I am a sidekick. I am not the main event, nor am I very skilled in combat. I am there for support, and most of the time I just stand on the sidelines watching. Sometimes I even cheer. I get caught up in the moment, you know? And support is important, as heroes are very fragile, like children. They are very strong children, but they need to be praised and pushed all the time. Most of them couldn’t do it on their own, I think. So that’s where I come in.
I am a sidekick. I am there to help the hero up as they fall, pull them out of danger in the nick of time, and heal them as they recover from each mission. I went through school for this - the academy was grueling, but I passed with flying marks. I could have gone to the college for heroes - United Hero Association - but I chose this path instead. I want to be part of the good fight, but I hate the spotlight. No thank you. I want to blend into the background and run the show behind the scenes. And honestly, I’m not really into pain. I don’t care for the idea of constantly getting my ass beat. Even when heroes win, there are still countless injuries involved each time. And contrary to popular belief, they don’t magically heal all the time. That’s me. I do that for them. Without me, my heroes would literally die.
The hero I have been assigned is reckless and rude. He is not the first hero I have worked with, but he is certainly the least enjoyable. He is one of the strongest existing heroes right now, but only in brawn. I have no idea how he passed his exams - he’s dumb. Possibly one of the dumbest men I have ever met. Combined with being selfish, loud, and overly sexual, he’s one of the worst human beings I have ever come in contact with. Not a single other hero I have worked with has ever treated women the way he does. Just because you’re the strongest man in the entire city does not mean you are entitled to pussy, Jason. And my god, why is Jason the name he picked? Heroes can have any sort of name they’d like. It doesn’t even have to correspond with their powers or anything. It’s just... what they want. So why did he pick the name of a classic horror villain? Do you think it makes people feel safe to have a hero with the same name as a mass murderer? I would not feel confident in my savior. And even without that issue, Jason is a regular ass name. It’s like being a hero and calling yourself Chad. He could be The Crimson Fist or something. But no. He chose Jason, which isn’t even his actual name and just makes it sound like the most exciting thing in his life is the yearly fishing trip he takes.
Did you know that heroes get to pick their sidekick’s name? Yes. Do you even want to know what my name is right now? It’s Pam. PAM. It’s not even an acronym. Jason chose the most boring name I have ever been called. What a nightmare. I used to be called The Healing Alchemist when I worked with Punk Sundae - those were incredible names that were mostly chosen for fun, but that made me feel like the coolest sidekick ever. My healing abilities are often taken for granted, but Punk Sundae made me feel like a badass no matter what I did. And when I worked with Lizard Man, he let me choose my own name. I picked ‘The Iguana’, which was hilarious to him. And now I’m Pam. It only solidifies the fact that Jason is a super normie, because I think he just has a crush on that character from The Office. Ridiculous. Everyone makes fun of me when the sidekicks get together for our Sunday brunch.
And yet... I have not requested another hero. I know that I could, and the headache of paperwork might actually be worth it to work with a hero that is actually a good person and concerned about the Greater Good instead of getting ass. But I also pride myself in my ability to persevere, especially when the odds are stacked against me. That is the essence of being a sidekick - reliability and grit. We are the backbone of our heroes, so we have to be the strong ones mentally. If the hero cannot go on, we are the ones who drag them back up and push them from behind. Not that I want to be behind Jason at any time, since I’m not even sure he really washes his ass.
So here I sit at this stupid gala that’s supposed to be celebrating Jason’s heroic salvation of the city from some kook named Dr. Malice or something. All the names have started to sound the same.
I look around the ballroom of this giant building that towers over the others in the city. The large windows on the west side show a beautiful view of the cityscape, now lit with twinkling spots that showcase the amount of people celebrating living through yet another catastrophic event. This time there was an entire block of apartments destroyed during Jason’s fight. I managed to keep the injuries to an almost nonexistent number, since I actually thought ahead and evacuated the citizens in the area that the villain was holed up in before the fight started. A lot of them are going to be super pissed that their apartments and belongings were ruined, but last I heard, Gravity Girl’s coming in tomorrow to help clean up. So maybe some things will be able to be salvaged, because she has a pretty good head on her shoulders and she doesn’t just throw stuff around like Gravity Guy does. God, I hate Gravity Guy. He literally copied Gravity Girl’s entire thing. Just choose a different name, lame ass.
I think my champagne is getting to me, because I keep ranting in my head. I’ve been sitting here in silence for nearly an hour just stewing, watching Jason bask in the adoration of all the big wigs in town. And their wives. His eyes linger too long on every single one of their low cut dresses and it makes me sick. I need to do something about that, but I really don’t know where to start. How do you teach someone to stop looking at others as objects? At this point, I don’t think there is a way to fix him.
