The fighter was not getting tired of adventure. At least, that’s what he told himself.

He was just getting tired. It had been over a week now, and the fighter had moved from fight to fight, and from team to team. The fighter had collected nine special team communicators, and none of them were able to spare a bed for him.

Each fight had strained the fighter just a bit more. It was exciting! Unlike the all out slugfests the fighter was used to, the fighter had chances to use tactics! He would start fights from stealth, break apart groups of enemies with hit and run tactics, luring enemies into tight areas and down hallways where their numbers were useless, opening with a salvo of thrown weapons, usually rocks, and forcing his opponents to close to melee. Making the environment work against his enemies! It was exciting.

According to the heroes and vigilantes the fighter worked with, he was doing good deeds, which was good. He was even getting actual rewards, though not many. He had been given some armor, a new jacket made from a polymer mesh, whatever that was. It was supposed to be stab and puncture resistant, and the fighter didn’t feel like testing that out.

He even had a new weapon, people called it a crowbar. It was heavy, thick, three and a half feet long and hooked on one end. Just the thought of being hit by it was enough to get most people to surrender, and if that didn’t work then people would always drop their weapons after the fighter got a few solid swings in. It was certainly an improvement over the so-called weapons the fighter had before, but it was also unenchanted, made from mundane materials, lacked a crossguard, and a pommel, and a proper grip. It did have grip tape, which the fighter thought was marginally better than nothing, if only barely.

As exciting as new weapons and armor was, something the fighter hadn’t gotten excited about in a long time, there was one issue the fighter couldn’t avoid.

He needed sleep, and badly. Back to back quests had been fun, for the first handful of missions. Now, the Courage Crew called the fighter when he was in the middle of a quest with The Inquisitors. Weather Witch had broken free from prison, and had teamed up with Dust Devil to do something evil, the fighter had been trying to pay attention, but there had been a gunfight happening fifteen feet away.

In the end, the fighter just told Battle Lad that he would be ready in about half an hour before hanging up.

“Hey, I need to finish this up,” the fighter said, “I’ve got other plans.”

“What!” Maxyborg barked, “Combatant, finish what?”

“This fight,” the fighter said, “I’ve got other fights to get to.”

“Wait, what?” Bright Star shouted.

“Bright Star, charge up a shimmer bolt, a big one,” the fighter ordered, “Blind the Zetanites. Maxyborg, suppressing fire. Warlock-”

“My name isn’t Warlock!” Blade Witch shouted.

“Move into close combat with me,” the fighter finished, “And we can close this out.”

“You want to move to melee against the-” Blade Witch shouted.

“Do it now!” the fighter ordered.

It did work, though Maxyborg’s armor took a beating, Blade Witch took a nasty hit to the shoulder, and the fighter took a hit to his chest.

But it worked, that was the whole point, and the fighter was willing and able to argue that point as the Inquisitors followed him down the winding back alleys to meet up with the Courage Crew.

“Do you have any idea how long it takes for me to repair my armor?” Maxyborg growled, “Seriously, it-”

“I don’t know how long it takes to fix your armor,” the fighter said, “But I know I haven’t slept in like nine days.”

“You’re jeopardizing the team,” Blade Witch said, “Because you’re tired.”

“Wait,” Bright Star said, “You helped us out last week. Combatant, you haven’t slept since then?”

“Nope,” the fighter said, “I’ve been asking people if they can spare a bed, so far no takers.”

“For a week?” Bright Star asked.

“For nine days,” the fighter said.

“Combatant, what do you do when you’re not with us?” Maxyborg asked, “When you’re alone?”

“I go find other people,” the fighter said.

“Hey, Combatant!” Battle Lad called, “We’re ready to- who are they?”

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“Aren’t you the,” Sword Witch muttered, “Courage Crew?”

“Yes, they are,” the fighter said, “You said you had a mission?”

“We do, um,” Battle Lad said, “Combatant, are you sure you’re okay?”

The fighter took a moment to think on that. “Yeah, pretty sure,” the fighter said.

“Hey,” Sword Witch said, turning to Sword Princess, ”From one goth girl to another, nice outfit.”

Sword Princess had already transformed into her battle form, white wrestling boots and a black sailor costume with a frilled skirt, along with pale makeup and black lipstick and eyeshadow.

“Oh, um, thanks,” Sword Princess said, “I prefer brighter colors.”

