Super vs Crazy
The Morning After the Masquerade
The morning sun bled through the living room curtains, illuminating a scene that would have given a forensic investigator a stroke. Tactical boots were scattered across the rug like fallen soldiers; a serrated combat knife was currently being used as a makeshift letter opener on the coffee table; and a pile of high-tech Kevlar sat in the corner, smelling faintly of the city’s sewer system and expensive gunpowder.
Caleb Reeds groaned, burying his face in his pillow. His body ached in that specific, deep-tissue way that only came from throwing three-hundred-pound men into shipping containers. Usually, he’d wake up and spend twenty minutes coming up with a plausible lie for the bruises on his ribs. Now, the truth was snoring loudly next to him, sprawled out in a pair of Wonder Woman boxer shorts.
Adrian’s arm was flung over Caleb’s chest, his fingers twitching in his sleep as if he were practicing his trigger pulls. Without the mask and the visor, Adrian looked remarkably harmless—just a guy with messy curls and a slightly crooked nose. It was hard to reconcile this sleeping dork with the man who had once decapitated a target with a license plate.
"I know you’re awake," Adrian mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. He didn't open his eyes, but a smug grin spread across his face. "I can hear your heart doing that little thumpy-thump thing it does when you’re thinking about how lucky you are to be dating a literal urban legend."
Caleb huffed, turning on his side to face him. "My heart is doing a 'thumpy-thump' because I’m wondering if I should call the police on you or just change the locks while you’re at the dentist."
Adrian cracked one eye open, squinting through the sunlight. "First of all, I don't go to the dentist. I have perfect oral hygiene because I floss with high-tensile piano wire. Second, you love me. You love the danger. You love that I’m basically the John Wick of people who actually have a sense of humor."
"You are nothing like John Wick," Caleb retorted, though he reached out to brush a stray curl away from Adrian’s forehead. "John Wick is quiet. You didn't stop talking for three hours last night. Even after we... you know. You were still explaining the tactical advantages of a fanny pack."
"Because they’re underrated, Caleb! Accessibility is key in a firefight!" Adrian sat up abruptly, seemingly energized by the mere thought of tactical gear. He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, sliding them onto his face. "So, now that the cat—or the wolf—is out of the bag, we need to establish some ground rules. For the partnership."
Caleb sat up too, leaning against the headboard. "Partnership? Adrian, I’m a hero. You’re... whatever the hell you are. We don't have a partnership. We have a shared lease and a very complicated legal situation."
"We're a duo! Like Batman and Robin, but if Robin was also a cool adult who killed people and Batman was a dog," Adrian said, punching the air. "Think about it. Bad Wolf and Vigilante. The Wolf and the Vige. We could get a van. A Wolf-Mobile. With a tail on the back that wags when we go over sixty."
Caleb stared at him, deadpan. "No."
"Okay, no van. A motorcycle with a sidecar? You can sit in the sidecar and howl at people we pass. It would be very intimidating for the criminal element."
"Adrian," Caleb said, his voice dropping into that low, serious rumble that usually made people start running. "I work with the authorities. You’re on the most-wanted list in at least three states. If my handlers at the agency find out I’m sleeping with the guy who blew up a courthouse in Ohio—"
"That courthouse was empty! And it was an architectural eyesore! I was doing the city a favor," Adrian interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. He leaned in closer, his blue eyes searching Caleb’s. "Look, I get it. You’re the 'good guy.' But let’s be real, babe. You’ve seen me out there. I don't kill the good ones. I kill the ones who fall through the cracks. The ones your 'authorities' can't touch because of red tape and boring things like 'due process.'"
Caleb sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. The worst part was that Adrian wasn't entirely wrong. He’d seen Vigilante in action. He was reckless, violent, and disturbed, but he was also strangely principled in his own twisted way. He was a surgeon with a meat cleaver.
"I just don't want to lose you," Caleb admitted quietly. "Either to a jail cell or... or because someone decides to use me to get to you."
