Super vs Crazy

The moon hung fat and low over the city, casting long, jagged shadows across the fire escape of the modest apartment on the third floor. Usually, this was the time of night when Caleb Reeds preferred to be curled up on the sofa with a glass of water and a very large, very rare steak. Instead, he was limping toward the front door, his knuckles throbbing and his senses slowly receding from the heightened, predatory hum of the 'Bad Wolf.'

Caleb fumbled with his keys, his gloved fingers lacking their usual dexterity. His superhero suit—a reinforced, dark tactical weave designed to stretch when his muscles expanded and his claws tore through his skin—was covered in a fine layer of brick dust and what he fervently hoped was someone else's blood. He was exhausted. A group of metahuman arms dealers had decided to set up shop in the docks, and it had taken every ounce of his werewolf strength to toss them into the harbor before the police arrived.

He pushed the door open, the familiar scent of home—stale pizza, Adrian’s expensive cologne, and gun oil—hitting him like a wave of relief. He just wanted to peel off the mask, hide the suit in the floorboard safe, and pretend he’d been at the gym for the last five hours.

"Adrian?" Caleb called out softly, his voice raspy. "You awake, babe?"

Silence met him. He frowned, closing the door behind him and flicking on the dim lamp in the entryway.

At that exact moment, the window in the living room hissed open.

Caleb froze. His yellow eyes, which hadn't quite faded back to their natural brown yet, snapped toward the sound. A figure was currently wedged halfway through the window frame. The man was wearing a full-body black and blue tactical suit, a white mask with a red visor, and enough weaponry to outfit a small militia.

It was Vigilante.

Caleb’s heart hammered against his ribs. He knew Vigilante. He’d worked a job with him and Peacemaker three months ago to stop a butterfly infestation. The man was a psychopath, a lethal assassin with the social awareness of a brick. Why was he breaking into Caleb's apartment?

"Oh, hey!" Vigilante chirped, his voice muffled by the mask. He was currently stuck, one leg hooked over the sill while his tactical belt caught on the latch. "You’re home early! Or late. Time is a social construct used by the government to regulate our bowel movements, did you know that? Anyway, give me a hand, I think I’m snagged on the curtain rod."

Caleb stared, his mouth hanging open. He didn't move. He didn't shift into a defensive stance. He just looked at the man's build, the way his curly brown hair poked out from the back of the mask, and the sheer, idiotic confidence in that voice.

"Adrian?" Caleb whispered, the word feeling like lead in his mouth.

Vigilante finally kicked himself loose, tumbling onto the living room rug with a metallic clatter of knives and spare magazines. He scrambled to his feet, dusting off his knees. He looked up, seeing Caleb standing there in his full Bad Wolf regalia—the dark wolf-motif chest plate, the shredded sleeves, and the glowing yellow eyes.

Vigilante tilted his head to the side, his red visor reflecting Caleb’s shocked expression.

"Whoa," Vigilante said, sounding genuinely impressed. "Bad Wolf? What are you doing in my boyfriend’s apartment? Are you here to kill him? Because if you are, I have to kill you, which would be a real bummer because you’re actually a pretty cool coworker. Your dental plan must be insane with those fangs."

Caleb ripped his mask off, his long black hair falling around his shoulders. His dark skin was flushed with a mix of adrenaline and mounting fury. "Adrian, it’s me! It’s Caleb!"

Vigilante stood perfectly still for a long ten seconds. Then, he reached up and pulled his own mask off. Adrian Chase’s face emerged, his glasses slightly crooked and his blue eyes wide behind the lenses. He looked at Caleb, then back at the door, then back at Caleb.

"Caleb?" Adrian asked, his voice going up an octave. "Wait. If you’re Caleb, and you’re also Bad Wolf... then that means you’ve been lying to me about your gym habits. Those aren't 'crossfit gains,' those are 'werewolf gains.' That’s actually way more efficient."

Caleb walked forward, his heavy boots thudding on the hardwood. "You’re Vigilante? You’re the guy who told me he worked as a busboy at a high-end steakhouse? I’ve been worried sick every time you came home with a bruise, thinking some drunk customer hit you with a tray!"

Adrian laughed, a high-pitched, awkward sound. He started unbuckling his tactical vest. "Well, technically, I do deal with a lot of 'unhappy customers.' They just happen to be criminals. And instead of a tray, they usually have submachine guns. It’s a very similar vibe, Caleb. Very high-stress environment."

Caleb rubbed his temples, feeling a headache blooming behind his eyes. "I’ve fought beside you, Adrian. I watched you stab a guy thirty times in the neck while singing a song from *The Little Mermaid*. I thought, 'Man, that guy is a freak.' And I’m dating that freak?"

Adrian’s face lit up with a bright, genuine smile. "You remember the singing? I thought I was off-key because of the adrenaline. That’s so sweet that you noticed."

He stepped closer, trying to wrap his arms around Caleb’s waist, but the bulk of their respective armor made the hug incredibly clunky. The sound of plastic hitting reinforced carbon fiber echoed in the quiet room.

