It has been weeks, now.
I'm healing.
Slow, but steady.
Every inch of skin feels tighter than it used to.
Like I'm wearing a body that isn't mine—again.
A patchwork of burns, scars and bruises.
The physical therapy is borderline a torture.
But I follow the instructions.
Every pill. Hard to swallow.
Every stretch. Feels like I'm ripping apart.
Every goddamn step, makes my teeth grind until my jaw clicks.
Every order from the doc—I obey like a dog on a leash.
Like a soldier with one mission.
Because if I want to kill Cletus Kasady...
I need to stand.
I need to move.
I need to be stronger than I've ever been.
That son of a bitch hasn't left my head for more than a second.
Like my own personal nightmare—drilled into my psyche
His grin.
Those burnt hands.
The way he said my name like it was something sacred to him.
I dream about the fire a lot.
About the old man.
What if I'd been faster?
Stronger?
What if I hadn't hesitated?
Sometimes I save him.
Sometimes we both burn.
But Cletus is always there.
Smiling. Watching.
Sometimes he is the flames.
Sometimes he's the doctor, the nurse, the old man—everyone.
Sometimes I look down and I have his hands.
And I always wake up screaming.
Cletus Kasady
He made me feel like a character in his story.
Like I was only special because he chose to notice me.
Like I existed for his entertainment.
And I hate him for it.
I hate that he might be right.
That I'm broken.
That he broke me.
I don't think I can live with myself if I don't make him pay—
Not just for what he did to me…
But for what he's still doing.
For what he will do.
Killing him won't bring justice. It won't even be revenge.
It'll be survival.
And maybe…
Maybe it's the first thing I've ever truly wanted.
Something I'm obsessed about.
Something that made me forget the pain, the burns, the pitying looks.
It gave me focus. Purpose.
Beyond being a hero…
I wanted to murder Cletus Kasady.
And that thought?
It didn't scare me.
I don't know what that says about me. But I'm past caring.
---
The suit is ruined, beyond repair.
Kick-Ass is over.
It was a naive dream, to think I could remain pure in this world. That I could wear a mask, swing my batons, and make a difference without drowning in the repugnant filth that came with it.
I thought I could be different. Be better.
But Cletus Kasady burned that illusion to ash—along with everything else.
He showed me the truth.
He showed me that this world doesn't play fair.
That monsters aren't just our fears under the bed.
They're real. They laugh. They thrive.
And if you want to stop them…
You don't outsmart them.
You don't outfight them.
You kill them.
Kick-Ass was a joke.
And I was the punchline.
But I can't let Cletus know that.
Can't let him win.
Can't let him think he broke me for good.
I might not be Kick-Ass anymore.
Might never wear that mask again.
But that's not gonna stop me.
Not from helping.
Not from fighting.
Not from making sure monsters like him don't get the last laugh.
---
Remember the kid I saved?
He came to visit me. With his mom and dad, obviously.
They stood by the door for a while before coming in. Awkward. Guilty. Like they didn't know if I'd bite or break.
They thanked me—over and over. Like words could undo anything.
But the kid...
The kid had my mask in his hands.
Clutch it like it meant something. Like I meant something.
He walked up to the bed, slowly. Held the mask out to me with both hands.
"I, hm... this is yours" he said, voice small, shy, nervous.
I looked at it for a second. Torn fabric. Burn marks.
"Nah" I said. "You keep it."
His eyebrows knit. "B-But your superpowers—"
I raised my palm to stop him.
"It's yours now, but there's a trick to it if you still want its powers."
I didn't have it in me to explain everything. That there were no powers. Just dumb choices.
"You have to be... Heroic, ok?" He's a kid, I shouldn't encourage him to be careless like me.
So I added "I don't mean punching bad guys. Or entering a building on fire, ok?"
I leaned in a little, voice low, like I was passing on a secret.
"You have to be nice. Help people. Doesn't have to be everyone. Just… one person a day."
He looked down at the mask in his hands like it was suddenly heavier. "Like who?"
"Anyone. You just gotta be kind. Hold a door. Share something."
He blinked up at me. "Even if it's something small?"
"Especially if it's something small."
He was quiet for a second. Then he nodded. Serious.
"I promise."
And for a second…
Just a second…
It felt like maybe I hadn't failed completely
---
Peter's been visiting me every day after school—
Even weekends.
Bringing comics, dumb jokes, and updates from the outside world like I was some war vet stuck behind enemy lines.
Apparently, everyone at school knows I was Kick-Ass.
Though no one's actually called me that.
Maybe they just heard I wore a mask and played the hero—
not the name I gave myself.
So yeah—that plan?
Double dead.
Now they call me a hero.
Send cards. Get-well-soons.
Little crayon-drawn thank-you notes from kids I never met.
Sometimes I read them.
Sometimes I let them pile up.
As a reminder I still exist.
Beyond the pain.
Beyond the anger.
---
Surprisingly, Peter hasn't been bullied at all while I've been gone.
Not a single shove. Not a locker slam. Not even a name.
Weird, right?
I don't know if it's because of the fire—
because I got torched saving a kid and now I'm some kind of martyr and Peter has the benefits by association.
Or if it's what I told Flash before everything went to hell.
The way I said it. The way he looked at me afterward.
