Young Writers Society

“I don’t need your help. Thank you, however, for offering.” Heliodor Everett took a step away to get away from her hands. Her touch burned right through his clothes, crawling into his skin like insects. He wasn’t to be touched like that. He hadn’t been touched like that since…

Well now was not the time to think about that. “If you are insistent on leaving with me, then lead the way.”

Jo nodded.

There was, of course, the problem of the torturer being outside of the dungeon. Jo froze when she realized that it wasn't going to be that easy to leave. She looked around for something—anything—that she could use as they approached the door.

And then she remembered that she could shapeshift into someone very strong and muscular.

"I just need to put you down for a second," they promised, voice oh-so-low. "I'm going to knock the torturer out."

If they were lucky, he'd get a concussion out of the whole thing, too.

Jo carefully helped Heliodor Everett sit down by the dungeon door, then let her body shift. She used the same form she used to tear apart his chains, and then carefully opened the door.

The torturer was still on the phone. Jo considered themselves lucky. He didn't notice who was behind them until it was too late: Jo gave him a solid whack to the back of the head as he stared at them with wide eyes.

He crumpled to the ground.

He was still breathing. Maybe Jo should have considered killing him, or maybe she should have even considered putting him in one of the cells, but she was much more preoccupied with helping Heliodor Everett up.

They popped back into the dungeon.

"I'm back," they said, form shifting back into their own.

But Heliodor Everett was already standing, his usually light brown skin a sickly shade of tan. “Thank you for your assistance, but I am well.” His voice was back to that monotone. His posture was hunched, his eyes cast low.

He just wanted to be invisible. Because Jo’s touch still burned worse than the stab wounds that littered him. And he was still entirely useless.

“Jo?” He wasn’t any good in a fight. He wasn’t any good. He was useless. He was useless. He was only good for one thing in this confusing, backwards, awful world.

“I think it’s best for the party if I stay. I’ll… keep Kyle safe. They won’t look for anyone else if they have me.”

Jo had almost been about to support him, then, but froze up when he spoke. They had seen how he had tried sacrificing himself earlier. They should have expected this now. But it just took them by so much surprise, hearing him offer something that no one should have ever offered.

"No," Jo quickly said. "We're friends. I couldn't-I couldn't ever leave you behind to deal with him."

At this, she pointed at the person laying unconscious just outside of the dungeon.

"...And," Jo said, grasping at straws in the hopes that something they said would make Heliodor Everett less willing to stay behind, "he...probably realized I could shapeshift. So he might be after me now, too, which means it makes more sense for you to come with me than to stay behind."

She wasn't really sure that made sense at all, but she wasn't going to just leave him.

“Why would he know you can shapeshift? He doesn’t know it’s you.” Heliodor Everett hated arguing against people who were better than him, but this was the only way to make sure he did his one job in this world and stayed.

“For all he knows, we were just rescued by someone else. And I was just left behind. Or I stayed behind because I can’t die. So go on, Jo. I’ll be fine. I can handle it.”

Jo could have pointed out that she wasn't bleeding as badly as Heliodor Everett was, and that the person who had knocked out the torturer hadn't been bleeding that badly, either. They could have said that being immortal and being able to shapeshift felt like way too many powers for a single person to hold, so the torturer would know it couldn't all be Heliodor Everett, too.

But they didn't say any of that. They weren't even sure it would mean anything to him. He'd just argue with whatever she said.

So, instead, she moved over and supported him anyways, going back to the form they had been using earlier.

"I'm not leaving you behind," she insisted.

Heliodor Everett tried to move away from Jo. “Just do it, please. Before he wakes up. It’s for the best. Because he’ll hunt us if he doesn’t have what he wants.”

Jo was too strong to escape and he hated it. He hated that Jo wasn’t letting him do this. “I need to do this, Jo. I need to. You don’t understand. It’s the one thing I’m good for!”

He froze, horror and dread washing over him in equal parts. He just snapped at Jo. Just snapped at someone better than him. What was he thinking. What was he thinking? He tugged more desperately.

“Let me go. Let me go!” He twisted himself around, trying anything to escape her iron grasp, but it was worthless. He was worthless. Jo was taking away the one thing that gave him worth in this place.

But between the blood loss and the fear and the pain, it was all too much, and soon, his world pitched to the side. His leg crumpled beneath him in wave of agony that made him cling to Jo for just a millisecond before he slipped back into neutrality. “Jo… I’m…” He couldn’t walk, he realized. The Stan wound in his thigh had done too much. He couldn’t ignore it now. “I’m dead weight. I can’t… I can’t…” He reached up to cover his mouth. “I’m going to die here.”

