Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy Innit was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

First he’d woken up late because he’d forgotten to plug in his phone, which meant his alarm hadn’t gone off, which meant he was late for his graveyard shift at work. Joy. Lovely. Nothing new there.

But then when he’d actually gotten to work, he’d gotten into a spat with Jack Manifuck. Which, you know, wouldn’t be that big a deal, except that Jack was his boss.

And then one of the fryers had caught fire, and despite the fact that Tommy had been on the other side of the fucking building , he had been blamed, fired, and kicked out of the building so fast he hadn’t been able to grab his stuff.

Which now led to him walking through the slums of the city in the dead of night so he could get back to his apartment and brainstorm on how to get a new job before his rent was due.

It didn’t help that he could feel his power buzzing in the back of his mind, primed to activate and giving him the beginnings of a headache.  He knew it wouldn’t actually activate until he was in immediate danger (or unless he asked it to), but it never liked when he walked around his neighborhood at night.

He lived in one of the poorest districts of the city-state, which meant his area was much more prone to muggings and such.  He was normally able to avoid anything serious—the buzzing in his head tended to amplify when he got within 100 meters of anything that could potentially threaten him.

Though, the vigilantes lately had been doing a great job at curbing the crime rate.

He passed an alleyway, tensing when he heard scuffling in the darkness. His first thought was wondering why the buzzing in his head hadn’t picked up, but upon the realization that oh, his power wasn’t acting up , he relaxed slightly.  Whatever was back there clearly wasn’t a threat to him.

Didn’t stop him from quickly stepping back and away from the alley entrance, pressing his back to the wall.

He discreetly peeked his head around the corner, narrowing his eyes into the darkness to try and see what was happening deeper in the alley.

He blinked.

Well, speak of the devil-

Standing about halfway down the alley to the next street, a large imposing figure was cornering someone in the darkness.  One would normally assume that the figure was mugging the cornered someone, until you took a closer look and realized he was wearing a large red cape that draped just barely above the ground. And a boar skull.

Orion.

The Hunter vigilante had appeared years ago, always keeping to the poorer districts and always managing to evade the heroes and villains out to get him.

Holy shit!

Tommy wouldn’t call himself a fan of Orion, but he had immense respect for the guy.  He was strong, brutal more often than not, but he wasn’t just some random brute running around and beating random people for the heck of it.  

The man was also insanely smart, and Tommy had seen enough videos of the guy to know he had a knack for strategy.  

He’d also seen enough videos and news articles to know that if someone managed to catch Orion’s attention, then they deserved whatever was coming to them.

Which was why Tommy was confused as hell as to why Orion was cornering some random teenager with his signature sword in a dark alley at nearly two in the morning when said teenager’s appearance just screamed innocence.

The guy must have been around Tommy’s age, though he was clearly lacking in the height department when compared to Tommy.  The kid looked completely terrified, clutching his arm where Tommy could see a shallow cut that was bleeding lightly. He just seemed to ooze innocence and naivety to the point that Tommy trusted him immediately.

So he decided to step in and help him.

Tommy slunk around the corner, stepping quietly along the wall until he could duck behind a dumpster, trying very hard not to breathe through his nose.

He darted forward, ducking behind another dumpster on the other side of the alleyway before poking his head out, trying to get a better view of the confrontation.

The boy had tried to step around Orion and had gotten shoved back against the wall, crying out as he hit his injured arm.

What the hell was up with Orion?!  He was basically assaulting this kid!

Then again…

Now that Tommy was closer, Orion looked...off. He was clutching his head like he had a migraine, and he was muttering under his breath like he was speaking to someone.  Tommy knew he had a protégé, he might have been speaking over an earpiece, but still…

The aforementioned boy’s eyes drifted past Orion, and they made eye contact.  The boy’s brown eyes were terrified, and they just seemed to scream that he ‘needed help’, ‘I didn’t do anything’, ‘I’m innocent’, ‘help me help me help me!’.

Tommy put a finger to his lips, and the boy’s eyes widened. He turned to Orion and “What the fuck do you want from me?!” 

“Give it... back,” Orion practically growled out, hand on his head clutching tighter.

“I didn’t take anything!”

Tommy blinked.  Okay, acting as a distraction works too.

Now that just left the issue of how the actual fuck Tommy was gonna get the kid away from a vigilante literally nicknamed ‘The Hunter’.

How do I get rid of him?

Tommy blinked, and glanced at the ground.

There, shimmering faintly red on the ground, were footprints. Footprints that he knew only he could see.

There was a trail of them, dancing across the alleyway, and even though Tommy couldn’t see in the darkness, he knew that those footprints were placed in clear patches of asphalt, void of any puddles of old rainwater and trash, anything that would make a sound when he stepped there.

The trail led directly up to Orion’s back, and there, glowing softly on the man’s shoulder, visible only to him, was a small prick of red light.

Tommy grinned. 

Target acquired.

In a heartbeat, Tommy was dashing across the alley, footsteps landing lightly and precisely on the bright-red ghostprints that his power showed him.  Within seconds he was directly behind Orion, completely unnoticed by the guy, and staring at the red pinprick of light on the man’s right shoulder.

It was less of a realization, and more of an instinctual understanding of what he was supposed to do in that moment, a quiet hum, his hand reaching up almost of its own accord.

His fingers grazed the man’s shoulder, and the man tensed, starting to turn around, but it was already too late.

Tommy squeezed his fingers together, and fucking nerve-pinched Orion.

The man’s already tense shoulders tightened even more before turning to mush, and the man crumpled at Tommy’s feet.

Tommy and the boy both stared down at him, Tommy’s arm still raised in the air in a pinch, before he let out a disbelieving laugh. “Holy shit, I can’t believe that worked!”

The boy just turned his innocent eyes up to meet Tommy’s and gaped. “You mean you didn’t know it would work?!”

Tommy shrugged, finally lowering his arm.  “I mean, of fucking course I knew it would work, but knowing it’ll work and actually seeing it work is- I mean, come on , I just defeated the city's best vigilante with two fingers!”

The boy turned his eyes back down to Orion’s unconscious form and stared, innocently. “....fair.”

Tommy’s eyes trailed down the boy’s arm, catching on the sight of bright red dripping down his arm, visible even in the dim light. “Oh shit, you’re hurt. I forgot.”

The boy waved him off, reaching his left hand up to cover the wound on his arm.  “It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.”

Tommy glared at him. “How bad are you hurt?”

{hum}

Tommy glanced at the boy, frowning when nothing appeared in his vision, even though he could physically see the cut.  He did understand, though, that there wasn’t anything serious.

Still, infection was a thing that existed, so...

“Come on,” Tommy said, reaching a hand forward and grabbing the boy’s own. “I can take you to my place and get you fixed up.”

The boy’s smile strained a little as he laughed innocently .  “Oh, that’s fine big man, you don’t have to-”

“It’s not a big deal, honest,” Tommy insisted, tugging the hand lightly, trying to satisfy the aching need to help the kid out, injured and helpless against fucking Orion of all people-

“No!” the kid snaps, yanking his hand back, and Tommy blinks. He suddenly looked really ashamed, and Tommy couldn’t possibly begin to fathom why— “...I’m not gonna make you take me to your home against your will.”

Tommy blinked again. What the fuck was this kid on? This wasn’t against his will, he was just trying to help-

And then like a fog or curtain rising, the aura the boy seemed to exude—the one that screamed innocence, and helplessness, and a need to be helped—vanished. The buzzing in his head lessened slightly, and if it wasn’t for the fact that his head was already yelling at him for being in a dark alley at night, he probably would have noticed it a lot sooner.

Tommy shook his head lightly, and when he looked up, he seemed to see the kid in a whole new light.  He...didn’t look fucking innocent at all. In fact, he looked like the most mischievous fucker Tommy had ever laid his eyes on, the kind of guy who ran around and tied people’s shoe laces together when they weren’t looking, or punched old people, or built bombs as a hobby.

At least, he would have looked like that if he didn’t look exceedingly guilty.

What the fuck just happened?

{hum}

Tommy’s eyes widened.  Oh, shit.

That was the guy’s power. To make himself look like he wasn’t a threat.

Tommy glanced down at Orion, the man still slumped at their feet.  Orion had actually fought off the effect. It took some effort, clearly, but still…

Tommy was impressed.

He looked back at the boy.  He was shifting nervously from foot to foot under Tommy’s gaze, pointedly looking anywhere but at Tommy or at the body at their feet.

“...so?” Tommy said, raising an eyebrow. “You coming or what?”

The boy’s eyes shot up to meet his, wide and disbelieving. “Wha-? Huh?”

“You coming or not?” Tommy pressed, pointing down at Orion. “Cuz I’m not sure how long he’s staying dow—” he trailed off.

Oh shit, that might be a good thing to check.

How long until Orion wakes up?

Instead of the hum he was expecting, he saw a small timer appear in his vision, counting down the seconds.  The timer thing didn’t usually happen, but he couldn’t really focus on the oddity of it, considering said timer had less than a minute left.

“Shit!” he yelled, grabbing the boy’s hand again. “Come on! He’s about to wake up!”

The guy yelped as Tommy half dragged him out of the alley, sprinting down the alley and around the corner as fast as he could go.

What’s the best way to get out of sight and home?

A trail lit up in his vision, a small thread of light winding down and across the far end of the street, into another series of alleys.  Tommy followed without hesitation, booking it down the dark street.

“W-Wait! What’re you doing?!” the boy yelled, trying to keep his balance as Tommy dragged the much shorter boy behind him.

“Taking you home, bitch,” Tommy hissed back, as they ducked into another alley system. “I’m Tommy, by the way.”

“Tubbo,” the boy replied. “But why are you helping me? I’m not...uhh...—”

“Using your power or whatever, I know,” Tommy shot back, ducking around a corner and missing the way Tubbo’s eyes snap up to meet the back of his head. “Dick move, by the way—”

“Wait, but...wha-? How did—?”

“—but you apologized, at least,” Tommy barreled on as they popped out onto a familiar side street. His power led him in a slight detour that he wouldn’t have taken otherwise, but he wasn’t gonna question it. “And you’re still bleeding.  Put two and two together, big man.”

Tubbo dragged his feet, yanking his arm back.  Tommy ground to a halt and turned to glare back at him. “You’re still gonna help me?” Tubbo asked quietly.

“No, I’m taking you home for tea and crumpets, what the fuck do you think?”

Tubbo didn’t move for a second, and Tommy rolled his eyes, stomping back and grabbing Tubbo’s hand before turning back around and starting to jog.  He didn’t notice Tubbo rapidly blinking behind him.

After a few minutes of silent jogging, Tommy rounded a corner to find himself on his street.  He glanced around, noting the empty sidewalks before following the red trail to the door of his apartment complex. “Come on.”

They ducked inside, and Tommy dragged them over to the elevator.  Honestly, it was a miracle that the thing even worked, considering the appearance of the rest of the building, but it made sense when you considered that the elderly landlord lived on the top floor.

Clementine would probably break both her legs if she tried to use the rickety stairs.

Tubbo glanced at him in confusion as they boarded the elevator, but kept silent as Tommy pressed the button to the top floor with his knuckle. His hand was covered in blood from gripping Tubbo’s.

Tommy grabbed Tubbo’s shoulders and turned him to face him, doing a once over in the brighter light.

The kid wasn’t too filthy, all things considered, though his jacket was gonna take some effort to fix, what with the slash in the upper arm and the blood stains that were definitely already setting in.

The cut was still bleeding sluggishly, but it didn’t look very deep.  Honestly, with how out of it Orion looked trying to fight off the effects of Tubbo’s power, it was probably an accident.

The doors opened and Tommy stepped out, leaving Tubbo to follow as he headed right. He made his way to the farthest door on the right of the hall, pulling his keys with a tiny Minecraft cow keychain out of his pocket and jamming the key into the lock, jiggling it slightly before it turned.

“Welcome to Big Man Innit’s abode,” Tommy announced in a deadpan, tossing his keys onto the tiny entryway table.

“Wait, you live here?” Tubbo asked incredulously.

Tommy threw a glance over his shoulder. “I just said ‘welcome to my abode’.  That would imply that I live here, Tubso.”

“It’s Tubbo,” Tubso replied, glaring. “But…”

“But what?”

“You have an upper district accent like me! Clearly you grew up there, at least. So why are you here? In the low districts? And on the East end, no less?”

“...you do realize just how hypocritical you sound, right?” Tommy shot back, heading for his tiny bathroom where he kept a first aid kit in the mirror cabinet.

“But I still live in the upper districts!” Tubbo insisted, following Tommy and standing in the bathroom door. “I’m only here because I got bored and wanted to yoink shi— why the fuck is there a ferret in your bathtub?”

Tommy closed the mirror to see Tubbo staring past him at the small furry creature splashing about in his tub.

“First off, that’s an otter.  Second off, stop staring. It’s quite rude, and you are going to offend her.”

Tubbo turned wide disbelieving eyes on him. “You just... have a pet otter?”

“Oh no, it’s not a pet,” Tommy answered, brushing past Tubbo to move into the tiny main room of the apartment.

It wasn’t much.  A ratty couch left by the previous occupants across from a tiny box tellie he had scavenged and fixed up.  The room bled into a small kitchen area by the front door, furnished with similarly scavenged and repaired equipment.

“If it’s not a pet, then why—?”

“On the couch,” Tommy interrupted.

“We are not just glossing over the fact you have a wild animal in your—!”

“Yes, we are. Now shut up and sit down before you bleed out on my living room floor.”

Tubbo sat down with a huff, cradling his arm and trying to stem the blood flow to keep blood off the couch.  Tommy knelt down and set the first-aid kit on the ground, flipping the top open.

“Take off your jacket,” Tommy ordered, pulling out some gauze and antibiotic cream.

“Take me to dinner first,” Tubbo muttered, yelping when Tommy slapped his knee.

“You’re not funny. Stop trying,” Tommy said, while pulling out supplies to treat a stab wound.

Tubbo rolled his eyes and maneuvered his arm out of the jacket, wincing as the wet material clung to the wound and pulled at the flesh.

“Ow ow ow ow,” Tubbo muttered, finally extracting his arm. Tommy reached up and inspected the wound gently, turning his arm over to see the condition.

What’s the best way to treat this?

His vision was drawn to his first-aid kit, highlighting the gauze he was grabbing as well as a small bottle of peroxide. Tommy frowned. 

{hum}

“Alright, I need to clean it up and stop the bleeding,” Tommy said, ripping off a strip of gauze and balling it up before pressing it to the wound.

It wasn’t a very long slash, thankfully.  It started just above his elbow and went about halfway up the side of his arm, and the bleeding had clearly already started to slow.  Still, it took a couple handfuls of gauze to soak up and wipe away all of the blood.

“Just gonna warn you now,” Tommy said, pressing another wad of gauze to the lip of the peroxide bottle, dampening the wad. “...this is gonna sting.”

“Why would it holy fucking shit fuck ow ow ow—”  

Tubbo let out a disturbingly long list of swears as Tommy pressed the peroxide-soaked bandages to the wound. “Look, unless you want infection due to alley germs, I suggest you let me work, now stop fucking squirming bitch!”

“Stop trying to kill me!”

“It’s fucking disinfectant! It’s helping you!”

“Then why does it burn?!”

“Will you fucking shut the fuck up—!”

After ten more minutes of fussing and colorful swears from either member of the pair, Tommy managed to disinfect, tape, and wrap the wound. “Fucking there.” Tommy muttered. “Now, is there anywhere else that got injured?”

Tubbo huffed and turned away, gently prodding at the bandages around his arm. “Like I’d fucking tell you , hellspawn.”

Tommy just gave him a deadpan stare. “Tubso—” “TUBBO!” “—unless you have literally been stabbed in the dick, I can assure you that nothing is gonna hurt as bad as the peroxide did. Now fucking tell me what hurts.”

“...I feel like I have a bruise the size of Kinoko on my back from when he shoved me into the wall,” Tubbo muttered.

“There, thank you,” Tommy said, standing up. “Now lift up the back of your shirt.”

“Take me to dinn—”

Tommy immediately shoved a finger into the bandage on Tubbo’s arm, eliciting a yelp and a punch to the arm. “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“It wasn’t funny the first time, why would the second time be any different?” Tommy responded, rubbing his arm. “Now lift.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes but complied, turning away and grabbing the hem of his shirt, rolling it up to give Tommy a clear view of his back.

It...wasn’t too bad, as far as bruises went. Not pleasant, clearly, but considering he just got reverse-mugged, not too bad.

What’s the best way to treat bruises?

His attention was drawn to his fridge, and he nodded, rising to grab an ice pack.  He didn’t have any frozen peas, so he just filled a plastic baggie with ice cubes from his freezer before wrapping it in a towel and pressing it to Tubbo’s back.

Tubbo hissed and arched away, Tommy following his movement with the bag. “Cold cold cold cold—”

“Lean against the back of the couch to hold it in place,” Tommy instructed, ignoring Tubbo’s muttering. “Think you can hold still for twenty minutes?”

“I don’t know, can I?” Tubbo sneered back, leaning back regardless.

“That’s not how that phrase works,” Tommy muttered.

“Well, I say it does, so fight me,” Tubbo shot back.

Tommy went to reply, but the slightly crazed look in the boy’s eyes made him back down mentally.

Yeah, nope. I’d prefer to continue living, thank you.

“Y’know what? I don’t care. But could you at the very least tell me what the fuck you stole that put a broomstick up Orion’s ass?”

“I wouldn’t say it was a broomstick . If anything it was more like I shoved a taser up his ass.”

Tommy stared at him. “Okay, ow. Also, why? Also, you didn’t answer the ques—”

“What do you mean why? He was basically mugging me, I’d say that’s a very valid reason to shove a taser up someone’s ass.”

Tommy growled. “Okay, yes, I agree, but again, why was he mugging you in the first pla—?!”

“Actually, what would happen if you got a taser shoved up your ass?”

He sighed.

“It would probably cause the muscles in your ass to seize up, after which you would lose all control and empty your bowels on the sidewalk,” Tommy deadpanned, glaring at Tubbo.

Tubbo just stared up at him in equal measures amazement, curiosity, and disgust.  “Oh shit, you’re right.” He grimaced. “Ew.”

“Tubbo?”

“Hmm? Yes?”

Tommy grips the boy’s arm, directly above the wound. “Answer. The question.”

“Why should I!?”

Tommy glares at him. “...because I just saved your ass from the strongest vigilante in the city while being essentially mind controlled by you , still took pity on you, and invited you into my home after you stole something from said vigilante which could potentially end up with him breaking down my door at some point in the near future.”

“....”

“...”

“..sounds like a personal problem.”

Tommy continued to glare.

“...nothing you say could make me divulge that information.”

“I have homemade cookies—”

“What was the question?”

Tommy sighed, releasing Tubbo’s arm. “Of fucking course,” he muttered. Walking over to the cabinet and pulling out the container of cookies.

He walked back over to Tubbo, but before Tubbo could grab the cookies, Tommy yanked it out of reach and stared at him.

Tubbo glared right back. “Cookie first.”

Tommy groaned and popped the container open, tossing a cookie to him.  Tubbo grabbed it and immediately ate half the thing in one go.  He grimaced. “Geez, what’d you put in this?”

“Wait for it.”

Tubbo gave him an odd look but took another smaller bite, chewing quietly before his eyes widened.

“...”

“...well?”

“Did you put drugs in this?”

“What the fuck?! No!”

“There’s no way something this good doesn’t have drugs. Are you fucking drugging me?!”

“No, I’m not fucking drugging you—! They’re fucking peanut butter cookies!”

“Then why do they taste like childhood?!”

“That’s what I was going for!”

“No. NO! Give me your dealer!”

“Is that why you’re in the lower districts? For fucking DRUGS?!”

“Oh, so me wanting drugs is crossing the line, but me robbing somebody isn’t?”

“SO YOU ADMIT YOU STOLE FROM ORION!”

“THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID!”

“THAT IS LITERALLY EXACTLY WHAT YOU SAID!”

“Stop reverse psychology-ing me! Get out of my house!”

“THIS IS MY FUCKING HOUSE SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Tubbo opened his mouth to shout something back, but Tommy just shot forward and shoved another cookie into the boy’s mouth, effectively silencing him.

And then Tubbo started choking.

Tommy pointed a finger at Tubbo and laughed, ignoring the way Tubbo was spewing cookie chunks all over his stained and wobbly coffee table.

After about five seconds, though, he calmed down his laughter and walked into the kitchen. “I’ll grab some water,” he said, still with a hint of mirth in his voice.

A few seconds later, Tubbo was easing the tension in his throat, sipping on the water while glaring daggers at Tommy.

Tommy just returned it with a shit eating grin.

“Feeling better?” Tommy asked.

“I will castrate you in your sleep and nail your testicles to the door frame like a twisted version of the Passover, dickhead.”

Tommy just stared at him for a moment, Tubbo glaring back, before both boys burst into laughter, Tommy yelling, “What the fuck kinda threat was THAT?!”

After a moment, their laughter calmed, Tubbo wincing as he pressed a little too hard on the bruises on his back.

There were a few seconds of silence before Tubbo asked quietly, “So….what do you want?”

“What?” Tommy asked from the kitchen, putting away his container of cookies. 

“What did you want in return?”

Tommy stared at him, confused. “What are you on about?”

“As your favor. What did you want in return for helping me?” Tubbo clarified.

“Oh,” Tommy said. “Nothing.”

Tubbo stared at him.  “What?”

Tommy shrugged. “Nothing. Why would I want anything from you?”

“....quit fucking with me.”

“I’m not!”

“So you’re telling me,” Tubbo said, the look he was giving clearly disbelieving. “...that you rescued me from Orion, brought me to your home, and patched me up...and you don’t expect a favor?”

Tommy winced.  He’d hoped Tubbo wouldn’t have been aware of the favor system, since he clearly lived in the upper district.

In the lower districts, everybody was familiar with the favor system.  If you helped someone out, a favor was expected, no exception.  Didn’t matter what you helped them with, big or small, they were expected to pay back via favor.

And if you were one of the lucky few who got a favor from someone important? Like a hero or mob boss?

Well, Tommy had seen plenty of people exploit the fuck out of their favors.  Thankfully, it was mostly cash related, though Tommy had heard of a couple sleazy people use their favor to request hits on people they didn’t care for.

“Uhhh, nope!” Tommy said quickly, shaking his head. “No favor required. None whatsoever. Nope.”

Tubbo continued to stare at him, eyes narrowed. “....bullshit. What do you want?”

“Nothing!” Tommy yelled, throwing his hands in the air before moving to clean up the first-aid kit on the ground. “I don’t need a fucking favor for patching up a couple scratches.”

“It was literally a stab wound,” Tubbo deadpanned, watching Tommy carefully.

“My point still stands,” he sighed, shutting the first-aid kit shut with a click.   As he rose to take the kit back to the bathroom, Tubbo’s hand shot out and gripped his.  

Tommy flinched.  The grip wasn’t hard, but it was still firm, and when he turned his eyes down to meet Tubbo’s, he was met with the most serious expression he’d seen from him tonight.

Which is saying a lot, considering he was mugged.

“I don’t like owing people,” Tubbo said, tone just as serious as his look. “Especially people I don’t know.  Name something, and I’ll get it done.”

“Seriously, Big Man,” Tommy said nervously, averting his eyes. “I don’t need—”

Tubbo’s grip tightened ever so slightly, and he winced.

“Fucking...you know what? You can start by letting go,” he muttered, yanking his hand away.  Tubbo had the sense to look slightly guilty, at least.

He was still looking at him expectantly.

“Uggghhhhh,” Tommy moaned, rubbing a hand down his face.  He peeked between his fingers to meet eyes with Tubbo before rolling his eyes and moving towards the bathroom. “Fine, if you are that desperate, just...I dunno, replace the medical supplies I used on you.”

Tubbo remained silent while Tommy went into the bathroom, shoving the kit into the empty mirror cabinet.  He scratched the otter on the head lightly before walking out of the bathroom to see Tubbo still staring at him.

“...that’s it?”

“Yup,” Tommy said, popping the ‘p’. “Just get me some gauze and peroxide. You know where I live, you can just drop it off at the door whenever you get it.”

“....”

“...”

“...that’s it?”

“Oh my fucking- YES!” Tommy yelled. “What do you want to replace the ice too? Just buy me a fucking slushie or something—” 

An idea popped into his head, and he continued as he walked back over to the couch. “Or, fine. How ‘bout this? If you come across any better medical supplies, like a better kit or something, get that for me. An upgrade wouldn’t hurt.”

