His laboratory had once been his sanctuary. A place of wondrous creation, where feats of mathematics and chemistry and innovation did what had previously been science fiction. Dry erase boards filled with equations lined the walls along side cluttered bookshelves, each book a source of inspiration for Flug. Einstein, Newton, Galileo, Curie, Edison, and his childhood favorite, Nye. Some of the greatest minds of history, all waiting patiently on the shelf for his name to join them.
Dry air blew from machine vents and colorful lights blinked in a mesmerizing succession. The floor was a vast expanse of polished tile, blueprints and papers were organized in file cabinets. On the wall hung his credentials, his doctorate from MIT and various certificates.
Years of schooling and grueling hard work, finally paid off.
A solution to world hunger, the cure for cancer, all within his grasp. Interns and assistants waited for his beck and call, eager to help create something that would change the world.
He'd been a respected scientist, looked up to by his peers and known for his exceptional mind. No one could do what he did.
But that had been a lifetime ago.
Now his lab was a place of perpetual anxiety and disarray. What wasn't being actively destroyed by Demencia was misplaced or non-functional. Everything was a race against the clock. Black Hat demanded every invention be made quickly and perfectly. Doctor Flug wasn't a religious man, but he had taken to praying at work. It felt like divine intervention was the only thing that could possibly keep him sane.
It was psychosomatic, of course. He had not been raised religious, nor could he wrap his mind around an omnipotent creator that gave a damn about mankind. Furthermore, setting aside his skepticism, if a tradition Torah God existed then he would have no mercy on Flug. No amount of confession or repentance could clear his conscience of the things he'd done.
Still, that did not deter his quiet prayers. Buddha, Jesus, Odin, Ra, whoever was willing to help he was willing to accept. On exceptionally strenuous days he would look to Einstein for guidance, because of every living person who had walked the earth Einstein was the one he admired most.
In his sparse free time he'd fantasize about meeting his hero, meeting the minds behind his books. What conversations they could have, what impossibilities could they achieve? Inevitably the fantasy always turned sour. Einstein, it usually was, would ask what his inventions had done for the world, how they had impacted mankind. Did is personal shield prevent car crash fatalities, did he revolutionized the modern world?
Flug was afraid the only legacy he'd leave behind was one of bloodshed. He created weapons of mass destruction, torture devices marketed and sold by a literal demon. Sure, in the hands of a kind-hearted person some of his inventions could make the world a better place. But Black Hat didn't sell to philanthropists. He sold to warlords.
This most recent project had been Black Hat's idea: a device that fired acid filled pouches. The premise was that once coming in contact with the desired surface the membrane casing would burst and release the acid. Not a bad idea in theory, but when put on paper it was ridiculously convoluted. First he had to make a casing not only able to hold the acid without being destroyed, but also malleable enough to pop like a water balloon.
It had taken two weeks just to come close to something functional enough for field testing.
Currently he was working on an experimental mixture of chemicals to make an acid that wouldn't eat through the casing.
To further confound him, Black Hat wanted him to make a line of different chemical fillers. One to paralyze, one to blind, and 'whatever else seemed marketable'.
Sighing, Flug stepped away from his work bench to stretch. Vials filled with chemicals stared mockingly at him.
Why did Black Hat insist on such impractical ideas?
Flug hung his head and moved for the door, prepared to admit failure and accept his punishment when a metallic thwack came from the vents.
The grate was pushed out and Demencia slid from the vent, landing ungracefully on her back. She was up in a moment, bouncing on her feet. A grin spread onto her face as she ran up to the unsupervised chemicals on his desk.
"Demencia, no!" His legs had never moved so fast. "Don't touch-"
The redhead paid him no heed, lifting a vial to her face. Flug skidded to a stop, hands held up placatingly. "Demencia, that is nitroglycerin. A highly unstable substance. Please, set it down gently and back away."
Her mismatched eyes met his, and he thought he saw clarity in them. The inventor relaxed marginally.
Demencia snickered and stuck her tongue out, tossing the glass tube over her shoulder as she skipped away.
Flug heard his heartbeat once in his ears before he lurched forward, grabbing the insane woman's wrists. He yanked her back, spinning on his heels as he pulled her close to his body. An explosion rocked the lab, sending them to the ground.
He was dimly aware of the world tilting and an agony in his back that flung him into a familiar darkness.
