What A Sidekick Puts Up With

Hey guys! So this week you have Little Lion to thank for the prompt. She sent me this prompt and I fell in love instantly. Anyone who knows me, knows how much I love superhero stories. Also, I felt like we needed something happy in light of recent movies... *cough Marvel cough* Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy this story and don’t forget to share it if ya do. Stay Nerdy!
—Little Snake

****

​"You look terrible,” A weary voice says as the equally weary man sits next to me. He slumps in the uncomfortable hospital chair and puts a hand up to rub his eyes.

If circumstances weren’t what they are, I would say he looked pretty comical. The great Logan, sidekick of New Geneda’s most beloved - and psycho, in my opinion - superhero, in his golden spandex suit that was about as jarring and harsh as the hospital lights we were sitting under. No, I take back my earlier statement. It is comical, even if I am sitting in a hospital at 3am in my own sidekick costume. At least mine isn’t as sparkly as his.

“If I remember correctly,” I turn towards him, grimacing as the scratchy material of the chair rubs against my arm, “you were the one that threw me into a bus to begin with. Ouch, by the way.”

He puts his arm down and looks at me, “Oh, forgive me for the injustice. It wasn’t like you and your boss tried to rob a bank. Then, when Amelia and I came to stop you, you threw me off of a bridge!” We’re both sitting up now, all trace of tiredness gone.

“Boys!” We flinch, and stop our yelling. The nurse from the front desk looms over us with a murderous glare in her eyes.

“Sorry, Mrs. Wendell,” both of us say at the same time. She sighs and walks back to her desk, muttering about how she doesn’t get paid enough. We sit in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, not daring to look at each other.

I crack first, “I’m sorry I threw you over a bridge. However, in my defense, I know you can fly.”

He glares at me, and sighs, “I guess I accept your apology and I’m sorry as well.” He puts his hand out, and I stare at it, not knowing what he wants me to do.

“It’s called a handshake,” my sparkly companion rolls his eyes, “You do know what that is, right?” It’s my turn to glare at him, but I grab his hand anyways.

“I just didn’t expect New Geneda’s darling to want to touch the hand of their most hated annoyance,” I say, somewhat sarcastically.

He lets go of my hand and turns his body to face me with a sad look in his eye. Not the puppy eyes, I think, I can deal with anything but that! Frantically, I try to avert my gaze. I make the mistake of looking back to see if he was done… he wasn’t.

I turn myself to face him and his sea-colored eyes - ugh, I hate to be that person, but they really are - as he starts speaking, “I don’t think your a bad guy, Abraham; you just hang out with the wrong people. Why do you -”

I breathe a sigh of relief as a nurse walks into the room, effectively cutting his question off. She looks around the room and then back down at the clipboard in her hands.

“Abraham and Logan,” she calls, “Is there an Abraham and Logan in the room?” We stand up. Both of us groan as our bruised muscles protest against the movement. We walk over to the nurse and she looks at out tattered clothing in suspicion - or horror, I can’t decide.

“I’m Logan,” he gives her his charming ‘I’m perfect’ smile, “And my friend here is Abraham.” I glance over at him at his use of ‘friend’ before giving the nurse a smile of my own. At least, I call it a smile… Logan says it’s more of a grimace. Judging from the look the nurse gives me before, I’d say she thinks a grimace as well. She turns and we follow her through a door.

It doesn’t take long for us to reach our destination - the last door on the right of the hallway. I can already hear the muffled arguments coming from behind it.

“What do you think they’re fighting about this time?” I ask Logan.

He sighs, “Honestly, it could be anything from our encounter to how cold the room is.”

“I’m betting on the latter,” I say, and he snorts. A surprised laugh escapes me. He lightly punches me on the arm, gives me one of his dazzling smiles, and opens the door.

“I don’t care what a stupid-head like you thinks! It feels fine in here!” My boss, Dr. Destroyer as he likes to call himself, yells.

“And I don’t care what a villainous slug like you says! It’s colder than your heart in here!” Amelia, Logan’s boss, yells back. Obviously, they’re still high on whatever pain medicine the doctors gave them. It’s chance alone, that Dr. Destroyer - Oh, who am I kidding? His name is Robert. - looks over at Logan and I.