That finally seemed to satisfy Tubbo, who looked at Tommy with a grin. “So, you just want better medical supplies?”

Tommy nodded. “Yup. That’s it.”

If Tommy was a wiser man, he probably would have been more concerned with the look in Tubbo’s eyes.  The look that made it seem like Tommy had just changed his life.

Or that he had just shown him a new religion.

“ON IT!” Tubbo yelled, and then promptly vanished.

Tommy blinked at the empty space on his couch for a moment before snapping his head around, scanning his apartment. But nope!

Tubbo was gone.

“What the actual—”

Tommy paused as he noticed the tiniest hint of buzzing in the back of his head.

It was subtle, nothing like the incessant droning that he got whenever he was walking around at night.

It did remind him of the way his power seemed to grow just ever so slightly louder when he was being affected by Tubbo’s power.

He relaxed.  The already quiet buzzing was fading, so Tubbo was probably making his way out of the building.

Tommy froze.

“That fucker never told me what he stole!”

“Tommy.”

“Manifuck.”

He and Jack glared at each other from across the counter of Jack’s restaurant, and if looks could kill, the both of them would be puddles on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” Jack demanded, arms crossed as he glared.

“I’m here to get my shit, since you didn’t let me last night,” Tommy shot back. He held up his phone, which showed just a blank screen.  “My phone died on the way home, and I left my charger.”

Jack snorted disdainfully and rolled his eyes, leaning under the counter and gracelessly chucking a plastic bag at Tommy, who caught it easily.  He opened it and glanced inside to see his belongings, his charger in clear view on top.

He could sense the dude behind him getting antsy and wanting to order.

“There, you have your shit,” Jack said, re-crossing his arms. “Now get the fuck out of my store.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy said. “What about my final paycheck?”

“You can pick it up at the end of pay period like everybody else,” Jack sniffed. “I’m not dealing with the extra paperwork so you can get your money a few days early.”

Tommy glared back. Yeah, well he didn’t want to have to come back and deal with Jack anymore than he had to.  Plus his rent was due soon, and he didn’t want to have to ask old Clem for another extension. She was already gracious enough with him as it was.

“But—”

“Nope!” Jack interrupted. “You either come in next Friday to get it, or you can bloody starve, I don’t give a shit. Now get out, you’re holding up the line.”

Yeah, said line being a single overly-tall fucker in a hideous yellow sweater.

Tommy flipped Jack off and turned around, brushing past said tall fucker. “Sorry,” he muttered.

He was about two steps from the front door when his power started screaming in the back of his head.  He dropped the bag in surprise, clutching his head.

He glanced to his left to see his power illuminating something outside.

He couldn’t directly see it—the object was on the other side of a solid wall—but his power outlined it in faded red lines, showing an x-ray profile as it hurtled toward the store.

His eyes widened and he turned. “GET DOWN!” he yelled, shoving tall fucker toward the counter with a yelp before he leaped behind it, dragging the man with him.

“OI!” Jack yelled, grabbing Tommy. “What the fuck are you—”

Tommy grabbed Jack as well and pulled him and Tall Fucker down behind the counter just as the armored truck plowed through the left wall, tearing through the sandstone before cutting across the store diagonally and through the front windows, leaving a gaping hole in both walls.

There was a crash outside, but before Tommy could rise up to catch a peek, gunshots rang out and he flinched back down below the counter.

What’s happening?!

{hum}

Information was flashing across his vision, his power giving him details of the situation even as it showed him every possible option and escape route, highlighting objects that would be useful as weapons, mapping out paths through the kitchen with glowing red lines, the brighter ones marking the safest and fastest ways out.

His power always went into overdrive when he was in immediate danger, acting of its own accord to provide him the best chance of survival and/or escape.

Tommy pointedly ignored the suggestion to use Jack as a human meat shield.

“What the fuck is happening?!” Jack yelled out next to him.

Tommy peeked over the counter again to see the lobby littered with shards of glass and stone, taking in the scene outside.

“Armored truck robbery gone wrong,” Tommy explained. “Quickly turned into a high-speed chase from the police before the driver lost control and drove through the wall.”

“Well that was dumb of them,” Tall Fucker said next to him plainly. Tommy turned to see the man grabbing a wrapped burger off the floor, calmly unwrapping it and taking a casual bite like they weren’t cowering behind a counter. “Armored trucks have GPS trackers on them. They weren’t going to get far.”

{hum}

“They most likely planned to hand off the funds when they got out of sight before using the truck as a distraction.  The money gets away while the cops are chasing the tracker before they ditch it and run.”

Tall Fucker raised an eyebrow at him before swallowing.  “You a detective or something?”

Tommy rolled his eyes with a scoff, before throwing a thumb over his shoulder at Jack. “No, I worked for this fucker. Key word being work- duh . Past tense.”

“You set the fryer on fire!”

Tommy whirled around. “I was in the lobby. How is that my fault!?”

His eyes widened as he saw a red outline next to Jack’s head, linked by a small translucent ‘thread’ to a large metal tray on the counter across from them.

He lunged forward and grabbed it before shoving Jack aside, gripping the tray and holding it in the air where the outline showed.

“What’re you—?!”

A second later, an explosion shook the building, and Tommy’s arms shook as shrapnel from the bomb tore through the wooden counter and impacted the tray, dozens of dents appearing in the metal.

The three were silent for a moment before Jack muttered quietly “Holy... Primes.”

Yeah, no fucking kidding, Tommy thought.  If Tommy’s power didn’t warn him, Jack would be looking less like a Manifuck and more like a block of Swiss cheese.

“How did you do that?” Tall Fucker asked, looking ever so slightly awed.

Tommy shrugged. “Intuition,” he answered vaguely.

Tall Fucker narrowed his eyes.  “That is not helpful in the slightest—”

“Hold this above your head,” Tommy interrupted, handing the extremely dented metal tray over to the man.

The man took it questioningly but put it over his head nonetheless, covering himself like it was an umbrella. “Why—?”

A piece of the ceiling broke off and thudded off the metal, the man yelping at the impact as the tray was suddenly forced down and bumped the top of his head.

“We need to move,” Tommy decided. “The front of the building’s too unstable, and the fighting is just going to get worse.”

“How come?” Jack asked, suddenly seeming far more willing to listen to Tommy.

Before he could answer, though, there was an animalistic roar from outside that caused all three of them to freeze. Tommy looked over the counter again just in time to see a large, see-through tiger sprint through the hole in the building.

“Sapnap is here,” Tommy answered, watching the tiger leap at the gunmen outside. “His animals tend to get thrown around a lot, and I’d rather not have a spirit bear fall on top of me.”

Sapnap was a bit of a local hero.  Despite having been born in the lower districts, the man had risen through the ranks of the Hero Corps fairly quickly, even becoming a member of the Dream Team.

There was another explosion outside, and Tommy grabbed Jack’s sleeve and started dragging him deeper into the back of the restaurant. “C’mon.  We gotta move.”  

“What about him?” Jack asked.

Tommy paused, looking over his shoulder to see Tall Fucker peering over the counter.  The man was glaring at the sight outside like it had personally offended him, and his hand was at his side, palm up like he was holding a baseball.

Or gathering power.

The buzz in Tommy’s head heightened slightly, and he rolled his eyes, crawling forward and gripping the man’s arm.

Tall Fucker flinched and whipped his head around to look at him. “What the fuck are yo—?”

“I don’t know what you’re planning on doing,” Tommy hissed, yanking him back. “...but civilians aren’t allowed to use powers in public.  So unless you want to be arrested for whatever the fuck you were about to do, drop it.”

The man glared at Tommy for a moment before sighing, settling back down around the counter. “A bit hypocritical of you, child.”

“Fuck you, I’m not a child,” Tommy spat. “And I don’t have a power.”

The man rolled his eyes. “And I’m the President of L’manberg.”

“Makes sense. You seem like a good liar.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“You really wanna die on this hill?”

Tall Fucker narrowed his eyes before sighing. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

Good question.

How do I keep us safe?

{hum}

“Our best bet is hiding in the refrigerator in the back,” Tommy said, tugging on the man’s sleeve and making his way back over to Jack, not stopping to see if Tall Fucker followed.  “It’ll be cold, obviously, but the walls are thicker, more insulated.  Less chance of being fucking shredded by shrapnel or stray bullets.”

“I don’t like the cold, though,” Jack whined, but followed Tommy nonetheless.

Tommy led them quickly through the back, pointedly ignoring the sound of Jack’s complaints behind him. 

“Move to the lower districts, they said,” the man muttered under his breath. “It’ll be better, they said. You’ll make more money. The rent is cheap. It’s getting safer. Fuck all of ‘em.”

“You whine like a fucking bitch, I hope you know that,” Tall Fucker said behind them.

“Fuck you, dude, I’m stressed!”

“In our defense,” Tommy said.  “Things like this are super rare nowadays with Orion patrolling.”

Which was entirely true.  Since Orion had shown up in the past few years, crime rate in the lower districts had plummeted so much that, based on actual statistics, the districts the Hunter patrolled were actually safer than the hero-patrolled districts, at least from major villain attacks.  Which spoke both to Orion’s skill and a lot to the heroes’ incompetence. 

He couldn’t do much about the common muggings and minor robberies, though. He was only one guy.

Needless to say, Orion and most heroes didn’t get along.

Still, from the sounds coming from outside, Sapnap was making quick work of the wanna-be-thieves.  Tommy still didn’t want to take any chances though.  He’d already prevented one death and a severe concussion today.

“Can Orion really be that good?” Tall Fucker murmured, seemingly to himself, as Tommy guided them around the corner. He gripped the handle of the walk-in refrigerator and yanked it open, motioning the others inside.

His power hummed , and he turned and flicked off the power for the refrigerator before turning and grabbing a stack of cleaning towels before joining the others inside.

“What are those for?” Jack asked, arms wrapped around himself.

“They’re not much, but they should keep us warm for now,” Tommy replied, yanking the door shut and plunging them into darkness.

“Oi!” Tall Fucker yelled. “Why’re the lights off?”

“Do you want it to be colder in here than it already is?” Tommy shot back. “I turned it off for now.”

“What about my produce?!” Jack yelled.

Tommy turned to where his voice was coming from and raised an eyebrow, ignoring the fact Jack couldn’t see it. “I think you’re produce is the least of your problems at the moment.”

He turned away, ignoring Jack’s sputtering, and faced the wall that he was pretty sure faced the front of the restaurant.

How do I see what’s happening outside?

The ghostly outlines appeared again, outlining the figures fighting outside.  Tommy could see the outline of the truck tipped on its side, and several figures were taking cover behind it: the thieves most likely, several of which were already sporting injuries.  At least one of them seemed to be powered, if the way he was swinging his arms like he was throwing projectiles said anything.  Tommy couldn’t tell what he was throwing, but his bet was on some type of pyrokinesis.

Or considering there were lots of explosions earlier, the dude could probably conjure grenades or some shit.

On the other end of the standoff, Tommy could make out a figure that was most likely Sapnap, considering he was taking cover behind the figure of a massive bear.  As Tommy watched, the outline of a hawk or falcon appeared on Sapnap’s arm, and he threw it into the air, where it flew up and immediately dive bombed the powered thief.

Tommy could hear the shriek all the way from inside the fridge, but he couldn’t tell if it was the falcon or the thief.

“Sapnap’s finishing things up,” Tommy said, turning to the others. His eyes had finally adjusted, but even still, he could only just make out the outlines of his fellow hiders in the darkness. “I say ten minutes at the most.”

He could tell Tall Fucker was staring at him. “...you are remarkably calm, considering we’re in the middle of a firefight.”

Tommy shrugged. “I’m not worried. What I am concerned about is what we’re gonna do for the next ten fucking minutes other than sit on our asses.”

They were silent for five seconds before Tall Fucker piped up with “I’ve got cards if you wanna play solitaire.”

“Isn’t...that a single-player game?” Tommy asked with a tilt to his head.

He could hear the smirk in the man’s voice as he replied, “Clearly you’ve never played competitive solitaire….”

…

Ten minutes later, the door to the refrigerator was cracked open from the outside, and Tommy had to resist the urge to hiss as the light pierced his vision.

The crack quickly widened, revealing a very confused Sapnap staring at them.

Which made sense, since there were three random dudes sitting on the floor of an industrial refrigerator wrapped in hand-towels and playing cards in total darkness while munching on fresh veggies.

Sapnap blinked at them. Tommy blinked back.

“...how are you guys playing in the dark?”

All three of them glanced at each other before turning to Sapnap and replying in unison, “Intuition.”

Sapnap just blinked again. Dude needed to get his eyes checked.

Jack reached forward and placed a card down. “Go fish.”

“That’s not how you fucking play!” Tommy and Tall Fucker yelled in unison.

Jack threw his hands up. “I’ve never played Old Maid before, what do you want from me!?”

“IT’S FUCKING SOLITAIRE, YOU WANK!”

…

The cops had already arrived to arrest the thieves by the time the three of them made it out of the building.  There were several ambulances, one of which was treating the powered thief.  His face and arms—which were handcuffed to the gurney with power suppressant cuffs—were covered in talon marks and cuts, the edges ever so slightly glowing blue.

Spirit wounds sucked ass to heal, apparently.

Tommy had already been ushered to an ambulance and wrapped in a shock blanket.  His aloof attitude concerned the paramedics slightly, but he just assured them he was a big man and wasn’t bothered, but they still made him sit in the back of the ambulance for a solid twenty minutes, which...rude.

Now, Tommy was picking his way back into the building, scanning the area before perking up at the sight of the plastic bag with his things in it.  He had dropped it midst the panic of a fucking truck hurtling in his general direction.

There was the sound of glass crunching behind him as he grabbed his stuff, turning to see Jack taking stock of the lobby.  His eyes were wide as he glanced at the debris strewn throughout the room, at the gaping hole in two of his walls, and the collapsed pieces of ceiling.  

Tommy really wanted to rub in the fact that karma’s a bitch, but even he could tell now wasn’t the time.  Jack was...not in a good place at the moment.

“...you good?” Tommy prodded hesitantly.

“What the fuck do you think?” Jack spat, keeping his gaze fixed on the damage.

Tommy flinched back.  “Fuck off, man, I’m just trying to help,” he shot back, ignoring the slight pang of hurt at the outburst.

Jack scoffed.  “Oh yeah, ‘cuz you’ve always been so willing to help before, asshole.”

“I just saved your fucking life! What the fuck do you mean?!”

Jack paused at that, just for a moment. “You did,” he admitted, voice softening just slightly.  He finally turned to look at Tommy.  “Thank you—”

Tommy gave a small smile.

“—now get the fuck out of my restaurant.”

The smile fell, and Tommy looked wide-eyed at Jack.  “...you’re kidding, right?”

Jack turned away. “Get. Out.”

“You fucking—!”

“Please.”

“....”

“....”

“Fuck you, Jack,” Tommy spat, the jab missing most of its bite.  He turned and stomped out of the restaurant, resisting the urge to kick out one of the remaining windows.

He seethed inwardly as he stomped down the sidewalk.  After a few meters, he paused and set down the bag, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself as he closed his eyes and rubbed his hands down his face.

It didn’t matter anyway.  Jack already got what was coming to him. There was no point making a bad situation worse.

“Hello, child.”

Tommy’s eyes shot open as he dropped his hands and whipped around.  Tall Fucker was casually strolling down the sidewalk like they hadn’t just been in a life-or-death situation not thirty minutes ago.

Then again, so was he.

“I’m not a child,” Tommy muttered, tilting his head in confusion. “What’d you want?”

Tall Fucker came to stop a few feet, cocking an eyebrow. “Now is that any way to treat a fellow villain attack survivor?”

Tommy scoffed. “Please, that was not a villain attack. Those were just a couple common crooks with some hired power muscle.”

Tall Fucker smirked. “Oh? Is that why Orion never bothered to show his face?”

Tommy shook his head. “Nah, he probably did show up and just stayed hidden.  He doesn’t like jumping in when heroes are already here.”

“What, is he afraid he’ll get in their way?”

This time it was Tommy’s turn to smirk. “Other way around, big man.  Most heroes tend to get distracted trying to fight him instead of the criminals, Sapnap being one of them.  Not that it would have done much.  Orion would have wiped the floor with Snappy’s animals.”

Tall Fucker hummed in thought. “Noted. What would you consider a villain fight, then?”

Tommy tilted his head.  “Mmm, maybe if Jägerbomb showed up, the chaotic fuck.  Or maybe Sewage Boy.”

Tall Fucker visibly cringed. “Ah, yes,” he said with disdain. “Sewage Boy.”

“Now,” Tommy crossed his arms. “Did you need something, or were you just here to annoy the fuck out of some random man you met thirty minutes ago?”

Tall Fucker scoffed.  “Please, if you’re considered a ‘man’, then I’m going bald.”

“I can see your hairline receding from here.”

“Fuck off, child.”

Tommy groaned and turned away. “Fuck you, asshole. I’m going home.”

“Wait! I’m sorry for calling you a child, gremlin,” Tall Fucker replied quickly, stepping forward quickly to catch up. “I wanted to give you something.”

Now if that wasn’t suspicious as fuck…

“Sorry, big man. I love drugs as much as the next guy, but I’m trying to go clean.”

Tall Fucker just halted in place. “Why would I sell drugs to a chil— ”

Tommy growled.

“Don’t you growl at me, gremlin!” 

The man sighed before reaching into his sweater pocket, tossing whatever it was over to Tommy. He caught the item before turning it over in his hands.

It was the paper container for a deck of playing cards.

“...what is this?”

Tall Fucker shrugged. “Found it next to the cash register after all the chaos died down. Figured it’d be a nice memento to remember the good times we had—”

“We played solitaire in a refrigerator.”

“Like I said, good times.”

And just like that, Tall Fucker abruptly turned around, tossing a wave over his shoulder. “Sorry about your paycheck, by the way,” he called over his shoulder.  “Jack sounds like a right asshole.”

Tommy stared at the man’s back as he rounded the corner.  The fuck was that about?

Tommy turned around and started walking back to his apartment, examining the card deck in his hands, still confused by the man’s abrupt departure and the sudden mention of his paycheck.

Tommy weighed the deck in his hands. At least, he assumed it was a deck.  It felt a little too light to be a full deck, now that he thought about it.  Who just left half a deck in the packaging?

He thumbed the flap of the case open, turning it over to dump the contents into his hand.

A tightly folded wad of cash fell into his waiting palm.

Tommy screeched to a halt, staring down at his hand.  The bills started opening up in his hand now that they were no longer confined to the case, and Tommy could see several hundred-dollar bills, as well as a good chunk of tens and twenties.

The fuck?

Who just leaves a wad of cash next to the cash register for someone to find?  That’s what Tall Fucker said, right? That he found it next to the regi...ster…..

Oh…

Ohhhh, that fucker robbed Jack, didn’t he?

…

...nice.

“Hey Clem!” Tommy called, grasping the light switch and flicking it repeatedly to get her attention.. Once she looked over, he put his hands up and started signing. “The timer just went off,” he signed as he spoke. “Want me to take them out, or should we wait a couple more minutes?”

“Oh, they should be ready by now,” old Clementine said with a chuckle, just a touch too loudly.  “Those are easy to burn, so we shouldn’t risk it.”

“Got it,” Tommy replied, making his way around into the kitchen area.  He grabbed some pot holders and opened the oven, pulling out the tray of puffs.  Clem joined him a moment later and grabbed the filling they had prepared earlier.

As they filled the pastries, they fell into a comfortable silence, the same comfortable silence they always fell into whenever they baked together.  With anyone else, in any other situation, Tommy would be talking up a storm, chatting about anything and everything that pops into his head.

But with Clementine, talking wouldn’t get him anywhere.  Her hearing nowadays was to the point where she was basically deaf, and he couldn’t sign while they worked, so instead they filled the silence with clatter of baking pans and wooden spoons.

Didn’t mean she never tried to start a conversation.

“So how’s the job search going?” she asked, gripping her pastry bag as she poked a hole in the puff, carefully filling it with custard filling.

He made a show of tilting his head in thought before making a face, wiggling his head back and forth in a “so-so” motion.

“It’s...going,” he signed clumsily before setting down his own pastry bag.  “No one wants to hire someone who looks like they’re still in highschool.”

It’d been a week already since the incident at Jack’s, and so far, Tommy hadn’t had any luck finding a new job.  Thankfully, Tall Fucker’s…‘gift’...had been enough to top off his rent payment for the month, so he had a bit more time to find a new place of employment.

But even his power had been having trouble finding a solution to this particular problem. Either it couldn’t provide an answer, or it just pointed out random newspaper ads that never ended up going anywhere.

Clem hummed to herself. “That’s true, I suppose. They want experience.”

“Oh, I’ll give them an experience, all right,” Tommy signed jokingly. Clem chuckled lightly as she worked, and Tommy reveled in the little hint of warmth that sound gave him as he picked his pastry bag back up.

After they filled each puff, they gently took the puff and dipped it in the bowl of melted caramel they had between them, coating one side of the puff before setting it on their own respective plate.

He decided to be a little creative today, dipping the occasional puff into a subsequent bowl of powdered sugar before stacking them so that there were a couple trails of white spiraling up the stack.

Tommy’s phone kept going off in his pocket, and when he finally paused to check it, he was greeted with the sight of half a dozen memes that Tubbo had found and sent him.

They all had to do with bees for some odd reason.

Tommy rolled his eyes with a smile and got back to work.  He and Clementine continued the process of filling and dipping until both of them had a small pyramid of cream puffs in front of them. 

“Well, that just about does it,” Clem piped up, dipping her spoon into the caramel and waving it over both pyramids, drizzling the golden syrup over the desserts.

“I’ll start cleaning up, then,” Tommy said, grabbing the bowls and quickly carrying them to the sink to rinse out.  He went to grab the baking tray as well, but Clem held up a hand.

“Oh, don’t worry about it today, dear. I’ll clean up,” she said.

He immediately shook his head. “Nope. I’m helping.”

Clementine just crossed her arms and gave him a Look™. “Don’t think you can out-stubborn me, young man. Go home. I’ll handle the clean up.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at her. 

Clem just rolled her own. “I’ll be fine, Tom.  We’re done with baking, and the oven is off. I’m not at any risk of burning myself anymore.”

Their stare down continued for a moment longer before Tommy rolled his eyes as well, sighing heavily.  “Fine, I’ll go.” He stepped forward with a smile and gave her a quick hug. “Same time next week?”

“You know it!” she laughed.

He grinned at her and grabbed his tray, carefully balancing the small pyramid as he made his way to the door.  He hesitated at the door, looking back to see Clementine already busying herself with cleaning.

He sighed.  He knew she was alright, now that they were finished.  Clementine’s power was a bit of a double-edged sword.  She couldn’t feel temperature. To her, everything felt ‘just right’ to her.  She didn’t have to bundle up in the middle of winter, or feel like she was melting in the middle of summer.

That didn’t mean she was immune to burns though, which she had a tendency of getting whenever she cooked or baked.  When you’ve lived without a sense of hot or cold your entire life, you tend to forget that you can’t stick your hand into a lit oven to grab metal trays without damage.

It was also why the heating in this building was fucking atrocious.

When Tommy had found out about it, he’d immediately volunteered to do her cooking for her. She had vehemently refused, obviously, but eventually the two of them had reached a compromise.  

Tommy would come over once a week to check up on her, and they would bake together.  Didn’t matter what they made or how long it took, they just baked.  And it was a time of week they both looked forward to.

Though, if Tommy didn’t get a job soon, he wasn’t going to be able to afford rent next month, and there was no way in fuck he was leaving Clementine by herself.

How am I going to find a job in time?

He’d thought the question rhetorically, just mentally speaking to himself more than anything, so imagine his surprise when the door to Clementine’s front door lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.

Tommy quirked an eyebrow before he repositioned the desserts in his arm, grasping the doorknob with his now-free hand and stepping out into the hallway of the apartment complex.  A trail of light led straight to his own door, and he followed, confused.

Was his power just going to show him another useless newspaper ad again?

He had to set the tray down so he could jimmy his key into the lock of the door, but after a moment, he set the tray down carefully onto his kitchen counter.

He glanced around his apartment, looking to see what got his power so worked up.

Nothing.

He did another scan, but his apartment was void of the red light, and that familiar hum was missing as well.

Tommy sighed dejectedly.  Guess he was on his own for this one.

He went to put the pastries in his fridge when the buzzer by his door started going off repeatedly, as if the person at the front of the building was smashing the button for his apartment nonstop.

He hurried over to the door, cringing at the buzzing came out distorted through the tinny speakers.  