Blood poured down his arms in rivulets, swirling into the shower drain. He hadn't meant to carve his arm up so badly. Or had he? He couldn't remember anymore. He'd guess that he had lost about a two pints of blood because his head felt too heavy to lift. Eyelids drooping, the edges of his vision darkened. A short nap couldn't hurt, he thought as he eased himself onto his back. Someone would find him, curled up in the bathtub with his blood splattered on the porcelain walls.
He wouldn't be sleeping.
He thought he'd feel at ease, knowing this was the end. But panic gripped him like a vice. Live, his mind screamed. Grab the phone and call for help.
Flug didn't remember crawling to the kitchen, or dialing the phone, but he did remember waking up alone…
Flames licked at the walls, put out by robotic arms that extended from the walls and were equipped with fire extinguishers.
Demencia sat up slowly, dazed. For a moment she was at a loss. No one, besides Black Hat, ever got the jump on her. And if it had been an assailant why had they left her alive? The girl blinked the blurriness from her vision, the labs ceiling coming into focus. Memories came rushing back and she bolted upright.
Flug lay prone a few paces away and she terror shot through her. She was at his side in a moment, examining the unconscious man. Holes had been burned into his lab coat and the smell of singed flesh made her retch. Blood lazily oozed from a cut on his forehead, but his pulse thudded under her fingers.
Flug had used his own body, his frail, skinny body, to shield her.
Tears seared her eyes and the girl released something between and sob and a wail, scooping the man into her arms. She bounded out of the wreckage that had been his lab, screaming for their boss.
. . .
Black Hat was sitting at his desk, devising their next Villainous product, when Demencia kicked down his door. He surged to his feet, bristling with anger that was tempered by confusion. Instead of throwing herself at him, Demencia stood in the doorway looking distressed. Her face was a mess of tears and snot, her chin wobbling as she stuttered gibberish. In her arms was Flug, limp.
She continued to choke out fragments of information, helplessly holding him out to the demon.
Black Hat peered down at the scientist, some semblance of concern in his eyes. His gaze turned sharp as he turned it on Demencia.
"What happened?"
"Explosion-he, he-!" She dissolved into tears, sinking to her knees. Black Hat growled.
"Set him down and get out."
Demencia fumbled to obey, eyes not leaving Flug as she backed out of the office.
One of his tentacles slammed the door in her face and Black Hat kneeled. The demon worked the tattered lab coat from his shoulders, followed by his shirt. He turned Flug onto his stomach, clawed hands hovering over his injuries. They were deep, much of his skin burned away to reveal fatty tissue. It was gruesome, but nothing Black Hat's magic couldn't remedy. Under his ministrations the wounds began to seal themselves, blistered flesh replaced by new, pink skin.
Satisfied, he laid the unconscious man on his back, pausing when something caught his eye. He pulled the gloved from Flug's hands, revealing thick scars that ran along his veins. They were white with age, surrounded by numerous smaller scars and a few fresh cuts.
The scars that had first caught his eye were obviously from a suicide attempt, mirrored on both arms from Flug's wrist to the crook of his elbow. Black Hat was surprised the man had survived, given the severity of the aftermath.
The demon sat back on his haunches. He studied Flug, noticing how pale and gaunt he was beneath his clothing. His elbows were almost wider than his upper arms and shadows pooled in his collarbones. He could see the man's ribs pressed against his flesh.
A shudder passed through Black Hat. He scowled, rising. It was utterly pathetic how delicate humans were.
He pressed the intercom button on his desk, ordering 5. 0. 5. to bring a change of clothes to his office.
The bear arrived shortly, lingering with a sad look on his face. Black Hat rolled his eyes.
"He's fine, now get out."
The periwinkle bear complied reluctantly, shutting the door as he left.
Black Hat sighed and sat at his desk, rubbing his temples. He shouldn't care about a foolish mortal. He made his living exploiting the mortality of humans, but Flug... Flug was different. Flug had unintentionally wormed his was into the demons desolate heart. The way he cowered unabashedly in his presence, the way he meekly sought approval, everything the scientist did ingratiated himself to the demon.
Almost anyone else would have left. Perhaps it was fear that kept him there, or love for his work, but Flug could work for many villains who would treat him better. They'd be lucky to have him. But he stayed.
The demon tapped his fingers together, crease forming on his brow as he stared at Flug.
