a series of sbi oneshots

mine

“You can’t leave me! You’re mine Wilbur, mine!” Tommy snarled, his hands gripped tightly around the hero's wrist, nails digging into his pale flesh. “You belong to me! Not the hero committee, not your teammates, not the government. Just me!”

“Toms-” Wilbur spoke softly as he tried to turn away, weakened from the teens power.

The grip only tightened. “No! Don’t ‘Toms’ me when you’re trying to leave!”

“Tommy, please,” his begging fell on deaf ears. It was futile, but Wilbur couldn’t fight back, so he had to try something else. “I’m a hero. People will notice if I go missing. I can’t just vanish.”

His captors expression didn’t soften one bit. “No, they won’t.” He said plainly, “we planned this out. By the time Phil comes back to the nest you’ll be legally dead. Now lay down.” He hissed.

Wilbur paled “Tommy, I’m not going to do that. Let me go.”

He just laughed. “No. You can’t even fight right now, not with that power dampener around your neck.” Tommy reminded him, like Wilbur could ever forget it’s damning and suffocating weight. Sure, it wasn’t too tight, but it was a collar of pure steel. It wasn’t coming off. “Besides, all the windows and doors are locked. You can’t even leave the nest right now.”

There was a cold glare in his blue eyes, and Wilbur couldn’t help but shudder. How was this the same kid he met only a year ago? With bushy blonde hair and braces too big for his teeth, how was this the same boy? How was the Tommy Innit holding him hostage now the same Tommy Innit who fed ducks in the park with spare bread? Who would spend hours at a music shop, just looking for new songs? Who squealed when Wilbur finally gave over his autograph?

“Please” Wilbur pleaded, tears wanting to leak out of his uncovered eyes, his mask long gone. “I don’t want this. Tommy, I just want to go home.”

“This is home.” He responded, not quite looking Wilbur in the eye. “You’ll learn to want this. It’s better this way.”

“HOW!” Wilbur screamed, almost hysterical. “How is this better? I have a life, I have a family!” He thought of his son, his little boy, and the tears started to prick at the corner of his eyes. Fundy was only six. “You’re just going to take that all away? Kidnap me, pronounce me dead, how is this any better than-”

Tommy clamped a hand over Wilbur’s mouth, shutting him up. Wilbur tried to shake him off but Tommy activated his powers, causing the hero to go limp.

Gently he was laid back in the nest, a mess of soft blankets. “There we go,” he hummed, “nice and calm.”

The world around Wilbur had a fuzzy feeling to it, with his vision blurred and his hearing muffled, almost like he was underwater. Gentle hands brushed through his hair, there was humming in the air, and the ground below him was soft. It didn’t seem real.

It’s almost ironic. Tommy’s powers were actually quite weak, all things considered. He could sedate a person with his touch, but only prolonged touch, with skin on skin contact. Useful in self defense situations, but not much else. It usually wouldn’t work on Wilbur, the Siren, whose costume covered every inch of his skin.

But now his mask was torn off, his own powers were out of reach, and he couldn’t even stand.

“I didn’t want to do it like this.” Tommy sighed “We planned to take our time, to have you come to the nest willingly. We wanted you to understand!” He laughed breathlessly, which morphed into a snarl. “But no! They had to send you to fight us!”

That was the mission he was on, with a group of four other heroes. The Syndicate had slipped up, and they knew where the Angel of Death was going to be today. Why wouldn’t the hero committee strike?

But Wilbur slipped up too. He told Tommy they were going to go after the angel, and expected the boy to be excited. Wilbur remembers the teens frowning, but when he asked Tommy just said he was worried. It made sense, the Angel was dangerous, so Wilbur assured him it would all be ok.

How was he supposed to know that the Angel of Death was Tommy’s father?

If Wilbur kept his mouth shut he’d be out there, with the other heroes, fighting the most feared villain in the city.

They were probably going to lose. Even if Wilbur hadn’t given the game away, they didn’t really stand a chance. But now they’re one man down and without the element of surprise. The hero’s weren’t going to win. Not this time.

A door creaked open, and Tommy perked up. The noise was barely audible, yet practically a death knell.

Soft footsteps got louder as the Angel of Death got closer. Wilbur screwed his eyes shut, trying desperately to keep in the tears. Tommy just hummed, methodically brushing hands through his hair.

Finally the door of the nest opened, but Wilbur didn’t dare open his eyes. “It’s done.” His voice was smooth and calm, no longer muffled by a voice changer. It was still terrifying. “Wilbur Soot is legally dead.”

“Are you sure no one will get suspicious, dad?” Tommy asked quietly, not pulling away from the hero

The Angel chuckled “of course not. No one is going to ask questions. It would be more suspicious if the Siren was the only survivor after all, so we’re all set.”

As soon as the words set in Wilbur sobbed. Everyone else was dead? The other heros, his partners, his friends. They were gone.

They were gone, and it was all Wilbur’s fault.

Only then did he dare open his eyes, to look at the man who orchestrated his doom and killed his friends.

Wilbur’s vision was blurred through tears, but he could still make out the man's features. He was smaller than Wilbur expected, crouched and staring right at the hero. His long blonde hair was tied back, and he had Tommy’s same bright blue eyes. “Murderer.” Wilbur spat weakly, his tongue and throat still somewhat limp after Tommy’s powers.

The Angel blinked. “Hello mate. I thought you were asleep. Sorry about that.” His tone was genuine, and so was his smile. It made Wilbur hate him even more. Then he looked up to his son. “I thought you were going to knock him unconscious.”

“I was trying to get him to listen.” Tommy replied in annoyance, his grip in Wilbur’s hair tightening ever so slightly. “He’s not listening.”

Phil laughed “I told you he’d be like that mate. We can explain better once we get him to our real nest. But this will be a lot less stressful on him if you knock him out.”

“Wait! Wait!” Wilbur jerked away weakly, only really succeeding in moving his head away. “I’m not leaving!” Sure, the situation was bad now, but at least Wilbur knew he was in the city. He knew this city, knew it like the back of his hand. It wouldn’t be hard to slip through the cracks or get help if he managed to escape. But if they took him somewhere else, escape would be impossible.

“Of course you are.” Phil said gently, leaning down even closer. “This is just a safe house, it’s not made to be permanent. Besides, I know your head is still filled with ideas of escape. Moving somewhere else will help you get over those rather quickly, don’t you think?” Wilbur sobbed, still thinking of his son. Was he even old enough to understand what the news was saying? They’ve never talked about death before. He can already imagine Sally sitting him down on his bed tonight, telling him that daddy isn’t coming home. He sobbed even harder.

Phil hummed. “Oh you poor thing. You’re stressing yourself out. Tommy, why don’t you help your brother calm down?”

He wanted to protest as the boy gently pressed a hand against his cheek, but he couldn’t. Wilbur couldn’t resist the sedating powers either as Tommy manually slowed his heart and calmed his breathing.

The villain's blue eyes were the last thing Wilbur saw as his own brown ones fluttered shut. He wishes he could have seen any hatred or maliciousness, but there was only adoration.