He slammed a fist into the answer button. “OI! What the fuck is all the noise for!?”

He waited for a response, but the call remained silent. 

Tommy seethed. “If this is a fucking prank, it’s not fu—”

He ground to a halt as a quiet sniffle sounded through the speaker, and now that Tommy was paying closer attention, panicked breathing.

His blood ran cold.

“Michael? Hey, is that you bud?”

His buzzer sounded again, quick three presses followed by three long buzzes, and then three more quick ones.

S. O. S.

“Shit! I’m on my way down, Michael. Don’t move!”

Tommy threw his door open, slamming it behind him as he bolted for the elevator.  He slammed his finger into the call button, thanking Prime that the elevator was already on the top floor.

The entire ride down, Tommy’s foot tapped incessantly across the ground.  Why was this piece of crap so fucking slow?! He needed to get to Michael!

Finally , the doors creaked open, and Tommy squeezed through before they were even fully parted, sprinting across the lobby

He slammed the front door open, looking around frantically before spotting Michael sitting on the ground below the intercom system, holding himself tightly.

“Michael!” Tommy yelled, running over.

Tommy did a double take at the state of the kid.  His clothing looked scuffed, like he’d tripped on the sidewalk, and his hair was a disheveled mess, partially hiding the vitiligo covering the upper right portion of his face.

Michael, despite being only seven, prided himself on staying very neat and clean. The fact that he looked like he just crawled out of an alley threw Tommy off more than he cared to admit.

Said boy’s head shot up, and he scrambled to his feet and ran at Tommy. Michael barreled into Tommy’s stomach, tears trailing down his face.

Tommy knelt down, gently grasping Michael’s arms. “Hey, hey, you’re fine. It’s okay. I’m here.” He reached up a hand and tried brushing Michael’s face, but the tears kept falling, the boy clearly in a panic. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Michael pulled his face back, and Tommy watched as the boy’s mouth opened, trying so hard to form the words he wanted to say, but nothing came out except for quiet aborted and stuttering sounds.  Tommy noticed Michael had his hands up, like he was going to sign, but they were shaking so badly Tommy didn’t think he’d be able to understand him.

Finally, Michael just threw himself at Tommy again, tears falling fresh as he smacked his fist into Tommy’s chest a couple times before pulling back, grabbing Tommy’s shirt and yanking him forward.

“Woah, woah, hang on a sec!” Tommy yelped, trying to catch his balance. “Where are we going?”

Michael couldn’t answer, seemingly unable to do anything but half-drag Tommy down the steps of the building and onto the sidewalk.  Michael turned and pointed down the road, yanking frantically on Tommy’s shirt again.

It didn’t take Tommy long to spot the pink-haired girl laying on her back on the sidewalk, half of her body laying in the street itself.

“Oh fuck,” Tommy said quietly, rushing over.  Michael followed along behind, quietly sniffling to himself now that Tommy knew what was wrong.

“Hey, you alright?!” Tommy yelled as he ran, not quite expecting an answer.

Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don—

“I wouldn’t say ‘alright’ is the right word to use right now,” the girl groaned out in an upper accent, lifting her head and wincing slightly to look at the two boys approaching her. She smiled at Michael as she cradled her arm. “Hello again. Not gonna lie, I kinda thought you ran off and left me for a moment there.”

Michael sniffled again, but shook his head quietly. He stepped forward and nudged Tommy, pointing down at her.

Tommy turned to look at him as he crouched down. “Did she ask you to find help?” he asked Michael softly. Michael nodded and stepped behind him, putting Tommy between himself and the girl.

With a soft smile, Tommy reached over his shoulder and ruffled the kid’s hair. “You did great Michael, thank you. I’ll take it from here, alright?”

Michael gripped the back of his shirt and placed his forehead against Tommy’s back, nodding slowly so Tommy could feel it. He turned back to the girl, who was grimacing in pain.  “What’s hurting?”

The girl winced. “My arm. I think it’s broken.”

Tommy winced as well. “Ouch,” he said, watching as his power illuminated the wound. “Alright, do you think you could make it upstairs?”

“W-What?” she asked, confused. “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?”

Tommy let out a snort. “Ha. Funny joke.” He tilted his head at her. “Also, is there a reason you’re laid out on the sidewalk?” he asked as he reached forward to help her sit up.

The girl leaned forward and immediately grimaced, leaning back down. “Because every time I try to sit up, I hurt my arm.”

“...fair point, one sec.”

How should I treat her arm?

{hum}

He glanced around, his attention being drawn by the red thread leading back into the apartment.

“Hang on, I’ll be right back, Miss...uhh…” he turned back to her. “Sorry, what was your name?”

She blinked. “Oh, it’s Niki.”

He nodded. “Tommy. C’mon Michael, I need a hand.”

As they ran back to the apartment complex, Tommy tossed Michael his apartment key. “Can you run up and grab a couple of towels for me?”

Michael nodded as they entered the building, dashing for the elevator. Tommy, on the other hand, followed the thread back behind the “front desk” into the small cleaning closet.

“Now, what do I need in here…?” he asked himself, glancing around. A cardboard box in the corner lit up in his vision, empty save for some near-empty cleaner bottles.

He pulled out a pocket knife and cut off one side of the box before taking the piece back outside with him, as well as a roll of duct tape he noticed at the last minute.

Niki looked at him in confusion. “What’s with the cardboard?”

“I’m making a splint,” he replied, before blinking down at the cardboard. “...I think.”

“You think?”

“Shut up, I’m working on it.”

He sat down on the ground and pulled out his knife again, carving a line through the cardboard as he traced the thin line his power outlined.  After a few moments of cutting, folding, and taping, he had a small cardboard “tray” with a backing, just the right size for Niki to rest her arm in.

“Perfect,” he said. “Now we just need…”

Michael barreled into him from behind, startling him. “Hey! Oh, nice timing, kid!” he said, grabbing the towels from Michael.  He approached Niki’s side, careful not to jostle her arm.  “Sorry in advance, but this’ll probably burn a bit.”

Niki nodded firmly, setting her jaw. Tommy gently reached forward and took her arm, ignoring her wince.  From what his power was telling him, the break wasn’t serious. Probably just a fracture, so it wouldn’t need to be set.  It was starting to swell, though, so he should probably ice it once they get inside.

As gently as he could, he raised her arm and slid the cardboard sleeve under it before grabbing one of the towels and placing it in the gaps between her arm and the cardboard. After packing the gaps as best he could, he grabbed the other towel and fashioned a makeshift sling for the stint to rest in.

“There, that should do for now,” Tommy said. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

Carefully, Tommy helped Niki to her feet, steadying her whenever she had to pause when her arm got jostled a bit too hard. Once she was on her feet, Michael led the way back to the apartment building, holding the door open for the two of them as they went for the elevator.

“Do you...live here?” Niki asked hesitantly, eyeing the near-dilapidated staircase that no doubt broke several safety guidelines.

“Why the fuck does everyone ask that?” Tommy muttered as the elevator doors opened.  In a louder voice, he said. “Don’t worry. It may look like a shit hole—and it is—but the elevator works, which is more than you can say about most of the shit holes in the lower districts.”

The elevator gave a groan as it began to rise, and Niki shot him a nervous glance. “You’re sure this thing is safe to ride?”

Tommy shrugged. “Eh, probably not, but I haven’t died yet, so it’s got that going for it.”

She stared at him, and he blinked at her.  She raised an eyebrow in the universal ‘you ARE kidding, right?’ kind of look.

He smirked at her as the elevator reached the top floor, stepping out into the hall as Michael dashed ahead. He opened the door for the two of them again as Tommy waved Niki into his apartment.

He gestured to one of the bar stools sitting next to his kitchen counter. “Take a seat, don’t jostle your arm.”

Niki entered hesitantly, glancing around the small apartment.  Tommy appreciated the fact that she wasn’t glancing about in outright disgust—his apartment may be trash, but he at least kept it clean, thank you—but she couldn’t hide the concern on her face.

“Do...you guys live here by yourselves?” she asked hesitantly.  Before he or Michael could answer, however, Niki’s eyes fell on the counter and she froze. “Is...is that a croquembouche?” she asked incredulously.

Tommy blinked. “What the fuck is a croaking bitch?”

Niki sputtered, almost missing the stool as she sat when she spun at him.  “Wha- No, no no, cro-quem-bouche,” she stressed, pointing at the counter with her good arm.

He followed her finger and tilted his head, confused. “My pastry pyramid?” he asked when he saw her pointing at the stack of cream puffs he had hastily placed on the counter when the buzzer had started ringing earlier. “It’s just cream puffs that I—”

“Dipped in caramel and stacked in a pyramid before adding a caramel drizzle, yes, croquembouche!” Niki stressed, looking amazed. “Did you make this!?”

“Uh…” Tommy glanced to where Michael was watching them over the back of the couch, the boy just shrugging at him. He turned back to Niki’s expectant gaze. “Well, yeah, with Clem—?”

“Who’s Clem?” Niki asked. She glanced at Michael. “Is she your mom?”

Tommy immediately winced as Michael stilled on the couch, glancing at the door.  Tommy hoped Niki wouldn’t notice the way Michael’s hands started shaking, but he wasn’t that lucky today, it would seem.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Niki said apologetically, glancing at Tommy for help. “Is...umm, I just...just assumed—”

“Yeah, well you know what they say about assuming,” Tommy tried to add jokingly.  Some bite must have made his way into his voice against his will, however, as Niki winced and cast her gaze downwards, looking cowed.

Tommy sighed. “Hey, Michael,” he said gently, so as not to startle him. When he saw he had his attention, he prodded, “Could you go get the first-aid kit from the bathroom for me? I need to try to properly treat Miss Niki’s arm.”

Michael nodded and slid off the couch, walking to the bathroom door and opening it gently. Carefully.

Tommy didn’t miss the way the boy’s eyes tracked the front door like a villain was about to burst through..

As soon as Michael was out of the room, Niki piped up. “I am so sorry if I brought up a sore subject, I didn’t mean—”

Tommy held up a hand, sighing. “You’re fine, Niki. It’s not your fault.” He walked over to the couch and plopped down into it, leaning his head back to look at her upside down.  “And to answer your question, Clem is the landlord. She lives next door.” He flicked his hand in the general direction.

Niki seemed confused. “Do you...bake with your landlord often?”

“Yup,” Tommy replied. “Every week. She’s not allowed to bake by herself anymore.”

She quirked a brow at that. “Do I even want to know?”

Tommy shrugged. “She’s old and accident prone,” he simplified. The bathroom door opened, and Tommy peeked his head up only to laugh softly to himself. “Michael, put the otter back.”

“I’m sorry, the what now?”

Michael had walked out of the bathroom with the otter draped across his small shoulders, the furry little snake resting its head and front paws on the top of Michael’s own head.

The scene was adorable to say the least.

“C’mon Michael, put her back,” Tommy said, standing from the couch. “She shouldn’t be up and about just yet. She still needs another day or so.”

“You have a pet otter?” Niki asked, incredulous.

Tommy sighed as he grabbed the first aid kit from Michael. “It’s not a pet,” he replied, giving it a quick pet before Michael turned around to put her back.  When Niki opened her mouth, he immediately held up a hand. “Don’t ask.”

Her mouth clicked shut.

Tommy set the first-aid kit down next to her on the counter and flicked it open. He sighed, noticing that Tubbo still hadn’t made good on his ‘favor’ to replace the stuff he used up.

“Let me see your arm,” he requested, moving forward to take it gently. It hadn’t swollen any more in the time it had taken to get inside, so that was probably a good sign.  A painful break, as opposed to a serious one.  

He carefully removed the towel that had been stuffing the gaps of his makeshift splint, wincing when he saw blood staining the towel.

“Shit, you’re bleeding,” Tommy said, carefully examining the arm again.  There were a couple minor scrapes, marked slightly black from where they had clearly scraped the asphalt, and leaking trace amounts of blood. Nothing serious, but they still needed to be cleaned.

“Really?” Niki asked, glancing down at her arm and wincing when she moved it. She eyed the scrapes. “Huh. Sorry, didn’t notice them over the whole, you know, broken arm.”

Fair enough. And his power didn’t highlight them because she didn’t mention them, cause his power liked to be a bitch at times—despite saving his life on several occasions.

“Alright, we should probably clean and disinfect those before anything else,” he said, moving around the counter and into the kitchen proper to grab a towel. “Do you want any water?”

“Uhh, sure.”

Tommy hums in confirmation, reaching up to one of the cupboards where he was pretty sure he had a few clean cups still.

Instead of dishware, however, he was greeted by an almost comical amount of gauze and bandages falling out of the cupboard and onto his face, making him yelp in surprise as he was flattened.

“Tommy!” he heard Niki yell.  He groaned out an “I’m fine” before sitting up, scanning the ground around him.  

The floor around him was littered with packages of gauze, bandages, a couple plastic bottles of peroxide and medical alcohol, and an unholy amount of slushie coupons from the local seven-eleven.  He looked up at the cabinet where the avalanche had originated and—

Was that a bottle of fucking vodka?

“What the actual fuck?” he muttered, rising to his feet.  He reached up and yanked the bottle out of the cupboard, staring at it incredulously.

“I take it that’s not yours?” Niki asked carefully.

“I’m sixteen! I’m not even allowed to drink this shit!” He ignored the way Niki’s eyes widened slightly at his age. “Besides, why would I put this stuff in my body? I enjoy having a functional liver, thank you.”

“There’s a note on the back,” Niki pointed out, and he turned the bottle around to see a small strip of paper taped to the back.

I ran out of room in the mirror. My b.

-Big T

P.S. Still looking for upgrades.

Tommy just stared at the note.  “Tubbo, you fucking asshole—”

He heard the tiniest of gaps, and he looked up to see Michael staring at him from the bathroom door, eyes wide and fearful.

His eyes were locked on the vodka.

“Shit,” Tommy muttered, immediately dropping the vodka out of sight behind the counter, the bandages on the floor preventing the bottle from shattering. Tommy held up his hands. “Michael, hey, it’s okay.  It wasn’t even opened.”

Michael’s eyes were still fearful, but he nodded slowly.

“Good job, Michael,” Tommy soothed, stepping around the counter, approaching him slowly.  He knelt down in front of him, resting his hands on the boy’s shoulders. He and Michael stared at each other for a moment while Michael’s breathing calmed. “You okay?”

Michael hesitated, but he nodded, and Tommy let out a sigh.

Then he remembered the note.

“Heeeeyyy, Michael?” he asked hesitantly. “Where did you find the first-aid kit?”

Michael tilted his head, confused, but raised his hands regardless.

On the sink, he signed. Why?

Tommy didn’t answer, just rose to his feet and marched into the bathroom. He grabbed the edge of the mirror and pried it open.

His eyes widened, and he took a step back, still gripping the mirror. “Shit,” he uttered, staring at the mirror cabinet filled to the brim with peroxide and alcohol, medical or otherwise.  It looked like an alcoholic’s wet dream.

And something Michael had to see on a regular basis in his own home.

“Michael,” Tommy yelled as he turned. “Don’t come in—!”

The words died in his throat when he turned to see that Michael had followed him in—his own curiosity getting the better of him—and was now staring in horror at the hidden cache behind the mirror.

Tommy felt sick at the look of betrayal Michael sent his way, even if he understood why he gave it. Michael hung out with Tommy to get away from alcohol, and to see his friend apparently hiding a massive stash of booze?

Tommy would feel betrayed too.

But Tommy could also see the way Michael’s hands started shaking, and the way his eyes started to unfocus as the beginnings of a panic attack set in.

“Nonono, hey, Michael!” he stuttered out hastily, shutting the mirror and crouching in front of him again.  Michael, despite his delirium, flinched away from his touch, sending a wave of hurt through Tommy’s chest.  

Tommy sighed, settling himself down on his knees as he let Michael step away.  “Michael, I need you to listen, okay? I know you don’t trust me right now, but just let me talk, okay?”

Michael’s shaking was getting worse. If he didn’t hurry this up, he wouldn’t be able to get a response from him.

“Michael, what do you smell?” Tommy asked gently, watching him closely.  “Take a deep breath.”

Michael, thankfully, did as he asked, inhaling deeply before he flinched away.

A-Alcohol, he signed, the shaking getting worse.

Shit, he was starting to dissociate. He needed to make this quick.

“Past that, bud,” Tommy prodded. “I know it’s strong, but try and get past it. What else do you smell?”

Hesitantly, Michael took another breath, pausing as the air settled in his lungs.

Soap , he signed. I smell soap.

“Good, good, that’s great. You’re doing great, bud. What else?”

Another inhale.

Just- Just alcohol! he signed again, hands starting to shake harder.

Welp, time for plan B.

Tommy whipped around, yoinked the otter out of the tub, and plopped the critter on Michael’s shoulders, causing him to flinch at the feeling of cold fur on his neck.

“How ‘bout now, bud?”

Michael’s brow furrowed as he inhaled again, confused.

Wet d-dog? he asked.

Tommy chuckled. “Well, it’s wet otter , to be precise. Do you remember the otter I’m taking care of? The one in my bathroom?”

Michael’s eyes started to clear, and he blinked, looking around and coming back to awareness.

“There you are,” Tommy said quietly, smiling gently. “You okay?”

Michael looked around a bit more, hand reaching up unconsciously to stroke the otter’s head.

“Do you remember where you are?”

….you’re place.

“Right, and do you remember who’s with us?”

Miss N-I-K-I.

“Perfect,” Tommy said, smile widening.  “Exactly right.”

Michael took another deep breath—this one through his mouth—as he tried to settle himself.  Without opening his eyes, he carefully lifted the otter off his shoulders, handing the squirming animal back over to Tommy to return to the tub. 

A moment and another deep breath later, his eyes opened, looking at Tommy before lifting and peering at the now-closed mirror.

Tommy’s smile faltered.

Where did you get those? Michael signed, still staring at the cabinet.

Tommy sighed, hesitating a moment before he stood, motioning back into the main room. “They’re not mine, I promise.”

He went to step past him, but Michael grabbed onto the hem of his shirt, halting his steps. He turned around to see Michael giving him a look.

That’s not what I asked.

Tommy snorted, smiling lightly as he tugged Michael along. “Okay, holy shit, calm down,” he shot back as they made their way back to Niki, who had been watching the interaction worriedly. And curiously.

Tommy grabbed one of the peroxide bottles from the kitchen—making sure Michael could see what he grabbed—and a clean towel before returning to Niki’s side.

“This may sting a little,” he warned Niki as he dampened the towel with the peroxide. She nodded, and he started disinfecting the scrapes, being careful not to apply too much pressure. 

While he worked, he started talking, knowing Michael was still watching him carefully. “So, you know last week I mentioned I helped out that one fucker who was getting mugged in an alley? Tubbo?” He glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Michael frown, confused, before nodding slowly.

Tommy went on. “Well, after I helped him, the asshole insisted on paying me back somehow, so to get him off my back, I told him to replace the medical supplies I used on him.”

Michael looked down at the kitchen floor strewn with medical supplies before looking back up at Tommy with a look that screamed ‘Was he mugged or fucking eviscerated?’ .

But without the “fucking”, because Michael was too pure to swear, despite Clem’s attempts. Tommy may have been projecting.

Tommy snorted. “My thoughts exactly.  I ask him to either replace or upgrade the supplies, and he fucking robs a pharmacy. As for the cabinet,” he stressed. “I can only assume he grabbed anything with alcohol in it.”

Michael shrugged, his trust apparently restored with how easy he accepted it.  Though, he still looked a bit shaken.

“I promise,” Tommy said. “I never have, and I never will touch that stuff. After we’re done in here, I’ll flush anything that isn’t strictly medical.”

“Umm…” Niki piped up.  “I know it’s not my business, but I am... beyond confused right now.”

Tommy glanced at Michael, asking a silent question. The boy shrugged, walking back over to the couch to plop down face first.  Someone was clearly done with the conversation.

“Michal doesn’t have…” he started. “...the best parental figures.” At Niki’s questioning glance, he said, “Imagine an alcoholic Karen ‘married’ to a narcissistic addict, multiply it by twenty, and that’s about what Michael has to deal with when he goes home.”

Niki winced. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—”

“You weren’t expected to,” Tommy interrupted. “Besides, I’m not the one to apologize to.”

Niki glanced over to the couch, where Michael lay hidden by the cushions. “...right. Is...that why he knows sign language?”

“Yeah,” Tommy said sadly. “Talking in his house tends to not end well, so he’s...fallen out of habit. Now!” Tommy piped up, finished with the disinfecting. “Wanna tell me how you managed to break your arm in the middle of the road?”

“Ha.  I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner,” Niki said, slightly amused. At Tommy’s snort, she chuckled and continued, nodding over at the couch. “I saw Michael crossing the street about to be hit by a car, so I shoved him out of the way. Lost my balance and fell on my arm wrong.”

Tommy froze at that, his eyes snapping up to meet hers.  Michael also popped up, nodding at Tommy to confirm the story.

She pushed me forward, and then a car came flying around the corner, he explained.  It...would not have been pretty.

Tommy looked between the two for a moment before scoffing, looking at Niki in a new light. “Well,” he said with a sad laugh. “Guess I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

Niki waved it off with her good hand. “It’s fine. My power lets me see a few seconds into the future, so I saw it comin—what?”

Both he and Michael had grimaced the second Niki mentioned her power, and it must have thrown her off, because she was looking between the two of them in confusion.

“You’re...new. To the lower districts, aren’t you?” Tommy asked hesitantly.

Niki quirked a brow at him. “Yeah, actually, I just moved here. Why?” And...yeah, that would explain why she asked for an ambulance earlier.

Tommy sighed. “Well, guess it’s a good thing you met us first,” he muttered. Louder, he said. “Okay, so, rule number one of the lower districts? Don’t ever say what your power is. It’s a great way to get yourself mugged.”

“That’s...concerning. How does that work?”

Tommy shrugged, turning to follow his powers guidance in crafting a more proper splint. “If your power’s weak, you get mocked or bullied. If it’s strong, or useful , then you're either gonna get shanked out of jealousy or kidnapped and trafficked. And yes, both of those have happened more times than we care to admit.”

Niki had paled slightly, which Tommy couldn’t really blame her for. “N-Noted.”

“Good!” Tommy chirped. “Rule number two! Ambulances? Police? Yeah, don’t expect much from them. All the major stations and hospitals are in the upper districts, and they know we can’t pay, so they don’t even bother coming down half the time.”

“What the fuck?” Niki muttered, looking far more worried than she had been earlier. “There’s...you guys don’t have any police here?”

Tommy just shrugged, carefully wrapping her arm in the new splint.  “I mean, we do, they’re just corrupt as shit, so there’s not much point.”

Niki didn’t say anything, so Tommy continued. “Rule number three: never accept help from people.”

At that one, she gave him a look, and he smirked. “Obviously, me and Michael are the exception. Seriously though? Don’t,” he said, turning serious.  “The lower districts don’t run on money—cuz we’re poor as balls—it runs on favors. If someone offers to help you, expect them to come crawling to you later to cash in on whatever ‘favor’ they think you owe them. And sometimes they come crawling with a knife, so…”

“What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” Niki muttered quietly, wincing as Tommy stabilized the splint.

“You’re asking me?” Tommy laughed. “You’re the one who moved here!”

The old TV flicked on behind him, and he turned to see Michael flipping through the channels, apparently bored of the conversation. “Oi!” he called. “You need a refresher on these too, pay attention!”

Michael ignored him, finally settling on a news channel covering the various heroes of the city as opposed to some random shitty cartoon.  It was something Tommy did too. Before, when he was Michael’s age.

It was one of the good memories from Before.

Right now, there was a piece playing about a fight that happened earlier between the Dream Team and Sewage Boy.  Tommy normally wouldn’t care for the fucker, but he could admit he was impressed by the man’s skills if he was able to hold his own against all three of the heroes.

He didn’t get out of it unscathed, from the looks of it, but still...impressive.

“Ugh, I hate Geyser,” Niki muttered, watching the story as well.

“Who?” Tommy said, turning to her.

She gave him a look—which she seemed to be doing a lot, she might want to get her eyes checked—before pointing at the screen. “Geyser? The villain? That asshole made me lose water to my apartment complex for almost a week. I had to rent a motel room just so I could shower.”

“Oh, is that what he’s called in the upper districts?” Tommy said, turning back to the TV. “I’ve only ever heard his Sticker name.”

Niki gave him a look, “Sticker? Name?”

Tommy snickered. “Yeah, that’s what we call the heroes ‘nd villains who are too stiff necked to bother with the lower districts.”