Adrian’s expression softened, a rare moment of genuine vulnerability slipping through his chaotic exterior. He reached out, taking Caleb’s hand. His grip was firm, the calluses on his palms a reminder of the life he led.
"Nobody is getting to you," Adrian said, his voice devoid of its usual joking lilt. "I’m very good at my job, Caleb. And now that I know my boyfriend is a six-foot-tall apex predator who can rip a car door off its hinges? I feel pretty sorry for anyone who tries to come between us. It’s going to be a bloodbath. A very romantic, high-casualty bloodbath."
Caleb couldn't help it; he laughed. It was a dry, weary sound, but it was there. "You have a very skewed definition of romance."
"I’m a traditionalist," Adrian shrugged. He hopped out of bed, his energy returning in a sudden burst. "Now, enough talk about feelings. Feelings are for people who don't have cool masks. We have a mission."
Caleb blinked. "A mission? I have the day off. I was going to make pancakes."
"Pancakes are for winners, and winners need to earn them," Adrian said, already pulling on a pair of tactical pants he’d retrieved from the floor. "I got a tip last night. Some guys are moving a shipment of experimental tech through the old railyard. It’s real nasty stuff. Disintegration beams, or maybe just really powerful flashlights, the source was a bit vague. But! It’s the perfect opportunity for our first official date-slash-raid."
"Adrian, no. I am not going on a 'date-raid' with you."
"Why not? It’s perfect! We go in, we bust some heads, I stab a few people—non-lethally, if it makes you feel better, though it’s much harder and less satisfying—and then we go to that 24-hour diner for blueberry flapjacks. It’s a full itinerary, Caleb. I even picked out a playlist."
Caleb watched him, torn between his sense of duty and the sheer, infectious absurdity of Adrian’s enthusiasm. He looked at the scars on his own arms, remnants of a life spent in the shadows of the "hero" world, and then at Adrian, who lived entirely in the light of his own madness.
"Non-lethal?" Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow.
Adrian made a face, looking like he’d just been asked to eat a salad. "Fine. Mostly non-lethal. I’ll aim for the knees. Knees are the 'maybe' of the human body. You can live without them, but you’re definitely not going to be running any marathons or committing any more felonies."
Caleb sat there for a long moment, the silence of the apartment stretching between them. Then, with a groan of resignation, he swung his legs out of bed. "If we get arrested, I’m telling them you kidnapped me and forced me to be your sidekick through psychological warfare."
"That’s the spirit!" Adrian cheered, tossing Caleb’s Bad Wolf mask at him. "And for the record, you’re not the sidekick. We’re co-protagonists. Like in a buddy-cop movie, but with more fur and better aim."
The railyard was a desolate stretch of rusted steel and rotting wood, smelling of grease and stagnant water. It was the kind of place where bad things happened as a matter of course. Under the flickering orange glow of a distant streetlamp, a group of men in dark windbreakers were unloading crates from a flatbed truck.
"Look at them," Adrian whispered, hunkered down behind a stack of pallets. He was back in the Vigilante suit, the red visor glowing faintly in the dark. "They’re so disorganized. No perimeter check, no secondary fallback point. It’s insulting, really. I should kill them just for their lack of professionalism."
Caleb, crouched beside him, felt the familiar hum of the wolf beginning to stir under his skin. His vision sharpened, the world shifting into shades of grey and heat signatures. His fingernails lengthened into sharp, obsidian points.
"We stick to the plan," Caleb hissed, his voice dropping into a bestial growl. "I take the left, you take the right. We disable the truck first. No shooting unless they fire first."
"You’re no fun," Adrian complained, though he was already checking the action on his custom pistols. "But fine. Rules are rules. Even if they’re boring, 'don't-murder-everyone' rules."
Caleb didn't wait for a response. He moved with a speed that defied his muscular frame, a shadow blurring across the gravel. He hit the first guard before the man could even cry out, a heavy fist sending him sprawling into the dirt. On the other side of the yard, a series of muffled *thwips* signaled that Adrian was using his suppressed weapons to take out the light fixtures, plunging the area into chaos.
