flying, and Eve felt her foot get grabbed by Mark, but she grunted—sending another wave of pink matter to your direction.

She would make sure your body wouldn’t be able to recover, no matter what.

Eve sent another wave of pink matter, warm tears flowing down her cheeks and to her neck as she watched what she was doing to you, her friend that she grew so close with. She cried out, shouting as she sent another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

Mohawk didn’t know how long he went beating Eve for. Even when she drew her last breath and the last piece of air left her lungs—he continued. His fists, arms, chest, and face were covered by her warm blood, completely drenched in the superhero’s metallic liquid.

He went punching for so long to the point where her body was beyond butchered, her flesh, organs, and bones mixed to a fine paste with how relentlessly he grounded her corpse.

He didn’t factor in the possibility of you dying, but it was too late.

You were beheaded with your body sliced in half multiple times. Your heart was beyond repair and your brain no longer viable with how deprived it was from oxygen.

It was a slap in the face to everything he planned—a slap to his ego for thinking that everything was going to go in the way he planned. Mark was untouchable—but you weren't. Eve took advantage on that fact.

“I… That makes sense.” The masked Mark snapped Mohawk out of his trance, breaking the silence that covered the three variants. “Up against those guys,” Viltrum and Sinister, “it’ll definitely take more than one of us to stop them.”

“Exactly! It’s better to get rid of the big fishes first.” Omni chuckled. “A temporary alliance between us does the trick.”

“… Sure.” Mask nodded hesitantly. “Even though we’re all the same person, you two aren’t the absolute worse.” He commented, recalling the short conversations he had with them in the past inside the ship.

Even though they were brief, he concluded that they weren’t as bad as the others—especially Sinister Mark.

That guy was dangerous and unbelievably fucked up, he had a hard time believing that he could have possibly been him at one point before diverging into the path of wickedness.

Even with how strong you were in this universe—Sinister was bad news.

Mohawk scoffed at the masked variant, turning his head to Omni, pointing his thumb at the other variant. “Aren’t the absolute worse? Dang, all this guy does is whine and complain all the time!” He snorted, cackling. “Even in front of (Y/N)! Ah, ‘don’t talk to them like they’re an object!’—what a big fat baby.”

Mask simply stayed silent, not reacting to Mohawk’s mocking. Instead, he looked over to the direction you ran off to, worry swelling in his chest.

He was planning to follow after you when you sped off, Mohawk doing the same until they were abruptly stopped by Omni-Mark.

At first, Mask had thought Omni had teamed up with Viltrum with how they arrived together—but that didn’t seem to not be the case. It was just a mere coincidence that they appeared at the same time apparently.

Omni informed them that he was actually the first one to spot you—literally witnessing the moment the G.D.A had thrown you out in the decimated battlefield.

He restrained himself from immediately making contact with you, choosing to observe you from a distance to see how different you were in this dimension.

He needed to compare you to his version of you, dissect and pull you apart to compare notes.

You were physically the same, Omni recognizing the patterns on your demeanor that he had grown so fond of. Your messy hair made it clear you were woken up before arriving, he could always recognize that bed hair that he grown used to waking up to in the morning.

The bags under your eyes told him that you weren't getting much sleep, that was another thing that stayed the same. You always had such difficulty falling asleep no matter where you were, he always had to lull you to sleep—not that he minded, of course.

While you stayed the same in appearance, he did note how fit your figure was. Your back muscles, glutes, and hamstring were more developed, a sign that you were relentlessly active.

He applauded you for taking care of yourself, he knew humans had difficulty doing that with how they recklessly put their gluttonous wants above their needs.

It was an accomplishment that deserved recognition. However, you no longer need to bother doing all that self-care.

Mark was here now.

Mark, he was all that you needed. He'll take care of you and more, everything you could possibly need is provided by your one and only. You didn't need to lift a finger for anything at all because he would be right there to look after you.

As he continued to watch you from afar, he was unpleasantly surprised to discover that you had powers in this dimension. Watching you jump and fly around in the air in search for something, the strength you displayed clearly out of the ordinary for humans.

He supposed it wasn't your fault that you were unfortunately bestowed with power, it would just prove to be a hassle to get you under his control and domesticate you.

It was clear that you were going to fight back, much harder and rougher than his version with your abilities. Making you submissive was going to be tiresome and annoying, but not impossible.

He done it once, and he can do it again.

Omni followed after you, watching you spot Mohawk who had just finished killing a random civilian. You jumped at him, kicking him backwards while beaming. He heard you talk to yourself, taking in your words as his ears listened closely.

You slowly approached the downed variant. “Those G.D.A motherfuckers kept me in their basement for way too long, my body is all tense. Thank God I’m out, but fucking sucks I got a shock collar on me.” You hummed, talking to yourself.

Oh?

That was certainly interesting. He had figured you weren't just a normal volunteer thrown into the war with how you had a thick metal collar enveloped around your neck—however to be such a nuisance Cecil had to toss you into one of the many security prisons of the G.D.A?

Wow, you must be an annoying brat.

The Mark in this world really failed at everything, especially towards you. Through your interaction with the mohawk variant, he learned that you didn't even know the civilian identity of Invincible—had absolutely no idea who Mark was until now.

That made him upset—how shortcoming was this alternate version of him to be this bad? He was confident your general impression of Mark was terrible, and he clicked his tongue with how much of a fool this world's Mark was to not establish any connection to you.

... Altough, maybe Omni should take his counterpart's failure as a blessing. Having you completely untouched, untaught, undisciplined was exciting when he thought about it.

You were like an unopened gift box, having no touch of a puny version of him soiled on your skin. All of your first experiences would be with him, no need to rewrite old memories.

At that revelation, he couldn't wait to open you.

You wrapped around his finger like how it used to be—how it should be.

He just hoped that when he trains you again, bringing you under his control as his pet once again, you wouldn't cry as much as you did.

It wasn't your fault that you were a victim of human nature. It was your genetic makeup. Human beings were animals that couldn’t help but default to their instincts, having a hard time resisting the feeble emotions and wants that acted as a barrier between him and you.

That was why he had to whip them out of you, rewiring and fixing human nature that screamed that he was a threat to you. Screamed at you to resist and defy him in exchange for useless things like independence, bodily autonomy, and self-rule.

You were like—no, are a pet that he needed to discipline and teach that he was the only thing you should listen to. Training you to go against your human nature that plagued your brain with petty wants. The only thing that should be inside you was him.

Mark’s going to fill that little head of yours with the only thing you truly need to survive—the only thing that you truly need. Him.

He felt a presence next to him, and Omni turned his head to see that Viltrum was staring down at the scene unfolding in front of them.

Mohawk was slammed to the ground with you choking him, clear enjoyment and pleasure written on the variant's face.

"My love..." Viltrum whispered, his eyes wide as he was taking in that you were alive and well. The image of your lifeless corpse haunted him each time he closed his eyes. Each time he entered the empty shared space of the bedroom, each time he caught a glimpse of himself in any reflection—but here you were, alive and well.

"You’re alive..." He lamented, eyes trained solely on you, erasing Mohawk from his sight.

Omni sweat dropped, raising his brow. The way Viltrum stared at you was like how a dog stared at a long-awaited treat, eyes wide and sparkling.

He could practically imagine the drool rolling down his chin.

Does he not see I'm also here?

"They were the love of my life too. We married."

You had gotten off of Mohawk, listening to Mask talk to you after he had just tackled the punk variant to the ground.

"My marriage is true, yours is void." Viltrum bluntly replied, not sparing a single glance at Omni. "If you think for the tiniest moment of anything different, you're wrong. I'll kill you if you get in my way." He warned before descending down to you.

Omni-Mark clenched his jaw, a brooding expression on his face as he let his silence be the reply to his threat.

While he hated to admit it, it was true if he were to fight Viltrum Mark alone he would be in quite a tough spot. That variant had left Earth to go to planet Viltrum early, thanks to developing his powers quicker.

Nolan brought his son to Viltrum to receive the grueling training he received, turning him into a decorated and perfect Viltrumite soldier.

He had received hard training, much harder training than a lot of the variants since it was on the planet Viltrum—as well as earlier than so many of the other Mark Grayson variants.

In exchange of being a devoted workaholic to the empire, he assumed power much sooner than his counterparts.

His accomplishments were too great to ignore, only a fool would dismiss them as nothing and go straight to fighting like a cave man who didn't think ahead of time what consequence would be waiting for him.

Omni was not a fool.

"We're all in agreement, I assume. We can discuss who gets the pretty thing after, no need to fight like rabid animals." The red and white variant smiled, a superficial one that Mask and Mohawk could clearly see through.

"Yeah, yeah, who cares." Mohawk mumbled, placing his hands on the back of his head as he looked away.

He knew that stuff Omni was spitting was straight bullshit. It was clear as day that what he was thinking about was far different than what was he was suggesting. He can see the gears ticking in the guy's head, turning like a wheelhouse.

No matter how calm and collected Omni tried to appear, he was angsty just like the rest of them to get you.

It was almost funny how he was trying to play cool and indifferent, like he was the exception to how crazy you made them all feel.

The small twitches of his hand, while subtle, was obvious he was itching to get you and have you all to himself. This variant wanted to believe he was in control of his state of mind so badly, but Mohawk saw through his feeble attempts to act like they were better than the rest of him to get their paws on you.

Not like Mohawk was going let him, or anyone for that matter, get their crummy hands on you—you were his lover, his reason why he discovered love in the first place—his. 

Eve stopped him once, but she couldn’t do it again. He was not going to let anyone get in his way like that again.

"Sure, bro." Mask nodded hesitantly, not believing Omni's words either. He knew that this alliance was going to break as fast as how it was made, and he wasn't going to stick around to see it fall apart.

As soon as they were distracted by fighting each other like wild animals, he was going to run off with you in his arms.

He couldn't bear the thought of leaving you with the rest of the variants—not that he was ever going to let that happen. In this dimension, you were healthy and strong—not sick and frail like in his dimension. You deserved to be treated with respect, with love, with devotion. Not like a piece of meat by the others.

Mask could hardly believe that at one point they were all the same person. At one point they shared the same thoughts, feelings, wants, and dreams. Yet, even with the truth they shared similar pasts, appearance, people in their lives—they all left their humanity behind in the dust to fade away in the wind ...

... Or they held it with a smile, dampening it with gasoline and lit it, watching the flames burn away at it. The crackling flames consuming away at their humanity as they watched with amusement, joy, and pleasure.

He knew that he didn't turn out to be the best person with the things he had done, the things that he was forced to do.

But Mask knew that he was not like them, he wasn't like those monsters that just wanted to eat away at you.

He was by far the better option for you, he can show it, he can prove it. The entire fiber of his being was made for you and designed just for you, and he only wanted the best for you.

They all collectively knew they were lying to each other. Even with how poles apart they were, they held one thing in common that they all knew they possessed.

You—needing you for themselves. The thought of having a having a ridiculous debate on who had to have you was out of the question.

The sound of a building collapsing into itself rang in the distance, and they were all became tense as they whipped their head around to the direction of the noise.

It was the same direction you had run off to with Viltrum Mark trailing close behind you.

The variants didn't waste time jumping off the ground, flying towards you. The floor beneath their feet cracked apart with how much force they had used to launch themselves in the air, dust particles floating into the air.