“Abraham! Tell this annoying hag that it’s perfectly perfect in here,” Robert says. I roll my eyes and walk over to his bed.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, more out of necessity than anything else. This is the fourth time this month I’ve had to pick him up from the hospital. Logan’s in the same boat; every time one of the two arch-nemesis ends up in the emergency room, the other one won’t be far behind.

Amelia starts to sit up, a wild fury in her eyes, “Old Hag?! Alright, get up! We’re settling this here and now!” Logan rushes over to keep her from getting up. I do the same to my own lunatic of a boss.

“Amelia! Robert! Both of you calm down,” Logan commands, “Nobody wants your final showdown to be in a hospital room at one in the morning.”

Robert tries to push me off of him, “Oh, it’s happening now! Final showdown to the death!” It’s hard to take him seriously, as he is slapping at my hands like a petulant two-year-old and slurring his words.

Nope, I think, not dealing with this tonight. Not going to happen. I reach over him to press the nurse call button. When both a nurse and a doctor show up, I give everybody in the room a thumbs up and immediately walk out.

“Abraham wait!”

Faintly, I hear Logan calling after me, and then hurried footsteps from behind. I don’t stop until I’m back in the waiting room.

“Wow,” Logan huffs when he catches up to me, “You’re really fast, you know that?” He puts a hand on my shoulder, and surprisingly, I don’t flinch away. Instead, I turn to face him. His hand doesn’t drop off of me.

“I’ve had enough, Logan,” for now my voice is quiet, but my frustration is slowly building, “Fighting you and Amelia has lost its meaning. I mean, I know I’m one of the bad guys, so I can’t say I’m fighting for a just cause. And all Robert cares about is the dang temperature!” I finish my rant and find that I am yelling now. It earns a glare from Mrs. Wendell. Pitifully, Logan pats my shoulder before putting his hand back by his side.

“So, why are you working for Dr. Destroyer? I meant it when I said you weren’t a bad guy,” Logan is confused, I can tell. Honestly, I never wanted to be a supervillain’s sidekick.

I shake my head and explain, “Robert is my Political Science professor and he’s just as brutal in the classroom as he is on the streets. Being his sidekick means I get extra credit on the final that’s been nicknamed, ‘student killer’.” Logan looks doubtful, but my expression stays truthful. He starts to laugh, and I glare at him.

“Don’t laugh,” I tell him, but it just sends him into hysterics, “I paid good money to get a college education and I’m not going to retake a class I can’t afford to fail.”

He stops laughing, but I can tell it’s hard for him to keep it in, “Oh man, I thought you were going to say something dark and gritty. If you needed help, you could’ve come to me.” He smiles, and this time it isn’t dazzling or blinding. It’s small and sweet, and for some reason, I don’t want it to go away.

“I don’t like charity,” I say, and he starts to speak, but I cut him off, “I have some money saved up, so I’ll drop the class and retake it next semester. I guess that means no more coffee for a little bit, but it’s a small price to pay.”

I hang my head. No more coffee means I’ll be falling asleep in my morning class from now on. I look up at Logan, and he seems to be arguing with himself, a light blush staining on his cheeks.

“I know how much you like your coffee,” he pauses, takes a deep breath and continues, “And since it’s so late and I know you have an eight am class tomorrow, why don’t we go get coffee from that little shop down the road - my treat."

“And before you say anything about charity, you’ll just have to pay me back next weekend with ice cream or something. Or, you know, you don’t have to…” he trails off, his face full-blown red now. The strange thing is, I think mine is too.

“Like a date?” I ask quietly, not believing what I’m hearing.

“Yes, like a date - or not, that’s okay too.” Logan says hurriedly. He looks like he is going to faint from embarrassment. I look behind me to see if it’s really me he’s asking, but the only other person in the waiting room is a 90 year-old man with only three teeth.

“Yes,” I say quietly, “I would like to choose the ‘like a date’ option if it’s still on the table. But you’re taking us there because you can fly and I’m too exhausted to even stand at the moment.”

Logan laughs, and takes my hand, “Sounds like a plan, and if any evil-doers try to bother us, I’ll fight them off as well.”

“My hero,” I say dryly.

Lucky for us, it was a 24-hour coffee shop, since we ended up talking all night.

Needless to say, I still fell asleep in my classes the next morning.