"Contact! We have contact!" someone screamed.
The yard erupted. Muzzle flashes lit up the night like strobe lights. Caleb vaulted over a crate, his transformation taking hold in the heat of the moment. His muscles swelled, his jaw elongating as a low, terrifying snarl ripped from his throat. He was a whirlwind of fur and fury, batting aside gun barrels and tossing men like ragdolls.
Through the chaos, he caught glimpses of the Vigilante. Adrian was moving like a dancer, a chaotic, murderous ballerina. He was flipping over crates, using his environment as a playground. He’d kick a man in the chest, use the momentum to spin, and plant a combat knife into the shoulder of another. He was talking the entire time, though the sounds of gunfire drowned out the specifics.
"Hey! Watch the suit! This is hand-wash only, you prick!" Adrian’s voice drifted over the noise.
Caleb slammed a man into the side of the truck, the metal denting under the impact. He turned just in time to see a guard leveling a shotgun at his head. Before the man could pull the trigger, a small, silver disc hummed through the air, embedding itself in the shotgun’s barrel.
The gun exploded in the guard's hands, sending him reeling back.
"Got your back, Fluffy!" Adrian shouted, perched atop a stack of shipping containers like a gargoyle.
Caleb huffed, a plume of hot breath escaping his snout. He grabbed the last two guards by their collars and knocked their heads together with a sickening thud. Silence returned to the railyard, heavy and thick with the scent of spent brass and sweat.
Adrian dropped down from the container, landing perfectly on his feet. He holstered his guns with a flourish and walked over to Caleb, who was slowly shrinking back down to his human proportions.
"See?" Adrian said, gesturing to the pile of unconscious bodies. "Teamwork makes the dream work. And by 'dream,' I mean 'crippling medical debt for these assholes.'"
Caleb wiped a smudge of grease from his cheek, his breathing heavy. He looked at Adrian, really looked at him, standing there in the middle of the carnage with a thumb up and a jaunty tilt to his head.
"You really enjoy this, don't you?" Caleb asked, his voice returning to normal.
"I’m good at it," Adrian said simply. He walked over, poking one of the crates with his boot. "And besides, it’s much better doing it with you. Usually, Peacemaker just yells at me about how I’m doing everything wrong or tells me stories about his racist dad. You’re much better company. You don't talk as much, and your hair is way nicer."
Caleb felt a strange tug in his chest—a mixture of affection and the realization that his life had officially gone off the rails. He walked over to Adrian, reaching out to grab the front of his tactical vest.
"If we’re going to do this," Caleb said, his brown eyes meeting the red visor, "we do it my way. No unnecessary killing. We turn the evidence over to the cops. And you stop breaking into our apartment through the window. Use the door like a normal person."
Adrian sighed, a long, dramatic sound. "Fine. But I’m keeping the window option open for emergencies. Like if I lose my keys. Or if I want to surprise you with a pizza. Pizza tastes better when it’s delivered via stealth entry."
Caleb leaned forward, pressing a quick, hard kiss to the cold plastic of the visor. "Deal. Now let’s get out of here before the sirens get any closer."
"Wait!" Adrian scrambled toward the truck. "I think I saw a crate of those laser flashlights. We should at least take one! For the kitchen! It’ll be great for finding the cat under the fridge!"
"We don't have a cat, Adrian!"
"Not yet! But with our new lifestyle, a cat feels like a solid investment! A tactical cat!"
Caleb shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he started to run toward the shadows of the city. Behind him, the Vigilante was babbling about feline body armor and the best brand of kibble for a high-stress environment.
It wasn't the life Caleb Reeds had planned. It wasn't the heroic, clean-cut image he’d tried to maintain. But as he looked back at the masked idiot trailing behind him, he realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn't alone in the dark.
They were a mess. They were a disaster. They were probably going to be the death of each other.
But as the first rays of dawn began to touch the skyline, Caleb decided that he didn't mind the chaos at all. In fact, he was looking forward to the pancakes.