“........but why Sticke—”

“Because they’ve all got sticks shoved up their pompous asses.”

“...okay then. Uhh, are there a lot of Stickers?”

“Ehh, a few.  Even the Dream Team fucker.”

“Wait, what?” Niki asked, surprised. “I thought the whole thing with the Dream Team was that they were a bridge between the two areas?”

Which was true, in her defense. The reason the Dream Team was so popular was because they had people from both sides of the district divide: Sapnap had started in the lower districts, and while Dream had been born in the upper districts, his mother, the hero Marauder, had started out in the lower districts and kept the mannerisms and such, passing them on to Dream. 

(Speaking of Marauder, a clip of her showed up on the news screen, fighting against Jägerbomb.

Michael immediately scowled at the villain. For Michael, the man’s power made him easy to hate on principle.)

As for the third member of the Dream Team…

“Take a guess,” Tommy prodded. “Who would the lower districts hate?”

“Error, I guess?” Niki said. “He’s the only one solely from the upper districts.”

“Yeah, and he never bothers coming down here. Thus, Sticker.”

“Alright, I...guess I can see why you guys would do that…” Niki conceded, before asking hesitantly. “What...do you guys call him?”

“Gogy.”

A beat.

“Pfffftt!” Niki snorted, trying to stifle her laughs. “Why Gogy?!”

“I mean, have you seen those stupid-ass goggles?”

Niki giggled. “True, true, I’ll give you that.”

His power buzzed minutely, and he flinched back as he caught the pillow that had just been thrown at him from the couch. Michael was glaring at the both of them, finger to his lips in the universal ‘shut the fuck up’ sign.

Tommy smirked, signing a ‘make me’ at the boy, laughing as he caught another pillow.

“He really doesn’t talk much, does he?” Niki said quietly, seemingly to herself. Her eyes widened a second later when Michael turned her gaze on her, and she stuttered, “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud! I—”

She probably would have just kept rambling out useless apologies, so Tommy took it upon himself to spare her pride by shutting her up. And he did so the same way he did with Tubbo.

By shoving sugar in her mouth.

She spluttered around the cream puff—or croaking bitch or whatever the hell it was called—before freezing.

“Stop apologizing, for the love of Prime,” Tommy complained, moving to start packing up the first-aid kit. He was gonna have to clean up the mountain of stuff littering his kitchen later, but—

“You made this?!” Niki exclaimed suddenly, causing Tommy to yelp. Michael flung a pillow back again, not even bothering to aim this time.

Tommy managed to catch it before it hit the pastries.

“Y-Yes?” Tommy said, confused. “I thought we established this already…”

“It’s amazing!” she exclaimed, making Tommy blink.  “Do you make it a lot?”

“Uhh, no, today was our first time trying, actually,” he said, leaning back when her eyes bugged out. “......why?”

“...”

“...”

“You’re hired.”

Tommy blinked. “Pardon?”

“You’re hired. I’m hiring you.”

Tommy looked at Michael in confusion, who merely shrugged, before turning back to Niki. “Uhh, I don’t know what you’re hiring me for, but if this is just you trying to follow the favor thing, it’s really not—”

“No!” Niki yelled. “I’m hiring you because you’re baking is a fucking godsend!”

“I’m still confused.”

Niki face-palmed. “Oh Prime, I never— the whole reason I moved to the lower districts was to open a bakery, Tommy!”

Realization dawned, and Tommy blinked again. “You’re just gonna hire some random dude you’ve never met before just because he made a good cream puff?”

“Said ‘random dude’ just helped patch up a broken arm at no charge, lives alone, and spends time with both his elderly landlord and his six-year old neighbor.”

“He’s seven.”

“Not the point! The point is, I don’t exactly need to run a background check.”

Good, she wouldn’t find much.

“Besides, making a good cream puff is literally the job. It’s a bakery. Plus…” she motioned to her arm. “...I’m gonna need some extra help while this heals.”

Huh.

Guess that solves the employment proble—

Wait…

….

He had brought up the employment problem, and his power had led him back to his apartment. Right before his buzzer went off. And right before he met...Niki…..

His power scared him sometimes.

“Alright, uhh, sure!” Tommy said. “When do you want me to start?”

“Uhh, would Monday work?”

Two days? He could work with that.

“Sure thing,” he confirmed, smiling lightly.

He gave Niki his number so she could get in contact with him later. Apparently she’d left hers behind by accident, which was why she’d needed Michael to go find help.

Speaking of the kid, the hero news segment had apparently ended and left him flipping through channels again, clearly bored without someone to talk to.

“Hey Michael,” Tommy said. “Why don’t you show Niki what you learned from Clem today?” He leaned over to Niki to explain, “Clem is basically deaf, so she teached Michael sign language every once in a while.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” Niki smiled, turning to Michael. “What’ve you got?”

Michael leaned over the back of the couch, thinking for a moment before holding both of his hands out vertically, palms facing each other. He held them there a moment before tilting both hands, like they had fallen over.

Tommy burst out laughing. “Why’d she teach you that one?!”

“What?” Niki asked, confused. “What’d it say?”

“She taught him how to say fucking ‘die’!” he exclaimed. “Let me guess, she told you to use that on me whenever I got on your nerves didn’t she?”

Michael smirked before straightening his hands and repeating the motion several more times.

“You little shit,” Tommy chuckled. “C’mon, got anything else?”

“Oh no, wait,” Niki said suddenly, glancing around. “What time is it?”

“Uhhh, around three I think,” Tommy said, checking his phone. “Need to get going?”

She winced. “Yeah, I have to get some stuff ready for work tomorrow.” She glanced at her arm. “And I have a feeling it’s gonna take a little longer than normal.” 

“Want me or Michael to walk you out?” Tommy asked, standing up to kick aside some of the rolls of gauze on the floor.

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” she said, speaking in a rush. “Thank you so much for your help. I’ll text you the details and such later tonight or tomorrow!”

And with that, she was gone, ending the very odd week he’d had, helping people left, right, and fucking center.

At least this time he wasn’t running from a vigilante or taking cover from bombs.

Tommy stood for a moment before sighing, walking over to the couch and flopping down on top of Michael. The boy squealed, smacking Tommy’s back to get him off.

“Nope, I have died,” Tommy said, closing his eyes. “I cannot move, for I am dead.”

He yelped as another pillow smacked his ear. “Okay, okay, geez!” He sat up with a smirk. “You are vicious fucking seven-year old.”

Michael humphed in response, turning away to try to hide his smile.

“C’mon,” he told him. “Let’s go check on the otter.”

Michael thought for a moment before crossing his arms and shaking his head.

“What the hell! Why not?”

Michael uncrossed his arms. Not until you say her name, he demanded.

Tommy gave him a look. “I did not name the otter. You know I don’t name them.”

Michael glared at him. Say it.

“Make me.”

Michael grabbed another pillow.

“Okay! Okay fine. Primes, you’re violent.” He hesitated, and Michael gave him a look, hefting the pillow. He sighed. “Fine, let’s go check on Marnie. You happy?”

Michael smiled and nodded, dropping the pillow so he could slide off the couch and dart into the bathroom.

Tommy joined him, kneeling down by the tub to check the bandages on the otter’s tail and hind legs.  “Well, she’s doing better than I thought,” he said, glancing over at Michael.  “I could probably release her tomorrow.” 

Michael smiled sadly and reached down, petting the otter lightly on the head. 

Tommy watched for a moment before asking, “Wanna come with me?”

Michael turned back to him with a grin and nodded excitedly.

Tommy smiled back. “Perfect.”

He knew pretty soon, Michael was going to have to head back to his apartment across the hall, but for now, he was content to let the boy play with the little fluff ball hiding away in his tub. He was gonna have to find something to distract him in the main room, though, at least for a bit.

He had some booze to flush.

Chapter Text

RING

…

RING

…

RIN—click

“Hey Tommy.”

“I’m out front, where the fuck are you?” Tommy greeted, staring up at (apparently) his new place of employment.  

All said, it didn’t look half bad for a lower-district business.  The windows were scratched in a couple places, but spotlessly clean, and the paneling, despite needing repairs, had a fresh coat of paint.  The sidewalk looked like it had been meticulously swept—several times, in fact—to the point that the sidewalk transitioned from “filthy and covered in years’ worth of dirt and grime” dirty to “looked like it was laid yesterday” clean.

You could literally see her property line carved through the dust.

Niki chuckled over the phone.  “You’re early!  You and the others aren’t supposed to show up for another hour.”

Tommy shrugged, knowing she couldn’t see it. “You said it was opening day, I figured you wouldn’t mind a little early help.”

He heard her sigh heavily. “Well, you wouldn’t be wrong,” she muttered.  “Head around back, I’ll let you in through the alley.”

“Oh sure, have me wander down the dark, dangerous lower-district alleyway at five in the morning,” Tommy ‘complained’, already moving for the alley entrance.  His power was silent apart from the normal cautionary buzz, so he went along.

“You’ll be fine,” she scolded. “I have a camera feed pulled up anyway, and there’s no one in the alley. You’re safe.”

“You have a fucking camera back here?” he said, glancing around.  Even the alley looked relatively clean, lacking the normal piles of trash and detritus smelling of rot.

Niki didn’t answer back, and he glanced at his phone.

She fucking hung up on him.

The side door opened in front of him.

“You fucking hung up on me!” Tommy yelled, making Niki laugh.

“Were you just going to keep talking on the phone even after I opened the door?”

“So what if I was, huh?”

Niki rolled her eyes—how dare—before stepping back inside. “Come on. Lots to do but not a lot of time to do it.”

The next hour was spent prepping the bakery for opening day, getting ingredients ready, cleaning (again), organizing, etc.

Niki was fun to work with, too.  She was kind, but she didn’t hesitate to cuss Tommy out if he said something she deemed inappropriate.

It was only slightly chaotic.

It got a lot more chaotic once the other employees showed up.

“What the fuck are you?!” Tommy screeched, immediately earning a smack from Niki.

“Language!” the creature in front of him yelled. Said creature fixed Niki with a look.  “Where did you find this muffinhead!?”

Niki was currently trying to stifle a giggle with her good arm and failing miserably.  “On the side of the road, actually.”

“Bitch, I found you!”  

“Language!”

“Mmm, no, cuz I found Michael, and then he found you, which means I found you by proxy.”

“That is not how that works!”

“Niki,” the creature said, looking at her mournfully. “Please tell me you did not pick a random boy off the street and hire him.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s fine, Bad. He’s the one who patched up my arm,” she replied, motioning to the arm currently in a sling. “Plus, his pastries are a mazing.”

Tommy turned away, trying to hide the heat rising in his cheeks. “You tried a single cream puff—”

“It was a good cream puff!” Niki exclaimed.

“Niki…” the creature said exasperatedly, rubbing the bridge of its nose.

A new, much deeper voice piped up, startling Tommy. “Did someone bribe Niki with sweets again?”

The owner of said voice walked in from the back room, already dressed in a strawberry print apron.  And they were fucking tall.

And that was before taking the platform shoes into account.

They walked into the room, turned to Tommy, and froze.

Tommy and the new person held eye contact for several seconds—not that Tommy could actually see their eyes with the sunglasses they were wearing—before they whispered, almost reverently(?) for some reason, “Where did you find this one, Niki?”

O……kay?

“Side of the road.”

“Bitch I told you—!”

“LANGUAGE!”

After the shaky introductions (which went about as well as one would expect), Niki and Tall Fucker #2 (Bad) got to work in the back, making sure the shipment was organized properly. Meanwhile, Tommy and Tall Fucker #3 (Eret) got started on prepping the kitchen for business, making sure everything was cleaned and ready to use before they started working on their first batch.

Before they could even start baking, however, the chaotic potential only grew.

Tommy looked up at the pounding coming from the back door, tensing immediately.  Eret also glanced up, frowning.

“Who—?”

“Niki!” someone called from outside. “Are you there?”

“One sec, Wilbur!” Niki’s voice echoed from the storage room. She poked her head out. “Could you get that, Tommy?”

He gave her a stern look, hoping he was conveying with his eyes just how stupid answering a door that led into a Lower back alley could be.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s fine , Tommy. He’s just dropping off our last worker.”

He glared at her for a moment longer before sighing and making his way to the door, only because his power wasn’t buzzing that there was danger.

He flung the door open, ready to cuss out greet the newbie, and came face to chin with…

Tall Fucker.

The first.

“You?!” he screamed, pointing up at the man’s face.  Said man flinched back in surprise, staring at him.

“Niki?” The man called hesitantly. “Why is there a gremlin child in your place of business?”

“I am not a child, dickhead!”

“Language!” came a call from the back room, Niki following it a moment later.

“Wilbur!” She greeted cheerfully, brushing past Tommy to give the much taller man a side hug with her good arm. She pulled away a moment later, frowning. “Where’s Fundy?”

“Right here,” a new voice said.

Tommy poked his head out of the doorway to see a young redhead heading their way down the alley, waving at Niki.

Tall Fucker snapped his head around, glaring at the boy. “I thought I said to wait by the front door.”

‘Fundy’ rolled his eyes. “I did. You never said how long to wait.”

Niki chuckled at Tall Fucker’s wilted expression, and Tommy couldn’t help but snort.  Fundy’s gaze swung to Tommy, blinking in surprise. “Oh, hi.”

Tommy glanced between him and Tall Fucker. “You know this asshole?” he asked the redhead.

Fundy’s eyes widened slightly before instantly narrowing at man. “Dad, what the fuck did you do?”

Dad?!

“Yeah, Wilbur,” Niki said, suddenly sounding very curious. “How do you know Tommy?”

Tommy piped up before the man could say anything. “We blew up a restaurant together.”

Wimblur stiffened. Fundy stared at Tommy for a moment before slowly turning his head to glare at his father.

“Da—”

“I had nothing to do with the building blowing up!” The man spit out hastily. “I was just there to get a burger before someone—” he glared at Tommy “—held me hostage in a refrigerator.”

“I saved your life, asshole!” Tommy yelled before pausing. “Okay, technically I only saved you from a concussion, but still!”

Fundy blinked at Tommy before frowning, glancing between the two. “I…am very confused,” he admitted.

Tommy pointed a finger at Wublur. “I saved his life, and then he offered me drugs.”

“Dad!”

“I gave you your fucking paycheck, you ungrateful child!”

“Yeah, after you stole it—!” “DAD!” “—and I’m not a child!”

“I mean,” Niki said hesitantly. “Sixteen is still pretty young, Tommy.”

Traitor.

“Wait, really?” Fundy said, perking up and suddenly ignoring his dad. “How did you get a job so easily? It took me forever , and I only got this one cause Niki’s basically my aunt.” He glared at his dad. “Someone wouldn’t let me work anywhere else.”

“I am trying to keep you safe,” Wilbur insisted. “Do you know how bad most bosses are? Ask Tommy here! His boss was a right asshole.”

“Don’t bring me into this,” Tommy deadpanned.

Niki sighed. “I see you’re still as overprotective as ever, Wil.”

“More like a clingy helicopter,” Fundy muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I am not clingy!” Wilbur yelled, sounding wounded. “I’m just trying to protect my wittle champion,” he said, ruffling his son’s hair, who immediately swatted his hand away.

“Clingy,” both Tommy and Fundy said in unison before turning and blinking at each other in surprise. Niki laughed.

“All right, boys, knock it off. We’ve got work to do and—” she glanced at her watch and grimaced. “—ooo, not a lot of time to do it. See you later, Wil?”

Winlub nodded. “I’ll be by later to pick Fundy up.”

Fundy rolled his eyes and brushed past Tommy to get inside. “Later, Dad.”

“Hey Tommy,” Niki said. “Could you show him where everything is? And then you two and Eret can start working on the first batch for the day.”

Tommy nodded. “Do you want us to start with the pastries or the muffins?”

“Oh don’t worry, Bad will handle the muffins.” She leaned forward and whispered. “They're kind of his specialty.”

“You bet they are!” Bad called from the storage room.

Tommy headed back into the kitchen.  Niki bid Wilbur farewell before heading back to the storage room with Bad, while Tommy started giving Fundy the grand tour of the building.

And just like that, the first day of Tommy’s new job was off to a…an interesting start.

…

…

…

Throughout the week, Tommy got used to splitting his time between online classes and his new bakery job, which had been doing fairly well business-wise.

Not many people had money to spare on sweets in the Lower (especially on the East End), but those who did have cash to spare stopped by frequently. Add the fact that Niki’s baking apparently dragged some business with her from the Upper—and that Niki’s prices were fairly low—and it all led to a fairly busy week.

Every day, Tommy would show up to see Wilbur dropping Fundy off  before heading off to work himself, wherever that happened to be. And every day, without fail, Wilbur would show up to take Fundy home when they closed in the early evening.

Not that there weren’t a couple instances where he wasn’t late.   Fundy acted annoyed whenever it happened, but Tommy didn’t need his power to tell him that the guy was worried.  Thankfully, the others were willing to wait around after closing and just hang out, and honestly? Tommy kind of looked forward to the days where Wilbur was late.

Not to say that was the only time they had fun at work. There were a couple times where some sleazy douche would try to hit on Niki whenever she was working up front, and all it took was the mere appearance of Bad ducking through the kitchen doorway to make most guys run for the door.

And wherever the appearance of Bad failed…well, whatever Eret hid behind those sunglasses was motivation to exit the premises.

Quickly.

There was also the secret door in the storage room.

(“What do you mean ‘secret door’?” Tommy asked Niki while they were in the midst of making another mid-rush batch.

“I mean, there’s some secret door in the storage room,” she replied, before clarifying. “At least I think it’s a door.”

“Niki, please start making sense.”

She rolled her eyes. “After I bought the building, I found a random keypad in the storage room.  It’s old, but it still works.”

“And it opens…?”

A shrug. “No clue. Might just be a hidden locker, a secret room, who knows. It’s an old building; the previous owners probably don’t even know it exists.”

Tommy hummed, intrigued. “What do you think is behind it?”

Niki shrugged. “No idea. Money, drugs, maybe an old weapon cache from the Manberg Civil War…”

“...you said you just need the code, right? Not like a key or anything?”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t have time to sit down and test every single possible combina— why are you grinning?”

“Give me two minutes.”)

That had been fun.

He had also met some interesting side characters.

(The little bell above the door chimed, and Tommy glanced up from where he was learning the register. “Hi, welcome tooo…. you good, dude?”

There was a raven-haired man standing in the doorway, staring at Tommy with wide eyes.

Tommy glanced behind him, turning back around when he didn’t see anyone. “Can I help you?”

The man blinked once, literally said nope!, then turned and darted out the door.

“...”

“Tommy, you good?” Eret asked, walking over. 

“Who the fuck was that?” Tommy said, nodding at the man walking past the front window, now talking on his phone.

Eret looked over before perking up. “Oh, that’s Bad’s son, Damian.”

“Eret, how even—?”)

Other than that? It had been a really nice week, getting used to the new job, making friends with his coworkers.

It was almost relaxing.

Cue Tubbo.

…

…

…

It was almost closing time on Saturday night, and Tommy was currently manning the front counter with Fundy.  Thankfully, this late in the afternoon the crowds had all but disappeared.  No one liked to be out past dark in the Lower.

With a distinct lack of customers, he and Fundy were currently busying themselves with tidying up and getting the pre-close cleaning out of the way while watching the news on the overhead television.

The news station currently on was running reviews and highlights on the various super-powered fights that had occurred over the week.  It was almost like a sports-day play-by-play of every confrontation.

Honestly, Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if some people treated the hero-villain fights in this city like some kind of weird fantasy league.

One where people could die.

The current segment covering the fight between Marauder and Jägerbomb (again) was replaced by a piece on Marauder’s son, Dream.  The piece was showing a recording from earlier in the week of the hero taking on a group of criminals robbing a fucking fundraiser, the young hero expertly dodging attacks and fighting off his opponents, all in his signature retina-melting lime-green hoodie.

“Bitch,” he and Fundy muttered simultaneously.  

Fundy whipped his head around to stare at Tommy. “Wait, you don’t like him either?”

Tommy shrugged, turning back to wiping down the tables. “Ugh, not really.”

His answer caused Fundy’s brow to furrow in confusion. “Really? Most people really like him.”

Tommy shrugged again, not bothering to look up.  “I dunno, he seems okay? On television? I dunno, something about him rubs me wrong way, like he secretly drinks tea cold or some shit.”

He didn’t bother mentioning the fact that every time the man was on screen, his power hummed ever so slightly in the back of his head.

“How come you don’t like him?” Tommy asked instead.

He glanced up just in time to see Fundy blink unfocused eyes clear, glancing at Tommy before stiffly shrugging. “Just…not my favorite.”

Huh.

Okay then.

“Hey Eret!” Tommy called. They glanced up from where they were cleaning the front counter. “What do you think of the lime-green bitch?”

Eret frowned and glanced up at the TV, which was still showing the piece on Dream.  They stared at the screen for a few seconds before flinching back like it personally offended them. “Ew.”

Tommy and Fundy burst out laughing.

“How’s it going up here?” Niki asked, walking in from the kitchen.

“Sllloooooowwwwwwwww!” Tommy groaned, slumping over dramatically onto the table he was wiping down.

His power hummed right before Fundy whipped him in the ass with his towel.

He did not yelp. He was too much of a big man, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a wrongun. 

“You motherf—” Tommy twirled his rag and immediately started whaling on Fundy, who screamed like the bitch he was and went to hide behind Niki.

Eret chuckled from where they stood behind the counter, watching Niki try to hold back Tommy with one arm while Fundy cowered behind her, laughing the whole while.

Even the few customers still inside looked amused.

Before Tommy could finish his murder attempt, however, the building shook lightly as a distant rumble was heard.

Everyone in the building froze, glancing at each other nervously.

Was…that a fucking earthquake?

No, L’manberg was nowhere near a fault line, so…

The front door burst open.

All four of them (and the three customers) whipped their heads to the door to see a small boy standing in the doorway, illuminated from behind like some cheap western saloon knockoff and—

“Tubbo?!” Tommy yelled.

Tubbo inhaled deeply before— “SEWAGE BOY AND ORION ARE FIGHTING A BLOCK OVER!”

That got everyone’s attention.

“He’s WHAT?!” Fundy yelled, suddenly looking pale. 

“He never leaves the Upper, what the hell is he doing this far into the Lower?” One customer asked, quickly rising from their seat to go and see for themselves.

Eret and Niki just stood there confused as every customer in the room suddenly started to leave the building while one of their coworkers looked like he was about to pass out.

“Why the fuck is Sewage Boy here?” Eret muttered.

“I’m sorry, who's Sewa— Oh!” Niki said, snapping her fingers. “That’s a Sticker name isn’t it?”

She looked to Tommy for confirmation, and he just shrugged and nodded.

“When did you learn about Sticker names?” Eret asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Niki said, before turning back to Tommy. “Who is it?”

Tommy raised a brow at her. “You don’t know? You were talking shit about him at my house the other day.”

It only took Niki a moment before her eyes widened. “Wait, Sewage Boy is Geys—!?”

Tommy slapped a hand over her mouth frantically, turning to see a couple customers glaring at them from the door on their way out.

“Hey!” Eret said, smacking Tommy’s hand away. Tommy didn’t say anything, watching the customers carefully.

After the last one had gone through the door, he crossed his arms and gave Niki a look.

“What?!” she cried, looking confused.

“Okay, rule number four of the Lower: if a super has a Sticker name, do not use their real one.”

“......can I ask why?”

Tommy sighed, untangling an arm to run a hand down his face. “If someone hears you use their actual name, that’s an instant red flag you’re from the Upper. And that makes most people immediately lose their respect for you. You’ll be lucky if any of those customers come back.”

“Seriously?” she said, looking upset.

Tommy shrugged. “People down here get dealt a bad hand in life, so they make sure the people with a good hand are as mildly inconvenienced as possible.” He smirked. “We’re petty like that.”

“Can confirm,” Eret butt in, leaning against the counter. “We can be quite petty.”

“Well,” Niki said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If it’s really Geys—” she cut off when Tommy turned a glare on her. “—sorry, Sewage Boy , then that explains the shaking.”

“True,” Tommy nodded.  “And if he’s fighting Orion, that’s gonn—”

He cut himself off, finally noticing the ever-so-slight buzz in the back of his head increase ever-so-slightly more.

“Tubbo,” he said sternly, turning toward the counter. “What are you doing?”

Eret and Niki both turned behind them to look at the counter, looking confused when they saw no one there.

“Turn it off,” Tommy ordered. “Now. ”

“Prime, you suck,” Tubbo said from where he suddenly appeared, sitting on the counter.

