Of Heroes And Villains: The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives.

Tex gazed at the assassin as she slowly stood up, narrowing dark eyes at them. She was injured and weakened, but he was not foolish enough to believe that this made her any less dangerous; operatives of the Order should never be underestimated.

They were lethal and often underhanded.

And yet, Texplosion was grinning widely, the red lightning at his fingertips crackling with giddy excitement.

There was someone in his head.

While mental links during combat were standard practice in many superhero teams for ease of communication, they nonetheless made Tex uneasy, and he was far from the only one who struggled with that violation of privacy. There was only one voice in his head he could comfortably tolerate – and right now, feeling that familiar presence was the best sensation in the world.

Psy.

Psy was alive.

Psy was himself.

And yeah, of course Tex wanted to know when he had recovered, and what he was doing here, and who had finally found the means to undo the brainwashing, but… those were questions for later. They had a villain to defeat.

Just like old times.

Can’t attack her mentally without leaving the safety of my shield, and I’m pretty sure she’d win. We have to take her down physically.

Tex nodded almost imperceptibly, and then broke into a sprint. The assassin tensed, watching his movements but then swiveled her head when Psy circled around her from the other direction. Tex was certain that there was a mental struggle of some sort going on, but didn’t have to concern himself with that aspect; his job was simply to knock her out.

His fingers lightly brushed scattered cutlery, transferring the red spark of his powers with a touch. He projected the image of which objects were explosively charged to Psy who spread his arms, a telekinetic pulse washing over the room.

Gravity appeared to take a vacation as hundreds of small objects rose to float, the small explosives hidden among them.

The assassin started running, charging Psy – only to suddenly roll to the side and pressing her dagger to the jugular of an unconscious man.

The two heroes froze.

She smirked.

And then a gigantic vine rose behind her and slammed into her hard enough to send her flying. She hit the wall and slumped down, head lolling.

“People don’t pay attention to me at their own peril.”

Tex twisted around to look at Dionaea, who was cradling a hero. His mouth was smeared with blood, so he’d likely been infected as well. As far as Tex could see, nobody was convulsing on the floor anymore, so she seemed to have succeeded in healing all the victims of the plague.

Plague? Psy’s mental voice was inquisitive.

“Though that bonding thing you had going on was really cute. So sorry to interrupt.”

Tex exhaled, scraping together his manners to compliment and thank her. No matter what he thought of her, her presence had saved lives, including his own, but Psy surprised him by laughing first.

“We’ll cope. Thank you, Diane.”

Diane?

Psy was beaming at Cinder Snow’s creation, and Tex could feel the echo of deep affection spilling from their link. Noticing his confusion, Psy turned his head, gesturing toward her.

“Tex, this is Diane. Diane, Tex.” He smiled, gaze softening. “She healed me.”

“Charmed,” Dionaea said dryly.

“Ah, hell,” Tex muttered as realization slowly sank in. The things she’d been saying to him recently, her anger, and oh lord, the things he’d said to her. He’d even been an asshole to Shade over her presence. They’d never been on good terms, but in recent months he’d been lashing out at the vigilante whenever he had opportunity.

When villains reformed via hero duty, they needed an established hero above their threat level to vouch for them and bear responsibility for any crimes they might commit should they relapse. That Shade of all people had been willing to put aside his infamous loathing and mistrust of villains to vouch for Dionaea had convinced many that there had to be something good in that girl. To Tex, it had been an infuriating betrayal.

Psy was tilting his head at him, glancing back and forth between him and the former villainess. Then his brows slowly drew together in a frown as his gaze locked on seemingly nothing. Tex had a good idea what he was looking at, no doubt reading their less than pleasant history in his head.

And then he felt unmistakable anger coming from Psy, although he really didn’t need a mental link to tell him the obvious when Stephen was suddenly glaring at him.

“So,” he said in a low voice. “You’ve spent the last few months harassing the only person who bothered to visit me?”

“I…”

“Over me?” He laughed, the sound hollow.

“I’m sorry,” Mark said, swallowing heavily.