Neither one of them was going to hold a debate nor have a civilized conversation on who was going to take you for themselves. No person would argue about taking what was rightfully theirs, they just take it.

You were theirs, and hell would have to open up and swallow them whole before they even toyed with the idea of having another man take you for themselves without fighting them first.

Chapter Text

"You’re a sore to look at." Sinister complained, rubbing his neck as he looked at the white variant in front of him. It was like looking at one of those white rooms but embodied as a person, and it really didn’t sit well on his eyes.

He groaned softly, the electric waves that sprouted out from your collar zapped him pretty badly. Whatever Cecil had strapped you with was some serious stuff, and it was clear the old man intended it to hurt like a motherfucker if you tried to remove that thing. What a clever little thing you were to use that against him, but you underestimated the durability difference between you two.

You took a hit and were knocked out. Mark took a hit, and he was still standing strong. Even though he was fine, he wasn’t going to let you hurt him unscathed. That would be unfair if you walked away without some reprimand—mean even.

Relationships were 50/50, right? It was only right to hurt you back. To watch and feel you squirm against him as he dragged out your punishment as long as he wanted. Making sure to savor each look, sound, feel, smell, and fucking taste of your suffering.

However, there was only one problem with that... what was the appropriate punishment for you here?

It’s kind of embarrassing, it’s been a hot minute since he was able to think about doing anything to you. At least, anything that you could feel with how you died and all.

Perhaps sinking his teeth in that lovely, now fully exposed neck would satisfy the unjust treatment he received. Nipping at the most sensitive place of your neck before tearing it apart with his canines, warm blood rushing down your neck.

Jesus, just imagining running his slick tongue at the bite he’ll leave made him feel thrilled. The taste of iron that’ll seep out of your body and maybe even swallowing some of that tender flesh of yours—oh, what time was it? Mark’s ready to have lunch. [1]

He wanted it so badly, God. He wanted to slurp at an open wound that was bleeding profusely like it was a delicacy. It was more than a want, a need, or even a yearn—it was a craving. [2]

How much Sinister just wanted to suck on the holes he’ll create was making him feel dizzy, the intoxication of his thoughts driving him crazy like a rabid beast.

He really earned it too, honestly. He deserved to chew and suck on something that was soft and firm—like your flesh and muscle—not something hard and solid like your bones.

Back in his dimension, he would mindlessly gnaw on them when he was bored, each nook and cranny of your skeletal anatomy littered with bite marks. It was like how a dog would act with a chewing toy when they were teething.

"You’re just confusing to look at." Viltrum reflected, his face unchanged. His Viltrum uniform was dirtied from the building that collapsed on him. He seemed unbothered though as his hard stare was focused on buzzing wasp.

"I was in the middle of a great time—you already had yours, so what gives? I gave you plenty of time with bunny," He asked, a sickly grin on his lips. "I hadn't even got properly started with them." He chuckled darkly himself.

The same rush of adrenaline he you were underneath him, your teeth sinking into his gloves so hard they broke as his fingers dive into your throat. You bit so hard it made him bleed, that was an amazing experiencing. An experience he was more than eager to recreate and do over and over again.

His knuckle that your teeth sunk into was pulsating, the pain lingering because of how hard you bit. It was an addicting sensation to have, and his body and were screaming to have that simulation back once again.

He forgot how exactly fun it was to really get to play with you when you were alive. And now it was even better with how hard you fought back—it was better than before. Mark wanted to go back in, but he was forced to take a momentarily break because of this white-ragged cocksucker.

"You don't get to start anything with them, they’re mine." Viltrum cautioned, narrowing his eyes at the black and yellow Invincible. "Only their husband can touch them." He scorned—saying he was upset was an understatement.

The helpless state you were in when he finally picked himself up from the falling building enraged him. The... putrid alternate version of himself had the audacity to hurt you and touch you in such a vulgar manner. Did this inferior version of him think there weren’t going to be any consequences to that behavior?

What really made him act fast however was how Sinister had grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling it when you tried to crawl away. The close to needy whine that escaped your throat made his mind go haywire.

It had been so long since he heard that familiar whimper, the one that drove him mad to keep during sex. No matter how much you begged that it was too much too handle, your human brain being overly stimulated that the overstimulating started to play the line between pain and pleasure—he continued.

Mark didn't mean to monopolize the way he did, but could you blame the man? You drove him crazy with whatever you did, no matter how innocent or indecent—on purpose or not.

Locking you up was the only way he could keep you from escaping but to also keep you from the peering eyes of everyone that could witness you.

It wouldn’t hurt to cage you up again when you both go back to Viltrum. His Viltrum. Mark won’t repeat the same neglectful mistake he made, sure, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep a closer eye on you. For general and personal reasons.

He’ll feel guilty, yes, but he spent too many cold nights without you. He rejected all of the women offered to him, viltrumites or other species from other conquered planets, to replace you as his mate. He’s become ‘frustrated’ and it was only fair that he releases those frustrations onto his partner.

Even if you don’t remember him, that doesn’t mean your body won’t. The sensitive nerves that he knows back to front will recognize the man you love. He knew each of your curves like the back of his hands, all the right buttons to press and toy to make you feel like ecstasy.

... Perhaps when he brought you back home, you both could renew your wedding vows in celebration of reuniting. Then, you and Mark can have a second reuniting—and he’ll make sure to show how much he missed you.

“Pfft,” Sinister Mark snorted, finding it terribly cringy what the other guy was saying. “That’s just corny, man.” He shook his head, swatting his arm at the variant who looked unamused. “Seriously! Now I need to kill you for that.”

“Try it.”

“Not before touching our cute little babe in front of you.” Sinister licked his lips, his voice lowering and turning husky. It was a mixture of a jest, a threat, and a promise—not totally closed off to the idea of actually doing that.

He howled an eerie howl of laughter, watching in real time as the Viltrum Mark’s face slip into anger. “Ha-ha! Now I have to do that! Tell me, which position do you prefer? Just for you buddy, I’ll take requests.” He roared, side stepping in the air as Viltrum had dived at him.

Sinister moved left and right, continuing to yap as he dodged the punches.  “No, no, let me guess—you’re a vanilla type of guy, huh? Missionary?”

“I’ll kill you and rip you limb from limb!”

“Not before I fuck my bitch on your corpse.” He bellowed, raising his leg to kick Viltrum’s torso. The other male stood still in the air, softly grunting at the impact.

He grabbed Sinister’s foot, digging his nails in and swinging him around in a circle to gain momentum before releasing.

Sinister spun in the air before turning himself upright, bending his knees to push himself to the variant with a wild grin. Viltrum clicked his tongue, striking at the Invincible who was coming towards him fast.

Their fists collided together, the impact of their knuckles causing a shockwave to reverberate in the air.

One attack from the other was met with a counter, and a counter was met with an attack. The flurry of punches and jabs kept coming, and on an outsider’s point of view who didn’t have the capacity to see exactly what was going on—it looked like the two were standing there as rings of shockwaves came from their blurry fists.

Their punching streak came to a stop as each other’s fists both contacted each other’s cheek, the strength and speed catching each other off guard as they were sent flying in opposite directions.

The two of them stumbled to regain their standing, but they felt a sudden scruff of their suits behind them. They were thrown at each other, their bodies slamming at each other.

Sinister and Viltrum fell to the ground, a hole like crater forming as soon as they touched their ground with a SMACK!

Viltrum recovered fast, snapping his head up, seeing Omni-Mark looking down on him with a pleased smile. "I told you I'll kill you if you get in my way." He growled, wiping away at the small centimeter of blood that dripped from his nose.

"The neat thing about that is that you can certainly try." The red and white Invincible taunted, his arms crossed as his cape flowed against the wind.

Sinister Mark groaned, slamming his fist against the cracked concrete. "Oh, I hate you all." He barked, not happy that more versions of him came to interrupt his play time.

Viltrum Mark was funny, but this? This was just a miserable joke—and not the one that made him laugh.

The corner of Mohawk's lip curled as he glanced over at Sinister Mark, eyes flickering with both contempt and curiosity. "Aw, we interrupt something for you?" he drawled, voice low and mocking.

"You have no idea." He responded, his voice burning with venom.

Viltrum Mark's eyes glanced at your lying silhouette; you were unconscious and knocked out. The ends of your hair were slightly raised from the static fused into your strands.

In a blur, he sprung over to you, his arm extended to reach for you. The other variants yelled, screaming as they leapt to grab after the white variant who was making a break for it.

If he got his hands on you—or any one of them for that matter—it would be like playing keep away. Or maybe more like playing tag, but whoever tagged the other would probably kill them and steal you from right under them.

Viltrum was just a few feet away from you, his hand reaching to grab your hand until a black and blue blur rammed a fist into his jaw, tackling him across the ground.

The two Marks skidded and rolled on the ground, the one suited in black and blue thrashed at Viltrum with extreme gusto while they skipped like a rock on water.

The white variant used his arms to block the blows as they came to a rolling stop against a large pile of rubble, craning his neck from the white knuckles that were close to making contact to his face—instead kissing the cement bricks that once resembled a walkway.

Viltrum used his legs to kick the male off of him, cursing to himself at how close he was to having you in his arms.

Mainstream Mark caught himself in the air, quick to make himself hover as he looked behind his shoulder.

Your body was still on the ground, unresponsive but clear you were still breathing by how your chest gently went up and down.

The lower part of the prison attire you wore was soaked by a red liquid, a gaping hole inside your pant leg. Mark could only assume that was your blood, sustaining some sort of injury to that leg.

However, your body had healed the bodily harm with how there was a smooth surface of untouched skin.

You had regeneration, your body healing itself from any injury that was inflicted on your body. He gathered that through his fights with you, you always turning out brand new and shiny every time he saw you again.

Mark sighed a breath of relief that you weren’t physically injured—at least, not anymore.

Mark hovered as he turned to face the five men before him, his hands gripping into tight fists. They looked exactly just like him, the only difference was their modified suits that had a different design and/or color palette. Oh, and one had a mohawk.

“How did you all get here!” Mark yelled, taking a defensive stance. He stood between them and you—and he wasn’t going to be leaving your side any time soon.

A bitter taste entered his mouth as he unintentionally reminded himself of Eve, how he was cooped up in the medical room by her bedside.

Main Mark refused to leave and help Cecil when the old man tried to get him to help in the beginning, adamant in staying by Eve's side. He rejected the idea of leaving because all he could think of was his girlfriend.

Even when Cecil pointed out that there were people out there he loved who may be in potential danger. His friends and family were susceptible to getting hurt, or worse, killed.

They weren't Invincible like he was. And they needed help.

His mom, Oliver—shit, his best friend William. The people in his life that he cared about were out there in the world with danger right around the corner, waiting to slaughter them with how powerless they were.

Yet, he didn't budge.

He couldn't bring himself to move out of his spot and go looking for them, rescuing them from the potential shit they're in because Eve was injured—hurt and unconscious.

Nothing that Cecil could've said would have made him move. At least, that's what he thought.

Cecil walked into that room and teased the fact that you were out there, throwing you out in the battlefield from the safety of a cell under the guise of more manpower.

As soon as Mark heard that, it was like he couldn't breathe. Suddenly the shackles that attached him to Eve's bed broke, making him move faster than he ever has.

