Page 6 of The Not So Super Hero

A heavy weight rammed Bailey’s back. He plummeted to the sidewalk, tackled by the thug from behind.

There were a few more minutes of struggle with Bailey throwing kicks and punches, either successfully landing them or missing entirely before everything became futile.

Thug Two and Three had Bailey pinned against the wall of the alley.

Thug One unleashed his anger with his fists over and over until Bailey’s world spun.

He tasted metal, felt blood trickling down his nose.

Bailey wondered how the hell he was going to get out of this mess, or rather, how beaten up he would be by the end of said mess.

Thug One ceased the brutal assault upon realizing that they had a witness.

Scratching beneath his nose, the jerk stepped towards the end of the street.

A tall figure stood on the main street in front of the street lamp so that the light cut harsh shadows across them.

For a moment, the stranger took a step to the left, as if to leave, then hesitated.

Grunting, Thug One finally shouted, “The fuck you lookin’ at?”

Bailey never thought the day would come that he would actually enjoy hearing the monotone voice that replied, “Some dumbasses trying to prove their masculinity.”

Taking a few steps forward, Zane appeared with a frown on his face and a box of beer in his left hand.

Zane had his hood up, shielding his face from the rain that had calmed to a light drizzle.

Unfortunately, he heard the fight, witnessed a small portion of it too.

Though his mind screamed, walk back to your car and pretend you didn’t see it.

Ok, your car is right across the street.

Just go. He went against those thoughts after hearing Bailey’s pained groans.

Zane knew he was an asshole, but he wasn’t that much of an asshole. Damn morality, because that led to three angry men with a lot to prove glaring at him.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Thug one bellowed. His attention shifted from Bailey to Zane. The other attacks released Bailey, now solely focused on the new threat.

Bailey slipped to the floor, glasses clattering on the ground. Woozy, his stomach churned with every intention of vomiting. While he waited for the eventual upchuck, the brutes advanced on a bored as ever Zane.

“Three on one is pretty pathetic, but I suppose that’s about the only way any of you could win in a fight,” he said.

“Provoking them won’t help,” Bailey called hoarsely.

He retrieved his dirty glasses, relieved they hadn’t broken.

While he in no way liked Zane, that didn’t mean he wanted the guy to get hurt.

He wasn’t exactly buff, or looked the type to get into a fistfight, so all Bailey could imagine was him getting his ass kicked.

He wasn’t up to help either, legs shaking enough that he had to use the alley wall for support.

Zane ignored Bailey, which shouldn’t be that surprising. Instead, he sat his box of beer down, proceeding to flick his fingers to provoke the jerks.

“You asked for it!” One man yelled, then lunged.

Zane caught the thug's fist. Bringing back his left fist, he sent it upward into the jerk’s gut.

The attacker coughed painfully. He toppled to his knees when Zane released him.

Another attacker approached from behind.

Zane’s kick caught him in the chest with a resounding crack.

The jerk tumbled down the alley like a bag in the wind.

If not for the dumpster that he hit, the guy may have skidded a few more feet.

With strength like that, Bailey surmised Zane was definitely a mutant.

He couldn’t send someone flying like that without an enhancement.

However, Zane wasn’t the only mutant around.

A harsh ringing sound rippled through the stormy air.

Bailey cursed at the agonizing headache that sent him to his knees.

The ringing became so high pitched it resembled needles in his brain.

The sound originated from thug one, who merely pressed his lips together to create the concussive noise. He didn’t even care that his friend couldn’t handle it either. The other attackers protected their ears, begging for the noise to stop. Zane flinched, then glared.

Zane took one menacing step forward after the other.

After each step, the thug took one, shaking one back.

His whistling grew louder, forcing Bailey to release a silent scream.

Zane held up his hand, fingers twitching and lips set into a thin line.

Then he huffed and sprinted forward. His fist met the thug’s cheek in a violent hit that snapped the jerk’s nose.

Blood poured from his nostrils. The whistling ceased, replaced by an agonizing shout from Zane sending his fist into the asshole’s stomach.

