Hate to love you (not official title)

Knock Knock, Get the Door It's Ya Boy Death

/edited/

The villain stumbled into his house, staggering as the wound in his side burned in agony. He shut the door behind him and wobbled to the bathroom

Fumbling with the rusted lock on the cupboard he opened a small pile of packages in the corner. The bundle of medicines and bandages were the product of the last of his first aid savings.

He grabbed the wad of bandages and a cloth, letting the latter soak under the running tap. He wrung it out as he sat on the toilet and lifted his shirt.

The burn wound he had got from that hero stood out, dark, charred and ugly. The villain sucked in a painful breath as he placed the cloth on his torso.

He cursed under his breath, wincing at the pain. The wound was much worse than he thought. He wouldn't have gotten this burn if he had been paying attention to his surroundings.

Then again, he wouldn't have gotten this burn if that hero hadn't shown up.

He'd been, paying a visit to a street kid he'd met a year before and dropping off some clothes. But the hero had shown up in all his spandex glory and aimed a blast of white hot flames at him.

The shot most likely wasn't meant to hit him, scare him off at most. But in his moment of 'heroic action' he'd missed the small child hiding in the corner and had aimed to blast right at him. As soon as the hero had shown up the boy ran to hide. The boy didn't like heroes. The boy didn't trust heroes. The boy's father had been a hero. And the boys father was the reason the boy lived in that warehouse, crippled for life. If the villain hadn't pushed the boy out of the way the child would have died. The villain hoped the boy had gotten away alright

The villain finished wrapping his wound and limped over to the kitchen.

Lowering himself into a seat he put his head in his hands.

In the past month alone he'd used up over half his medical supplies. How many more times could he afford to be wounded by that hero?

He didn't have the money to stock up on what he needed with his current budget. What he had was for a plane ticket out of the city for some peace and his last dose of heart medication before he went.

The villain was pulled out of his thoughts at the sound of heavy footsteps at his door.

He tensed. Did the heroes come to his home this time? It's not like they didn't know where he lived. No. Why would they? Too many innocent people lived in this building. They wouldn't risk their lives. But, did they get the innocents to evacuate? If so, they could risk doing a little damage...

He again jerked out of his thoughts by a light knock at the door.

The villain didn't move

The person knocked again. Softer this time.

Overcome with curiosity the villain shuffled to the door and cracked it open.

There stood the hero. Looking unsteady on his feet and covered in blood. His eyes seemed unfocused and cloudy. It was a wonder the hero was still standing, He looked to be on death's door

Before the villain could do anything the hero fell forward. He instinctively reached out and supported the hero. He flinched when he realized what he'd done, expecting the hero to attack him as soon as he let his guard down. But the hero did nothing but sag even more

"I didn't . . . know where else . . . to . . . go"

He passed out, falling to the floor. The villain followed him down, making sure he didn't hit his head on the way down.