Admittedly, he found the man intriguing. An enigma. Flug had shown up at his doorstep, bag tugged over his head and resume in hand. He had no background in villainous work, but the man was brilliant.
Time would tell that the doctor did not approve of many things entailed of a villain, but he sought out Black Hat. Not because of infatuation, like Demencia, or greed, like the many dead thieves who had tried to steal from him. No, it was another reason entirely as to why the doctor worked for him. Black Hat just didn't know what that reason was. And he hated being uninformed.
"Aug..."
Flug stirred, wincing as he came to.
"Nice of you to join us in the world of the living."
Flug stiffened, reflexively scrambling back. "S-sir? What happened?"
Black Hat's mouth split into an unnatural grin. "Why don't you tell me. Demencia barged in here, crying, with you passed out in her arms and covered in third degree burns."
"I, uh...I-is she okay?"
Black Hat's head literally exploded, smoke wafting upwards as he reformed shattered bone.
"Is she okay? She's fine, until I get my hands on her. You, on the other hand, are not okay."
"I-I-I'm not, sir?"
Black Hat looked pointedly to his arms. Flug, realizing he was shirtless, crossed his arms in an attempt to hide his body.
"Don't bother." Black Hat tossed him the shirt 5. 0. 5. had brought. "Would you care to explain your malnutrition and self-mutilation? You humans are already so terribly delicate, it would be a shame if something were to... happen." The demon glowered down at him, rim of his top hat casting an ominous shadow over his face.
Flug trembled, stumbling over his words. Black Hat's eyes narrowed.
"Stop," he commanded. Flug snapped his mouth shut, legs itching to keep pushing him back. "You work for me, yes?"
He nodded.
"Good. And you know you're of no use to me dead, yes?"
Another nod.
"Then you will stop this foolishness."
"Y-yes sir."
Black Hat seemed pleased with his agreement, returning to his seat.
"May I go, sir?"
"No," he said coldly. "You are going to have a seat," he waited for Flug to sit before continuing. "And tell me why you've done that to yourself."
The inventor shifted nervously. "It was years ago, sir."
"Some of those are new. Speak up now or I guarantee things worse than death."
Flug shivered. "I-well, I suppose it just helps."
Black Hat nodded, thoughtful.
"Flug, tell my why you work for me." Flug looked up, surprise visible even through his mask.
"Sir?"
"I'm no fool, did you think I didn't do a background check? You were highly esteemed, you were even nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize for your work genetically engineering crops that could grow in any climate, in any soil. So why," Black Hat stood and leaned forward, palms flat on the desk. "Do you find yourself working for me."
Flug fidgeted, face hot beneath his paper bag.
"W-well, sir, I just sort of..."
Went crazy.
"...lost it."
Mutilated himself until all his problems were lost in the flow of blood. How old was he when all he could wear was long sleeves? At fourteen his top priority should have been to kiss a classmate, not write a thesis.
"I graduated MIT at seventeen, you know. I was head of an entire laboratory at twenty-two. Everyone expected so much of me that I just... couldn't do it." He slumped, hands wringing in his lap. "The media called it a meltdown, and they were right. I left the spotlight and..."
And stopped taking his Chlorpromazine. The little orange tables had sat quietly in his medicine cabinet for years, until they began shrieking at him. Tiny, deformed faces cried from each tablet. Demanding he take them. He flushed them down the toilet along with his career.
Flug ran his fingers over the bag covering his face. "I did this as a kid," he said suddenly. "It always made me feel better, and it still does. The world is... so big. But in here I'm..."
Safe.
"No one expects anything from a guy who wears a bag over his head. I was getting by when I heard about you. Savings only go so far, and no one wants to hire a guy with..." he gestured to his head. "But I'd heard about you, a tyrannical businessman whose employees didn't survive the day. I figured it was perfect. Sooner or later, you'd take the decision from me. And if not, then at least I'd be inventing. But..." Flug's goggle concealed eyes met Black Hat's. "I liked working for you. You scare me, you do awful things, but it's... fun. Demencia and 5.0.5," he hesitantly added, "and you, you're like my family."
Black Hat remained silent for a long time. He had sat back down and was now staring at his most valued employee.
"You're right about one thing, Flug. I'm taking the decision from you. You will not try again to take your own life."