He attempted a fight, though the fist he threw missed entirely.

Zane grabbed him by the arm to swing over his shoulder.

He hit the concrete with a rapacious bang. One kick to his face ended the tussle.

Without the whistling, Bailey could breathe again. So could the other attackers. He pushed himself to his knees in time to witness the conscious guys run. They abandoned their so-called buddy bleeding in the alley.

For a brief moment, Zane considered going after them to teach a lesson.

By brief, it was literally a nanosecond before he thought, no way in hell .

That was far too much excitement. He had enough tonight to last a lifetime, and his conscience was clean.

He helped the bad luck charm, so his job was done.

He grabbed his beer and walked away. The idea of watching movies, munching on chips and drinking beer was almost enough to make Zane smile.

Almost. However, Bailey vomiting ruined that glorious vision.

But that was supposed to be the end, Zane thought.

Zane grimaced at the continuous gags coming from the alley.

Pivoting on his heel, he spotted Bailey hunched over, spewing whatever food or drink he had earlier.

He had yet to return to reality, eyes barely open, glasses fogged, and body shaking.

Either from the cold, rain, whistling, or having his ass beat. Honestly, it was likely all the above.

“Ignore him,” Zane said with a very stern nod. Bailey threw up again. Zane slapped his hand over his face, dragged it slowly down and groaned, “I hate trouble.”

Yet he helped said trouble off the sidewalk. Bailey didn’t put up a fight when Zane snaked his arm around his waist, proceeding to toss Bailey’s arm over his shoulder.

Zane dragged Bailey’s practically lifeless body to his car.

He grimaced the whole time, grumbling about the smell and mess.

When Bailey released a disgusting burp, Zane moved quicker than he ever had in his life to find a container.

He found a plastic bag in the back seat, handing it to Bailey to cough in.

Zane waited. He doubted a moving vehicle would help a queasy stomach, so he sat there with his eyes on anything but Bailey.

He didn’t want to see any more vomit, thanks.

After a moment, Bailey leaned against the seat. In a hoarse, quiet voice, he said, “Thank you.”

Bailey offered Zane a smile. Though his pearly whites weren’t showing, it was bright, and Zane questioned if the kid was human. How could someone look that chipper after getting the shit beaten out of them, then throwing up?

“Who knows how long they would have kept it up if you hadn’t shown up?” Bailey sighed, allowing his eyes to close.

Zane hummed. He sat uncomfortably, back rod straight and hands white-knuckling the wheel. He bit his lip, then squirmed. Though his discomfort could also have to do with how Bailey smelled; a mixture of beer, rain, and vomit.

Silence fell over them after that. Bailey might have tried to speak if he wasn’t so tired. Seemingly in a blink, Zane had driven them to the dorms. He wouldn’t have realized if the custodian hadn’t cleared his throat. Zane’s blue eyes focused on him, narrowing in a manner that said, get out .

Nodding, Bailey slipped out of the car, only to yelp when hitting his head on the roof.

Zane pinched the bridge of his nose. With an embarrassed laugh, Bailey finally got out.

He turned around and was about to lean in to give another thanks.

However, Zane leaned over, grabbed the door handle, and slammed the door shut.

Bailey retreated and Zane peeled out of the lot.

He tapped his fingers against the wheel, shaking his head at himself for helping the walking catastrophe.

By doing that, he was basically asking for trouble.

He grumbled the entire drive home, threatening the very universe’s existence if it ever forced him into a similar situation with Bailey.

He just wanted to avoid the kid at all costs.

Sure, it was hilarious watching him get into trouble, but getting dragged into it?

That wasn’t on Zane’s to-do list. Bailey was a magnet for trouble within a ten-mile radius.

How someone could survive such a life was beyond Zane.

He couldn’t even handle the few times his mail got switched with his neighbors and they came over to drop it off, smiling and wanting to talk like Zane had any interest in them.

With a firm nod, Zane vowed to stay away from Bailey, even if that meant moving to another continent.

Zane finally made it home, eager to get a beer into him and ready to binge watch movies until he passed out.