Maybe it's both.
Admiration and guilt.
A hell of a combo.
---
Like any other day, Peter visited me
He sat on the edge of the hospital chair, nervously tugging at the straps on his backpack. His leg bounced up and down like he had somewhere important to be—or maybe just something important to say. The kid couldn't sit still to save his life.
"So, uh... I had a pretty interesting day." Peter said, trying—and failing—to sound casual. But that dumb excited smile sold him out. "Wanna guess?"
I gave him a lazy look as I read the comic he brought me, Captain America again. "You finally asked Liz out and she gave you the 'you're like a brother to me' speech?"
Peter snorted, slumping deeper into the chair. "Wow. Thanks for the faith."
I didn't look up from the page. "I call it like I see it, Romeo."
He rolled his eyes, then sat forward, tugging at his backpack strap like it was suddenly too tight. "No, actually. It's not about Liz. It's... kinda big."
I turned a page slowly. "Bigger than your inevitable heartbreak?"
Peter didn't rise to the bait. His voice dropped a little. "Norman Osborn came to Midtown today."
That got my attention. "Norman Osborn? The Norman Osborn?"
He nodded, his expression almost too innocent to be true. "Yeah, apparently he liked my performance during the internship with Dr. Connors. Liked it. A lot. He talked to the principal about a private Oscorp tour."
I dropped the comic on the blanket. "A tour? Like a field trip?"
"Yeah. Just our class. He pitched it, she greenlit it."
I stared at him. "Next thing you know, he's gonna give you a jetpack."
Peter chuckled. "Right. Anyway, the principal actually asked if the trip could be delayed until you're out of the hospital. She announced that it wouldn't be the same without you."
I leaned back, trying to act unaffected. "Oh. Cool."
But inside?
Inside, I was screaming.
Spider-Man was happening.
Oscorp. Peter. Spider.
Oh yeah, It's all coming together.
---
Finally, fucking finally
I was mostly healed. I could stand, walk, and—thank God—get the hell out of that hospital.
I couldn't believe it. The world outside was real again, and the hospital felt like some personal hell I'd been stuck in for a month.
Sure, the nurses, doctors, and other patients were nice enough. But I wasn't about to waste another minute in that sterile nightmare.
After the final checkup, I thanked everyone who helped me get through this hellhole of a hospital.
Then I had to deal with my parents.
I pulled out my phone and sent them a message that I was finally getting out of there. Not that I expected much from them. They barely acknowledged the fact I was in the hospital, let alone the whole ordeal I'd been through. So it wasn't a surprise when my phone buzzed with a response.
It was a monotone "congratulations" followed by a "Do you need an Uber?"
I stared at the message for a long moment, feeling my stomach twist.
"An Uber?" I muttered aloud. "Seriously? What the hell?"
I just... couldn't deal with it.
Whatever. It wasn't worth getting worked up over anymore. I declined the offer and moved on. My parents weren't going to change, and that was just the reality of it.
---
I arrived at the house. Not home. House.
The lights were off. No one was waiting at the door. No signs that anyone had even noticed I'd been gone. Not that I was expecting balloons or a welcome back hug—but still. A part of me... some stupid, fragile part… hoped for something.
I stepped inside and it was silent.
Just... Silence.
I walked to my room and stopped at the doorway, hand resting on the knob.
It felt desolate. Cold. Like a room that had been paused while the world moved on. Everything was exactly where I left it, like a time capsule.
I never really gave Warren's life much thought. But standing there?
It hit me.
This life sucks. It hurts.
I almost died. Literally burned alive. And they barely showed up. No hospital visits. No late-night phone calls. No tears. Just a half-assed "congratulations" and an Uber suggestion like I'd come back from summer camp instead of hell.
"Fuck them" I muttered to no one. "Just… fuck them."
I stepped into the room, shut the door, and sat on the edge of the bed.
I was alone. Again.
The silence wasn't peaceful—it was heavy. Like the air itself was waiting for me to crack.
I pulled off my shirt, slow and deliberate, wincing as the fabric brushed against healing skin.
Then I stood in front of the mirror.
And there it was.
The aftermath.
My hands moved without thinking, tracing the roadmap of scar tissue crisscrossing my arms and back.
Each touch pulled me backward.
The smell of smoke, thick and suffocating.
The sound of crackling flames, splintering wood, distant screams.
The heat—so real I could almost feel it again, licking at my skin like it was hungry.
And then that moment.
The moment I thought it was over.
No heroic last stand. No victory.
Just fire, and fear, and the crushing certainty that I wasn't walking out of there.
But I did.
Somehow, I did.
Another lottery won.
And I was going to use it to take someone's life...
No—not a life.
Not someone.
Something.
Cletus Kasady doesn't deserve the dignity of being called human.
He's rot itself in a skin suit. A living cancer with a fascination for fire.
Killing him would be a favor to humankind.
_______________________________________
Word count: 1.980
Hey dear readers.
I'm actually impressed of myself. Ten chapters. Wow.
Now, I wanted to ask you all what are things you don't wanna see in the story.
I mean things like; Harem, Multiverse, 18+ Scenes, etc. Comment here, please.
As you may have induced, I don't know how write girls. So... That's gonna be a pain to read too, I apologize.
Sincerely, the Author.