“Then,” Sword Witch said, “Why aren’t you wearing them?”

“It’s a battle form,” the fighter said, “Sword Princess-”

“Why didn’t you call her Warlock?” Sword Witch muttered.

“Casts spells with that cursed sword,” the fighter finished, “Seems like the sword decides what the spells look like.”

“Hey, Combatant,” Battle Lad said, “Could you open up your jacket, for just a moment?”

“Why?” the fighter asked.

“I just-” Battle Lad said, “I have a hunch.”

“Alright,” the fighter said, pulled his armored jacket open.

“Nine,” Bright Star muttered.

“That’s how he’s been avoiding Exigent Circumstances,” Sword Witch said.

“I’m surprised there’s still that many of us left,” Maxyborg said.

“He hasn’t been avoiding Exigent Circumstances,” Night Walker said, “He’s been fighting them, with nine teams backing him up.”

“Were we going to do the quest?” the fighter asked, “I came here to help you with a quest.”

“I think this is a lot bigger than Weather Witch and Dust Devil,” Battle Lad said, “If we could get your help-” Battle Lad pointed to The Inquisitors. “And they help of all the other teams that Combatant has, somehow, found, I think we could pull Trailpoint City out of X.C. control.”

“Be glad to help,” Maxyborg said, “But thanks to him-” Maxyborg jerked a thumb towards the fighter. “I’ll be needing repairs.”

“I need to let my shoulder heal,” Sword Witch said, “Combatant took his own injury.”

“I’m fine,” Bright Star said.

“Alright, Bright Star, you’re with us,” Battle Lad said, “Combatant, can you-”

“Hold up,” the fighter said, “You’re taking her over me?”

“You haven’t slept in nine days,” Bright Star said, “You just told us that.”

“Last time, you lept out of the back of our helicopter and landed on your face,” Battle Lad said.

“He didn’t have rope?” Maxyborg asked.

“Oh, he had rope,” Night Walker said.

“My parents will be out of town for the weekend,” Sword Princess said, “I can let you use the guest bed.”

“I’ll join you,” Sword Witch said.

“Huh?” Sword Princess said.

“You’re having a man over,” Sword Witch explained, “And not just any man, you’re having Combatant over. He’s crazy. Safety in numbers, and I also need to let my shoulder heal. I promise I won’t track blood on the carpet.”

“I don’t know,” Sword Princess said.

“What are your parents going to be angrier about?” Sword Witch asked, “That you were alone with a boy, or that you let some guy sleep in the guest bed while you had some girls over?”

“Oh, can I join after the mission?” Bright Star asked.

“Focus!” Battle Lad ordered, “Sword Princess, we’ll drop Combatant off at your house, then we fight Weather Witch. You can have your girls night afterward. Combatant, once you’re healthy, we’ll be working with you to link up the remaining superhero teams, got it?”

“Got it,” the fighter confirmed.

Sword Princess’ house was nice, hardwood floor, marble countertops, plush furniture, a fully stocked fridge, and just a hint of vanilla in the air from scented candles. The bed that the fighter was probably the nicest bed he had ever slept on. Sword Princess said it was made from memory foam, which brought back memories of checking for mimics.

The fighter laid down, sprawling himself across the bed.

He had never been kept from adventure from mere injury. Sure, the fighter was badly hurt, but he had always had the cleric to fix him up. He always had the rogue and the barbarian to back him up in the thick of combat.

Fergus set his jaw in thought. What if- What if they could handle it without him? What if they didn’t need- didn’t want him anymore?

Back home, people had been trying to get the adventurers to retire for years, and Fergus had always laughed that off. What would he do if he ever retired?

What would he do?

Fergus couldn’t even dream of a life without adventure.

He needed to find his team again.

Roger sat on the bed of his motel room, watching the news to pass time.

“New new vigilante has appeared in Trailpoint City, calling himself The Combatant,” the new anchor said, “Reports say he is extremely aggressive, and eye witness reports describe him as Fergus, a violent criminal who escaped custody last week.”

Roger perked up.

“Law enforcement claims that he has been working with other vigilantes.” Roger’s face fell, and he quickly ignored the rest of the news report.

The fighter had found another team. With other superheroes. Would he take Roger back?

A question for another time, Roger decided. Without hesitation, Roger left for Trailpoint City. If the fighter didn’t want Roger back, he would disguise himself. He would be on the fighter’s team no matter what.