(THO) CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Grue had always known he wasn’t a ‘real’ villain, at least not in the traditional sense. He wasn't the chaos-for-chaos’ sake type, or the ty

Grue had always known he wasn’t a ‘real’ villain, at least not in the traditional sense. He wasn't the chaos-for-chaos’ sake type, or the type who wanted a throne made of the bones of their enemies. He didn’t crave power to dominate. He didn’t even really want power at all.

He just wanted money: money for legal fees; for school clothes; for groceries; and for a two-bedroom apartment with locks that worked and neighbors who didn’t scream or sold drugs at night.

For Aisha.

Everything he did was for her. Every job, every risk, every lie to the care worker in charge of his guardianship case, every time he pulled his darkness around a teammate and hoped to God he didn’t get one of them killed.

But he wasn’t reckless, couldn't afford to be.

If he got himself hurt, killed, or arrested before he could take custody of his sister, it’d all be for nothing. She’d slip through the cracks into a system that didn’t care, into a system that would only exacerbate her insolence and rebelliousness. 

So he was very much willing to play it slow, almost to the point of annoying his teammates, if that meant he had good odds of achieving his goal. 

Some called it timidness or nervousness. 

He called it being cautious.

That was why, when Tattletale had pitched the Dockside job, Brian frowned. Something about it felt too easy. Too convenient.

“This smells off,” he’d said.

And it did.

The building was barely guarded, just obscure enough to stay under the Protectorate’s radar, but valuable enough to tempt small-timers like them. Bait, and not the subtle kind either.

He’d said as much.

Lisa just smiled like she always did, confident and calculating plans he was only privy to when necessary, and said, “It’ll be fine.”

Alec shrugged, Bitch didn’t particularly care what they decided, and Taylor backed it, which was increasingly common these days. Even Aisha—Aisha, who could sniff out a trap faster than any of them—had said, “Might as well.”

Five to one.

And Brian had swallowed the hurt and hesitation like he always did. Like a damn team player. Because he was the leader and had to be.

Slow and steady. One more job. One step closer to getting Aisha out for good.

Then Lung showed up. 

He’d appeared out of nowhere, like someone had tipped him off, and there was no opening monologue. No warning of any kind or even his usual theatrics. Just claws, fangs, and a roar that bathed the night in fire.

Which, to be fair, was expected.

The Undersiders had helped put him away once. Skitter, especially. She and Armsmaster’s actions had resulted in his dick rotting off or something, and Lung clearly hadn’t forgotten.

Grue’s first instinct was to cover his team, but by the time he had gotten enough of his wits back to generate his darkness—to shout, to regroup, to pull everyone together, to do anything—Lung was already there, dropping like a meteor in front of Regent. 

He was sent flying through a wall. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

But there was no time to mourn. 

Tattletale turned, hands raised, and mouth parted to speak. Maybe to stall him, maybe to bluff. Didn’t matter. The fire swallowed her whole before a word left her lips.

Grue screamed for her. The sound didn’t stop the inevitable. 

She was gone. 

He didn’t see what happened to Bitch or Skitter. They’d scattered when Lung hit the street—he was sure of that much—but after that awful scream from Regent, everything had become smoke and movement.

They could’ve gone down. They could’ve run.

He hoped they ran.

Not only was it the smart move, but someone had to make it out. If he went down here, if Lung ripped him apart like he’d done to the others, maybe it’d still mean something if someone lived to remember him. Remember the Regent and Tattletale too. 

Because he was staying. Because, try as he might, he couldn't move. Some part of him—buried deep, screaming underneath the roar of heat and the scent of burnt meat—knew there was something he was forgetting. Something that kept him from running, from fleeing like instinct demanded.

Why am I still here? What am I—?

Then Lung turned his sight on him, and Brian saw her.

Aisha.

And like that, it all snapped back into place.

His kid sister. His responsibility. His reason for all of it. The mask. The fears. The jobs. The descent into villainy. His fucking power. 

She needed him alive. To ensure their parents' parental rights were terminated. To ensure he could become her guardian after he turned eighteen.

And he was going to die. 

Lung lunged.

Brian saw his mouth open, saw the rolls of serrated teeth, and the sharp claws flashing in the firelight. He tried to move, tried to throw himself to the side to hopefully dodge, but he wasn’t a Mover.

He felt claws rake his ribs, felt his body bend unnaturally as he hit the ground, and heard a scream—maybe his, maybe Aisha’s, probably both.

I failed her. Again.

That was his last thought before the world went black.