Niki and Eret both flinched back, startled.

“How’d you even know I was here?” Tubbo asked.

“I have a sixth sense for when my pastries are threatened. Get your hand out of the display case!”

In his defense, Tubbo did remove his hand. He also removed three different pastries which he hastily started munching on.

“OI!” Tommy yelled, storming over. “Come here!”

Tubbo slipped off the counter and ran, dodging around Tommy and Eret before dashing out the door.

Tommy groaned, slumping back. “If he wanted pastries, I could’ve just given him leftovers after we closed.”

“Is he a… friend? Of yours?” Eret asked hesitantly.

Tommy shrugged. “You could say that. We’ve only known each other for a couple weeks, but we get along.” 

He glanced towards the door. They were getting ready to close anyway…

“Soooo, would you mind if I went and watched the fight?” he asked excitedly, putting on the puppy-dog eyes for Niki.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes, but nodded nonetheless. “Sure. Looks like we’re done for the night anyway, and you and Fundy look like you got most of the pre-close done.” She fixed him with a look. “Keep your distance.”

“You got it!” he yelled, already running for the door, pausing as he threw it open. “Oh, and could you check on Fundy? He hasn’t moved yet, and he looks like he’s about to keel over.”

He didn’t wait for a response before dashing out the door.

He felt his power tingle as he ran, and he spoke to the air. “So how did Orion and Sewage Boy happen?”

Tubbo popped into existence next to him, running alongside him.

“It was hilarious!” Tubbo said, pastry crumbs around his mouth. “I was over at the Border in District 20 when I saw him. S.B. took a single. step. into the Lower, and Orion fucking descended.”

“Wait, District 20?” Tommy asked, counting in his head. “That’s like thirteen districts over! How long has this fight been going on?!”

“A while, apparently. You’d think this would be a top news story.”

Tommy laughed. “The fated showdown between the villain who never leaves the Upper and the vigilante who never leaves the Lower? The news media wouldn’t miss this for the world. They probably couldn’t keep up. Orion moves around a lot.”

“Hey, I kept up just fine, asshole.”

They both skid to a stop as another explosion shook the street, much more prominent now that they were closer.  Tommy glanced up to see billowing clouds of steam around the corner, accompanied by the sound of screams and shouts.

His power was very much not happy with him right now, buzzing up a storm in the back of his head for putting himself in a potentially harmful situation.

He and Tubbo both glanced at each other before carefully moving to peek around the corner.

And there, standing in the middle of the street, trench coat billowing around him, in all his literally-steaming glory, was Sewage Boy.

Or ‘Geyser’, for the uncultured.

Now that Tommy thought about it, though, Geyser was an apt name for the man’s abilities.  His powers were water based, which in-and-of itself, wasn’t that uncommon.  Geyser’s particular little quirk though was that he could turn any water around him into steam and then control it.

Again, in-and-of itself? Not that big a deal.  Until you remember the dude could turn all the surrounding water in a three-block radius into steam so fast that the expanding pressure could and would rupture every pipe in the vicinity with an explosion powerful enough to level every building in the area.

So yeah, ‘Geyser’ worked.

On the flip side though, said villain was currently using sewage water from the surrounding storm drains to fire steam blasts at Orion as he fought, so point to ‘Sewage Boy’.

Speaking of Orion…

“Soooo,” Tommy started, causing Tubbo to turn to him. “What’d you steal?”

“Oh my Prime, fuck off,” Tubbo muttered, turning back to the fight. Tommy didn’t miss the way Tubbo glared at Orion after the fact.

“Does Orion’s outfit look different?” Tommy asked, watching the man dodge a blast of steam that should have blinded him if he didn’t have superhuman reflexes.

“Seriously? Battle to the death and you want to talk fashion?” Tubbo scoffed, nudging him with his elbow.

“Shut up, dickhead,” Tommy muttered half-heartedly, focusing on Orion (because Sewage Boy wasn’t worth his attention).

He hadn’t been able to see much of the vigilante’s outfit the last time he’d seen him—what with it having been death-o-clock in the middle of an alleyway—but something was different and he couldn’t tell what.

He still had the boar skull tied to his face, with the hood of his royal-red cloak helping to cover his hair and other features. There was still an axe strapped to his back while he wielded his sword, and Tommy could spot several hidden knives throughout the man’s outfit, some attached to his thighs, his boots, his pauldrons—

Wait the pauldrons were new—

Oh.

Oh.

Tommy burst out laughing, shoving a hand over his mouth to smother the noise, before Tubbo yanked him around the corner.

“Why the fuck are you laughing?!” he hissed, frantically slapping at Tommy’s face like he was trying to find an ‘off’ button.

“He’s…he’s wearing…” Tommy wheezed, trying to get himself under control. “He’s wearing shoulder armor now!”

“So?!” Tubbo said, looking at him like he was crazy, the sounds of combat still ringing out from around the corner.

“Because I nerve pinched him, Tubbo! He got nerve pinched and now he’s wearing—PFFTTT!” Tommy started wheezing again, Tubbo finally getting the hint and peaking back around to snag a peak at Orion’s outfit.

About two seconds later, Tubbo also burst out laughing. “Oh my Prime, it doesn’t even cover the spot that you pinched!”

Another explosion cut them off as a wave of steam blew past them, covering the streets in a thick fog.  Tommy gagged as the stench of (literal) hot shit hit his nostrils.

He and Tubbo both frantically clamped their noses to keep out the smell, leaning around the corner again to get a view of the fight.

They could not have had worse timing.

See, while they were laughing about Orion’s armor upgrades, the vigilante had been running literal circles around Sewage Boy with his enhanced speed, like a wolf stalking its prey.

Or a hunter his target.

Unfortunately, that meant that Sewage Boy was throwing condensed explosions left and right trying to keep Orion at bay, and one of those missed shots happened to head straight for Tubbo and Tommy.

The two flinched back as the mass of superheated steam flew at them. Tubbo threw his hands up, but Tommy just stood staring at the death cloud heading for him and simply wondered…

Why isn’t my power reacting?

A mere second before the explosion could hit them, a tall figure dropped down in front of them, holding glowing violet hands up to meet the steam.

The moment the steam touched the figure’s hands, there was a flash of purple light.  When Tommy looked back up, the figure was holding a small see-through tesseract, the seams glowing in swirling void energy. The air around them was completely clear and empty of steam and mist.

Contained inside the cube, frozen in time, was the explosion of steam.

“Who—?” Tubbo breathed out.

The person whipped their head around, staring down at them from behind a  black-and-white mask that covered their entire face. Two glass slits where the eyes should be glinted in the light, colored red and green.

“What the heck are you two doing here?!” He whisper-shouted at the two of them, metallic voice ringing through a voice changer as he shoved the both of them back around the corner. “It’s dangerous here. That blast could have killed or blinded you!”

Before either of them could respond, the figure unslung a compound crossbow from behind his back, attaching the strange glass-looking cube to a special socket on the tip of the already-loaded projectile.

He dove out from around the corner, dark cape swirling around him as he rolled into a crouch, aimed his crossbow, and fired.

The bolt shot toward Sewage Boy, the glowing tesseract leading the charge from where it was attached at the tip. Tommy watched wide-eyed as the projectile sailed towards its target. 

Just before the bolt landed, the tesseract flickered and vanished, unleashing the explosion stored within.  The steam cloud expanded instantly, filling the air in front of Sewage Boy with fog as the explosion blasted the villain backwards.

The figure stood, loading a normal bolt into his crossbow as he rose.  Orion appeared from the mist, standing shoulder to shoulder—no, the newcomer was actually taller than Orion—with the archer.

“Took you long enough, kid,” Orion’s voice rang out, also metallic-sounding, distorted.

“Hey, I don’t have enhanced speed, dude.  You try crossing thirteen districts discreetly with just regular ol’ human legs.”

“Who the fuck is that?” Tubbo whispers next to him, watching the exchange.

Tommy gave him an incredulous look.  “Wait, you’ve never seen Artemis?”

Tubbo looked up at him, confused. “Who’s Artemis?”

Tommy gestured at the archer.  “Him. Orion’s protege. Seriously, how haven’t you heard of him? You basically live in the Lower.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes as Orion and Artemis sprung into action, dashing in opposite directions as Sewage Boy recovered and started launching steam attacks with renewed vigor. “Look, I’m not a superhero nerd who stalks the local vigilantes.”

“No, you just stalk the normal people.”

“Listen here, you—”

Another explosion blasted past their heads, and they both ducked down to watch in silence.

Sewage Boy had apparently realized he wouldn’t be able to defeat Orion in a one-on-one.  Hold him off? Maybe. Actually beat him? No.

And now with another opponent thrown into the mix, Sewage Boy decided to change strategies: force Orion on the defensive.

And the best way to do that was to go after the far-less-experienced Artemis.

Shot after shot of condensed steam rocketed toward the archer, clearly in the hopes that Orion would halt his assault on the villain in order to get his protege to safety.

But to both Sewage Boy and the two onlookers’ surprise, Artemis dodged each and every one with a grace that shouldn’t have been possible for someone that lanky.

In fact, after a few minutes of this, Orion and Artemis used the targeted attacks to their advantage.  A blast flew for Artemis, but rather than weave to the side like he had been, the archer loaded one of those special socketed bolts into his crossbow before raising a glowing purple hand to meet the steam.

The explosion vanished, condensed into the vigilante’s strange tesseracts.  In the sudden absence of steam or fog, Orion shot forward, slashing at Sewage Boy with a sword and forcing the villain to leap back to avoid the slash.

The villain reached down to grasp the handle of a knife attached to his boot, leaving himself open in the process. But rather than press the attack, Orion leapt back and up, their cloak billowing around him.

And shielding Artemis from the villain’s view. 

Orion landed, his cloak falling a second behind him, and the second Artemis had a visual, he fired his crossbow, freshly loaded with the newly-captured explosion.

Sewage Boy barely had enough time to bend his knees to leap away from the bolt aimed at his feet before the tesseract flickered.  The villain was sent flying back by his own explosion, colliding with a parked car before slumping to the ground.

“ Holy shit ,” Tommy and Tubbo both muttered, watching as Artemis drew a long thin blade of their own—almost like a rapier—from the frame of their crossbow and advanced on the seemingly K.O.-ed villain.

Artemis was fucking badass.

“Artemis, don’t—!”

Sewage Boy surged to life, firing off another explosion that sent Artemis flying into the wall that Tommy and Tubbo were hiding behind, and they both grimaced.

Artemis was also a fucking amateur.

“Artemis!” Orion yelled, before getting forced back by a drawn-out blast of steam, ducking into a side alley across the street from them.

The steam suddenly cut off, and Tommy frowned as he glanced over to see Sewage Boy crouched on one knee, hand to the pavement.

His power started screaming as the ground around them started rumbling, cracks appearing in the asphalt with steam geyser-ing from underground.

Tommy’s eyes widened as he realized Sewage Boy was flash-steaming the entire sewer system beneath them.

He whirled around to Tubbo, grabbing his arm. “We need to move—!”

And then…, the buzzing in his head ceased.

Confused, he whirled around to see Artemis reaching toward them with glowing violet hands.

He felt a tingle on his skin, appearing in an instant and gone just as fast, and suddenly he and Tubbo were…in an alley? They were in the mouth of an alleyway, one of Artemis’ custom bolts embedded in the brick wall by their heads.

He and Tubbo both whirled around, confused.  What just…?

There was a resounding CRACK ,  and Tommy spun to look out of the entrance of the alley and down the street.  He watches, horrified, as the street corner that he and Tubbo had  just been standing at cracked and ruptured, steam blasting into the air.

Artemis was sprinting away from the intersection in their general direction, but before he made it even halfway to them, the intersection exploded, steam and asphalt exploding into the sky as a wave of pressure blasted past them.

Artemis leapt forward and spun, meeting the explosion of steam with his glowing hands.  The first wave of the explosion vanished in a flash of violet light, like the first layer of onion getting peeled away.

The rest of the explosion, however, hit him head on, blasting superheated steam into his extended hands and upper body.  There was a metal-laced scream before the vigilante was smashed sideways into a wall, slumping to the ground, silent.

The glowing cube grasped in his hands flickered erratically, his power failing as he struggled to remain conscious, before it too exploded, another wave of steam knocking the vigilante over.

He didn’t scream.

Tommy covered his mouth, trying not to gag. Whether it was from the wave of hot reeking sewage emanating from the nearby crater or the fact that he might have just witnessed someone die…

He sprinted across the street, Tubbo’s footsteps echoing behind him.

Please tell me he's alive…

No response.

Damn his stupid power and it’s particulars…

Fine, is he still alive?!

He skidded to a stop next to Artemis, crouching down as his power highlighted the vigilante’s heart.

It was still beating.

Oh thank fuck…

“He’s alive,” Tommy said, rolling Artemis over and scanning him for injuries.  Steam was rising off the vigilante’s body, and his hands—

Oh, his hands…

The palms of his hands and fingers were covered in steam burns, the only part of the vigilante that wasn’t covered. His power probably needed physical contact to work, but the skin was already starting to blister.  The archer would barely be able to use his hands for weeks with injuries like those, and if there was any nerve damage—

How do I most efficiently treat the burns?

{hum}

A list formed in his vision, and he blinked as he processed the information.

He shoved a hand into a pocket on his cargo pants and pulled out an old receipt and the stub of a pencil and scribbled down a brand.

He shoved the receipt into Tubbo’s hands. “You have money on you, right?!”

Tubbo fumbled with the paper before blinking Tommy in confusion. “Huh?”

“Whatever, I’ll pay you back,” Tommy said hurriedly. “I need you to go and get this specific brand of burn cream, got it?”

Tubbo glanced down at the paper, frowning down at the writing like he was having trouble reading it, which…okay, Tommy knew his handwriting was bad, but still…

“I thought you weren’t supposed to use cream on burns—”

“Just get the cream!” Tommy yelled, shoving Tubbo away.

“Alright! Geez!” the brunette groaned, vanishing from sight.

Tommy returned his attention back to the vigilante.  His hood had gotten yanked off his head, and Tommy could see brown hair stained with red.

Shit.

Is it safe to move him?

{hum}

Tommy nodded, grabbing Artemis’ arm and slinging it over his shoulder, careful not to touch the burns.

On the bright side, Tommy’s apartment was only a few blocks away, and the recent fight had basically cleared the streets of any potential onlookers.

On the other hand, however, Tommy had a feeling he was gonna be having plumbing issues.

…

…

…

Tommy kicked at his door, ‘knocking’ on it with the side of his foot.

“C’mon, please be here, Michael…” Tommy muttered, waving frantically through the peephole.  He’d yell for Michael to open the door, but he didn’t want to risk someone opening their door right now.

His lock clicked, and Michael opened the door, nudging a chair out of the way.  The boy’s eyes widened almost comically at the sight of Tommy lugging the dead weight of a taller-than-him, highly illegal vigilante while his knees knocked together trying to keep him upright and off the floor.

He stumbled past Michael, who started rapidly signing at him despite the fact that Tommy was already facing away from him.

“Michael, big man, I’d love to answer whatever questions you’re probably spouting at me…” Tommy grit out. “...but I just walked-slash-dragged myself and this stupid lug five blocks, and I really need a breather.”

With that, he unceremoniously flopped Artemis onto his couch—still being mindful of the archer’s hands—before flopping down on the ground and groaning.

Loudly.

He would have laid there for a while—maybe taken a quick nap—but then Michael grabbed one of his couch pillows and started smacking Tommy.

“Ow! You little- gah! Stop it!” he yelled, covering his head before yanking the pillow out of the brat’s grip.

Michael immediately crouched over Tommy’s head and started rapid-fire signing at him.

Why do you have a vigilante on your couch?! he signed before pausing and taking a closer look at the body on the couch.  His eyes widened before snapping back down to Tommy’s. Why do you have Artemis on your couch?!

Tommy groaned again, rubbing his face before sitting up. “Long story short, he got hurt helping Orion take on Sewage Boy.”

Michael wrinkled his nose. How’d that happen? Sewage Boy never leaves the Upper.

“That’s what everybody at work said, too,” Tommy scoffed, rising to his feet and taking another glance at the transparent list sitting in his peripheral vision. “Alright, time to get to work.”

He glanced down at Michael, who in turn was watching Artemis carefully, studying him with narrowed eyes.

Tommy honestly couldn’t tell if Michael was watching the vigilante with suspicion or was just trying to keep his fanboying under control.

“Wanna give me a hand?” Tommy offered.  He had to stifle a laugh when Michael’s head snapped up to show stars in his eyes.

Okay, fanboying it is.

“Go grab one of my big mixing bowls and fill it with cool water. If the sink’s not working, there are some water bottles in my fridge that should work,” Tommy instructed, closing the blinds on the window that overlooked the alley outside—lovely view, 10/10, would recommend—before heading toward his bathroom to get his first-aid kit. “We need to treat his hands.”

After gathering his supplies, Tommy and Michael worked together to get Artemis onto their side, laying both arms awkwardly off the edge and into the cool water to soothe the burns.  

After that, Tommy took a glance at the back of the vigilante’s head, sighing inwardly at the blood on his couch before grabbing a handful of gauze and folding it into a thick, tight square. He pressed it to the wound firmly, applying as much pressure as he dared before wrapping another strip of gauze over the square and around the archer’s head, keeping it in place.

At this point, there wasn’t much more he could do. He glanced at his watch.

“C’mon Tubbo, where are you?” he muttered anxiously.  As if on cue, his power started humming, and he turned to Michael. “Get the door, quick!”

Michael quirked an eyebrow but nodded, dashing over to the door and opening it.

He looked out into an empty hallway, before stepping to the side, apparently tracking something with his eyes before turning to Tommy with a questioning look.

He didn’t say anything, just marched forward. “Did you get it?” he asked the air.

Tubbo shifted into view and threw him the bottle of cream.

“What even is that stuff? It’s expensive as fuck?” Tubbo said, watching as Tommy knelt by Artemis’ side. “Also, how’d you know I was coming?”

Tommy ignored that last question, focusing on the cream. “One of the ingredients is an extremely diluted healing potion . Normally, you’re not supposed to use creams on burns, but this is the fastest way of healing Artemis’ hands without robbing a hospital for an actual healing potion.”

Tommy carefully removed Artemis’ hands from the bowl, dabbing a bundle of gauze to dry them as best he could.

He grimaced at the nasty blisters covering his palms and fingers.  He needed to treat this fast.

He grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the kit—praying that Artemis wasn’t allergic—before carefully and cautiously smearing the cream across the palms before gently spreading it over and into the archer’s skin.

Thankfully, the healing ingredient—diluted as it was—made the cream easy to absorb into the skin, and within a few minutes Tommy was adding another dose.

(He probably shouldn’t use too much at once, but he was panicking.)

While the second dose was absorbing into the burns, he glanced up at Michael, who was currently glaring daggers into the back of Tubbo’s head. “Hey bud?” Michael perked up and glanced over. “Could you grab the honey from the cupboard over there?” he asked, nodding his head in the general direction.

Michael nodded and hurried away, but not before throwing one more scathing glare at Tubbo, who actually noticed this one and returned it with a glare of his own.

“Stop fighting, you two,” Tommy said, rolling his eyes.

Michael came over with the honey, setting it on the coffee table before signing,  I don’t like him.

Tommy chuckled. “I know you don’t, big man, but he’s trying to help.”

Still don’t like him, Michael said, glaring over his shoulder.

Tubbo threw his hands up. “Oh my Prime— I said I was sorry!”

Michael snorted and looked away, ignoring him.

“You little shit—”

Michael glanced over his shoulder and—while maintaining eye contact—started spamming the die sign that Clem had taught him.

Tubbo just stared at Michael’s hands, confused. “Why is he twitching?”

Tommy snorted from where he was working. “He’s basically telling you to go die in a ditch. Repeatedly.”

“What the fuck?”

Tommy tuned them out, focusing on applying honey to strips of gauze with a tongue depressor. Once he felt he had enough, he took the honey-laced bandages and started wrapping them around Artemis’ hands.

“Boss man, what the hell are you doing?” Tubbo asked, looking at him like he was crazy.

“Applying honey to the burns. Why?”

“......why the fuck would you put bee vomit on burns?”

“Okay, first, it’s medical honey, so it’s sterilized, and second, honey is super good for moderate burns.”

“Those look a lot more serious than moderate burns.”

Tommy shrugged. “Probably, but with the healing cream working, that shouldn’t take too long to heal. And the honey will make it heal faster too.”

Tubbo gave him another ‘seriously’ look.

“Yes, seriously. Honey’s antibacterial, antiviral, anti-inflammatory— look, honey is really fucking good, now shut up and let me focus.”

Tubbo rolled his eyes and sat on the arm of the couch (since the rest of it was taken up by gangly-fucking-McGee’s long-ass legs) grabbing the remote and flipping to some random cartoon channel.

Whatever it was apparently wasn’t exciting enough, because not two minutes later—

“So how was work?”

Tommy hung his head and sighed, accepting the inevitable. “It was fine. I like my coworkers, we get along well.”

“That’s surprising.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, asshole.”

Tubbo chuckled before moving on. “So, are they all from the Upper like the owner?”

“Nah, Niki’s really the only Upper there. I think Eret used to live there but moved here for…whatever reason, but they were friends for a while.”

“What about the demon-lookin’ guy?”

“Bad?”

“Really? The demon’s name is Bad? His parents must have loved him.”

“Shut up, asshole,” Tommy said with a laugh.  “He’s super nice, almost to a fault. Which is weird, cuz he’s the only one who grew up in the Lower.”

“So how does he know Niki?”

Tommy shrugged. “I guess bakery owners just all know each other or somethin’. He had his own bakery here in the Lower a few years back, but had to close down. So, when Niki decided to move her business here and offered Bad a spot, he was all ‘fuck yeah!’, only without the ‘fuck’, because he doesn’t swear, like a pussy.”

 “How does a home-grown Lower not swear? That’s basically a rite of passage here.”

Tommy nodded solemnly “He’s a wrongun.”

“Hm. Fair. What about the redhead?”

“Fundy. I like him. He’s fun to tease, and his dad is…alright.”

Tommy paused in his wrapping, thinking.  He debated internally on whether to broach the topic, but then just decided to fuck it.

“Hey, you have parents, right?”

Tubbo gave him another look. “Where the fuck are you going with this?”

“Nowhere! I…umm. Okay, Fundy’s dad is, like, super fucking overprotective of him.  Like, he always walks him to and from work. Always. As in, he’s not allowed to leave the building unless his dad’s there to pick him up.”

“Wait, how old is he?”

“He’s eighteen! I get that it’s the Lower, but still!”

Tubbo scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what you call a helicopter parent. I’m surprised Red even got a job , in that case.”

Tommy shrugged, turning back to finish up the bandages. “Yeah, I guess Niki and his dad go way back, childhood friends or something, so he trusts her to keep an eye on his kid.”

“But no one else?”

“Ha! Not on your—”

Artemis groaned, and all three of them jumped.

Shit, he’s waking up.

Hey, Michael, Tommy signed, waving him over. I need you to go hang out at Clem’s for a bit, okay? If she asks, just tell her I’m working on my psychology paper.

Michael raised his hands like he was about to argue, but Artemis groaned again and started moving, and Tommy shoved him toward the door.

He didn’t look happy about it, but he left quickly, shutting the door behind him softly.

After he left, Tubbo gave him a look. “Why’d you kick him out?”

Tommy nodded at Artemis. “He might have a concussion, which means he might be disoriented when he wake up.  Being in a stranger’s home in the Lower with no idea how you got there? I’d get violent.”

Tubbo’s eyes widened. “Fair point.”

“You should hide yourself, just in case.”

Tubbo nodded and vanished, Tommy’s power buzzing slightly to show he was still present.

Tommy took a deep breath before focusing on Artemis. He reached forward carefully and gently shook the vigilante’s shoulder.

“Yo bitch!” he called, not-so-gently. “You alive?”

Artemis’ head snapped up, and Tommy quickly took a step back to give the archer space. He raised his hands to show he wasn’t armed. 

“W-Where am I?” the vigilante stuttered out through the voice changer, though Tommy couldn’t tell if it was nervousness or a symptom of a concussion. “Who’re—” They paused, staring at Tommy. “Wait, a-aren’t you…?”

Tommy nodded. “Yup! You saved me and my friend.” He frowned. “At least I think you did. You put us in one of your tesseract-cube things and shot us away, right?”