The concern and worry he held for Eve vanished and instead appeared onto you—but it was different.

It was ten times worse, one hundred times agonizing, and a million times more desperate to know you were okay. He was panicking to know that you weren't hurt—dead even!

He was panicking to know where you were so he could drop everything to come rushing to you, running after you like you were the sun, and he was a moth enamored by the light that was so miserably far away.

He was panicking to know you weren't with other versions of himself, ruining the image that he tried to perfectly create for you so that you can find him desirable and want him like how he so badly wants you.

He was panicking to reach you first, rescue you from whatever situation you were in like a damsel in distress so that you can finally view him more than a heroic superhero that saved the lives of civilians—instead, view him as your heroic superhero that saved your life.

Mark should feel guilty. Mark should feel disgusted and in complete disbelief at himself that he chose to leave his girlfriend's side over a practical stranger. He should feel appalled that the one thing that actually tore him from Eve's bedside wasn't his mom, Oliver, or William being in potential danger—it was you.

The everyday criminal that used to terrorize the streets before your capture. The everyday criminal that made his heart jump whenever he caught wind you were out there, doing your crazy antics again.

He dropped Eve like it was nothing when Cecil dangled you in front of him.

The worst part was—he didn’t. He didn't feel guilty.

Mark felt... ashamed at the possibility of Eve finding out about this. Ashamed if his family and William found out that he came running to you instead of them.

But that was just it, nothing else.

"Oh, shit! It's the us from this world!" Mohawk pointed out. "Your pathetic, man! Leave (Y/N) to the big kids. You didn't even have the balls to have anything with them." He shrilled out, a bubbling laugh in his throat.

Sinister Mark's ears perked up at that, turning to the variant with the punk hairstyle with curiosity.

From the corner of his eye, Mohawk noticed, and he jumped to elaborate. Almost proud of the fact he knew what was going on with you two—well, what wasn't going on between you two.

"They didn't even know who we were! We're not her boyfriend, we're not some friend, we're not some guy they broke up with—just an insignificant stranger."

Mainstream Mark stopped breathing. What?

Why did that... information matter? What was he getting at?

Sinister erupted into manic laughter, clutching his stomach as he began to hit the ground repeatedly. A prickle of a tear edged at the corner of his eye from how hard he was laughing, his stomach beginning to hurt with the booming nature of his laughter.

" Pfft—Haha !—Ah—Hahaha!" He choked on his laughter, standing up and covering his mouth.

Mark tight fists lost their hardness, his mind wrapping around what he had just heard. He was clumsily piecing things together, and he swallowed as he thought. They—They all had something with you in their worlds?

The masked Invincible spoke up, he was farthest from him since he was at the back of the group. “They're the only one still alive.” He brought up, feeling bad that Mainstream Mark couldn’t experience being in any sort of relationship with you.

You were the best thing to happen to him. The best thing to happen to the others too.

“Your right but doesn’t mean I’m going to leave her in this sorry excuse of a world. This kid to too immature to properly handle them.” Omni jumped in, tilting his head as he looked at Mark with a condescending glare.

“'I’m?'” Viltrum cut in, standing up. “You’re all dead men for thinking you have a chance with them. I’m not losing them again.”

“—You’re all delusional! I’m not having any of you have (Y/N)!” He retorted, “Over my dead body I’m letting any of you lay a finger on them.”

“Heh, it’ll be over your dead body alright.” Mohawk smirked, his fist hitting his palm.

The fight was erratic, fast, and constant swings in the air and grabs to try and kill each other. The shockwaves that created from their blows and hits reached the surrounding structures that were still standing, decimating them into nothing but crumbs.

All of the Marks were at each other's threat, the one closet to who would be the target of their attacks with no discrimination. Aside from Omni, Mohawk, and Mask, however.

It really helped having each other, letting their focus be on the two other variants and mainstream Mark. When one of them was in a choke hold, one of them would jump in and save each other then resume duking it out with the other Marks.

It was pure, disorderly chaos.

Chaos that Mask can use.

They were all engrossed in murdering each other like a pack of starved wolves fighting over a piece of meat. They hadn't noticed how Mask slowly began to pull away from the fight, stealthily removing himself.

He made sure to lower his heartbeat over time so that it could mix into the sounds of punches in the air and the wind that howled in their ears, turning into an unnoticed ghost.

The transition was seamless, no one even batting an eye at what Mask was doing—not that it was easy to with the disarray states they were in.

He silently flew to you, still unconscious. Crouching down, he draped a gentle hand onto your forehead, using his thumb to rub small circles.

Your forehead was smooth and cool, and he quietly smiled at this. You had cancer in his dimension, and whenever he brushed a hand or kissed your forehead, it would have a thin layer of sweat.

You experienced frequent hot flashes and terrible night sweats that you would always complain about. They left you sweaty and uncomfortable, but that didn't stop him from kissing you so sweetly.

Something as small as sweat wouldn't bother him—nothing pertaining to you never bothered him.

"You're going to be okay, honey." He whispered, brushing away at the stray hair that rested on your eyelid. The blood that soaked on your leg and pant leg were dry as he slid his arm underneath, cradling you to his chest. "I got you. I always got you."

He pushed himself up, one arm underneath your legs as the other arm propped up his head to his chest. Mask took a glance behind him while he held the weight of your body in his arms, the other Marks still distracted from fighting amongst themselves.

Mask quickly beelined out of there, you safely in his arms.

He had been flying for a while, creating an incredible distance between the you two and the others. Mask would've flown faster but you were still sleeping, and he didn't want to interrupt the rest you were having.

He recalled you telling him that before you developed cancer, you always had a terrible time sleeping. Any shed of sleep was a rare occurrence, and the illness only made your poor sleeping habit worse.

In case you were also like that in this world, Mask stayed cruising in a breezy pace as he felt you in his arms.

Your steady breathing felt like music to his ears, especially without the white noise of the hospital machines hooked up to you when you were alive. It made his hard shoulders relax.

"Mark, why are you staring at me like that?" You called out, raising a brow as he was putting a fresh new bundle of flowers inside your room.

You never opened up much about your past, but you mentioned how your parents never really took you out of the house. You never had the chance to develop a favorite flower—so Mark made it his personal mission to bring you a new type of flowers every day.

You had made a bet with him that he’d run out of new flowers to bring—and surprisingly you hadn’t won that bet yet. Being a superhero that could travel anywhere he wanted, he can find new flowers to bring. He sometimes brought alien plants when he went off world. [3]

Cecil didn’t like that when he found out, citing how alien plants can be invasive to Earth. If some weird event happened because an alien plant released spores or whatever, Cecil was blaming Mark and making him clean it up. What a party pooper.

"You're beautiful, that's why."

"That's such a romcom thing to do."

"Is it a crime to stare at my beautiful partner?!"

You snorted, turning away from him. "What time is your mom coming here again?" You asked, changing the subject as Mark walked over to you, planting a kiss on your forehead.

"Twenty minutes, I think. She texted me a second ago that she just left the diner." Mark mentioned, eyeing you. "Don't tell me you already want to change your order again?" He joked, and you weakly punched his arm.

"No! I was just wondering." You pouted, before your expression suddenly fell flat. Mark quickly noticed, frowning as he cupped your chin, fast to ask what was wrong. "I just—you and Debbie don't always have to eat here. Eating in a hospital sucks—not exactly a good setting for weekly dinners."

"She's more than fine with it, (Y/N)." He reassured, trailing his hand to squeeze yours. "I'm more than fine with it too. Having my two favorite people in the same room, having dinner and laughing—we could be eating at a dumpster with the mice, and I'll be happy."

"You—ugh, why'd you have to phrase it like that! Eugh, I should hit you in the face for that!" You jokingly fumed, pushing his hand away. "I'm calling the nurse to drag you out of here! Me and Debbie can have just have dinner together."

"Hey, you're kicking your dessert out!"

"You're such a corny dork!" You playfully yelled, throwing the bed remote at him. He dodged it, pulling you into a hug as he giggled.

Mask smiled softly at those memories, replaying them in his head. It was his favorite thing to do, replay his favorite memories. The good ones.

He didn’t like to think of the... bad ones. There were so many bad ones—the worse ones were always when your health would deteriorate. The bleeding, the bruising, the hair loss, the cognitive dysfunction—those always hurt to remember.

He didn't notice the small stir in his arms, you slowly but surely waking up from being knocked out.

You blinked hazily, feeling the wind softly kiss at your cheeks as you were beginning to regain consciousness. You were trying to properly remember what happened before passing out, only recollecting the painful surge of electricity that jolted throughout your body.

You blinked and then blinked again.

.

.

.

Your entire body became tense as the events that happened to you before being knocked out came rushing in—yelling at you about those crazy, so fucking crazy, Invincibles that declared nonsense after nonsense.

That did nonsense after nonsense.

One of them got off at being choked, the other put you in a sexual compromising position, and the—eugh.

The phantom taste of rubber and metallic flooded your taste buds, and your stomach twisted as you remembered that perverted psycho. You swallowed thickly, your throat seemed like it was still stretched from that Invincible fingering your esophagus with that twisted, perverted grin.

At least your leg was healed and fixed, having regenerated while you passed out. And you seemed to be far—wait.

You caught your breath as you finally felt that you were being carried.

It didn't compute until now, but now it did. Tender arms were cradling you, carrying you with warmth while your head was brushed up against a strong chest.

Your eyes turned sharply upwards, an Invincible with his face fully covered by a black mask looking ahead. You recognized him, the variant who had tackled the mohawk one.

He was lost in his thoughts, and you didn't hesitate to smack him on the face. His goggles broke, shattering as he yelped in surprise. The firm hold on you loosened, and you didn't waste a second to worm your way out of it—jumping.

Chapter Text

You tried to use the Invincible variant that was holding you as a stepping stool to give you a jumping leap, but he quickly acted as he grabbed a hold of the heel of your foot.

You yelped in surprise, not expecting a quick reaction as you slipped and fell downwards. Not wanting you to fall, he used his free arm to wrap around your leg to catch you.

You were now dangled upside down in the air, pressed against the variant's muscular body.

You grunted, straining your neck to lift your head away from Mask’s legs so you wouldn't be smothered against them. You pressed against his knees using your hands to create more distance from the lower part of his body, extremely displeased at this bad positioning.

"Wait, wait a minute!" He stumbled; his voice was close to a begging tone as he had a firm but soft grip on you. It was evident that Mask didn't want to hurt you. You didn't care as you thrashed wildly against his hold, wanting nothing more than to get away from the man.

Trying to loosen the grip he had was strenuous with how this positioning actively worked against you, making it hard to get out of.

It felt like you were a fish caught by a hook—no matter how much you struggled his grip didn’t let up. Hell, it felt like the more you did the more he made sure to hold you even tighter.

"Fucking shit!—Let go of me!" You yelled through gritted teeth as you tried to look up as you kicked your legs wildly, though it was difficult to do so with how close your two bodies were.

"Just listen to me, I won't hurt you—I want to help you!"

You grunted, shaking your head. "I am not finding out what your sick definition of help is!" You retorted, refusing to even play with the idea of hearing what this blue and black variant had to say.

It would be a very stupid and bad decision to spend one more second with this Invincible variant, especially with how ‘great’ the previous interactions with the others were.

