Sidekick

[WP] You are sick and tired of how your childhood friend (the chosen one) has been treating you lately, but it's not like there's anything you can do about it. He's the Hero for goodness sake! Everything changes when you are approached by a representative of the Sidekick and Comic Relief Union.

*****

Brandon had his hand firmly pressed against the wall, using it to maintain his balance as his head throbbed in pain. As always, his friend, Ballistic Bouncer, had tossed him at his opponent’s headfirst, something that always left a mark. Usually Brandon didn’t mind getting tossed, mainly because it was the only time he ever felt useful in a fight. After all, he was just a sidekick. What other uses did he have apart from being a meat shield or tragic motivation once he died?

“I’m ok!” Brandon called out, only to hear an awkward dusty cough behind him.

“Sorry mate, your chosen one left you ages ago. Said something about not wanting to miss happy hour. He said you were welcome to take yourself to the hospital, though. He even left you some money for the bus, although I think he underestimated how much a bus costs, considering he only gave me a dollar.”

Brandon turned around, getting greeted by a middle-aged man wearing a rather awkward fitting yellow Hawaiian shirt. His stomach had already popped a few of the bottom buttons on the shirt, giving Brandon a view of the hairy lower stomach that was hanging free. He gave Brandon a nod, only for his straw hat to fall off his head. He made a few frantic grabs for the hat as it slowly fell, only to miss it on every swing.

“Oh? I guess it’s a good thing he at least left me a dollar. Maybe I can ask for the rest of the money by begging? You wouldn’t have a dollar on you, would you?”

The man picked up his hat, pressing it firmly against the top of his head, making sure it stayed in place this time. When he listened to Brandon speak, he only gave him a look of pity, patting his shoulder.

“You’re a pretty sad looking guy. I thought my chosen one was bad but yeesh, this is sad. I’m Bob Muggullin, current representative for the Sidekick and Comic relief union. As you can see, I’m clearly from the comic relief side of that.”

“Really? I never would have guessed?”

“You never would have guessed? Yikes, you must have hit your head harder than I thought. Want to sit down? I don’t want you collapsing on me or anything.”

The man walked over to a rust covered van, one with the words. ‘Heroes are lame’ on its side. He went to open the backdoors only for the stubborn van to give him some fight. After a few tugs, he pressed his foot against the back of the van, tugging even harder until he was red in the face. Finally, the door swung open, throwing him onto his back.

“Stupid van. The hero’s association gets sports cars and all we get are our parent’s hand-me-downs.” The man rummaged through the messy back of the van before retrieving a beach chair, bringing it over to Brandon, setting it up by his feet. Once it was set, Brandon dropped into it, getting a much-needed rest from standing.

“Thank you. Um, so who are you again?”

“Bob Muggullin. You’re Brendon, right? You work for Ballistic Bouncer or Aaron Jones.”

“You aren’t meant to know his secret identity!” Brandon went to bounce up from the chair, only to slump back down as his head throbbed again.

“Everyone knows his identity. How else do you think he gets paid? Most heroes aren’t smart enough to make a fake bank account for their heroics funds to go into. Only the top percentage of chosen ones can pull that off and I hate to say it, but he is barely in the top sixty percent.”

“You take that back. He is the chosen hero that will protect us-“

“Protect us from whatever evil might come. Yeah, yeah. I was saying the same crap when I first started. How many chosen ones do you think there are?”

“I uh?”

“Come on, take a guess.”

“Sixty?”

“I wish. I have the current number and it’s actually two thousand and twenty-two. Chosen ones are special, but they aren’t that special. In fact, there are less sidekicks than there are chosen ones, so in a sense, we are the more unique ones.”

“There are fewer sidekicks? But every chosen one has a sidekick.”

“Every chosen one has had a sidekick at some point. The life expectancy of a sidekick isn’t long. I’m kind of surprised you haven’t ended up a tragic backstory yet. I’m glad I got to you before you did. You’re perfect tragic backstory material. You’re just that perfect amount of pathetic that really tugs at the heartstrings. Someone so nice that it makes me feel bad seeing them hurt.”

“Thank you?”

“Don’t say thank you to that. It wasn’t really a compliment. Anyway-“ Bob went to sit down, forgetting he had given his beach chair to Brandon. As he squatted in the air, he waved his arms frantically, trying to keep his balance before landing on his backside.

Heheh.” Brandon started laughing, only to cover his mouth when he saw Bob staring up at him. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, laughter means you might finally be over that head knock. I’m used to the laughter. As a comic relief partner, you kind of just get used to being looked at as a joke. Doesn’t stop hurting, though.” He said before breaking into a smile. “I’m only pulling your chains. I’m over it. Especially now that I can make those stupid chosen ones cower in fear by presenting them with union demands.”