The vigilante just stared at him for a second, probably blinking in surprise.  He took a second to answer, before:  “Yeah, y-yeah I did.”  He looked away in thought for a second, muttering under his breath. “Right? No. Yeah, no, I remember that, but…I d-don’t—”

Tommy sighed and dropped his hands, already seeing where this was going. “Lemme guess, you vaguely remember saving us, but anything after that is just a blur?”

The vigilante whipped his head around to face him again, swaying with the sudden motion. “Y-Yeah, how’d you…?”

Tommy pointed to the back of his own head. “The explosion knocked you into the side of a building pretty hard.”

The archer reached up to his own head, his hand flinching in surprise or pain when it touched the bandage Tommy had hastily tied to it.

“I’m assuming your hood had some armor in it, because as hard as you hit, that should have been a lot worse,” Tommy said carefully.

Artemis was silent for a moment before stuttering out a y-yeah, it does.

“Alright, well” Tommy said carefully. “You’ve still probably got a concussion. I’m gonna test a couple things, okay?”

A beat, and then, “What kind of t-tests?”

Tommy forced some humor into his voice. “Don’t worry, nothing major.” He reached down slowly and grabbed a roll of gauze. “Can you say the alphabet backwards?”

“...what?”

“Say it backwards.”

“O-Okay, ummm…” the vigilante started. “Z, y, x, w, umm…”

Artemis paused then shook their head, starting over again before pausing after four or five letters.

Slow to respond, difficulty concentrating, slightly slurred speech, amnesia right before the trauma occurred…

“Alright, perfect,” he said, saving the archer from any embarrassment. “I’m assuming your ears are ringing and your head is aching like a bitch?”

Artemis nodded hesitantly.

“Yeah, most likely a concussion,” Tommy concluded. “Nothing some rest won’t fix, but someone will need to keep an eye on you.”

Artemis seemed to stiffen at that, glancing around the room.

“Where’s Orion?”

Tommy shrugged. “No clue. Big guy either got knocked out by the same blast that hit you, or he went back after Sewage Boy.”

Artemis shook his head, tipping slightly from the motion before righting himself. “No, h-he wouldn’t leave.” He sounded worried even through the voice changer as he tried rising. “I need to go find him, he might be hurt—!”

“Whoawhoawhoa, the fuck you do!” Tommy rushed forward, putting his hands on Artemis’ shoulders and pushing him back against the couch. “You are in absolutely no condition to be up and about! You have a head injury, a concussion, your hands are utterly fucked, and that’s just the parts of you I can see!”

Artemis paused, glancing down at his hands and seemingly just noticing that they were completely wrapped in bandages.  “What? When did…?”

“You tried to catch the explosion with your power, but you only caught part of it,” Tommy explained quietly. “And since your hands weren’t covered, they got the brunt of the damage. I treated them best I could, but I’m not a doctor.”

He hesitated to broach the question he was about to, but for the sake of Artemis’ health…

“This is really fucking awkward to ask and all, but I need your permission before I go any farther.”

Artemis’ gaze moved from his hands to Tommy's eyes, the red and green lenses staring at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“So…” Tommy started. “I don’t know if any of the steam got under your mask during the explosion,” he explained cautiously. “If it did, I need to treat the burns on your face, and make sure your eyes aren’t damaged.” He paused before asking, “Are you having any trouble seeing? Blurry vision or anything?”

Artemis didn’t say anything, just glanced around the apartment for a moment, presumably testing his vision. “I don’t think so…” he replied.

Tommy let out a breath he’d forgotten he was holding. “Thank fucking Prime. I wouldn’t have been able to treat that.” He focused on Artemis. “Alright, I still need to check for burns, so how do you want to do this?”

Artemis looked back at him. “Do what?”

“Do you want to just move your mask to the side a little so I can check? Wear something to cover your eyes or…something? I dunno, it’s your secret identity, I don’t wanna risk that.”

Artemis just kind of stared at him for a second before laughing and saying, “Oh, is that all…” before fucking taking off his mask what the FUCK?!

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Tommy yelled, covering his eyes frantically. “Why the hell would you do that?!”

A beat, then, “Geez, I don’t look that bad, do I?”

Ah fuck, his voice changer was gone too.

“Dude!” Tommy yelled at the now-clear baritone. “The whole point was so I didn’t see your face!”

“It’s fine. I don’t go out in public often, and even then I have my face covered, so you wouldn’t ever see me anyway.”

“That’s not the point!” Tommy yelled, hands still over his eyes. “And I’m not the only one here!”

Artemis was quiet for a moment. “Who…else is here?”

“Hey, sexy~,” he heard Tubbo say from the coffee table next to him, where he had presumably been sitting the whole time, the dickhead. 

Wait, what the fuck did he just say?!

Artemis yelped. “Where did you come from?!”

“Tubbo, stop looking!” Tommy yelled.

“Too late, boss man. Already saw him.”

“How long have you been here?!”

“Oh, the whole time, big man.”

Tommy sighed wearily. “Tubbo, stop flirting.”

“This isn’t flirting. You’ll know when I’m flirting.”

He groaned, pushing against his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Ugh, fine. Tubbo, do you see any burns on his face?”

“Mmm, can’t tell.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell?!”

“Gonna have to look yourself, boss man.”

“Tubbo.”

“tOmMy.”

He sighed again, deciding to just…bite the bullet. “Artemis? Can I look?”

“I literally took off my own mask.”

Tommy sighed (again). “I hope you get in trouble with Orion for this,” he muttered, before pulling his hands away, prying his eyes back open.

Stormy gray eyes stared back.

“Hi.” Artemis said, extending a bandaged hand. “I’m Artemis.”

Tommy rolled his eyes before gently grabbing his hand, careful not to put any pressure. “Tommy.”

 Tubbo slapped his hand down on both of theirs like they were in some sports team huddle. “Tubbo!”

“Tubbo, his hands!” Tommy yelled, yanking Tubbo’s hand back while Artemis winced.

“Whoops, sorry big man.”

“I-It’s fine,” Artemis said, turning back to Tommy. “So, uhh, how’s it look?”

Tommy took a closer look at Artemis’ face, pleased to see that there didn’t seem to be any serious burns. He paused, getting worried for a second when he noticed that the left side of his face was far paler than the right, and that didn’t look like any steam burn he’d ever seen—

It took him far longer than he was proud of to realize it was just vitiligo, and not a steam related injury.

Michael’s gonna get a kick out of that when he sees him.

Shaking his head, he focused on looking for burns.  The bottom portion of his face looked a little sunburnt, but that seemed to be the extent of it.

“Eh, it seems okay, you probably just need some aloe cream.” Tommy thought for a second before shrugging, grabbing the healing cream and tossing it to him. “Or just use this stuff. Should heal it in a few minutes.”

“Umm, thanks and all but…” he gestured with his bandaged hands. “How am I supposed to apply this?”

Tommy froze for a second before groaning. “Ugh, well this is going to be awkward.”

Tubbo shot his hand up. “I’ll do it!”

Artemis immediately looked disturbed. “Mmm, yeah no, I don’t want you near my face.”

Tubbo pouted. “Aw, what’d I do?”

“You look like you’d try to steal my eyes or something.”

“Nah, gray eyes don’t go for much on the black market.”

Artemis stared at Tubbo for a second before turning to Tommy and handing him the tube of cream. “Save me.”

Tommy chuckled, taking back the cream and putting on a fresh pair of gloves. “Alright big man. Hold still.”

Careful not to aggravate the skin, Tommy carefully spread the cream over the bottom half of Artemis’ face, and he could already see the redness starting to fade.

After a minute, Tommy sat back, capping the tube and removing the gloves. “There, it's already looking better. Now…” he said, clapping his hands. “Are you hurting anywhere else? Do you feel off at all? Anything?”

“Umm, kinda sore…uhhh, everywhere, I guess? Why?”

He raised a brow. “So I can see if I need to treat anything else?”

Artemis raised his hands, waving them side to side. “Oh no! I’m fine. The rest honestly just feels like bruises, and I’m kinda used to those.”

“Still though,” Tommy frowned. “It’s better safe than sorry. Where else are you hurting?”

How do I treat his wounds?

Nothing lit up yet, obviously. His power wouldn’t highlight what the other person didn’t tell him about, so he needed Artemis’ cooperation.

Of course, Artemis didn’t know about this.

Thankfully, the archer didn’t think anything of it, rolling his eyes and scoffing. “Fine, fine, geez. Ummm…” he took a moment to take stock, before… “My back is sore, back of my head, my hands, uhh, upper arm—”

“Which arm?”

“Uhh, right.”

Tommy nodded, watching as injuries lit up in his vision: a massive series of bruises on his back, the head and hands injuries he already knew about, and then a smaller bruise on the back of his right arm.  Next to each glowing injury, a list appeared highlighting various treatment options.

The lists for the head injury and his hands were mostly crossed out since he’d already treated them, just listing rest and continued treatment steps that Tommy couldn’t do himself.

Tommy hummed, eyeing the other injuries. “Yeah, looks like most of those are just bruises, though you did get slammed into a wall—two walls, actually—so I’d be careful with the ones on your back.”

“Oh, uhhh, okay then?”

Tommy tried not to smirk at Artemis’ confusion over his knowledge of his injuries, despite not examining them. He’d just let the guys assume his power was medically related and move on.

“Thanks, Tommy,” Artemis said sincerely, interrupting his thoughts. “I owe you one.”

Tommy’s mind skid to a halt. Shit, the favor system.

“Nope!” Tommy said firmly. “You do not owe me anything. No favors.”

Artemis blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. Favor system? Doesn’t apply here.”

“Wha— but everybody does that!”

“Don’t even bother, dude,” Tubbo said grimly, glaring at Tommy. “Trust me, I tried to pay him back, and it just ended badly for me.”

“You filled my bathroom cabinet with every brand of alcohol in the city,” Tommy deadpanned. “How did you expect that to go?”

“I’m sorry, he did what now?”

Tommy groaned and leaned back. “I helped patch Tubbo up, and instead of a favor, I just asked him to replace the medical supplies I used on him.”

“Or upgrade them.”

“Yeah yeah, or upgrade them. So then , this fucker stuffed my cabinets with enough gauze, bandages, and alcohol to stock a pharmacy. And vodka, for some reason.”

“Look, I didn’t know what kind of alcohol to get, so I got it all.”

“It should be fairly obvious that vodka is not what I used!”

“So…” Artemis cut in. “You… don’t want a favor.”

“No. If anything, I’m repaying you for saving our lives.”

“Huh. So…what do you want?”

“Did you just hear a fucking word I said?”

“......I’m waiting.”

“Oh my fucking— you know what? You can do what Tubbo did!”

Artemis blinked at him. “So…” he glanced down at the cream. “Just…replace the cream?”

“Yes. And the gauze, if you want to be a bitch about it.”

“Don’t forget the medical honey,” Tubbo piped in, earning a glare from Tommy.

“I’m sorry, honey?”

“It’s good for burns, okay?!” Tommy said, slumping down onto the couch next to Artemis before thunking his head on to the coffee table.

“Umm, Tommy?” Tubbo said, suddenly sounding concerned.

“Ugh, whaaaattt?!”

“Why is King Julian on your bookcase?”

…

what

“What?” he said aloud, glancing up at Tubbo. The brunette was just staring wide-eyed at Tommy’s bookcase, so he glanced over and let out an amused oh. Rising out of a small cardboard box on the top of his rickety bookcase was a small ring-tailed lemur.

“Tommy,” Artemis said, following their gaze. “Why is there a monkey on your bookshelf?”

He laughed, rising to his feet and walking over. “First off, lemur. Not monkey. And second…” he trailed off, raising an arm to let the ring-tailed lemur jump onto his shoulder. “Her name is Julia.”

Artemis and Tubbo just stared at him—or Julia, it was probably Julia—and he couldn’t help the laugh that burst from his chest.

“Just so we’re clear, I did not name her. You can thank Michael for that,” he said, checking the bandages on Julia’s front paw.

“And Michael is…?” Artemis prodded, eyes still glued on the marsupial.

“My br- uhh, neighbor. He hangs out here a lot.”

“He basically lives here,” Tubbo said as he got up, apparently just accepting the fact that Tommy had a lemur in his apartment.

Bless you, Tubbo.

“Do you have any of the good cookies?”

Damn you, Tubbo.

“No, cuz you ate all of them while I was at work yesterday!” Tommy scolded, running his fingers over the fur on Julia’s head. “You can have some of the leftover pastries I brought last night.”

“Ew, day-old pastries?” Tubbo scoffed.

“Hey, they aren’t bad,” Tommy shrugged. “That or nothing. You don’t get any of today’s batch.” 

“Fuck you, dude!”

“Nope!” Tommy said, walking over to the kitchen and snagging his cookie tin away before Tubbo got his mitts on it. “Only Artemis gets one.”

“What the fuck! That’s not fair!”

“Then stop breaking into my fucking apartment and eating my shit!”

Artemis looked between the two, expression somewhere between concerned, bemused, and a mused.

“Are you guys always like this?” he asked hesitantly.

“Basically,” they replied in unison before glaring at each other.

“Anyway,” Tommy said, walking over with the cookie tin. “Here. Give these a shot. As a thank you for saving our lives.”

“Dude,” Tubbo said. “I think patching him up was enough thanks.”

Artemis stared at them suspiciously. “What’s in them?”

Tommy raised a brow at that. “Peanut…butter?”

“Then why does Tubbo want them so badly?”

Tommy shrugged. “I made a good recipe? I dunno, just try one!”

Artemis stared at the tin hesitantly before taking it from Tommy and popping off the lid. He grabbed one of the cookies, scrutinizing it like he was a forensics student—maybe he was a forensics student, they might share a teacher—before slowly taking a bite.

Tommy’s window shattered.

Glass flew across the room, spraying out as a body tumbled in and rolled to a crouch. Julia screeched and dove for her box, Tubbo yelped and ducked behind the kitchen counter, and Tommy grabbed Artemis while his power directed him to kick up the coffee table and hide behind it.

“WHERE’S ARTEMIS!” a voice boomed out, metallic accent ringing through the room.

Tommy just sat behind the table, frantically scanning his apartment as his power freaked the fuck out.   It outlined everything within reach, ranging from using the shard of glass next to him as a knife to grabbing the bottle of peroxide from the first aid kit and spraying it in the assailant’s eyes.

The most prevalent option his power gave him, obviously, was to just chuck Artemis over the table and be done with him, but he quickly shut that option down.

Until Artemis just stood the fuck up!

“Hey Orion,” he said cheerfully, nibbling on a cookie.

Wait, Orion?

Tommy popped back up, staring incredulously at the fact that Orion was in his Prime-damned apartment.

And just broke through his window.

“What the hell, dude?” Tommy deadpanned, ignoring the way his power was hissing at him for exposing himself.

Orion ignored him (the bastard) and instead focused all his attention on Artemis, throwing himself over the back of the couch and grabbing Artemis by the shoulders and…hugging…him.

Artemis seemed just as confused, too, because he visibly froze, eyes widening in shock.

“Ummm,” he started. “Hey, Orion. You, uh, you good there?” He leaned back to look at Orion, and his eyes widened as he glanced under his hood. “Crap, you’re bleeding!”

“Where from?” Tommy said, forcing himself back into first-aid mode.

At the sound of his voice, however, Orion whipped around, sword suddenly in hand, and his power screeched at him to shut the ever-loving fuck up for once in your Prime-damned life as he raised his hands in the air.

Okay, geez, calm down.

But then, to his surprise, Orion stumbled , knocked off balance with the force of his own swing. He caught himself quickly, but Tommy still caught it.

And Artemis said he was bleeding under his hood…

Which meant a head injury…

Prime-dammit, he had another concussive patient to deal with now, didn’t he?

Thankfully, Artemis stepped in and grabbed Orion’s arm, wincing at the burns.

“Orion, wait! He helped me!” Artemis yelled, pulling back. “Tommy helped me, he’s not a threat.”

Orion paused at that, glancing over his shoulder to look at Artemis.

A tense silence permeated the air for all of three seconds before Orion spoke.

“Where the hell is your mask?”

Artemis blinked before chuckling awkwardly and fumbling it out of a pocket on his suit. “Uhh, right here! Why do you ask?”

“...let me rephrase that: why the hell aren’t you wearing your mask?”

Tommy decided to spare Artemis and piped up. “I had to treat his face.”

Orion’s attention snapped back to him, and the grip on his sword tightened.

Tommy glared. “Can we put the sword away please? My arms are getting tired.”

“His face looks fine to me,” Orion said instead, ignoring his request. “What did you need to treat?”

“Steam burns,” Tommy shrugged. “Minor ones, though, so those were easy. You should be more concerned about his hands, they’re gonna be out of commission for a while.”

Orion and Artemis’ gazes both snapped down to his bandaged hands, one of which was still cradling the tin of cookies Tommy had given him.

“Shit,” Orion muttered, finally dropping his sword to properly inspect the wounds, and Tommy’s power finally relaxed slightly. “What happened?”

“I don’t remember,” Artemis said before nodding over to Tommy. “Apparently I tried to Silk Touch the big explosion but didn’t catch all of it.”

“And then the part you did catch just exploded again after you passed out from hitting a wall,” Tommy continued, turning back to Orion. “His hands took a beating. They’re gonna need time.”

“...how long?” Orion asked, giving him his full attention (sans the sword, thank Prime).

A shrug. “Depends on how well you maintain his treatment. On that topic, are you his guardian?”

“What?” Orion and Artemis said together.

“Whatever, I’m assuming you're his guardian,” Tommy confirmed, crouching down and gathering up a bundle of materials. “Here, he needs to reapply the cream every two to three hours, the bandages will need to be changed as well, and you should lace the gauze in honey to help keep out infections.”

As he spoke, he handed each object over to Orion, who gripped everything in one large hand as he stood there confused.

“Now, with that out of the way,” Tommy said, righting his coffee table before crossing his arms. “You have a concussion, right?”

“What?” Artemis said, before his eyes widened. “Ohhh, right, the blood.” He thought for a second. “Huh, that would explain the hug actually,” he muttered.

“Let me guess,” Tommy said. “Got caught up in the same explosion and got knocked the fuck out, then woke up and immediately started tracking Artemis when you realized he was missing instead of treating your injuries first.”

Before Orion could even confirm it, Artemis just rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, that sounds like something he would do.”

“Why am I being bullied by a gang of teenagers?” Orion spit out, looking between the two of them.

Artemis scoffed. “I don’t think three counts as a gang.”

Orion tensed. “Wait, three?”

“Over here, asshole,” Tubbo said, sitting on the counter with his arms crossed.

Tommy stiffened. Oh shit, Orion was going to slaughter Tubbo.

Surprisingly though, Orion just stared at Tubbo’s appearance. “Do I know you?”

“Nope!” Tubbo said. “Never met you before, but I still think you’re an asshole.”

“Tubbo,” Tommy said carefully, trying to convey to the brunette that aggravating the guy you stole from was not going to end well for anyone involved. “Let’s not piss off the dude with a sword.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he spat, and Tommy blinked at the sudden hostility in his voice.

Orion’s head tilted. “Got something against me, shrimp?” the man taunted, smirk evident in his voice despite the voice changer.  “Or just vigilantism in general?”

“Oh no, vigilantes are fine,” Tubbo replied with faux cheerfulness. “It’s just you I don’t like.”

Tommy felt his heart quicken when a sneaking suspicion pushed itself up in Tommy’s mind that Tubbo stealing whatever the fuck it was from Orion was less coincidence and more targeted spite.

Orion chuckled darkly. “Oh? What, do the schools in the Upper not like me and teach you all I’m just a villain with morals? Go home, kid. The Lower isn’t safe for brats like you.”

The glare that Tubbo levels on Orion seems to lower the temperature to the point that even Clem would be able to feel it.

“Oh, and you think the Upper is any better?” Tubbo spat coldly, getting to his feet. “I’m in just as much danger there as I am here, you fuck, and the fact you think otherwise shows just how blind you actually are!”

Everyone else in the room stared in quiet shock at the cold rage suddenly leaking from Tubbo.  Tommy didn’t think he’d ever actually seen Tubbo this angry before.

Granted he’d only known him a couple weeks, but still…

“You’re just as bad as the fucking Stickers,” Tubbo continued. “Sitting in your little chunk of the city like it’s your fucking kingdom, not bothering with the rest of the city when it needs just as much help.”

“The rest of the city has heroes,” Orion argued back sternly. “It’s their entire job to keep an eye on the Upper.”

“And how do you think that’s going?” Tubbo spat.

“Have you looked at the crime rates of the Upper versus the Lower?” Orion asked.

“Have you?” Tubbo pressed. “Yeah, looks all nice and clean in the Upper until you realize it’s too clean. Everything just gets swept under the rug, and the heroes only show up when it suits them! Trust me, I know firsthand just how shit the heroes are at their job.”

“What? Got mugged and no one showed up? Hero’s can’t be everywhere at once, kid.”

Tubbo’s scowl darkened, and Tommy repressed a shiver. “Ten years ago. Craft street.”

Orion stiffened instantly.

So did Tommy.

“Did you know I used to live there?” Tubbo said, pressing forward despite the sudden suffocating atmosphere.  “Next street over, in fact. Was a nice place. Nice neighborhood, well taken care of, even had a hero or two living on the street, if the rumors were to be believed.”

Tubbo stared straight into Orion’s mask. “Do you know what happened to Craft Street, Orion? Hmm?”

Orion was quiet for a moment before replying, voice just slightly strained. “It was attacked.”

“It was fucking levelled!” Tubbo hissed. “Heroes fucking lived there, and the entire neighborhood got wiped off the face of the map!”

Images of a news report flashed in Tommy’s mind. Houses burnt to ash, not even the frameworks left, the road turned to gravel, stripped and cracked, trees torn from the ground and also set ablaze.

Tubbo suddenly reached up and yanked down the collar of his jacket and shirt, revealing his shoulder and oh.

A nasty, pinwheel scar was stabbed into his right shoulder, just below the clavicle. It was jagged and raised and utterly surrounded with burn scars that traveled up his neck, having been previously hidden by the collar of his jacket.

“I was in my fucking house when they hit,” Tubbo hissed, eyes dark and unfocused. “My dad was at work, so he wasn’t home, thank Prime, but it was just me and a nanny, and suddenly the house down the street is being fucking bombed.”

Tubbo’s voice is quiet, strained. “I watched out the window, as villains and criminals with guns just… lit up this one house in the middle of Upper suburbia, with no one stopping them. The house was already ash by the time any heroes even bothered to show up, but did the villians leave? No! They just turned their attention to the rest of the homes while the heroes ran around like headless chickens!”

Tubbo shuddered. “And then the house across from mine exploded, and a piece of wood decided it wanted to be inside my shoulder while it was still burning.”

Tubbo pulled up his right sleeve, and Tommy could only stare in horror at the mass of scar tissue running down from his shoulder, all the way past his elbow.

“My nanny tried calling for help, but the heroes were too busy fighting while my clothes caught on fire and cooked me alive,” Tubbo said, his hushed voice a complete contradiction to his earlier rage. “Instead, she lost her life, and I nearly lost my arm.”

“So in short, Orion,” he spat. “No, I don’t like you. Because you represent everything I fucking despise about heroes today. You all stay in your own fucking corners and think you’re bettering society.”

“Don’t get me wrong! I’m fine with the separation,” Tubbo said, chuckling quietly, almost hysterically.  “All the little petty things Lowers do just to spite heroes? It’s funny! I’m fine with it. Because honestly? They’re more than entitled to it with how fucked up the Lower is.”

“But I’ve watched you, Orion,” he glared. “I’ve followed your little villain squabbles before, I’ve seen you chase villains across half the Lower districts without stopping, but the literal second they step foot in the Upper, you stop. Like, what? Is this a fucking game of tag? And the Upper just happens to be safe?!”

“Or do you think the heroes will take care of them? Because trust me, they don’t.”

“I’m fine with you Lower twats being petty towards us, but that? That’s not petty. That is putting people’s lives on the line because you don’t want to cross an imaginary border. That’s not being petty, that’s just fucking disgusting.”

Orion was quiet, mask trained on the floor. “The heroes can’t be everywhere,” he said finally.  “I have an obligation to protect my part of the city. I can’t leave it unprotected while I chase some random villain that could be intentionally leading me away. And I understand how you think it went on Craft—”

“How I think it went?!” Tubbo seethed, rage suddenly, finally , boiling over as he yanked his sleeve back down. “You weren’t there! I watched my home burn! My friends’ homes! My friends! Don’t think you know what I went through, you stupid son of a bit—”

“I do,” Orion cut in firmly, stopping Tubbo’s tirade. “Trust me. I know what you went through.”