It was really absurd, incredibly ridiculous, and absolutely infuriated you to your core. Being caught off guard and captured, then thrown into a dingy prison basement, and then to top it all off being used as an asset against your will was already upsetting.

But it didn't just stop there—your supposed opponents that the G.D.A told you to fight were some deranged, mentally ill freaks that wanted nothing more to push their delusions onto you because they apparently had a relationship with—well, you?

You were expecting a fight. A brutal, disastrous fight where you were crowned victorious in the end. That’s how all fights go—how all fights should go. It was the basic formula known to man.

Instead, it was some big reunion where they all drooled over you like a bunch of slobbery dogs looking at their long-lost favorite toy.

You would’ve rather been beaten to death then ever go through that again!  

Each fiber of your being wanted to run away and come back with a flame thrower to kill each single one of them, exterminating their annoying asses to guarantee you’ll never see them again.

Especially that black and yellow degenerate.

"Okay, okay!" He panicked, "I can see how this looks but you have to trust me!" Mask desperately pleaded, a whine scratching at the back of his throat as you continued to fight against him. "I got you away from the others, they're way worse—"

"Oh!" You rolled your eyes, a scoff quick to escape your throat. "My hero, my hero! Thank you so much for rescuing me!"

You clasped your hands together, each word dripping in sarcasm. "Say, what do you want as your reward? Money?" You asked before pausing for dramatic effect. You let out a wild fake gasp. "Oh, of course not! Me, right?"

Mask was taken aback with that witty response, defensive words choking in his throat as his cheeks heated up underneath his black mask. "No! (Y/N)—No, I—that's not what's happening!"

You furrowed your brows, digging your fingernails in his knees. "Either way, I don't want to fucking know what is happening!" You replied, spitting out the curse word with venom.

You brought your head close to his leg, opening your jaw wide. You clamped your teeth down hard, making sure to make it hurt as much as it can. Your teeth sunk into his skin through the thin layer of spandex, the soft sensation yet sturdy muscle meeting your mouth.

The Invincible variant gasped in shock, not expecting the sharp sensation of your teeth to dig inside his leg. His grip loosened, allowing you to finally wiggle out of his grasp.

Even though his mind didn't know how to react to this, his body certainly did. His foot jerked to your face, and before you could raise your hand to block it his foot already contacted the top of your forehead.

It was immediate, and your head swung backwards from the kick.

It didn't take you long for you to hit the ground, the road splitting in half as you were smacked to the ground—rolling like an unstoppable boulder.

You crashed into a fire hydrant that stopped your momentum, but at a consequence of it busting open and water gushing out everywhere. The water sprayed on the ruined road, the cracked sidewalk, and onto you.

Your prison jumpsuit quickly became soaked with water from the broken fire hydrant, the loose fabric sticking to your skin making it hug your silhouette.

At first, Mask didn't realize what he had done—watching you crash into the fire hydrant not registering that he had been the one to be the cause. When he finally realized, he was fast to descend down.

"I'm, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to kick you like that, I don't even know why I—are you okay?!" He hurriedly rushed to your side, crouching as his eyes looked at your forehead that was forming a noticeable bump.

Water still escaped from the fire hydrant, but it turned into a light lawn spray as he looked at you.

Your eyes hazily opened, pushing yourself up using your elbows. You slapped a hand on your forehead, your brain feeling like it shifted with how hard the kick was. You winced, jumping at how there was already a bump forming.

The variant next to you was repeating apologies, reciting them like scriptures. You couldn't really pay attention. Your blurry vision taking its time to adjust as your hearing made everything around you, particularly Mask's voice, sound like white noise.

"—let's get you somewhere safe," Mask hurriedly looked around before landing his eyes on you again, "someone might've heard that. We have to go." He spoke with urgency, placing a careful hand behind your back.

Your blurry vision quickly became clear, and hearing returned to your ears, your healing properties finally kicking in and fixing the damage that had been done to you.

The bump that was rapidly swelling on your forehead also died down. You blinked, your eyes finally trailing to the Invincible variant.

He was too close for comfort, and you tensed as you felt the hand that was cupped on your back. Your gaze moved to his face, and his goggles were completely void of glass besides the small remnants that edged the outline.

His brown eyes were on full display, and they looked deeply into yours as if they were the only thing worth peering into. It was clear as day how much blind affection, softness, and worry filled those eyes.

It made your skin crawl to be viewed with so many tender emotions for so many reasons, one of them being that you knew it wasn't directed towards you. It was someone else who was a different version of you that got to experience another life than the one you have currently.

You felt like a second rate to some weaker version of you that died. A version of you that didn't even have powers.

Though you guess if you had to admit you were a speck jealous. Those versions of you probably had normal lives, normal hobbies, normal jobs—normal everything. Even if their life wasn’t that pretty, it probably was better than what your life was right now.

Although that small trace of jealousy disappeared as soon as you remembered they had the misfortune of dating Invincible. The Invincible variants were whack, crazy, and probably made their lives a living hell.

You grimaced and shrunk away as he reached a hand out to you, aiming to caress your forehead with his blue gloves. Your face contorted into a glare; your hand flying to secure his wrist and fling him behind you like he weighed nothing but a grain of salt.

Mask was flung inside an empty cafe, breaking through the brick wall and through the marble counter. A pot of cold coffee that was abandoned at the workstation during evacuation fell on his shoulder, pouring out and staining the side of his suit.

You pulled yourself up, the soaked clothing making you shiver uncomfortably. I need to change out of this.

You looked around to see where you were. Even though the surrounding buildings and structures were decimated and resembled more of an apocalypse than a functioning city—you thankfully were able to recognize what part of Chicago you were in.

You squinted, trying to jog your memory. You had made secret deserted spaces that people and the city itself forgot existed as hide outs. Those places were for you to retreat and hide in whenever you were finished doing your routine destruction and ‘rough housing.’

That's how you were able to run and disappear so fast whenever superheroes tried to capture you during your ‘hobby.’ It was funny hearing them frustrated and angry when you slipped away, their muffled voices coming behind the entrance of one of your many hideouts whenever they walked past one.

At least, that's how it used to be. Other superheroes seemed to have moved on from you, the only super showing up to stop your reenactment of Godzilla movies on the city before being locked up behind bars was Invincible.

.

.

.

It was odd, honestly.

To totally toot your own horn, even though you were a regular menace and an everyday pain in the ass that everyone became ‘use’ to—you were still that, a menace.

You knew that the secret organization sent any hero near your vicinity to deal with you before you could cause any more indirect casualties—but they seemed to have changed their mind one day and only sent Invincible.

Sure, he stopped you each time—but it must’ve not been efficient to send him every time with how quick you were to get to wrecking shit. There was no way he was the closest to you every single time with how you made sure to pick different spots to remain unpredictable.

There was rare times when other superheroes did get the chance to fight you instead, but it always went back to that same grinning hero.

If you didn't know any better, it felt like he called dibs on you.

You couldn’t help but think that because there were multiple times where he unknowingly stood near a concealed hideout you were in. It was easy to eavesdrop him conversing with himself, overhearing mutters and incoherent whispers.

His mutters were always along the lines of hoping you were okay, that you'd heal and recover quickly, that he hoped he made a good impression this time—and something about how he should stop running to you?

You got a slow, sinking feeling form into your stomach as you thought more about this world's Invincible.

He was always weird, treating you differently from other criminals. You always chalked it up to be a potential hero complex, all superheroes having some mild form of it. That’s what you theorized, anyway.

Saving the city, saving civilians—it's inevitable that a shiny new hero thinks they can save a villain from the mess they are.

It wasn't the first time a super thought they could change you, ‘fix’ you for the better. You always spat out a harsh refusal over and over again until they finally gave up. It was easy, just be an insensitive prick and they wished the kind words they spoke to you were punches instead.

Invincible was the longest, being stubborn about offering you redemption and friendship no matter how much you drilled it into him that you won't budge.

You literally beat it in him with each encounter, but he would show up once again with a smile whenever you were out and about.

You became used to seeing him, even with how annoyed you were each time. It became familiar to just randomly turn around and see him staring at you while you were punching holes inside a building, like a shadow waiting to be acknowledged.

However, he was still a good guy—at least, you think. Experiencing these different versions of him made your head wonder if he had more interest in you than he should have beyond just the potential hero complex and annoying moves for friendship.

It seemed like all his variants so far did, having some sort of romantic relationship with your counterparts. You didn't want to think it but—did your Invincible hold some sort of affection for you?

Of five variants of five realities, Invincible liked you in each one of them.

What's to say this reality was any different in that regard?

What's to say that he didn't view you more than a criminal?

What's to say that your Invincible wasn't like them?

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to snap out of your train of thoughts.

That just wouldn't make sense, Invincible viewing you in a romantic way. It just logically wouldn’t. You treated him lower than dirt more times than you can count—he'd have to have his own form of delusion to form lovey-dovey thoughts for you.

You had to hold out hope that your Invincible was a good, weird, but normal superhero. If the Invincible variants were searching for you—you needed help getting them off your back until this war blows over somehow.

"Don't fucking touch them!" You heard Mask shout, and you turned around to see what he was screaming at. As you did, you were met face to face with an Invincible variant that had sneaked up behind you. They wore a similar get up to your Invincible's suit, but they had washed out colors and bigger goggles.

Your eyes widen, looking behind the newly appeared variant to see Mask approaching fast with his arms out. You were fast to sidestep, the newly appeared variant getting pushed to the ground where you previously stood.

You heard someone land behind you, and you turned around in a defensive stance to see that another Invincible variant had shown up.

Before he could get the chance to say anything, you jumped at him—socking him in the jaw. Twisting on your heel, you used the small momentum to kick his side. The variant was kicked to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

You jumped backwards, your back hitting someone else's. You looked over your shoulder to see that it was Mask, his fists raised ready to fight the variant he had roughly pushed aside.

Shifting your head to look at the sky. There were two more variants that were preparing to throw themselves at you, both having different versions of the yellow and blue Invincible suit that strayed far from the original.

You clicked your tongue, pressing your back further into Mask's as you knew if you fought them all by yourself, you'd be in deep shit. "If you're serious about helping me—then you'll help me get out of this alive. Then you'll fuck off and leave me alone."

"I can do the first one but..." His voice was muffled behind his mask, hesitance clear in his voice. His brown eyes flickered behind him, your hair in his view and the press of your back sending shivers down his spine.

Mask breath wavered, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from you to refocus on the Invincible variant that was picking themselves up from the floor.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mark huffed, trying to fight off the exhaustion that was threatening to overtake his body. He didn't know how long he was fighting these evil versions of him, but it must've been less than an hour with how the sky didn't shift to a different hue at all.

They were doing a number on him and to each other with how they were all strained in some way. Ragged breathing, minute slower movements, and taking any opportunity to catch themselves before jumping back into the chaotic fight.

The only variants that didn't seem completely worn out were Viltrum and Sinister—but even then, the two seemed out of it like the rest of them were. [1]

"Are you kidding me with this bullshit!" Mohawk Mark screeched, his snarky voice making every variant pause. "Why the fuck are you fighting us?" He pointed, hovering next to Omni-Mark whose red cape was half torn.