Flug nodded, tension in his frame draining. He felt a strange calm overcome him, and remembered another reason he enjoyed working for Black Hat. The eldritch demon took away the stress of making decisions. What Black Hat said went, and Flug, pushing past the self-disgust it made him feel, liked it that way. He didn't have to think about anything. His days were routine, and yet at the same time unpredictable. He'd go to the lab, some kind of mayhem would occur, and at the end of the day it all went back to normal.
"Thank you, sir."
Black Hat grunted, waving him off. "Yes, yes. You may leave now."
Flug picked up what remained of his lab coat on the way out, smiling to himself. The material composing the coat was of his own design, built to withstand fire and chemicals. The slurry of chemicals he'd been working with earlier should have melted through his bones in seconds.
Maybe he'd pitch the idea later. Clothes made of highly resistant fabric, it sounded marketable to him.
. . .
Flug went to work early the next morning. He stood in the center of the room, surveying the damage. One wall had been blackened by the fire and his work bench was in shambles, but otherwise everything was functional.
Hands on his hips, he sighed. His conversation with Black Hat lingered in his mind. While he might not have said it outright, he had told Flug that he cared about him. Knowing who he'd been before and who he was now, Black Hat cared about him.
Flug touched his bag, committing the rough texture to memory. He took a deep breath of paper scented air and pulled the bag off.
He waited a few beats, hands balled at his sides. Relaxing slowly, he opened his eyes. The lab remained the same. No pigs flew outside, no cataclysmic events triggered. All was as it had been.
A laugh bubbled up in his throat.
Bagless, Flug set to cleaning the debris from this desk. Late in the morning Black Hat came in, impatiently asking about his progress on the latest project. The demon blinked at Flug, automatically turning his head to look away.
"Good morning, sir." Flug greeted, pulling his aviator goggles from his head. Black Hat looked back to him, a blush crawling across his face.
The inventor was beautiful.
Thick copper hair stuck out wildly and freckles dusted his cheeks. Faint crows feet had begun to encroach on green eyes. Long, dark lashes framed those eyes, and Black Hat wondered how a man could be so beautiful.
Flug's lips were pulled into a nervous, gap toothed smile. Black Hat found himself staring at those lips, jolting when they moved.
"Hm, what is it?"
"I said it will take another three days at least to remake the progress I lost yesterday." Flug shifted awkwardly, pink blossoming on his cheeks and ears.
If Black Hat hadn't been a demon himself, he'd have thought Flug had sold his soul. To be inherently so intelligent and beautiful, it was unnatural.
"Well you'd better get to work then." Black Hat turned, tugging his hat down to hide his flush. "Oh, and Flug, don't forget what I said."
"Y-yes, sir."
Black Hat left, but Flug was not alone for long before Demencia burst through the door.
"Flug!" She cried, throwing her arms around him.
"H-hello Demencia." He stiffly returned the hug, blushing as the girl rubbed her face into his shoulder. She mumbled something into the crook of his neck, tightening her grip on him. "What was that?" he asked gently.
"..'M glad you're okay." She reluctantly released him, jaw dropping when she looked at him. "Flug!" she jumped from foot to foot, pointing at him. "Your face, you have a face!"
"Of course I have a face," he quipped, moving to a cabinet to grab new beakers. "I'm glad you're okay. Now, if you're wondering how you can make yesterday up to me you can leave my lab in peace today."
Demencia groaned, "that's boring." She perked up, grinning. "But I guess I can make it a day!"
The man smiled and shooed her away. "Go on, you can see me later. When I'm not busy."
"But you're always busy."
"Funny how that works." Flug shut the door on her, fond smile curving his lips.
A few years ago he had honestly thought that life could never get better, that the answer was at the bottom of a bottle or the barrel of a gun. He'd thought he was broken beyond repair.
When he woke up in the hospital after that night, he'd been alone. Today, he'd had Black Hat. If his boss had allowed it, Demencia and 5.0.5 would have been anxiously waiting for him to wake up so they could force tea down his throat and read him story books. He was not alone, not anymore.
It was funny how a job he had taken in hopes it would kill him had given him the will to live. People who were distractions had become his family.
The historians might only recount him as a mild mannered, mentally ill scientist who'd worked for Black Hat, but he was happy.
And in thirty years of depression Flug deserved to be happy.
A/N: Chlorpromazine is medication for schizophrenia, among other things. I think it would be interesting if Flug had schizophrenia, and it's something I haven't seen before.