“He’s an idiot,” Dionaea announced cheerfully, prancing up to Psy, and poking him in the chest. “Somehow I doubt you didn’t know that, mind reader, and yet you choose to hang out with him anyway, so…” She squinted at Tex. “I take it there has to be something there that makes up for it.”

Psy sighed, absently ruffling her hair. The sight of that was so bizarre to Mark, who just thirty minutes ago thought that his friend was gone forever and that he would never see him again, let alone see him patting the head of Dionaea who apparently was a decent human being after all and was coming to his defense for reasons he couldn’t fathom.

The anger flowing over the link ebbed and Psy’s gaze rested on Tex for a long moment. “We’ll have words over this, Mark,” he said eventually, and then turned to look at the unconscious assassin. “But for now we have more pressing issues to discuss.”

“Yes. For example, where’s Caroline?” Dionaea cocked an eyebrow at Psy, who blushed.

“Also later. Tex, what’s this plague you were thinking about?”

Psy made a point of not prying into people’s minds without permission, striving to only hear surface thoughts, so he sometimes needed clarification. Tex crossed his arms and started thinking about the events of the evening for Psy’s benefit, having learned a long time ago that this just took less time than bothering with words.

The mind reader nodded, looking worried. “I know who caused that. There was another assassin, a white-haired man in a waiter’s uniform…” The image flashed in Tex’ mind, and he hissed in a sharp breath in recognition. “Pestilence. I collapsed the balcony he was on, but didn’t have time to check if that really took him out.”

“It didn’t,” said a pleasant voice, and the three of them froze.


***


Diane’s red eyes widened as she gazed at the white-haired man. He was barefoot, and his pants, the only thing he wore, were torn and coated with fine dust. Every single rib on his chest stood out in sharp relief, the skin stretching tightly over the bones.

There was something about him that made her hackles rise. The deep well of magic within her writhed and clawed at her insides, and for the first time since she’d stopped being fully human, she felt true nausea.

She still made herself smile confidently. “So you must be Pestilence. Saw your handiwork.” The sickness she had drawn out of the dying heroes had been unlike anything she’d ever felt before, a twisting, revolting mass that seemed intent on devouring its host. Healing it had been exhausting like no wound or illness she had ever encountered before, and it had required her complete attention. “I broke it.”

Black eyes fixed on her and he smiled. “You must be the healer then.” He brushed his fingertips along a nearby vine which was still restraining a now unconscious guest. “I take it these are your handiwork.” His smile widened. “I can break that, too.”

Diane cried out in pain as her vine started rotting, quickly severing the magical link she had to her creations. The vine fell limp, outside of her control now, black streaks running along its length. Agony wracked her body as it infected the vine next to it, and, realizing that the many vines she’d conjured were simply too close to each other to save, she cut the link to all of them.

Beside her, she heard Stephen hiss in a breath, narrowing golden eyes – and suddenly he doubled over, clawing at his head. Diane whirled around, wide-eyed. Texplosion was immediately at his side, looking panicked.

“I do not recommend touching my mind, psychic,” the assassin gloated. “I almost had you the last time, but then Malice just had to get competitive…”

“What… what are…?” And then Stephen coughed, the blood spray hitting Tex, who’d been leaning over his friend.

“I am Pestilence.”

Tex’ knees hit the floor as well as he started wheezing, and Diane reached for both of them, palms glowing bright with her healing magic. Cold laughter echoed through the room.

“Yes, healer, try to heal your friends. The question is… can you keep it up?” The black streaks in her vines kept growing and she realized with rising horror that they were touching almost everyone in the room, giving his disease an easy vector to spread through.

One of them had been touching Stephen’s foot.

“Just how fast can you heal?”

Diane pressed her thorn into her palm, breaking skin.

“Faster than you,” she snarled, and a moment later a small, yet deadly vine shot forward, impaling him through his shoulder.

She endured the pain as that vine, too, was infected, and cut her connection to it. Within seconds, it had rotted away, leaving a deep, gaping wound, the dark red blood a stark contrast against his pale skin.

And still he was smiling.

The wound started closing.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.”