Tubbo’s eyes burned with hatred. “Oh? You know what it's like being burned alive?”

Orion was quiet for a moment, staring at Tubbo, before he suddenly sat down on Tommy’s coffee table, the wood groaning under his weight.

“What the fuck are you—” Tubbo started angrily, before cutting off when Orion yanked up on his left pant leg, exposing a mess of angry burn scars, running up the entirety of his calf and under his boot and up the rest of his leg.

They were old, at least a decade, and they were covered with far more recent slash scars and injuries, but they were there, pale against the man’s already pale skin.

Orion glanced up, still holding his pant leg up to look Tubbo in the eye. “You weren’t the only one caught in the flames that day.”

Tubbo’s eyes widened. “You were—”

“—there too,” Orion confirmed, lowering his pant cuff and tucking it back into his boots. “So you can believe me when I say, I know what it’s like to lose friends, and to watch your surviving friends lose their families.”

Orion leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Even sitting and leaning forward, he was still level with Tubbo’s chin as he gazed up at him. “I have my reasons for staying out of the Upper, kid, and it’s not because I care for the people there any less.”

Orion glanced away, huffing slightly. “I have people I care about there, but I can’t— couldn’t protect them.”

“So yes,” he breathed. “I stay out of the Upper districts. And I’ll admit, it’s for selfish reasons, but it’s not because I care less. I just…I can’t go back yet. So I don’t.”

He straightened and stood, looking down on Tubbo, who stared back with cold eyes. “And since I can’t protect them , I protect those I can.”

There was silence as the two just stared at each other, silently contemplating the other’s words.  Artemis had made his way over to Tommy at some point during the exchange to join him in silent spectating.

He reached into the cookie tin and handed one to Tommy, not-so-subtly whispering, “What are they doing?”

Tommy took a bite of the cookie before just-as-subtly (as in not subtly) whispering back, spouting cookie crumbs as he spoke. “I think they’re trauma bonding.”

“Ah, a powerful bond indeed.”

“The strongest of all.”

“What the fuck are you two on about?” Tubbo said, he and Orion both staring at the two of them like they were insane.

Tommy rolled his eyes before scarfing down the rest of the cookie. “Trying to change the subject.”

“Did it work?” Artemis asked, grabbing another cookie of his own before turning to Tommy. “These are really good, by the way.”

“Thank you, I was gonna make some more before, ya know, all this.”

“You two need to work on your social cues,” Orion deadpanned, mask staring at them with what was most likely a withering glare.

Artemis laughed. “You’re one to talk.”

Tommy clapped his hands. “Alright, well, as fun as this has been, let’s get back to business. Orion.”

The man turned to him, and he tossed a roll of gauze at him.

“Bathroom is over there, please for the love of Prime treat you’re fucking head injury before I do it for you.”

Orion’s hand tightened minutely around the roll he just caught as his mask’s gaze stayed locked on Tommy. “I’m not accepting help from someone I don’t know.”

Fuck the favor system.

“He doesn’t accept favors,” Artemis piped up. “I tried, trust me.”

“Oh no, I’m cashing in my favor this time,” Tommy butted in immediately. All three heads snapped to look at him with varying levels of shock and ‘ you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me’ looks.

“What?” Tubbo grit out.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, crossing his arms. “You can pay me back by cleaning up the shit-ton of glass you sprayed all over my apartment!”

Orion’s shoulders relaxed slightly before he turned to look at the shattered remnants of Tommy’s window.

“...fair,” the man said begrudgingly.

“Good,” Tommy nodded. “Take care of your head injury, then grab a broom, bitch.”

Tubbo chuckled darkly, and Tommy whirled on him. “And you can clean the blood off the couch.”

Tubbo spluttered indignantly. “What the fuck for?!”

“For trying to pick a fight with a vigilante in my apartment,” Tommy deadpanned, glaring at him.

“Bu— it’s Artemis’ blood!” 

“He can’t use his hands right now.”

“Isn’t stopping him from chowing down on your cookies,” Tubbo shot back. 

“Clean the couch, or I revoke cookie privileges.”

“...fine.”

“Artemis,” Tommy continued, turning to the archer, who froze mid-bite. “You’re on babysitting duty. Please keep these two from killing each other while I’m working.”

“Are you sure that’s a good—”

“I’ll let you hold Julia.”

“Done.”

Tommy rolled his eyes before heading to the kitchen to continue to try perfecting his cookie recipe, praying to anything and everything that he didn’t have to spend the rest of his evening trying to hide a body.

Thankfully, the next hour passed quickly, with Orion cleaning up the mess he made while pointedly giving Tubbo space while the brunette scrubbed the patch of Artemis’ blood out of the arm and seat cushions of Tommy’s couch.

Tommy did a double take and had to take a minute when he realized that not only did he have two vigilantes in his apartment, but one of them was actively attempting to clean it.

What the actual fuck was his life right now?

“Here,” he said, grabbing his cookie tin from Artemis and pouring in a dozen fresh cookies before handing it back. “Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Artemis blinked at him. “Uhh, not that I’m ungrateful or anything, but…why are you giving me cookies?”

“To spite Tubbo,” was the instant reply.

“Hey!”

“Oh okay, I can get behind that.”

“Hey!”

Tommy grabbed a piece of paper and started writing down a list. “Orion, I’m assuming you know most of this, but since you’re also fucking concussed, take this.” He handed the slip of paper to Orion, who stared down at it questioningly.

“Treatment information?” Orion questioned, sounding surprisingly intrigued.

Tommy waved his hand and turned around to clean up his baking attempt. “Use the cream every few hours, change the bandages, and apply the honey. And for Prime’s sake, do not go vigilante-ing while concussed or I will hunt you down myself.”

Orion looked up from the paper, and Tommy could see the smirk under his mask. “Careful, kid. You almost sound like you care.”

“Get out.”

Tommy sighed before peeling off one of the cleaning gloves he had been wearing while he cleaned, the inside damp from sweat.

He then proceeded to slap Wilbur in the face with said inside-out glove with a wet SCHLAP sound while Fundy watched on with a shocked expression.

Wilbur gave a horrified yelp, stepping back and bringing his hand to his face. His face twisted to disgust when his fingers came away wet.

“What the actual fuck , child?!”

Tommy peeled off his other glove before throwing both in the trash. “I challenge you to a fucking duel, bitchboy.”

“So why did you slap me?!” he screamed, frantically scrubbing at his face with his sweater.

He paused. “Wasn’t that a thing before the civil war? Slap the bitch you want to challenge?”

Wilbur looked at him like he was an idiot, which he was not.  “No! You threw your glove on the ground in front of them, not slap them in the fucking face!”

Huh.

“Well that doesn’t seem insulting enough,” Tommy argued, crossing his arms.

Wilbur turned to Fundy, eyes desperate. “Fundy, what is happening?”

Fundy looked between the two, confusion clear on his face. “He, uhh, wants to fight you? Apparently?”

Wilbur’s eye twitched. “Why?”

Tommy stepped forward. “Wimblr fucking Shoot, I challenge you to a duel for Fundy’s honor.”

Fundy slowly turned his head to give him a ‘ what the fuck’ look.

“I’m sorry?” he asked.

Tommy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Oh for fuck’s— I wanna duel for the right to escort Fundy home after work.”

Wilbur’s mood darkened instantly. “Absolutely not.”

“Sorry, big man!” Tommy shot back, grinning wide. “I have challenged you, and the fight has already been sponsored, so you can’t back out.”

“Sponsored by who?” Wilbur shot back incredulously.

Tommy smirked.

“I did!” Niki called from the front counter, Bad and Eret poking their heads out from the kitchen to watch.

The look of betrayal on Wilbur’s face almost made Tommy rethink this whole thing.

“Niki?” Wilbur asked quietly, Niki smiling back apologetically.

“Wilbur, I love you, but you have got to chill,” she replied sincerely. “This has been going on for years, and frankly, I think Fundy needs a little break.”

Wilbur stepped back like he’d been slapped. “I— I’m just trying to protect—”

“Wilbur,” Niki cut in, giving him a look. “It’s just from here to home. You guys don’t even live very far, what could happen?”

“Don’t say that!” Tommy yelled. “That’s just asking for something bad to happen!”

“But the Lower is dangerous, Niki,” Wilbur argued. He glanced at Fundy for a second before continuing. “There was a massive villain attack just down the street last week!”

Fundy glared at him instantly. “Really, Dad? That’s your argument?”

“An entire intersection blew up!”

Tommy cut in as Fundy opened his mouth to argue back.

“That attack was a major outlier, dude,” Tommy argued. “Besides, I was there, and I got away literally without a scratch.”

Can’t really say the same for Artemis and Orion, but hey, it’s their job.

“You were what?” Wilbur yelped, at the same time Fundy yelled, “Wait, you guys actually went?!”

Tommy turned to Fundy, confused. “Yeah? We said we were going as we left, we weren’t exactly hiding it.”

Wilbur turned Fundy. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

Fundy turned a fierce glare on his dad. “I’m sorry, I was a little busy freaking out over why the fuck Sewage Boy was in the Lower.”

“Language!”

Wilbur suddenly looked sheepish. “F-Fair point.”

Tommy clapped. “Alright, let's do this!”

Wilbur snapped his head to him. “What? No. I didn’t agree to this.”

“Too bad! Let’s go, bitch!”

“Language!”

“Oh no, nuh-uh!” Niki yelled abruptly, cutting in. “Not in my lobby, you don’t.”

“But Nikiiii,” Tommy whined. “If we go anywhere else, bitch boi is gonna make a run for it.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Niki said, grin turning sharp. “I have a place for you guys.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, but followed when Niki waved for them to follow her into the back.

She had to go back to drag Wilbur along.

“So you know that keypad you figured out the passcode to last week, Tommy?” she said conversationally while dragging Wilbur behind her by the ear. The height difference made it truly comical. “That was really impressive, by the way, thanks.”

“You mean the password I wrote on a scrap of paper for you and then you wouldn’t let me see if it even opened anything?” Tommy deadpanned.

“We were in the middle of a rush!” She argued back. “And believe me, it opened something.”

“Well?” Tommy prodded, glancing at Bad and Eret, who had followed along curiously.  They both shrugged as they walked into the storage room, clearly just as much in the dark as he was

“It just, uhh, wasn’t quite what we were expecting,” Niki admitted as she released Wilbur from his pain, walking over to the brick wall that made up the wall bordering the alley.

The storage room was fairly big for a business the size of Niki’s. Even so, with the floor-to-almost-ceiling shelves and the stacks of boxes on the floor, there was barely enough room for everyone to stand.

Niki put her hand on a random brick on the wall, and the surface clicked in and then swiveled up and out, revealing it to be a hidden panel. Underneath the fake-brick laid an ancient looking keypad with a green analog-style screen above the numbers.

Tommy had at least seen this much—Niki having shown him the keypad—the others, though, blinked in surprise.

“Niki?” Eret asked. “What is that?”

“Oh!” Bad cut in. “Me and Niki found it when we were organizing our first shipment. She backed into the wall while carrying a box and accidentally pressed it.”

“We didn’t really have time to do much with it,” Niki explained, turning to look at them and leaning against the wall next to the keypad.  “But I mentioned it to Tommy and he figured out the passcode in like thirty seconds.”

Tommy stiffened when all eyes turned to him, and he glared back. “What? Got a problem?”

“How even, child?” Wilbur said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Tommy smirked. “Intuition, bitch.”

“You motherf—”

“Language,” Bad cut in, glaring.

Tommy grinned. “Bitch, dick, pussy—”

“GAAHH!” Bad yelled, slapping a hand over Tommy’s mouth. He quickly thought better of it and removed his hand before Tommy could lick it. “Don’t even think about it, muffinhead.”

“So…” Eret trailed off, slightly concerned. “Does it open anything special?”

Niki grinned eerily. “You…could say that.”

She turned and started pushing numbers into the keypad with a quiet beep with each click, the sound distorted and warped from age.

6, 2, 9… Tommy started listing off in his head, watching as each number appeared on the screen. 5, 1, 4, 1, aaaand 3.

With the final press, the screen lit up three times in quick succession, and then…

Nothing.

“Ummm,” Tommy started. “What—”

“Wait for it,” Niki said ominously.

And then the floor started moving.

Two-thirds of the people in the room gasped as the floor of the entire room started descending, shelves, boxes, people and all.

Tommy cringed at the odd feeling of light-weightedness that afflicted his stomach, realizing with a shock that it was the same feeling he got when descending in the elevator back at his apartment.

And that’s what it was, wasn’t it. The entire room was a fucking… elevator.

“Niki?”

“Wait for it,” she said firmly, grinning.

I’m sorry, there’s more?

As they descended, the walls of the elevator disappeared.

His eyes widened.

“Niki, what the fuck?” Wilbur said, eyes wide as he spun.

“Yeah, so uhh, this exists under my store now, I guess,” she said with a near-manic laugh.

‘This’ being a fucking civil war bunker.

They had descended into the center of a massive underground room, easily the size of half a football field, that sprawled around them in every direction. Flickering fluorescent lights clicked on from the surprisingly tall ceiling, easily two Wilbur’s tall (Tall Fucker, derogatory), and concrete support pillars were scattered symmetrically throughout the space.  

Tommy’s eyes felt like they were about to pop out of his skull, they were open so wide.

“Niki, what the fuck?!” he echoed Wilbur, spinning in place.

“Did you know about this when you bought the building, Niki?” Eret asked, gazing around with an awed expression.

“Not…exactly,” she said, gaining their attention. She waved her hands frantically. “I mean, it’s not like I was expecting a fucking bunker—”

“Language,” Bad said automatically.

“—but I knew that one of the previous owners was involved with the mafia, so I thought, ‘hey, maybe I’ll find a stash of cash, or a secret passage or something else cool. Not…” she trailed off, motioning around her vaguely while she laughed.

“Well, uhh, I think this is pretty high on the ‘cool’ scale, Niki,” Fundy said with a shocked laugh. 

“What was this place even for?” Wilbur asked.

“Honestly, no clue,” Niki replied. She paused, turning to Tommy. “Any thoughts, Tommy?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Any thoughts on what it could be?”

“Uhh,” he glanced around again, actually stepping off of the elevator and into the room proper. “I don’t…actually—”

What could this room be used for?

As he turned, various aspects of the room lit up red in his vision as various data scrolled across his vision: the dimensions of the room, the weight capacity of the elevator, the specifics of the rooms lining some of the far walls, which…

“Is that a fucking gun range?” he asked incredulously, staring at a long, apparently sound-proof room with a single door, and a viewing window extending from the door to the other end of the wall, revealing a series of dusty targets set up at various distances from a typical shooting cubicle.

“A what?!” half the others yelled, scrambling off the elevator to take a look.

“Oh yeah, that’s here too,” Niki laughed.

“Okay, well, uhh,” Tommy glanced around again, taking in all the information being supplied to him. “This place was probably used for either training Resistance fighters during the civil war, or maybe storage?”

“Storage? With this much space?” Eret asked, glancing around.

Tommy nodded. “That is a surprisingly heavy-duty elevator. You could fit a ton of stuff on there, maybe even a forklift if you were really desperate and knocked down a wall or two upstairs.”

“I feel like this place would serve better as a barracks or something, though,” Bad supplied, looking around himself. “Bring down some cots and stuff, you could house a small army in here.”

“There is a small kitchen,” Niki said, nodding to one of the rooms on the northern wall. “But it’s nowhere near big enough to supply an army.”

“Then probably training,” Tommy said. “You could set up a lot of training equipment down here, shit, you could set up an entire obstacle course, and it’d only take up half the space down here.”

“I did find some training mats in a storage room,” Niki supplied. “They’re old and covered in dust, but they’re there. Oh! Speaking of…”

She trailed off, making her way across the massive space toward the northern wall that she had pointed out earlier. Instead of opening what Tommy understood to be the kitchen, she headed to a larger room next to it.

Opening the door revealed a large storage room, filled to the brim with various crates and shelves. It looked like a much larger version of the bakery’s storage room.

Well, what they thought was a storage room.

“Here we go!” She called, yanking open a crate and pulling out a large rolled up mat. She turned around and squeezed past all of them back into the main area.

She gripped one end of the roll before throwing it forward, unrolling the mat in a single motion while releasing a veritable monsoon of dust.

Everyone backed away, covering their mouths and waving the dust away from their faces.

“Alright guys,” Niki said cheerfully, stepping back. “Have at it.”

“Wait, here?” Tommy said, staring at the mat.

“Why’d you think I brought you all down here?” Niki said, raising a brow.  “You needed a place to duel, and we needed witnesses, so…” She motioned to Eret and Bad, who shrugged.

“Wait, you two are in on this?!” Fundy yelled, wide-eyed. “Was I the only one in the dark about this?”

“Basically,” Tommy laughed, shrugging. He turned to Wilbur, cracking his knuckles dramatically. “Ya ready, bitch?”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes, his expression darkening and shifting into something scary instantly. “I am going to fucking eviscerate you, Tommy.”

Shit, I think that’s the first time he’s actually called me by my name.

Fundy suddenly looked very worried. “Dad? Don’t do anything drastic.”

“Stay out of this, Fundy,” Wilbur said, taking his place on the mat while keeping eye contact with Tommy. “He asked for this. He could not have asked for this more brashly than he did if he tried, so I’m going to deliver.”

And suddenly Tommy was very nervous.

Fuck, he might actually kill me.

The setting was fucking perfect for it, too. Niki had just brought them underground, in a secret bunker that no one knew about aside from Wilbur’s very good friend, her very good friends, and his fucking son.

He was going to die down here and nobody here would say a word.

Fuck.

“So, Tommy,” Wilbur mockingly called. “I’ll leave the choice to you. Powers? Or no.”

…was this bitch still trying to goad him into revealing his power? Seriously?

Okay, no, to hell with this guy. He was gonna make him regret this.

“I told you already, dickhead, I don’t have one,” Tommy deadpanned. Then he smirked. “But you can use yours if you want.”

Wilbur’s eyes burned as he seethed across the mat.

Alright, he’d poked the bear. Now he actually had to beat him.

How do I beat Wilbur in a fight?

{hum}

… shit.

His options were…frighteningly sparse. But it was doable.

Tommy didn’t know anything about Wilbur’s power except that he was confident enough with it to take on a group of armed robbers. Nothing, except for one little detail.

He had to charge it.

Back on the day of the armored truck robbery, Wilbur had looked like he was about to attack, but he had paused to supposedly gather power in his hand first.

So all Tommy had to do was finish the fight before he could gather his power.

He took off his jacket, dropping it on the floor next to him before dropping into a defensive stance.

“Niki?” he asked. “Care to start us off?”

She looked between the two of them, suddenly far more nervous than she was a moment ago. “Umm, you sure about this, Tommy?”

Oh sick, I’m not the only one who’s suddenly intimidated.

Good to know.

“What’s there to be sure about?” Tommy asked haughtily. “What’s mister Gangly McFuck gonna do to me? Get into a slap fight like a fucking pussy?”

Aaand, he’s pissed now.

Perfect.

Wilbur’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides, shaking in rage, and his eyes just radiated murder.

Fundy looked scared.

“Niki?” Tommy prodded, giving Wilbur a wink that made the man snarl.

His entire plan hinged on Wilbur going on the offensive instantly. He was pissed enough at this point, and the defensive stance Tommy had taken would hopefully be enough for him to drop his guard.

“...alright,” Niki said hesitantly, taking her place between the two. “The duel will commence in three…”

Wait for it.

“Two…”

His vision flashed red, showing him the motions to take.

“One…”

Wilbur’s arms tensed. 

“Go!”

The second Wilbur’s fists opened to gather power, Tommy kicked out with his leg, scooping up the jacket he had dropped on the floor and launching it at Wilbur’s head. He followed right behind it.

Wilbur shot out one arm, grabbing the jacket out of the air and tossing it aside, aggressively throwing out his other arm to attack.

Right into Tommy’s hands.

Tommy grabbed his arm with one hand while grabbing on to Wilbur’s belt with the other.  Wilbur’s eyes flew wide as Tommy used his momentum against him.

Tommy turned, shifting his feet, and swung.

Wilbur flipped over his head, and he yanked down and slammed the man into the mat with a resounding SMACK , knocking the air out of the man’s lungs.

Keeping the arm he grabbed pinned above the man’s head, he swung around, driving one knee into the man’s stomach before stomping down with his free foot on the man’s other wrist, keeping both arms pinned.

With his free hand, he pulled out his multitool from his pocket and flicked open the blade before pressing it to Wilbur’s neck.

And it was over.  The entire exchange only took five seconds.

Silence rang out through the bunker.

Tommy took a deep breath and grinned. “I win, bitch.”

“Holy shit,” Fundy breathed behind him, and he resisted the urge to turn and grin.

Mostly because he was trying not to throw up because holy shit I can’t believe I just did that—!

“Uhh, Tommy,” Niki prodded. “Can you remove your knee from Wilbur’s stomach so he can breathe?”

“Depends, do I win?” Tommy said, giving Wilbur a look.

The man glared up at him before looking away begrudgingly.

“Fine,” he grit out, sounding pained.

“Great!” Tommy chirped, stumbling off of him immediately before reaching out a hand to help him up. “Nice playing with ya!”

Wilbur groaned before grabbing Tommy’s hand, pulling himself up. “Just so we’re clear, had this been an actual fight, you’d be dead.”

“Oh, I have no doubt,” Tommy admitted sincerely. “I’m just as surprised, believe me.”

Wilbur tilted his head, confused. “What do you…?”

Tommy shrugged. “Knowing something will work and actually seeing it happen are two very different things.”

Narrowed eyes met his own. “What do you mean ‘knowing’ something will work?”

Tommy winked. “Intuition.”

He turned away before Wilbur could respond. “Fundy! I have restored your honor!”

“Please don’t call it that.”

Tommy threw his arm around Fundy’s shoulder, grinning smugly. “So, we’re all agreed that I’ll start escorting him home from work starting next week?”

“Y-Yup,” Niki said, still looking a little stunned. “I—”

“Great!” Tommy interrupted, turning around and walking toward the elevator. “In that case, I’ve got homework due in like two hours, so I gotta go. Cya guys!”

Hope the elevator has a panel down here as well.

As he activated the elevator, he had to keep himself from laughing when he heard Eret’s “What the actual hell just happened?”

…

…

…

Thankfully, the trip back home was uneventful, cuz he was still processing the fact that he wasn't utterly destroyed in that fight.

Because Wilbur (unfortunately) had a point: had that been a real fight, he would have lost.  The only reason he won was because he’d had time to bend the situation in his favor. In a real world scenario, well, that wouldn’t have worked. Criminals in the Lower were of the ‘shoot first, talk never’ sort, and getting a rise out of them would end in immediate death.

Tommy didn’t ever plan on pulling that stunt again.

He stepped out of his building’s elevator, already dreading having to complete his coding assignment. That dread quickly changed to annoyance when he heard screaming coming from across the hall.

He sighed, already starting the mental process of tuning out Michael’s parents. This was an annoyingly regular occurrence, and they had better finish whatever the fuck they were arguing about before Michael got back from his extracurriculars, or Tommy was gonna—

He faltered midstep when he saw Michael sitting on the floor outside of Tommy’s apartment, head resting on his knees while he covered his ears.

His heart sank at the sight, and he quickly rushed over, tapping gently on Michael’s shoulder.

Michael tensed before glancing up with a look of annoyance, his expression shifting to pleasantly surprised at the sight of Tommy.

“Hey, bud,” he said, ruffling his hair. “How long have you been waiting out here?”

Michael shrugged. Half an hour or so? he signed.

Tommy sighed, glancing over at the door to Michael’s apartment. “And they’ve been bitching the whole time?”

Michael rolled his eyes, a universal no shit.

Tommy rolled his eyes as well before smiling, unlocking his door and stepping inside. “C’mon. I’ve got something for ya.”

Michael tilted his head curiously, getting up and following him inside.

Tommy grabbed something off the little table he kept next to the door before hiding it behind his back, crouching down in front of Michael.

“So, I had this made a couple days ago and kept forgetting to give it to you, but this seems like a good opportunity, so…here ya go.”

And with that, he held out a keyring, with a small chicken plush on a chain and a single key.

Michael stared at it for a second for a second, confused, before it clicked. His eyes shot up to Tommy’s, the question dancing in his eyes quickly flowing to his fingers.

Is that—?

Tommy nodded. “Yup. A key to my apartment. That way you don’t have to wait for me to let you in whenever your ‘family’ starts getting rowdy.”

Tommy held out the keychain, and Michael took it carefully, holding it like it would disappear if he held it too tightly.