Mark jumped, not expecting everyone to collectively stop fighting to look at who Mohawk was pointing at—which was him.

They all took in Mohawk's words, being interested to know the answer to his question. Either that or they were taking advantage of the rare stillness.

"What, what do you think!" He stuttered out, his voice squeezing as his body became more agitated than it already was. Mark felt on edge, like each nerve of his body was exposed. "You all think that you can just kidnap (Y/N)! They don’t belong to either of you!"

"They don’t belong to you either." Omni pointed out, his eyes narrowing at Mark with haughtiness. "Please, remind me again, what relationship do you two have?" He quipped, tilting his head in amusement.

Mark felt a lump form in his throat, his whole body feeling like someone had just ripped off his skin. Being reminded that these evil versions of him had something that he didn't have was painful—like he was being punished.

To add more salt to the wound that the red and white variant had opened, Mohawk jumped at the opportunity to rub it in Main Mark's face on what he didn't have and ever got to experience—you.

"We dated—got together senior year of high school and continued dating when she went to college." He let out an airy laugh, gesturing at the lower part of his body with both hands. "Suck it."

Viltrum took the surprise pause of the fight to add in his own relationship with you, tone flat but lighthearted—an invisible smile on his lips. "We married. I met them the first time I went to Earth on the rooftop of their apartment complex."

His eyes flickered to the punk-style Invincible, the mention of college making him remember something. "... It was after they dropped out."

Sinister laughed, a playful grin gracing his lips. "Pfft, those are stupid. Mine was an inspiring journalist who wanted to bring me to 'justice'—oh, how it was practically destiny that they landed themselves to be my plaything." His hands twitched, thinking back on the first time he met you.

A smug, almost shit eating grin danced on his lips. "I could tell it made them feel alive, even through their senseless wailing. No matter how hard they tried to hide it, that bitch enjoyed me as much as I enjoyed them."

Omni shook his head, waving his hand as if all the words that the others spoke were meaningless. "They were my pet, the only perfect thing that could be my wedded partner.”

His lip quirked upwards, recalling the first time he saw you. "It was a long process to domesticate them, but it was worth everything." He chuckled before his smile faltered, transitioning to a frown.

"Oh, and we had a child together." He shrugged his shoulders before continuing, speaking casually like it was nothing too extraordinary.

He seemed displeased to have remembered that fact, his expression turning sour. "Shame there wasn't much use for it. Got in my way more than being convenient."

Mark choked on nothing when he heard that, his soul feeling like it got kicked out of his body as he tried to recover from the shock.

He burned his stare in the variant that resembled the suit his father once wore like he had just grown two heads.

"Child?—Child?!" He screamed, shaking his head as his mind was swirling with all this information that hit him at once.

Viltrum huffed hearing that, avoiding looking at Omni. "(Y/N) and I would've produced a child eventually." He murmured, defending himself like it was some sort of competition to who hit more milestones with you.

"Ugh, that's pointless! Why have a child?" Sinister rolled his eyes, thinking that it was absolutely absurd that his counterparts would think of having an offspring. His posture was relaxed as he voiced his thoughts. "Their body should only be available to me, not something else."

He hummed, as if agreeing with Sinister, "It was a good enrichment for a while, then the thing got annoying." Omni explained. "Didn't want to keep it around anymore."

"Anymore? The fuck that's supposed to mean?" Mohawk questioned, both hands settled on his hips. With how he phrased it, he didn't think it was farfetched to assume that his counterpart did something horrible to the child.

Omni-Mark stayed silent, not responding. That earned a raised brow from Mohawk, suspicion surfacing through his sharp features.

Mark finally snapped out of his shell shock, interrupting the variants' small conversation. "Fine, maybe I don't have a relationship with them like you guys had." He began reasoning, his eyes blinking fast behind his lens.

"But that doesn't mean I don't care about them, that doesn't mean I don't want them just as much as you all do—probably even more!" He gestured, shaking his head frantically as he raised the volume of his voice the more he continued his speech.

"I want to be close to them, I want them to be mine, I want them to..." His voice died down, closing his eyes before opening them again, "to feel for me like I do for them." Mark confessed in a hushed tone.

The words escaped from him faster than he could think of them. "I like them." He admitted, the complicated feelings that he had dealt with for so long surfacing brightly without being pushed down into the void of denial.

It was like a wave of clarity washed over him, crashing down on him so unexpectedly.

The first time he saw you, intense feelings bubbled up in him that he never experienced before. It only became worse the more he saw you, being consumed with the feelings that overtook his thoughts.

Mark Grayson began secretly begging the world to let him hear that you're out there so he can chase after you—the light at the end of the tunnel that only shows itself every once in a while.

Whenever he was with you, it was like his whole body was alive. He never felt like he ever truly lived before meeting you, each part of him waking up as soon as your presence basked his soul and body like sunlight.

It didn't make sense; there was no rhyme or reason why he felt this way. It was so wrong, but so endearingly right.

It felt so right just to be near you, look at you with so much affection and adoration that it was unmeasurable.

He drowned in thoughts about you that hijacked his mental space, each nook and cranny of his mind tied to you somehow. Each time he resisted and pulled away; he rushed back in with a tighter grip than before.

This pull never happened with Amber, his first girlfriend and the first person he'd ever been intimate with. As well as confess his superhero identity.

He liked her— loved her, cared for her and had feelings for her, but it wasn't the same. She just wasn't you.

Amber didn’t make him feel like his whole life purpose was fulfilled by just watching you do whatever, tracking your movements like he was writing them down in the folds of his brain. The physical contact he received from you, mostly violently, didn’t cause his body to soak up each centimeter of it like it was starved for it.

That subconsciously seeped into their relationship. He put so many things above Amber, missing so many places that she wanted him to be present because he was her boyfriend. He put their relationship on pause countless times to be a superhero, saving the world and saving lives—it was hard to drop it for her.

Though it came easy when it was for you, not for Amber.

Then there was Eve. She was a great person, helping Mark to understand what it truly was to be a superhero. She was there by his side and understood the hardships that the world relentlessly threw at him, giving him an open shoulder to talk about his problems.

It made sense their natural friendship blended into something more. She pulled him in—but not in the same way.

Eve didn't compare to you, not even close. Mark wanted her to, grounding himself and swallowing down this claim that she was the one—his girlfriend, his everything, his.

Everything else came secondary when it came to Eve. That was until he heard you were out there again instead of safely locked away, and suddenly it became easy to leave Eve behind when he was so adamant about staying with her.

He was so immersed in so many things and with Eve that when you were in that cell made by the G.D.A, his mind didn't wander to you so frequently anymore.

Mark didn't have to worry about the next time he'll see you again, always constantly on his feet ready to fly over to you.

Mark didn't have to worry about whether the last time he saw you was the final one, paranoid that you'll suddenly disappear without a trace. The chance to earn a mutual connection with you completely gone.

Mark didn't have to worry because he knew where you were and knew you were okay, safe, alive, and waiting. When things slowed down, he planned to visit you and show you that it was okay to give him a chance.

He wanted—no, he needed to earn your trust, earn your interest. That he could change your mind about rejecting him, even if it meant being a broken record that was on repeat.

Since, in truth, he wanted you to be his from the start.

It was unreasonable, illogical, but it felt more right than wrong. It was stupid, fucking pathetic even just like how Cecil said—but Mark couldn't help it. He tried to deny it for so long, but he couldn't anymore. It was impossible to.

It was love at first sight with you, and he wasn't going to let you get taken away. Mark wanted you to be his, and he'd push everything and everyone aside to get that opportunity.

He raised his voice again, stern and firm. "And I'm not going to let any of you take them just because you all failed at your chance. You don't get do-overs."

"Aw, cute!" Mohawk mocked, lifting a hand to form a mouth puppet. "Practiced that speech of yours with good ol' buddy right hand?" He let out a forced coo, turning his mouth puppet into a circle—going up and down in a slow motion.

That earned a hearty chuckle from Sinister, but not Viltrum or Omni. It also didn't get a peep out of Mask either, not a single word coming from the masked Invincible variant.

"You almost sound as corny as—" He whipped his head around, searching for Mask. His mischievous grin dropped, and the others followed suit in looking around to spot the missing variant.

There were supposed to be five among them, yet there were only four. The yellow and black variant's relaxed posture disappeared as soon as the absence of one of them was brought to his attention, spinning around to confirm that the other's presence was truly not there.

"Jesus, where the fuck is the other one." Sinister growled, snapping his head to the direction of your body. He zoomed past, the others lagging behind to search for your unconscious body.

Mark drifted behind, his heart leaping to his throat.

The place where you were supposed to be—empty. Dried blood and the broken metal fragments of the collar were the only things there.

It didn't take a genius to piece together what happened, and it enraged Sinister how foolishly easy it was to sneak off with you.

Sinister fists clenched, screeching at the top of his lungs at a random direction. "You're dead! " His growly voice carried out, dragging his words across the distance.

Viltrum's hand grabbed a hold of the end of Omni's cape, draping it over his neck and pulling it towards him tightly. "Where did he take them." He spat out, eyes darkening as he tugged at the red cape he was using to strangle the variant.

Omni had quickly dug his fingers in between the space of the cape and neck, ensuring that he wouldn't be asphyxiated. "Your guess is as good as mine." He grunted, bringing his head forward before swinging it backwards—smacking Viltrum's face.

The white uniformed variant let go of his hold, and Omni-Mark whipped around to punch him in the chest, knocking him a few inches away.

"There goes the 'alliance!' Not that it was going to last long anyway. Ugh! He could be anywhere in this shithole." Mohawk grumbled; displeasure written on his face with how a deep frown embedded itself on his lips.

Suddenly, all the variants had something thrown at them, pushing them to the ground. A large wall from the collapsed building nearby was on top of them, the heavy weight grounding and crushing them.

Mark floated above them, having gone and grabbed a fallen chunk of a structure to pin them down. It wasn't going to delay them by much, but it gave him a running head start.

Each second counted to go searching for you and find the Invincible variant that stole you from right under his nose.

He propelled himself forward, flying in a random direction. His hair was pushed back as the wind howled against him; his forehead furrowed. Mark brought his hand to his ear, holding the earpiece that Cecil had given him.

"Donald? Donald are you there?" He asked while looking down, flying above structures. The city had been bulldozed by his evil counterparts, making it look more like a salvage yard rather than an international hub.

"-Uh, yes. I've—I've been here the entire time." Donald jumped, clearing his throat. He was surprised at being suddenly addressed, having been silent this entire time.

He had been observing safely at headquarters, watching through the screen. While the cameras themselves didn't have audio, Mark, having an earpiece, allowed him to finally listen to something.

Donald had been overhearing this entire time, and he had begun to think that the superhero had forgotten he was there. He felt out of place, and he couldn’t possibly interrupt him to remind Mark of his presence. He was saying vulnerable things that seemed rude to cutoff.

"Can you try and find (Y/N)?" Mark queried, scanning the streets below him for any sign of you.

He could care less that Donald may have overheard everything he said—it didn't matter. The time was ticking, and he was not going to leave you alone with your kidnapper nor let some other Invincible find you first.

"Mark I-" Donald shook his head, beginning to speak before being brashly interrupted.

"I don't give a shit what you have to say Donald! Just tell me if you can try and find them or not!" He snapped, his question shifting more into a demand.

