Dummies' Guide to Being a Superhero (Editing)

Fourteen: Like a Yellow Light

FOURTEEN: LIKE A YELLOW LIGHT

"There are days that tear hope down and stamp on it . . . But even on those days, we can stand up. We can fight. We can rise."

- Sam Wilson, Falcon.

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FUEGO WAS ON FIRE. LITERALLY, he was on fire. In the distance he might've looked like a star or just a lamp post. He wasn't sure, and, well, he didn't care. He just flew through the air, steering around buildings with a tail of fire behind him. It was night, his mind was spinning, his entire life out of control.

He landed in an alley, burning his fire out quickly. He stood there, waiting for a signal of life until he finally got one. She stepped out, long hair falling to her waist. He remembered the first time they met, when she wore a mask and her lips were dark as blood. To be honest, he almost crapped his pants that day. (Not that anyone needs to know that, though.)

Arachne gave him an amused look, slowly walking towards him slowly. Every time Fuego was around her it felt like a trap. She was powerful enough to kill him in seconds.

"What is it?" He muttered.

"Now, now, Fuego, it takes patience." She said, voice almost like honey. How can a person so cruel sound so gentle? "You saved Athena's life."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'm aware of that."

"Why?"

"Because she gave me a chance. She made me realize that I don't have to be a villain," Fuego said, and he grabbed Arachne's arm, "you don't have to be one either."

Her eyes slowly turned to a glare and she snatched her arm back, grimacing. "You think I have a choice, do you? Crime runs through my body like fire runs in yours. Crime owns me."

Fuego rolled his eyes. To be honest, he never met anyone so damn stubborn and yet poetic at the same time. Wait, he has.

"Before you go running around, claiming yourself a hero, think about the people who want your head on a wall," she sneered. With that, she turned around, dark hair following her. Before he knew it, she disappeared and Fuego was left alone in the annoyingly, eerie silence.

. . . .

Gretal sighed when she saw Oscar coming near her. Can the boy take hint that she doesn't want to be near him? Then again, she had to tell him the good news. That she (hopefully) screwed up her Alexander Davidson's day, and, thanks to John, she's able to find Robert Rodriguez a job? Hell yeah.

"Hey, Davidson." Oscar said once he was five feet away from her.

She gave him a grin that was way too bright for her liking, but she didn't care. "Rodriguez."

After a long moment of staring, he raised his eyebrows up in confusion. "What, is there something on my face?"

"Nah, your face is bad enough."

He scowled at her.

"I have good news."

He smirked. "You're moving?"

She glared, kicking him. "Fuck no. I think I might've got your dad a new job."

Oscar froze, staring at her. Then a moment later he wrapped his arms around Gretal, almost choking her. With an inward scoff, she realized that could be his plan. If we wanted her gone he could've just asked.

"I can't believe this," he whispered.

Gretal squirmed under his arms. "Um, that's great?"

"Thank you, Gretal. I owe you big time. I'll do anything for you, but you're going to have to tell me more about this job." He sat beside her on the bench.