I decide not to worry about that for the time being, because they all seem to be enjoying themselves and the big wigs’ wives are very happy to have the hero look down their dresses. I wish my sidekick friends were here, because we’d just sit in this circle of couches by the piano and talk about how stupid our heroes are and laugh.
I take another drink of champagne. I think this is my third flute - I’m starting to actually feel a little loose. Loose enough that I’ve been eyeing some of the people here, because they’re almost all normal people and that makes them attractive. Heroes aren’t interesting to me and it would be weird to date another sidekick, because those are my coworkers, and you know what they say about that. I tried once. I dated Bug Boy, who was the sidekick to The Worm. Terrible names, but he was incredible in bed and always got me flowers. I was sad when he broke up with me. Mostly because it’s humiliating to be dumped by someone named “Bug Boy”, but also because it made everything awkward when the sidekicks got together after that. He works with Lady Light now though, and they’re based in New York, so he hasn’t been around to make get togethers uncomfortable in a long time.
My gown is tight and uncomfortable. My tits feel like they’re going to fall out of it and I miss my normal getup. I probably shouldn’t have another flute, but I grab one from a passing waiter anyway. I should stand up before I drink another one, so that I don’t sit here drinking and make myself fall over when I finally leave.
I walk around the ballroom, trying to stay graceful the entire time in my heels. I mostly wear combat boots when I’m out, so I don’t have that much practice anymore. Punk Sundae and Lizard Man weren’t really interested in galas so I hardly ever had to dress up. But Jason loves them. He can’t get enough. So it seems like I’ve been out almost every weekend at some sort of event that I have to look nice for. I’m glad that the United Hero and Sidekick Association provides heroes and sidekicks alike with ample salaries, because these dresses have been expensive as hell to rent. I haven’t bought a single thing I’ve worn because I don’t care to keep them. I have my stylist pick one out for each event and then I return them to the company afterwards.
I situate myself by the windows and discover that there is a balcony I had not previously noticed. I slink out and pull a cigarette from my clutch, lighting it and breathing in with gusto. Literally nothing feels better than a drunk cigarette. And since my specialty is healing, I never have to worry about the effects. It occurs to me that I could very easily cure people of their cancer, and I make a mental note to stop by the hospital first thing on Monday. I can’t believe I’ve never done that. I could probably cure the world of a ton of illnesses. But how could I do that anonymously? I could just show up in the middle of the night and do it when no one is looking -
The voice rips me out of my thoughts. I come back to reality and realize that I’ve barely smoked my cigarette and it’s almost burned out by itself. Cursing, I drop it in the sand container placed against the balcony railing and turn to the person who interrupted me. To my surprise, it’s one of the women here who isn’t dressed like me. She wears a maroon suit with an olive green tie. I find myself too warm all of a sudden.
“H-Hi,” I say lamely.
“Can I bum a cig from you?” She asks. “I didn’t realize there would be a spot to step out, so I didn’t bring mine.”
“Oh,” I feel a little sad that she didn’t just want to talk to me. “Sure.” I hand her one and she lights it with her finger. My eyebrow raises.
“Don’t tell,” She laughs, and winks at me. My entire body feels hot. I pull out another cigarette for myself as well. I hold it out and she lights it for me. I feel her eyes travel down my body as I take a pull. I like it.
“Are you a hero?” I ask. “Usually fire means…”
She smirks. “No, and I’m not anyone’s sidekick either.”
I can feel my eyes widen to saucer size. “What? Like, do you freelance?”
She leans back against the railing and blows her smoke out over her head. “No. I am my own person, and I use my powers the way I want.”
My brows knit together. “So… you just… have them? And you don’t do anything with them except light your cigarettes?”
“Oh, I do plenty with them besides trying to impress pretty girls,” She says. My face becomes searing hot, and I turn away because her eyes are burning holes in me and I can’t stop imagining what her face would look like between my legs. “But I only do what I want. On my own terms. No one else is entitled to them.”
I can’t help but argue. “But what about the fact that so many people don’t have powers? And they’re helpless?”
She shrugs. “There are plenty of heroes. And even more sidekicks. They don’t need someone like me out there. I’m not the savior type.” I can’t believe that she doesn’t tell anyone she has fire power. Is that even allowed? This concept has never occurred to me. I could just be my own person? Without working for the UHSA at all? I could be free to exist without helping an absolutely garbage man? I glance into the room at Jason, who now has his hand resting on the ass of someone else’s wife.
“What-” I should not be asking this - “What type are you?” I lean forward without even intending to, and my tits nearly spill out.
She grins, and her shiny teeth make her look like a devil in the dim light as her gaze feels like it sears my skin. “I’d love to show you myself.”
I finish the last of my champagne in one gulp, and I wonder if her hands could burn a trail down my body just like her eyes already have. “Okay.”