Each letter of his words was as sharp as a blade, coming out of the blue which shocked the older man.

A static silence overcame the intercom, and Mark back tracked. He didn't mean for it to come out so harsh. "I'm—I'm sorry Donald that's not what I meant. I didn't mean to-" He sucked in an unleveled breath, "Can you try and find them? Please?"

"... Sure thing, Mark."

Chapter Text

You hissed, pulling your hand out of the esophagus that you had forcefully slid your hand into. You ripped the tube out, throwing it aside as the Invincible variant fell on his knees—clawing at the gaping hole in his neck.

The blood gushed out like a geyser as you took a step back, your chest rising and releasing a huff.

Your hair was a mess, tangled and mangled together from fighting the Invincible variants that tried their hardest to take you down and submit to them. They were relentless, and you were grateful that Mask mitigated the fight—doing his part and killing two eviler versions of himself. [1]

You looked over to Mask, the variant lunging a rusty metal bar that he got from a hanging sign inside the chest cavity of his opponent. It hit straight to his pumping heart, a gritted gasp escaping their throat before the light in their eyes disappeared.

Small muscle memory jerks remained, but it died down as Mask dug the metal bar harder—twisting it for good measure. He then pulled it out effortlessly, a string of thick blood and cartilage following as he threw it aside.

Comparing yourself to him, you probably looked like absolute shit. There was hardly any blood on him, the only liquid there being was the dried coffee stain and the damp areas of his suit from the fire hydrant.

You, on the other hand, were covered in sticky blood. Your neck was painted in a deep shade of red, it dripped down from your neck to the collar of your prison uniform. It looked like a badly botched tie dye job, minus the metallic smell that made your skin crawl.

The tips of your hair were dipped in the liquid of death as well, the affected hair forming clumps at the end and hardening.

You hated killing—not because of a moral compass, merely because of the smell that made your stomach feel absolutely sick. You could never avoid making a huge mess, so your face was always met with the waft of blood exposed to oxygen.

You breathed heavily as you blinked to look around. All four variants who tried to jump you and Mask were dead, the one you just killed on the ground—the blood gushing out of his throat formed a puddle.

You swallowed, putting your hands on your knees to catch a breath. The odor of blood seeped into your nostrils, and you gagged as your stomach was not taking too kindly to that smell. It felt like you were going to throw up with how it twisted and swished.

“Do you feel sick?” Mask softly asked, hopping off the variant he had just shoved a rod into.

He surveyed the slaughter you both caused, mentally noting the splattered blood along the concrete. “It’s because of the blood, isn’t it?”

You gagged once again, bringing a hand to pinch the tip of your nose. “Kind of.” You replied bluntly, not elaborating more on it.

“The odor I’m guessing?” He continued, and you gave him a funny glance. Mask rushed to explain, “In my world, you also hated the smell of blood. It always made you feel nauseous—I got good at not getting too much on me because of that." He laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ding ding ding." You clapped lazily. "Never been a fan of it. It makes me want to projectile vomit everywhere."

"You did one time. It was on me though." He joked, but not really. It did actually happen when he rushed to the hospital after a fight because he promised to visit you at a specific time.

Mask had forgotten to change out of his blood-soaked suit with how panicked he was to arrive on time. The moment he appeared by your side from entering through the  window, the metallic smell hit your nose, and you puked all over him without sparing a second to register to face somewhere else.

"I won't do the second one. I'm sorry. I'm not leaving you."

Mask's words echoed in your mind, and you mentally rolled your eyes at the reminder. The only reason why he wanted to stick around was because he wanted to project the variant version of you onto you—all of the variants did.

It was annoying. However, with how more docile and suppressed he was compared to the others, you had the chance to break this illusion of his. It wasn't the first time you've successfully pushed someone away.

You bit your tongue, feeling a dry laugh threatening to escape. "Guess all I did there was be sick and puke on you. Very romantic." You sarcastically responded, looking over to see how the masked variant would react to what you're going to say. "With how weak they were, they  should've died sooner."

"..."

"Honestly, they managed to pull the short stick of our childhood." You bitterly mentioned, a small flashback to your childhood played in your mind. "If whatever illness I had didn't take me immediately, I would’ve just done it myself. That would've been the best option."

"..."

"Not only were they weak, but they were also stupid too apparently." You added, continuing to watch how he'd react to your words. His eyes were boring into yours, and you didn't peel away from them as you simply glared.

You were ready to dodge anything he threw at you or came at you with, expectantly waiting to move your legs to dodge an incoming fist.

A second passed, then another, then another.

“... Haha!” He suddenly burst into a small fit of giggles, raising a hand to cover his mouth. Startled, you flinched, your eyes turning wide at this unexpected reaction. You couldn’t gauge if this was some kind of ploy to catch you off guard so he can hit you by surprise, but the more he laughed the more confused you got.

“Is something wrong with you?” You asked annoyed, not understanding why he was laughing. His giggles were dying down, and he brought his hand back down to his side. “You found that funny?” He shook his head frantically, taking a few steps towards you.

“No, no. I just—even though your different in this world you’re still the same.”

You scoffed, taking his statement as a lie. “Bullshit.”

“No, you are! When we first met,” Mask took your hand, cupping it into his. You jumped but didn’t pull away as you were curious to what he had to say. “You said something so similar about yourself. Looking back on it, you were trying to drive me away.”

He sighed, “You thought that if you pushed out all the worst traits of yourself, no one would want to stick around.” he said in a low voice, almost recalling it in a fond. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, as if trying to soothe a wild animal.

The smooth texture of his gloves sent goosebumps down your spine, causing you to tense. I’m not listening to this. You thought, but his gaze held your body firmly into place, like a nail driven in wood.

"You were wrong, though," he whispered. "It just made me stay longer."

Your breath hitched, your heart squeezing at those words.

You yanked your hand back instinctively, your heart hammering against your ribs in an uneven rhythm. "Don't say shit like that," you snapped, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. "You don't know me."

“I do.”

“No, you don’t!” You screamed, shaking your head. You stepped away from him, needing the distance like air in your lungs, "I'm not the same as them, I’m different," you muttered, your voice quieter, heavier now. "I'm stronger, I’m powerful—I’m worse.”

He tilted his head, the smile slipping away from his face, replaced by something that looked almost like sadness. Not that you could tell with the mask that covered it, but his eyes expressed it. "Maybe you are," he agreed after a moment. "But I’m happy to learn.”

Shut up.

“I love each part of you, even the worse ones."

You stood there frozen, caught between cursing at him and lunging at him—but you did neither. You just stared at him; words caught in your throat and your hands flexing not knowing what to do.

Finally, you turned on your heel, going to the direction of the nearest hideout you owned. “Come on, we need to go.” You called out, walking without checking to see if he was following.

“We?” He repeated, hope filled in his voice as he quickly trailed behind you. Not bringing attention to the fact you dismissed everything he had just said, not bothered by it.

“Don’t misunderstand anything! This is momentary. I’m tired, exhausted, and clearly can’t think straight with how I’m even letting you tag along!” You grumbled; eyes stuck stared ahead. “You’re protecting me from whatever lunatic of an Invincible we come across.”

“I—”

“And don’t talk.” You whipped around, causing him to halt in his steps. “It lessens the chances of you saying stupid shit and I’ve been dealing with each one of you freaks yapping like it’s a talk show so I deserve some silence,” you hissed, referencing his whole cringe speech, “oh and, ten steps back when you’re walking with me—I don’t want you humping my leg.”

“Got it!” He happily chirped, overjoyed that you were allowing him to be with you without telling him to fuck off.

“Ughhh, shut the fuck up!” You swiveled back around, walking in a faster pace than before. You heard him begin walking at the distance you commanded him to follow, and you dug your nails in the palm of your hand.

This was stupid—you were going back on your word about how bad it was to spend one more second with this variant, yet here you were letting him follow you to your hideout. You wanted to pull your hair out with how you should be telling him to screw himself and to get lost, but you bit your tongue as you merely continued strolling.

Even worse, your cheeks were a tad warm. You hated what he said seemed to affect you. You tried to ignore how your heart was softly rattling against your chest, taking deep inhales and exhales to calm it.

Maybe the forced proximity of being near crazy variants were beginning to rub off their lunacy onto you, making your headspace cloudy.

At least it was only down to one.

An Invincible was standing on the roof of a building, peering down the alleyway that you and Mask were walking in.

He wore an exact replica of this world’s Invincible suit; the one small difference was the fact his gloves were blue at the end of his knuckles. The male also didn’t have the mask on; blood scattered on his face and chest.

His eyes were downcast, his hand over the other, holding it as he stared at you.

It was a way to self-soothe himself, no longer having his favorite person in the whole world to hold his hand anymore. His heart ached at that, breaking more than it already was.

His eyes burned thinking back on how his partner was forever gone—he’ll never see that handsome face ever again, the witty personality, and the easygoing jokes that always made him feel better.

The Invincible would’ve started crying if he hadn’t already squeezed out each tear already. He didn’t think he’d be able to produce any more with how hollow he felt, completely dried out.

He continued to watch intently, having witnessed the brutality you caused minutes prior. He didn’t mean to come across the scene, having been just wandering around aimlessly after doing the orders that Angstrom had instructed him to do.

The variant had stayed silent, watching from a safe distance. He hadn’t expected to find you here, but he supposed it made sense.

The Invincible had been preoccupied thinking about his special one that his mind didn’t think to remind him about you until now.

You were special too. A good, dear friend. You were the second person to truly understand him and be by his side through everything. Accepting who he was and supporting him.

Guilt and grief swelled in his chest as he found himself hovering to you just a few feet away. You were completely unaware of the presence that was stalking you as you silently fumed at the predicament you were in.

Finding you made the emotional weariness drag him down further, like weights were placed upon his chest.

Seeing you made him think of—

“... I miss William...” He croaked out, his voice sounding like it hadn’t been used for such a long time. He whispered out the name William like it was something sacred, holding the name of his dead lover with so much tenderness.

William was his boyfriend and his first best friend, the person he cared so deeply about more than himself.

You were his second-best friend, the only other person in his life that he relied on. The three of you were a great trio that protected each other, being brought together by the wonderous work of his late boyfriend.

You died while trying to protect William, Nolan determined to kill the boy Mark was in love with—saying that having a big of a distraction as William would only hinder him from doing what his life’s purpose was.

There was only so much that you can do against a viltrumite while having the capabilities of being human. You were completely butchered, the overkill that Nolan did was unfathomable. William’s death was less severe; you stood between him and the painful ending he would’ve originally received.

He lost the two most important people in his life that day, dying next to each other and he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

All three of you promised to be together in the future, live in the same neighborhood so that every day whenever you and William wanted, you’ll all get together and hangout. Him and William would live in a cozy house just for the two of him, and you would be the next-door neighbor with the key to let yourself in anytime.

That’s what you three had promised—before Nolan ripped and tore that promise apart like it meant nothing.

Maskless Mark eyes shifted to the variant that had his face completely covered, squinting his eyes. He was too late to protect you and William, but he wasn’t going to repeat that same mistake with this dimension’s version of you.

William would’ve wanted him to protect you too—protect you from a stranger. He could practically hear his boyfriend’s nagging voice on how he shouldn’t leave (Y/N) alone with a guy, talking about how creeps would take any opportunity to snatch you away simply because you were beautiful.