"Get off me for a second," Caleb groaned, though he didn't push him away with any real force. "Adrian, this is serious. You’re a wanted assassin. I’m a registered hero. Do you have any idea how complicated this makes our taxes?"

Adrian blinked, looking genuinely puzzled. "Wait, you pay taxes on your superhero money? Caleb, that’s so mid-tier. I just take the cash from the pockets of the people I kill. It’s like a tip. A murder-tip."

Caleb stared at him. "That’s called looting, Adrian. That’s a crime."

"It’s recycling," Adrian corrected him, wagging a finger. "I’m helping the economy by putting that money back into circulation. Mostly at the arcade and the local froyo shop. You love froyo! You’re a beneficiary of my lifestyle!"

Caleb sighed, the tension finally starting to drain out of him, replaced by the sheer absurdity of the situation. He looked down at Adrian’s suit, then at his own claws, which were slowly retracting.

"I can't believe I didn't recognize you," Caleb muttered. "The height, the voice, the... the weirdly specific comments about how much you hate toes. I should have known."

Adrian shrugged, leaning against the back of the sofa. "To be fair, I thought you and Bad Wolf were just two very handsome men with similar bone structures. I figured it was a coincidence. Like how all those actors named Chris look the same. It’s a common phenomenon, Caleb. It’s called 'Being Hot Syndrome.'"

"That’s not a thing," Caleb said, finally cracking a tiny, reluctant smile.

"It is in my world," Adrian insisted. He reached out, his fingers tracing the edge of Caleb’s tactical vest. "So... are you mad? Because if you’re mad, I can go out and come back in through the door properly. We can pretend the window thing didn't happen. I’ll even bring home those little dumplings you like."

Caleb looked at his boyfriend—the man who spent his Saturday mornings watching cartoons and his Saturday nights apparently dismembering cartels. He thought about the missions they’d shared, the way Vigilante had always had his back, even if he did talk way too much during a stealth op.

"I’m not mad, Adrian," Caleb said, reaching out to straighten Adrian’s glasses. "I’m just... shocked. And exhausted. I just fought four guys with laser rifles."

"Laser rifles? Sick," Adrian whispered. "Did you keep one? We could put it over the mantle. It would really pull the room together."

"No, I didn't keep a laser rifle! It’s evidence!"

Adrian waved a dismissive hand. "Details, details. Look, since we’re both 'out' now, does this mean we can do a themed couple’s costume for Halloween? Because I’ve been wanting to do a 'Beauty and the Beast' thing, and you’ve already got the fur covered. I can be the Beauty. Obviously."

Caleb let out a bark of a laugh, the sound startled and loud in the small apartment. He stepped into Adrian’s space, ignoring the uncomfortable clinking of their gear, and pressed his forehead against Adrian’s.

"You’re an idiot," Caleb murmured.

"Yeah, but I’m your idiot," Adrian replied, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He looked into Caleb’s eyes, his expression turning slightly more serious. "And for the record, I think the ears are cute. When you transform. They twitch when you’re annoyed. I always thought it was a nervous tic, but knowing it's a wolf thing? Ten out of ten. Very majestic."

Caleb rolled his eyes, but he didn't pull away. "Go take a shower, Adrian. You smell like gunpowder and ozone."

"Only if you join me," Adrian grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief. "We can see if your suit is actually waterproof. Plus, I have some very important questions about how the tail works. Is it like a bone thing, or is it more of a fleshy extension?"

"Adrian, I am going to throw you out that window," Caleb warned, though there was no heat in it.

"You wouldn't. I’m a national treasure," Adrian teased, already unzipping the rest of his suit. "Or at least a local one. A very, very local one. To this specific zip code."

As Adrian waddled toward the bathroom, trying to peel off the tight spandex while hopping on one foot, Caleb stood in the center of their living room. He looked at the discarded masks on the coffee table—the white visor of a killer and the snarling face of a beast.

It was a mess. It was a secret identity nightmare. It was probably going to end in a massive shootout or a very awkward conversation with the Justice League.

But as Caleb watched Adrian trip over his own discarded boots and let out a muffled "I meant to do that!", he realized he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Hey Caleb?" Adrian shouted from the bathroom over the sound of the running water.

"Yeah?"

"Does this mean I can stop pretending I like that steakhouse? Their service is terrible and they don't even have a ball pit!"

Caleb laughed, shaking his head as he began to unbuckle his own armor. "Yes, Adrian. You can stop pretending."

"Sweet! Tomorrow, we’re going to the arcade. And we’re wearing the suits. It’ll be a branding exercise!"

"No," Caleb called back.

"Maybe?"

"No."

"I’ll buy you a churro!"

Caleb paused, one hand on his belt. He sighed. "Fine. But I’m not wearing the mask."

"Deal! You’re the best boyfriend ever, Bad Wolf!"

Caleb smiled to himself, the yellow in his eyes finally fading back to brown. Life with Adrian Chase was never going to be normal, but at least now, all the cards were on the table. And if those cards happened to be covered in blood and tactical gear, well, that was just their version of happily ever after.