When Heliodor Everett said that the only thing he was good for was being left behind, Jo's heart broke. When he said that he was going to die here, it broke even more.

Jo started leading him towards the door, only to realize he had collapsed. He couldn't really walk, even with Jo leading him. So they did the next best thing and scooped him up in a bridal carry instead. He was too weak to fight it, Jo knew, and Jo also knew that Hench was strong. They had seen the former villain lift up impossibly heavily weights up around Mutopia with ease before. They carried him through the doorway, and carried him over the immobile, unconscious torturer.

"You're not going to die here," Jo promised, "because I'm going to get you out of here right now. You don't have to be good for anything, and you definitely don't have to sacrifice yourself right now. Kyle wouldn't want that, either."

Heliodor Everett froze. He was in someone’s arms. And it burned. It burned so much. “Jo. Jo, please. He’s going to hurt Kyle. And it’ll be all my fault.” He tried to move but he felt so weak. He couldn’t fight. Jo could do whatever they pleased.

“I can’t… I can’t…” He felt a tear trickle down his face. No. No, no, no. He can’t do that. He can’t cry. That’s one of the quickest ways to die. He turned his face, trying to hide just how pathetic he was. “I’m already hurt. I’m already useless. I already got us here by running. Please. Just let me help. Let me be good for something.”

If Jo wasn't in the middle of carrying Heliodor Everett, they would have given him a hug. Instead, they settled for giving him a quick, reassuring squeeze instead—completely ignorant of how that probably came across to him.

"It's not your fault," Jo reassured him. She was using her own voice instead of Hench's right now. She thought it would be better to hear a voice he already knew. "He probably would have caught us if we stayed, too, and then he would have gotten Kyle, too."

Jo was so busy talking with Heliodor Everett that they weren't really paying attention to the halls they were walking down right now, which was probably an oversight on their part.

"And being hurt doesn't mean you're useless," Jo added. "It just means other people have to help you out, and that's okay. It doesn't make you weak."

She took in a deep breath of air.

"And," she added, "he still doesn't know Kyle can heal himself, and you're gone, so we're really foiling his plans."

Heliodor Everett shook his head. “No. No! That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. I’m expendable. As soon as I stop being useful I die. That’s how it works. I should be dead. I should be dead!”

He choked up, watching the various bloodstains soak through his clothes. This was an attack there was no coming back from. “People don’t help alis. They watch them die. They laugh when they see them bleed out. And I was always so, so good. And I always avoided it.“ He was full on sobbing now. He couldn’t help it. He never thought he’d be an alis that would end up like this. “No one’s pulled a knife on me since ‘34. And these bruises are just warnings. I haven’t been attacked in a month. Because I do everything right and now it doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

It was stupid of Jo to suddenly shift back to herself, especially when she already holding him in a good position, but Hench wasn't all that good for hugging.

So she changed back to herself, staggered a bit at the sudden change in her own limbs, and pulled Heliodor Everett tight to her chest.

"Maybe that's how it worked where you came from," Jo said, "but that's not how it works here. That's...That's what people want people to think about mutants, too. That we're worthless and expendable."

They staggered forward a bit again, still trying to get a grasp on him as themself and not as Hench.

"But we're not worthless," she said. "You're not worthless. I'll keep telling you that until you believe me. That's what being a mutant has taught me—not that the world is only filled with hate and fear, but that we all mean something and can get through it together."

Heliodor Everett covered his face, the guilt and the fear and shame all too much for him. He couldn’t do this. This was so much. This was far too much for him. He needed to stop crying. He needed to walk again. He needed some way to make Jo believe him. But he couldn’t. All he could do was just hang limp in Jo’s arms and sob like some pathetic child.

“You’re wrong. You’re just wrong. Hundreds of years… so many alis lords. My father.”

Jo shook their head.

"I'm not," she insisted. "You're worth more than all of those lords and your dad combined."

They didn't want to think of the implications of that protest—that his father had something to do with his trauma and scars. They barely knew how to handle their own feelings towards their own family. She didn't know how to handle someone else's, especially when it was clear that other family had caused so much hurt.

Heliodor Everett flinched. “No. No, I’m not. They own me. I’m nothing compared to them. I owe them everything. They could kill me instantly and people would thank them. I’m- I’m-“

He couldn’t breathe. He leaned back in Jo’s arms and gasped, trying to make his lungs work but they refused. He was going to suffocate. “I can’t-“ He choked. “Jo-“