“Guys are like dogs, Mark! Their dicks are like detectors looking to stick it in a pretty face!” William ranted they snuggled up together, rewatching reruns of the Bachelor.

He was mad after hanging out with you at the mall. There was two men who tried to make very aggressive moves at you, and you had to pretend that you were dating William for them to finally back off.

“... I’m a guy too?” Mark softly said, tilting his head.

“Yeah, but you’re a good guy! That’s rare! The rest of the cis male population are dogs who are raging assholes who don’t know how to respect anyone.” William quickly said, waving his hand.

William went on to say that you didn’t have the privilege like him and Mark and that you needed extra protection. He jokingly promised that he wouldn’t get jealous because you would never take his sloppy seconds.

His body was suddenly energized, pacing closer behind you both above the tall buildings. For the first time since the death of you and William, he felt something other than sadness and grief. He felt happy.

It was... nice to be reunited with a friend.

Chapter Text

Jesus fucking Christ, what was wrong with you?

You tried not to grumble under your breath, and with how much you were huffing and puffing you resembled that of the big bag wolf in that three little pigs fairytale.

You sat on an old mattress, your back against the wall as you stuck a spoon inside a can of pineapple that you had stashed away inside of your hideout. It was still miraculously good for consumption—at least, gauging from how it tasted.

The expiration date was scratched off so you couldn’t exactly tell whether or not if it was well past the suggestion for consumption. You chewed on the pineapple chunks that were coated heavily with sugar, forcing yourself to swallow the processed fruit that held a sicky and strong sweet taste.

It wasn’t great but it filled your stomach from hungering pains, so it was whatever.

You actually sort of missed the G.D.A dungeon, they served good food from time to time. Especially on Thursdays. The chicken pot pie was divine, whoever cooked that shit really deserved a raise.

You didn’t know chicken pot pies can taste that good before your capture—but then again you never really tasted a real one. The closest you got before was one time when you stole a box of half frozen pot pies.

You had changed out of your blood-stained ripped prison unison, finding a pair of pants and black top that were a size too big for you. They were dusty and had a couple of holes, but you didn’t care. You were just grateful that there was something to change into with how this hideout was hoarded with miscellaneous items.

You would just throw random shit that caught your attention into your hideouts—which was usually junk.

You reached to scratch your skin, feeling the dried patches of blood on your skin that clung like stubborn Velcro. Some of it was smudged with how you messily tried to wipe off the excess.

Suddenly, a plastic cup filled with broken pencils, dried pens, and used erasers fell on the floor. The insides of the cup were scattered on the floor, rolling away on the concrete flooring.

Your eyes flickered away from what you were looking at that was currently upsetting you, focusing on the Invincible variant who was responsible for knocking off the cup.

He muttered a quick apology, hastily picking up the fallen contents and putting them back where they originally belonged before going back to what he was doing.

Mask was exploring the dusty shelf that was filled with random objects and items you had thrown together in the past in an attempt to clean up. Half-burnt books, old DVDs, mini figurines from kid meals from various fast-food joints, and more useless trash that people had thrown away.

The masked Invincible had made it his personal mission to find you something better to ear, clinging on to the mention of you keeping various amounts of nonperishable foods in all of your hideouts to fill your stomach when resting.

You were completely fine with just the canned fruit, annoyingly telling him that so he could stop with the noise, but he had brushed you off. Saying that you deserved to eat something “better.”

What is he, mother hen?

You snorted quietly to yourself at the thought, shaking your head. It was better than him trying to make conversation down here at the secret bunker, thankful for the silence. He had surprisingly kept his promise to shut the fuck up when you let him follow you, and you weren’t in a rush to get his grating voice back to buzzing in your ear.

You were thankful, sure, but that didn’t make you any less uncomfortable.

Having one Invincible variant in your vicinity was dangerous, and your mind was on high alert, at least on high alert as it could be with how tired you were—on whatever he could potentially do.

Your gaze shifted back to what you were staring at earlier, resuming cursing at yourself and having a mental crisis as your eyes narrowed.

Your mind was even more on high alert because it wasn’t just one variant you had down here—it was motherfucking two.

Yeah, I did go crazy. You thought as your glare didn’t waver. Whatever disease those freaks had rubbed off of me. Only explanation on why I let another one down here...

The silent Invincible wore a close carbon copy to your world’s Invincible. The only difference was the mask he always wore was absent, his sharp but exhausted features on full display for you to observe.

Unlike Mohawk, who had a noticeable line crease with how much he smiled, this one had no wrinkles at all. You would say it was similar to the white one, but it wasn’t. There were no smile wrinkles, but there were wrinkles on his forehead like he had a permanent deep-in-thought look.

He also had a permanent line on his lips with a downcast gaze like he had been given the most devastating news.

You internally sighed, bringing another spoonful of processed fruit to your mouth as your mind wandered off.

You didn’t fully understand why you had allowed him to accompany you, nonetheless, let him inside the bunker with you and Mask. It was basically signing your death warrant to let two superhuman (were they even human?) beings inside close quarters with you.

Yet, against your better judgement, you did anyway.

You blamed it on how utterly tired you were. But it was an immature excuse, of course. You could’ve told him to bug off, but you didn’t and you hoped your impulsive decision wasn’t going to bite you in the ass anytime soon.

The no masked variant had made his presence known when you and Mask were about to enter inside the secret entrance that was propped behind a big smelling dumpster. It caught the two of you off guard, unaware someone was stalking the two of you. How long was this one following them? Did anyone follow him?

Mask was ready to drive him away, and you were all for it until you caught a glimpse of this Invincible’s eyes.

It sounded—still sounds stupid, but something about this one seemed... different.

He held that familiar look towards you that made it apparent that he knew you, holding some sort of relationship with you. His body leaned closer to you as he held a puffy, teary gaze in your direction. That look wasn’t that of attraction, obsession, or possessiveness like the others. It held something else—something nicer.

Mask was telling him to go somewhere else and leave you alone, but it was like the variant didn’t hear anything that he said. His eyes were on you, half focused and unfocused with how badly he was dissociating.

He was touch and go, and you wondered faintly if he was even aware of what was happening with how out of it he seemed.

He suddenly spoke, whispering your name. His lips barely parted. He hesitated before saying your name, trying to remember how to pronounce it with how long it had been since he said it out loud.

His voice was croaked and scratchy, like it hadn’t been used in such a long time.

“... I’m so lonely.” He confessed, his eyes flickering to the empty spot next to you like he was expecting someone else that should be there. A pitiful glimmer of hope flashed his empty brown eyes, lighting them up just for a millisecond before it was taken away as fast as they appeared when he realized the person wasn’t there.

You watched his shoulders sag, and his eyebags intensify. His gaze snapped to the entrance that you and Mask were going to enter. “... Can I come?” He asked, barely above a whisper as he looked like an abandoned puppy that had lost their will to live so long ago.

“You have to go somewhere else, man.” Mask interrupted, stepping in front of you to block his line of sight. The no mask simply paused, becoming silent. Deep in thought.

He stood there, back straight as he hovered inches above the ground. His eyes trickled down to stare at the ground, not making an effort to go away or move any closer. He chose to just... stand there, waiting for the two of you to crawl inside the entrance and leave him behind.

You poked your head out to catch a glimpse of his sorrowful face, the blood splatter on his face and chest doing nothing to deter you from seeing the sad man underneath the carnage.

“What do you want?” You asked, and Mask looked over his shoulder—surprised that you weren’t just going to tell him to get moving.

No-Mask paused, blinking slowly. He himself wasn’t even sure what he really wanted, his attention getting snapped back to reality. “Help you, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Protect you, but...” He clarified, trailing off, thinking back to William. He wanted to protect you; you were his friend and William’s friend—but he didn’t want to force it. His boyfriend always gave him a choice, even if option a was clearly better than option b. William always gave him a choice.

He wanted to give you that too. Did he want to leave you with this masked version of himself? No, but he wanted you to choose, not him. That’s what William would’ve wanted to—he can practically imagine his deceased boyfriend scolding him if he didn’t. “... If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

You stared at him with pity. Whoever he was feeling so heartbroken for wasn’t directed towards you, but someone else that was out of his reach. It was such a different sight than you were used to. New and fresh.

You still didn’t like it—like him, but the pity forming in your chest was weakening your resolve. You shouldn’t ask this but...

“Who am I to you?”

His brown eyes lifted from staring at the ground, unblinking as he spoke softly. The Invincible spoke it without skipping a beat. “... A friend.” His voice was so small, if a wind were to stroll by you were sure it’d take it and him away.

And with what he said, he was going to go away.

.

.

.

You cursed at yourself, tearing your eyes from the pitiful Invincible. “Fuck it, get in.” You threw yourself inside the entrance as Mask looked at you in shock. You didn’t want to turn and look at either of them, already regretting what you just impulsively said.

“Put the dumpster back in its spot!” You yelled as you walked further in.

Mask was sputtering out reasons why No-Mask should not come with the two of you, but it fell on deaf ears as you ignored him. No-Mask stayed quiet as he followed after you, glancing over to the other variant as if to say you’re closing the entrance.

Now, you are here. With two Invincibles. In an enclosed space because the overwhelming emotion of pity got to you. Great.

Something was thrown to your face, and you caught it with your hand. You looked down at your palms. It was beef jerky.

“That was in a photo album.” Mask laughed, amused he found it there. It was a photo album of random strangers that was clearly not related to you at all. You undid the wrapper and plopped it in your mouth, chewing it to soften the hard texture.

He watched you eat it, smiling to himself how you scarfed it down with more gusto than when you were eating that can of fruit. “Taste good?” Mask continued, trying to make small talk.

“It’s fine, Invincible.” You snapped, swallowing the dried beef. It did taste better than the pineapple.

“You can just call me Mark.”

“No thanks Invincible.” You refused.

You weren’t going to get personal and use his actual name. You didn’t want to add any more to their delusions. Besides, it just felt strange. You learned of this superhero’s civilian name through a different version of him.

Speaking of the original Invincible—you did need to find him. He was annoying, but he’s the closest ally you can get.

A silence passed, and No-Mask spoke up. “... You can sleep.” He suggested, “I can keep watch.” He offered. Keep watch just in case there is someone trying to break in but also keep watch on Mask who looked offended as soon as he said that.

“I’m—I’m not going to do anything! I’ll also keep watch!” He flushed, knowing the implications of the Invincible’s words.

“...”

“I’m not!” Mask reiterated, watching No-Mask’s expression not falter one bit. However, he did give him a light side eye, conveying that he did not trust his words at all.

“Sorry to break the news, boys, but there’s no way in hell I’m sleeping with you two,” you pointed, throwing the pineapple can that was now empty to a lonely corner, “here. Might fucking wake up in doggy style for all I know.” You half-heartedly said.

Mask broke out in a rambling mess, trying to reassure while simultaneously defending himself that he would never do something like that.

He threw in very subtle jabs at the other variants, Sinister in particular. His sick mind would be more likely than anyone else to do that. He was a psychopath, and Mask wouldn’t be surprised if he was some sort of sexual deviant as well.

You rolled your eyes at him, moving to look at No-Mask who—had a sour expression?