“Is this union like some secret club?” Brandon sat up in the chair, excited at the prospect of finally getting to join a secret club. Usually, such things were reserved for the chosen ones, but now he got to be a part of something.

“Not really. It’s a government organized thing that any sidekick can join. Guess the only secret thing about us is that most chosen ones don’t tell their sidekicks we exist. Hell, some even hide their sidekicks from us.”

“Why? Isn’t a union a good thing?”

“For normal people? Yes, for the ones making a lot of money. No.” Bob reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded-up piece of paper. After a bit of unfolding, he revealed the crumbled union contract. “So, for starters, let me get the bad part out of the way. We will take five percent of your pay. This covers our fees and helps keep us funded. On the other hand, people who are part of the union are generally paid twice as much and receive a lot of health benefits such as-“

“THERE YOU ARE. I CAME AS FAST AS I COULD.” Ballistic Bouncer rushed towards the two, still carrying a half empty beer. “I was so worried about you. How is your head? Do you need to go to the hospital? I told him I would be back.” Ballistic laughed only to grab Bob by the collar. “You said you worked for the government, not the union.”

“Eh, potato, tomato, same thing.”

“THAT IS NOT HOW THAT EXPRESSION GOES.” Ballistic hissed, pushing the man aside as he crouched by Brandon’s side. “B-dog, Brahman, Bralacka. How’s my favorite sidekick going? Come on, let’s get you to a hospital.”

“Huh? But I kind of want to hear about these benefits. Apparently, I get health benefits if I join?”

“Health benefits? Why would you need those? You’re super tough. Nothing can hurt you.”

“Nothing can hurt him? There’s blood dripping from his nose and that mark on his head looks a little nasty. I think he can get hurt. Now, if you want to join, I can get your paperwork submitted right away and we can cover about eighty percent of your hospital visit.”

“E-eighty percent? That much? That would save me so much money.”

“No, it wouldn’t. Unions are parasites, they just take your money and sit on their asses all day. If you just stick with me, no one touches your money, how greats that?”

“But hospital visits are expensive. Those already take up most of my pay.”

“Then maybe we need to get you another doctor. I’m sure there are ex villains that work for cheap.”

“Wow, I thought my chosen one was bad. She at least tried to offer me some fairer conditions before I went to the union. You’re the scummiest of them all. You would really send him to an ex villain rather than cover his visits? Tell him how much you make a week.”

“Um, I believe that employees shouldn’t share their wages amongst themselves as it increases infighting.”

“Right, right? And how much do you earn, Brandon?”

“About ten dollars an hour? So, whatever that ends up being a week.”

“See, there you have it. If Brandon can happily tell me how me he gets paid and you can’t, it’s pretty clear, there’s a massive gap.” Bob handed the contract to Brandon, much to the annoyance of Ballistic Bouncer.

“That’s not fair. I just believe in workplace confidentiality.”

“No, you just believe in ripping off your sidekick. Want to know why he’s so against this? It’s because we take a small portion of his pay to cover any injuries that occur to you. Now, if he puts you in harm’s way, it costs him. I bet you won’t be carelessly tossed into battle anymore.”

“That isn’t true. I care deeply about you, Brandon. I could have chosen any sidekick, but I chose you.” Ballistic Bouncer crouched at his side, spilling the rest of his beer onto Brandon’s lap as he tried to appear kind. “Now, why don’t we take you to the hospital? We don’t need any union; I’ll even help pay some of your fees.” “You’re spilling beer on me.” Brandon huffed, pushing his chosen one away as he held out his hand towards Bob. “Got a pen?”

“Yeah, sure. You won’t regret this.” Bob got out a pen with an image of a surfboard and the words ‘Surf’s up dudes’ along its side.

Brandon quickly took the pen, signing the contract much to the dismay of Ballistic Bouncer.

“Idiot, don’t come crying to me when you can’t afford anything.” In a huff, he left as quickly as he came, returning to the bar he had come from.

“You made the right choice. Um, are you ok?”

Brandon felt his head spin from standing up too quickly, collapsing into the chest of Bob, who held him up. Having an odd amount of strength for someone that was a sidekick. “Got any money for the bus?”

“I’ll drive you. Just don’t touch the edges of the van unless you want to get a tetanus shot.” Bob helped Brandon into the van, taking him to the hospital, starting the beginning of his new life as a sidekick with proper work benefits.

*****

THE END