He kicked off his shoes, dropped his beer into the fridge, got a shower, changed, and was about to start a movie when a knock sounded at his door.

He elected to ignore the knock, flopping down on his futon with every intention to stay there.

Whoever it was would leave. He was busy and by busy he meant he was drinking and watching horror movies.

“I know you’re in there, Zane,” a familiar voice said. Groaning, he kicked his legs like a petulant child. He was just aggravated now. After his encounter with Bailey he wanted sweet freedom but someone bothered him again. See, Bailey was contagious. Zane knew it. He was infected.

Huffing, he tugged on a pair of sweats and lethargically shuffled to the door. He opened the door enough to reveal one of his eyes peeking out of the darkness of his apartment.

Christopher Walker, a man well into his 40s with short black hair growing grayer each passing day—but don’t let him hear you say that—and russet brown skin stood in the hall.

Though shorter than Zane, he had a far more intimidating stature, thanks to his broad shoulders and a rough leather jacket that he always wore.

Regardless, Chris always had a charming smile, one that made people realize he only looked scary.

Okay, so Zane knew Chris could be scary, seeing as he was the man who raised him from the age of sixteen.

Zane moved out at eighteen; two years didn’t seem like much but, it was enough for Chris to understand Zane to an extent, and enough for Zane to respect the man more than he let on, so it wasn’t at all shocking that Zane let him in.

“Shouldn’t you be busy tonight?” Zane asked, opening his fridge to offer Chris a beer, which he took.

“Detectives don’t mess with dumb, drunk college kids,” Chris replied with a proud smile. He followed Zane to his futon, where he took a seat as if he owned the place. Zane plopped onto his own side of the futon and flipped on the TV, searching for whatever he wished to watch.

“Oh, what do detectives do then? Sit around on their asses all day eating doughnuts?” Zane got a whack to the back of his head for that.

“Real funny you are, kid.” Chris left his hand on Zane’s head for a second before roughly ruffling his hair.

He shut his eyes and let it happen because Chris was an old man, so why the hell not?

At least, Zane constantly told him that to piss him off because it was funny.

“Thought I would come by for a visit. See what you’ve been up to. ”

“You were here last week,” Zane reminded him. “Going senile, old man?”

Chris’ grip on Zane’s scalp tightened until the poor boy cringed and kicked out his left leg like he wanted to fight back, but knew better.

“I am 46. I am not old,” Chris growled.

“Sounds like senility to me.”

Chris put Zane in a headlock that he didn’t bother to fight out of. As if he had the energy to do so. When he released Zane, he added, “You know, you should be out tonight too.”

Zane’s smile disappeared in an instant. He ignored Chris, keeping his eyes on the TV as he attempted not to reply.

“It’s Halloween. You live in a college town with people your age. Zane, come on, go out, make friends…go on a date?”

“I don’t go out.” Zane grunted, deciding not to say anything about those other two suggestions, most specifically the last one.

Zane didn’t date. Caring about another person sounded exhausting. Putting effort into a relationship was the most troublesome thing on the planet. Zane was down for a one-night stand, but he sure as hell wasn’t ok with committing to anyone. That was troublesome.

Chris frowned, then brought his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck. “I worry about you, Zane.”

“I know.”

Zane got up, having finished a beer far quicker than expected, mostly because of the conversation. He knew Chris didn’t just worry about his social life. There were a lot of things to worry about. It was why Zane desperately wished to inhale another beer, then another, then another.

Zane noticed Chris was nearly done with his beer as well, so he grabbed him another. He lingered by the fridge, hand on the handle, hesitating to open the door. Although he was sloth-like by nature, it was clear he was doing it as an act of avoidance. He always avoided serious topics.

“I’m fine. Really.” But to him, fine wasn’t actually fine. He simply had low standards.

Chris’ face scrunched up in a mixture of worry and annoyance. Rather than continuing to pry, he nodded slowly and asked, “You best not be lyin’ to me, boy, but everything is fine, right?”

Zane kicked his fridge closed and lied; “Yeah, everything is fine.”