“What?” You asked, and he flickered to look at you.

“... I would never do that.” He stated, a bit angry that you had clumped him in with the other variant. Also, he just wouldn’t do that, he’ll never in a million years cheat on William. “That’s... weird. I would never touch you like that.”

“Why?” You asked, raising a brow. “What are you, gay or something?” You chuckled, tilting your head. It was supposed to be more of a playful joke to make yourself laugh than a genuine question.

Though he only faintly nodded, shrugging his shoulders. “Yeah.” He confirmed. Mark wasn’t a stickler for labels, but it wasn’t like he could deny he fit in that box.

Shock shown in your face, not expecting that genuine response “Oh.” You popped your lips. “Just cause you play for the same team doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep still. Could still do something.” You pointed out, and No-Mask just stayed silent as a response.

In a strange development, all three of you were all talking to each other in a normal enough conversation. You let the men dominate the conversation, not that keen in genuinely joining in.

The two Invincibles had tried to coax you to sleep a few times then and there, but you sternly refused, not wanting to be in such a vulnerable state with them here.

There wasn’t anything that they could do to change your mind, so they just talked, and you joined in sometimes. For a while you just listened to them, but they had morphed into background noise that lulled you to sleep—and lightly participating in conversation helped make you stay awake.

“-I tried to explain the entire lore of Séance Dog to William, but he didn’t get it.” No-Mask recounted. He got more active in talking whenever he brought up this William guy, and Mask seemed to know who he was.

“It was because it was super ‘unrealistic,’ wasn’t it?” Mask asked, his back against the wall.

“Yeah. Couldn’t get it—or like it as much as I did.”

“It’s weird so no surprise he didn’t like it.” You pitched in. You read the comics when you were bored, having collected them because of people discarding them in the trash. You rubbed your eyes, drowsiness haunting you.

“It’s not weird, it’s a masterpiece.” Mask remarked.

“Both then, whatever.” You shrugged. You eyed No-Mask, a faint smile on his lips after a two hours of talking. It all seemed to be contributed to the fact that he was talking and thinking about this William guy. “Whose William anyway?”

You and Mask watched him tense, and Mask sighed softly. “He was our best friend.” He answered him, not knowing if his counterpart was going to dig deep into the relationship they had with William. Back at the ship when Angstrom brought them here, he stayed silent—but Mask had kind of figured out William was a little bit more than a best friend.

Many variants talked about various things out of boredom, and there were some who briefly mentioned William. Specifically killing the poor guy. No-Mask didn’t react, but Mask found himself noticing how more dissociated he looked whenever their best friend was mentioned.

The masked Invincible felt bad, so he went over to talk to him. Admittedly he kind of ran his mouth off, jumping from one topic to another. No-Mask just listened while Mask talked and reacted with small twitches. He figured the other one wasn’t really listening, and Mask was thankful for that since he talked about things he wasn’t proud of.

“... and is—” No-Mask sucked a breath, his lips thinning, “was my boyfriend.” He muttered, his voice cracking just a bit. He clasped his hand over his other one, gripping it tightly. “Nolan got him.” No-Mask bitterly spat out, his back hunching over like it was painful to think about that man.

Mask tensed, becoming silent at the mention of that man.

“Nolan?”

“Omni-Man.” Mask informed, and you nodded hesitantly as it wasn’t common knowledge of the Earth’s traitor’s civilian identity. “... He’s our dad.”

You turned to No-Mask, puzzled. “Your dad killed your boyfriend?” He parted his lips, speaking softly with grief riddling him.

“... Killed you too. Got everyone important to me.” He hesitated, looking at your face. A flicker of something appearing before it disappeared when he looked at the Invincible who was standing across the room.

He looked back at you but flinched, averting his gaze. It was hard to look at you without thinking of your mutilated face, torn apart by his dad’s bare hands.

Nolan had used his fingers to literally dig inside your flesh like it was a bowling ball before pulling, evident by the holes in your head when he arrived too late to save you or his boyfriend.

“Shit. I would be depressed as fuck too, I guess.” You commented, a bit too loudly. That was supposed to be more of an inside thought, but you’re very used to talking to yourself, so your brain didn’t compute it wasn’t supposed to be an internal comment.

“... You’re awful at words.” He deadpanned, but a crack of an amused smile played on the corner of his lips. He raised a hand, stifling a laugh that choked out of his throat.

Even though you were a pretty good friend that understood him well in his dimension, listening to his problems so intently—you were quite bad at how to give comfort. That was more of William’s thing. You really tried to offer helping words, but you always ended up phrasing it the worst way possible somehow.

Your cheeks burned unexpectedly, a twinge of embarrassment creeping on you. “Fu—”

“They are, aren’t they?” Mask snickered, unable to help but tease you. It was fun to see you express emotions other than anger; it really warmed his heart. This was the closet thing he ever seen you conscious and relaxed. It was just like back in the hospital room.

You snapped your neck to look at him with a crazed stare, wanting to pounce at him and choke him out. “Fuck both of you. I can kick you two out.” You barked, pointing at the door. The nape of your neck felt warm.

“Sorry, sorry.” Mask apologized, but he didn’t mean it as he was giggling to himself. “We’ll behave.” He promised, but you simply rolled your eyes.

The topic shifted, and you just stayed silent as you sat on the old mattress. They talked about stuff they only knew about, being an outsider meant you really didn’t understand things they were referencing to.

As time slowly ticked by, you felt your eyelids grow heavier. You stifled a yawn, not wanting the two of them to know how incredibly exhausted you felt.

You were becoming well-rested, and if you powered through this tired state you could go out again and find help and somehow ditch these two. Your Invincible must be somewhere, and you faintly wondered what he was doing. Probably saving people or something, he probably doesn't even know you're out here. 

You figured No-Mask would be easier to leave behind with how he didn’t even force himself down here, but Mask... you’d definitely need to find a way to get rid of him with how stubborn he was to stay by your side.

You quietly hung your head against the wall, blinking slowly as you tried to formulate a plan.

It’s been a few hours since you fell asleep.

Mask and No-Mask noticed how close you were to falling asleep and just continued their small conversation, trying not to bring attention to how they knew you were dozing off.

Then finally, you completely stilled with your eyes shut.

Mask walked over silently, and No-Mask eyes trailed silently—following his every move. He watched as he picked you up, and he hummed in displeasure to give a warning that he was there and not to try anything to his friend.

“Don’t worry, just fixing their posture. When they wake up their neck will be sore if I left them like they were.” Mask reassured, gently putting your head against the mattress. Though, Mask was clearly displeased that the variant was there—if he wasn’t, he would for sure kiss you.

Instead, he brushed your cheek and straightened up the collar of your shirt. Mask heard a rustling behind him, but he didn’t look as he was preoccupied with just taking in the sight of your sleeping face.

“... Sure.” No-Mask nodded, but with his tone it was like he knew that Mask wanted to do something else.

“What?” he asked, looking behind his shoulder at the quiet variant that was glaring at him. “I’m not bad like the others, you know that. We’re not bad like them.” Mask said in a hushed town, turning to fully face him.

No-Mask was holding a clear plastic water bottle. Where did he get that? He curiously wondered. It must’ve been under some of the miscellaneous junk.

No-Mask stared at him, a brief silence passing by them as he gripped onto it—his eyes bore into him with a calculating gaze. “... No, maybe not like them but somewhere close.”

After he said that, he quickly threw the water bottle at the blue and black variant—Mask easily catching it. He looked at him puzzled, wondering what was going through his head.

No-Mask nodded as if to say go ahead, drink it.

Mask slowly opened it, and he noticed how the cap had no resistance—the cap smoothly came off like it was already opened beforehand. His guard was completely down, not threatened at the quiet Invincible.

“I would never hurt them, I love them.”

“...”

“I do! Why are you staring at me with that look like I’m going to do something!” Mask accused, pushing his mask upwards. His face was revealed, and his hair was overgrown with purple eyebags to accompany it.

“... I miss William, you know. I loved him.”

“Yeah, I know.” Mask nodded, his accusatory voice still there but more calm. “I’m sorry that happened to you, dude. He was a good friend to me so I’m sure that must’ve hurt.”

No-Mask flinched, like the way he called William a friend pained him. “And if William was right here, in my reach, I would do anything, so he never ever disappears.” His voice cracked. “Anything.”

Mask stayed silent, awkward at how to respond to that. He took a swig of the water bottle so that he didn’t need to say anything, and No-Mask watched silently as he did that.

He didn’t begin speaking until he watched him swallow half of the bottle, his eyes shifting down to the ground. “So that’s how I know even with how much you love (Y/N) and never want to hurt them, you would do anything too. Even something bad.” He whispered.

“I won’t hurt them.”

“... I know you’re probably planning to take them back to your home. If you do and (Y/N) refuses to go with you to your dimension,” He blinked, his quiet voice unwavering. “Would you let them go?”

“...”

“You wouldn’t. You’ll use force. You would do whatever it takes, even if (Y/N) didn’t like it.” He stated matter-of-factly.

“How do you know that for certain?” Mask said bluntly, his fists clenching. He wanted to refuse the variant’s words as baseless assumptions but... no, he wouldn’t. ... Right? “You’re just making assumptions.”

No-Mask shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes wandered to the pill bottle that he had quickly hidden from Mask’s view. He had found it along with the water bottle while silently observing his surroundings when he was conversing with his counterpart before you fell asleep.

It was a relief that you still had bad sleeping habits. In his dimension, you always kept some form of sleeping pills to get you to catch up on some rest, so he was hopeful you’ll keep some lying around too.

If there wasn’t any, he was just going to knock out Mask the old fashion way.

He crushed half of the pills in the bottle inside the water to ensure that the variant would actually knock out cold. “I know for certain that you would, we’re the same person after all...”

“... and I would do the same exact thing too if it were William.”

That made Mask become silent. He wanted to say something, a retort or a counter but he just simply shut up—biting his lip as he looked away, walking to the other side of the room. He threw the water bottle to the ground, getting as far away as he could get.

Mask sat on the ground, staring at his mask that he just removed seconds ago. His gut was stretching itself and twitching at what he was saying, and it made him feel sick.

A good twenty minutes passed, and Mask found himself feeling abnormally tired. Drowsy even. Did today really take a toll on him?

No-Mask side eyed the other Mark, already knowing how sleepy he must feel. He was ready to fall asleep any minute now, and he just had to wait so that he could take you away to someone who can help you. This dimension’s Invincible should be safe enough, but where could he be?

“I’m not bad like the others.” Mask whispered to himself as he closed his eyes and No-Mask narrowed his eyes at that.

No-Mask waited before saying something, observing how the other Mark kept his eyes close. His chest raised in a soft, rhythmic pace. “Tell that to the kid you killed.” He whispered, thinking back on the ship when Mask had rambled to him. He was out of it pretty badly, but he heard everything as clear as day. No-Mask assumed that the black and blue Mark didn't know he was listening with how quiet he had been, but he was. He knew everything he did. 

Even though Mask was in denial, he was capable of hurting you just like everyone else. And he would do it too if things didn't go his way. Just like what he did to that kid—even though he felt guilty about doing it, he still did it. 

It wasn't like Mark was shaming this variant of himself, because if it were William instead of you dying with that type of circumstance, he would do the same thing too.