“Maybe don’t let your parents see that, eh?” Tommy nudged. “I doubt they’d like it much.”

Michael snorted, nodding his head before darting forward, wrapping his arms around Tommy’s neck.

Tommy huffed and hugged back. “You’re welcome, bud.”

“Ahem.”

Tommy and Michael both stiffened. He immediately shoved Michael behind him, grabbing for his multitool, fully ready to stab the fuck out of whoever dared to break into the home of the great Tommy Innit—

Wait…

“Artemis?” Tommy said incredulously.

The vigilante was standing in his living room, nervously hunched over one of his glowing tesseracts that he clutched between his hands like a lifeline.

“W—...What the fuck are you doing here ?!” Tommy whisper-shouted, spinning around and slamming his door shut and locking the deadbolt.

“I, uhh, we needed your help,” Artemis explained horrifically. “I m-may have let myself in, by the way.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Tommy said, keeping Michael behind him, despite the little shit trying to peek around him to see the vigilante. “That doesn’t explain how you got past my locked door.”

“Your window’s still broken,” Artemis pointed out.

“Yeah, and boarded up!” Tommy yelled, stepping forward into the living room. “How did you—”

He cut himself off, catching sight of a fist shaped hole in the plywood covering the window.

He blinked at it before turning to Artemis. “That is literally breaking and entering, asshole. Also, how the fuck did you fit through that?”

Michael smacked his fist into the back of Tommy’s leg, and he turned to see the kid looking between Tommy and Artemis, stars in his eyes.

The stars were screaming “Introduce me! Introduce me!”

He sighed. “Michael, you remember Artemis. Artemis, this is my neighbor, Michael. He helped me treat you last week.”

Michael waved his hand excitedly, staring up at Artemis with a grin

Tommy couldn’t even see Artemis’ face, but he could already tell the dude’s heart was melting .

“Hey there,” Artemis said quietly, crouching down to Michael’s level (thank Prime, the fucker was even taller than Wilbur, and that’s saying something). “So you helped me out too?”

Michael nodded, grinning shyly. I got the water and honey, he signed quickly.

Artemis tilted his head, confused. “Wha—”

“He said he got the water and honey,” Tommy explained. “He’s not deaf, obviously, he just doesn’t talk much.”

Michael elbowed him.

Artemis hummed before reaching up with one hand, lowering his hood and taking off his mask, much to Tommy’s annoyance. 

Michael gasped, seeing the vitiligo spanning half the vigilante’s face, splitting his complexion in half.

“Well, Michael,” Artemis said, smiling at the boy. He set down his mask and held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Ranboo.”

Oh my fucking—

“Does the term ‘secret identity’ mean shit to you or something?!” Tommy snapped.

The two of them ignored him as Michael reached forward, ignoring the vigilante’s hand in lieu of poking at Ranb— Artemis’ face. He pulled back, signing quickly You’re like me!

Artemis glanced up at Tommy, asking for a translation.

“He said you’re like me,” Tommy said with a sigh, shoving aside his annoyance for the sake of Michael.

Artemis tilted his head. “I’m like you?” he asked Tommy.

“No, no, you’re like him,” Tommy said, reaching forward and brushing aside Michael’s fringe, revealing the vitiligo marking the upper right portion of his face.

Artemis’ eyes widened, and Tommy watched his heart melt a little more.

Okay, time to intervene.

“I see your hands healed nicely, considering your power’s working,” Tommy cut in before the conversation went any further. “What’s in the tesseract? You’re covering it.”

“Tesseract?”

“You’re…glowing cube thing.”

“Oh, uhhh…” Artemis glanced at the ground nervously. “Orion.”

Tommy blinked. “What about him?”

“No, Orion’s, uhh…I…I may have…kidnapped my mentor.”

Tommy blinked again. Harder. “I beg your fucking pardon—”

“Look, he needs help, and he refused to get help, so I cubed him and brought him here, okay?” Artemis said, before shrinking slightly. “I-If you’ll help us, that is.”

Tommy ran a hand down his face. “Ugh, depends, is he going to kill me when you unfreeze him?”

“N-No?”

“That doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

“No, he won’t.”

He sighed. “Fine. But I can’t help him unless he tells me what’s wrong.”

“Oh don’t worry, I can help with that,” Artemis replied.

Michael tugged on his pant leg, glancing up at him with a questioning gaze.

I’m confused, he signed. Did he just Orion is coming over?

“Uhh,” Tommy chuckled, glancing at the glowing tesseract. “Technically, he’s already here.”

WHAT?! Michael signed, glancing around frantically. Where, where?!

“Okay, so, do you remember what Artemis’ power is?” Tommy prodded, seeing if Michael would figure it out.

Michael thought for a moment. He can catch things, right? Put them in his glowy box?

“Eh, close enough,” Tommy said. “But he can also do that to people too.”

Tommy saw the moment the lightbulb flashed over Michael’s head, and the kid’s head snapped to the cube Artemis was clutching.

Oh.

Tommy laughed. “Yeah, oh.” He looked up at Artemis, nudging Michael to get behind him (just in case). “You lettin’ him out?”

The archer sighed. “I’m not looking forward to this conversation.”

There was a flash of light, and then…

“-nboo, I’m fine, I—”

Orion halted mid sentence, whirling around. His gaze locked on Tommy.

“What?”

“Sup, big man,” Tommy greeted warily, hiding Michael behind him. “I hear you needed a hand.”

Orion stared at him a second longer before whipping his head around to face Artemis, who flinched back.

“Artemis,” Orion growled out, and Tommy shivered. “What did you do?”

“You need help!” Artemis yelled, marching forward. “Stop being an idiot and sit.”

With the final word, Artemis grabbed Orion’s and wrapped a foot around his ankles, tripping him and forcing him to sit back on the couch.

“What the f—”

“Nope!” Artemis cut in, glaring down. “You’ve been running non-stop for weeks, I can’t remember the last time I saw you sleep, and you haven’t been giving your body enough time to heal.”

Orion huffed, trying to stand back up but getting shoved back again. “Let me up, Artemis.”

“If I’m able to hold you down, then there’s a problem,” the archer shot back. “You’re way stronger than me, you’d have no problem if you actually gave yourself time to heal.”

“Artemis,” Tommy cut in, gaining both their attention. “Did he treat his concussion?”

Artemis scoffed. “Barely. He treated the head wound, took a maybe- ten-minute snooze leaning against the wall before he went right back on patrol, without backup, like an idiot.”

“You needed to rest,” Orion cut in. “Your injuries were a lot worse.”

“You realize just how hypocritical you sound, right?” Tommy butt in again, earning a glare.

“Why do you care?” Orion snapped.

“I see he’s still irritable,” Tommy sighed. “And can’t keep his balance, if you tripped him that easily. How have you even been functioning for the past week?”

“In a word? Barely,” Artemis supplied.

“I have been fine.”

“Your win/loss ratio says otherwise.”

“Excuse you, my win streak is an easy 95.”

“Well, this week, it’s been more of a fifty/fifty.”

“Alright,” Tommy clapped. “Tell me what’s wrong, Orion, I’ll see if I can treat it. And no, I’m not doing this for a favor.” He turned a glare on Artemis. “At least not from you,” he continued, still speaking to Orion.

“What’d I do?” Artemis whined.

Tommy pointed at the hole in his plywood, and Artemis winced. “Oh, right.”

“You owe me a new board. Now, Orion—”

How do I treat his wounds?

“Where are you hurt?”

Orion turned away, staring at the far wall silently.

A few seconds passed, and Artemis groaned. 

“Here,” he said, pulling out a rolled up piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

“A list of his injuries over the past few weeks,” Artemis replied, unrolling the paper.

It literally reached the floor.

“What the actual fuck, Orion?”

“He’s been busy.”

“No shit!”

Artemis cleared his throat, pulling the top of the paper closer. “Let’s see, we’ve got a couple scratches from fighting Sapnap’s spirit animals on both forearms, a slash on his thigh from a robber with a knife, a bullet grazed his upper arm a week ago, he’s got several steam burns from Sewage Boy, the concussion (obviously), shrapnel from a grenade that some random dude got a hold of that hit him on his right side, a bruised rib from when some drunk girl hit him with her car in the middle of a fight, scratches from pulling said girl out of the wreckage of her car after she crashed into a streetlight, he might have potential stress fractures in his legs from trying to lift a metal support beam off a dude, glass shards got embedded in his arms after he jumped through a storefront window to escape another grenade, got blinded temporarily by a person with light powers, then got minorly poisoned by another criminal who breathed toxic fumes, he also got flat-out food poisoning from a bad batch of food that may or may not have been my fault—”

Tommy just stared wide eyed as Orion’s body slowly became a neon sign. Several injuries appeared on every major part of his body, several of which were bruised bones that could have easily fractured, a couple bullet wounds, several stab wounds, and literal poison that his power highlighted that was still in his system.

He could barely see clearly with how many lists of treatment information were filling his vision.

Finally, Artemis finished the list, glaring down at Orion as he did, who just continued to stare indifferently at the wall.

“How the hell are you functioning right now?” Tommy asked, slightly horrified.

“Coffee and spite,” Orion said simply, shooting him a dark look. “You’re not touching me.”

“Well, I’m definitely not letting you leave!” he yelled, glaring right back. “If I have to hold you captive to treat you, I will.”

Orion scoffed. “You and what army?” 

Artemis crossed his arms and glared. “I literally just need to touch you.”

“I can’t treat him if he’s in a box,” Tommy pointed out, before smiling. “I can if he’s unconscious, though.”

“If you try and drug me, I’ll break your neck,” Orion threatened.

Noted.

“Oh, no need,” Tommy said, leaning back smugly. “Ever been nerve pinched before, Orion?”

He had to hold back a laugh as the man stiffened. “None of your concern.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. If you cause trouble, I start pinching.”

Orion went to argue, but Artemis nudged him gently in the leg with his foot, getting his attention. “Please, Orion. You can’t help people if you’re dead, and I’m definitely not good enough to take your place. I…I still need you, alright?”

Orion looked at Artemis for a moment before sighing, reaching under his mask to presumably rub his face. After a moment, he lowered his hand, glancing at Tommy.

The man seemed to scan Tommy for a moment before stiffening. 

“Who’s behind you?” he demanded.

Oh right. Whoops.

“Oh, uh, that’s Michael,” Artemis supplied quickly.

“...you have a kid?” Orion remarked confusedly.

“Wha- no! He’s my neighbor,” Tommy rebutted. “He comes over a lot because his parents suck ass.”

Orion continued to stare at him, and he sighed. He glanced over his shoulder, finding Michael’s eyes. “Come on out, jig’s up.”

Michael stepped around Tommy, watching Orion carefully.  Orion watched back before nodding his head in greeting.

Michael smiled shyly and waved, gripping Tommy’s pant leg.

Tommy smirked. “No fanboying, ‘k?”

Michael relinquished his grip on his pants to drive his elbow into his leg, and Tommy laughed around a wince.

Orion snorted in amusement. “I like him.”

Michael, who was currently glaring up at Tommy, startled at the words, turning back to the hunter.

Artemis nudged Orion—in one of the only spots clear of injuries—and whispered, “Introduce yourself.”

“He already knows who I am.”

“It’s polite.”

The vigilante sighed before dipping his head again in greeting, hood falling further over his mask. “Hullo,” he drawled sarcastically. “I’m Orion. I like fighting crime, stabbing criminals, and reading.”

Michael beamed.

He raised his hands and started signing. Hi, I’m Michael. I like heroes and vigilantes, and hanging out with Tommy.

Tommy coughed to try and hide the blush creeping onto his face. “Uhh, he said—”

“Don’t worry, I got it,” Orion said, raising his own hands. It’s nice to meet you, Michael.

Michael gasped, smile widening. You know sign?!

The hunter shrugged. Enough to get by.

Tommy had to stifle a laugh when Michael literally started bouncing up and down.

Where did you learn how to sign? Are you deaf? No wait, you heard the others. Unless you have some super cool tech that turns their words into words you can read! Do you have that?

Orion chuckled. I’m not deaf, kid. Just picked it up. It’s useful to know when you’re trying to be quiet, or have a secret conversation.

“Is someone gonna translate, or am I just here to watch the show?” Artemis asked, clearly unamused.

Orion’s head tilted in his direction. Case in point.

Michael giggled, which admittedly was the most sound Tommy had heard the boy make in a while.

It made him smile.

“Orion,” Artemis warned, glaring. “Stop delaying the inevitable.”

Orion sighed, glancing over at Artemis. Killjoy, he signed to Michael.

Michael nodded, frowning seriously— well, trying to. He couldn’t quite keep the smile under wraps. All in all, though, for a seven year old?

Not a bad poker face.

“He’s right,” Tommy sighed, smirking. He twirled a finger around the scene. “Cute as this is, you need treatment.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone use ‘cute’ to describe Orion,” Artemis snickered.

“Anyone who did is dead,” Orion shot back, turning his gaze to Tommy.

“Stop threatening the guy who’s about to treat you,” Tommy said with a roll of his eyes. “Michael? First-aid kit again?” 

The kid nodded, heading off to grab the kit while Tommy turned to the kitchen, talking over his shoulder. 

“I hope you don’t mind needles, I’m gonna have to stitch up some of your wounds.”

“You guys are acting like I left my wounds completely untreated,” Orion complained, turning to watch as Tommy routed through a cabinet. “I disinfected and treated each one, and stitched up any that needed it.”

“Yeah, and you’ve pulled almost every stitch,” Tommy shot back, turning to a different cupboard.

“How could you possibly know that?” Orion asked.

“And why do you have so many medical supplies in your kitchen?” Artemis cut in, tilting his head. “That’s like the third cupboard, and they’ve all been filled.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Blame Tubbo. Remember how I said he could return the favor?”

Artemis gawked. “What, did he burglarize a medical clinic?”

“Knowing him? Probably.”

“You didn’t answer the question,” Orion pointed out, suspiciously.

“Cause your apprentice cut me off,” Tommy shot back. “Besides,” he lied, “it’s more an educated guess. I saw you fighting Sewage Boy, the way you were moving, you definitely…tore…”

Tommy trailed off, staring wide eyed at the cabinet he just opened, the one that had had the vodka Tubbo had brought.

Only this time, it wasn’t a bottle of clear vodka.

Hell, it wasn’t even alcohol.

Sitting in Tommy’s cupboard, in the middle of his scrappy Lower apartment, was a motherfucking health potion.

“Tommy?” Artemis breathed. “Is that what I think it is?”

He didn’t reply. Carefully, oh so fucking carefully, he grasped the glass bottle, the liquid within appearing to shimmer despite the dim lighting of the room, and lowered it from the cupboard.

It was warm.  It rested heavily in his palm, the liquid within surprisingly thin.

“Kinda thought it’d be thicker,” he muttered to himself. “Like, more like jelly, or somethin’.”

“Tommy,” Orion stressed, mask trained on the bottle. “Where did you get that?”

Tommy turned, meeting the eye holes of the mask before shaking his head and shrugging. “I…I don’t know what to tell ya, big man,” he said, making his way back over.

“Well you better tell me something, because there is no reason that you should have that.”

“Seriously, I don’t know what to tell you!” Tommy explained, hating the way his voice was starting to sound desperate. “I didn’t—”

As he passed by the entrance to his hallway, a shimmer of light caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, and he paused.

He turned his head, staring down the stretch of hallway to see…

A. Fucking. Portal.

A green and violet swirl danced in the air next to his bedroom door, the two colors swirling in opposing directions, creating a kaleidoscoping sight that made Tommy dizzy.

A second later, a person popped out, rolling into a crouch and startling the shit out of Tommy.

He yelped and jumped back, causing Orion and Artemis to leap to their feet. Artemis threw his mask back on, and Orion yanked Tommy behind him and drew his sword.

Both paused upon seeing the figure, and Tommy stared in shock.

The figure stared back, blinking behind a masquerade mask.

“Masquerade?” Artemis said, tilting his head. “What are you doing here?”

Tommy shot his head up to look at the back of Artemis’ hood before turning back to the figure in his hall who was currently rising to his feet.

The figure before them was wearing a hideous-looking suit coat, with a horrific mashup of various shades of purples, blues, and greens, with what looked to be a sweatshirt with his signature spiral motif on it. His belt was decorated with a number of stop- and pocket-watches, most in a vintage style, the tails of his coat draped behind him, falling almost to his just-as-horrifically-collared dress shoes.

The man looked like he was about to attend some color-blind, rich people ball.

Fucking Masquerade. The only other big-name vigilante besides Orion. Only difference being that while Orion focused on maintaining the Lower, Masquerade focused on the Upper, dipping into the Lower from time to time should the need arise.

Masquerade was also one of the few known people to have two powers. A portal power, which allowed him to travel from one point to another almost instantly, and a time…tracking…power?

Okay, the other one was a little more unknown, but the general theory was that he could touch an object and view everywhere it had been in the past day or so and everywhere it would be in the next day or so. 

 Whatever his power was, it made him a hunter on par with Orion, which…well, it was really saying something, considering Orion is literally called ‘the Hunter’.   

It also made their team-ups absolutely legendary.

With Orion tracking and Masquerade transporting, they were able to take down top villains insanely quickly, usually before the villains even caught wind of the team up and were therefore unable to prepare countermeasures. And now with the added help of Artemis, whose specialty was securing and capturing, a team up of all three was basically a death sentence for anyone that attracted their attention.

And now all three were sitting in Tommy’s fuckin apartment what the actual hell was his life?

There was a clatter behind them, and everyone in the room turned to see the first-aid kit spilled out on the floor, Michael standing over it with wide eyes.

“Ummm,” Masquerade said, gaining their attention again. “I’ll, uh, I’ll admit. Was not expecting you guys to be here.”

“What were you expecting then?” Orion asked, lowering his sword. “A random Lower apartment isn’t your usual MO.”

“I was expecting a thief hideout,” Masquerade explained, glancing suspiciously at Tommy. “I’ve been getting reports of various pharmacies and clinics being robbed, the most recent being an Upper medical ward in District Two. One of their potions went missing.”

Tommy’s eyes widened as they snapped down to the bottle in his hand. He turned it over so he could view the bottom of it, and there sitting smack dab in the middle was the seal of the District Two Medical Clinic imprinted in the glass.

There was also a note.

Finally found an upgrade. :)

-Tubbo

“I am going to actually murder him,” Tommy muttered to himself.

“That doesn’t explain how you got here, though,” Artemis prodded.

Masquerade perked up. “Oh! I just went to different places that hadn’t been robbed yet and temporally tracked some of the supplies. Found a place where a bunch of supplies all converged to this apartment, so I portalled over to check it out. But again, was not expecting you guys. What’s the story here?”

Orion sighed and sheathed his sword. “You remember that big fight with Sewage Boy last week?”

“Yeah, I heard about that!” Masquerade said excitedly, leaning against the wall. “How’d that go?”

“Poorly,” Orion replied, causing the newcomer’s grin to falter. “Sewage Boy collapsed an entire intersection, and Artemis and I were both injured.” He started to turn towards Artemis but stopped himself. “Artemis was hurt pretty bad.”

Masquerade was silent for a moment before asking, “How bad?”

“Would-have-lost-use-of-his-hands bad,” Orion said bluntly, and Tommy gaped at the back of his hood. He’d known the injuries had been bad, but…seriously?

Masquerade glanced at Artemis’ hands, which looked completely fine. There was some scarring in places where the burns had been worse, but aside from that?

“Looks fine to me,” Masquerade said, questioningly.

Orion jerked his head back in Tommy’s direction. “This brat—”

“Hey!”

“—dragged Artemis away from the fight and treated his injuries. Got his hands on some healing cream and managed to save Art’s hands.”

Masquerade looked at Tommy with an even more suspicious look, for some reason. “What did he ask for in return?”

“Oh my fucking Prime, I don’t care about favors!” Tommy yelled, rolling his eyes and turning to sprawl on his couch, still clutching the potion to his chest.

“All he asked was that we replace the medical supplies he used on us,” Artemis cut in. “Speaking of…Tommy, here.”

Tommy glanced up from where he was resting his head to see Artemis handing him a tube of cream and a small jar. “You brought the stuff?”

“Yup!” Artemis said. “Healing cream and medical honey. Same brand and everything.”

“Thanks,” Tommy said, taking the items and setting them on the coffee table. “First normal return I’ve gotten,” he muttered.

  “What are you doing here now then?” Masquerade pressed, turning back to Orion, who merely sighed and motioned to Artemis to explain.

“This idiot won’t let himself heal,” Artemis deadpanned, glaring at Orion. “So I forced him to come here and ask Tommy for treatment.”

“Which might have just gotten a lot easier, by the way,” Tommy said, raising the potion. “Stolen or not, I’m using this,” he continued, glaring at the others and daring them to call him out.

“Oh yeah, knock yourself out,” Masquerade said flippantly.

Wait what?

“Wait what?” Tommy said aloud, confused. “I thought…I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m super okay with you not giving a shit, but I thought the whole reason you tracked the stolen stuff was to arrest the guy.”

Masquerade scoffed. “Well, yeah, because I assumed the thief was just stealing supplies to sell on the black market, but if you’re just using it to help out Orion, I don’t give a frick.”

Tommy blinked before glancing over at Michael, who had been watching the conversation unfold with rapt attention while he picked up the first-aid kit.

He just shrugged.

“Aren’t you supposed to…ya know, stop crime?” Tommy pressed. 

“I’m a vigilante,” Masquerade deadpanned, and Tommy could see the brow raise through the mask. “My very existence is illegal. Besides, I’ve got friends in both the heroes and the mafia, so…ya know, I’m kinda a massive grey area.”

“Fair point,” Tommy relented, waving Michael over. “In that case…Orion! Sit your ass down so I can fix your horrific excuse for first aid.”

“Can’t you just give him the potion?” Artemis asked, Orion already shaking his head as Tommy took the kit from Michael.

“Can’t,” he said. “My stitched wounds would heal around the stitches too quickly, plus he’d have to clean them and the others to make sure nothing gets trapped in the skin after the potion finishes.” He turned to face Tommy. “At least, he would normally, but my wounds are clean, and I can do the restitching myself. So thanks, but no thanks.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “I want to actually see you do it.”

“Heh?”

“Same,” Artemis said, crossing his arms.

“Bruh,” Orion complained, Masquerade giggling like a child behind him.

“Well,” the traveler said. “Now that that little mystery is resolved, I better get going. Cya ‘round, Orion.”

And with that, Masquerade performed an overdramatic bow before opening a portal beneath his feet, disappearing through with a two-fingered salute.

They stared at the spot in the floor Masquerade had jumped through, Michael going so far as to actually poke at the floor, before Tommy spoke up. 

“Alright, so—”

The portal in the floor opened back up and Masquerade’s head popped out, startling all of them and making Michael jump back with a squeal.

“Oh, by the way, you’ll be getting a, uh, ‘shipment’ in about an hour or so,” Masquerade’s head informed them before dipping down into the swirling pool, portal promptly vanishing afterwards.

“...well that’s not concerning,” Tommy muttered.

“I don’t suppose we can wrap this up before your friend gets here,” Orion prodded. “I’m not in the mood to deal with the shrimp,” he finished, referring to Tubbo.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, roll up your sleeves. I need to restitch your—”

“No, you’re not touching me,” Orion growled before holding a hand out. “Give me the suture kit, I’ll do it myself.”

Tommy shrugged, tossing him the kit. “Fine. Artemis, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna see if I can dilute the potion in something.”

“Sure thing— wait, why are you diluting it?” Artemis asked, taking off his mask again so he could quirk a brow at Tommy.

“...you do realize just how valuable this potion is, right?” Tommy prodded, swishing the liquid around as he walked backward into the kitchen. “If his life is not in avid danger, I’m not giving him a fully concentrated potion, or even the whole thing for that matter.”

Artemis nodded in understanding, turning to keep an eye on Orion as he begrudgingly tugged off his cloak and pauldrons and started unbuttoning the stupid poet shirt he wore underneath.

And then the body armor, which…Tommy should have honestly expected.

“Prime, how did you get so injured with that much armor?” Tommy asked incredulously.

Orion grunted in annoyance. “Got careless and stopped wearing it. As you can tell, I’m regretting that decision.”

“Mm. Is that why you started wearing pauldrons?”

Tommy hid a smirk as the man faltered just the tiniest bit before replying with a clipped yes.

…

…

…

It took Orion well over an hour to finally restitch all of his wounds, most of which Tommy spent on his laptop doing his homework while Michael read on the couch, just…casually sitting next to Orion.  Thankfully, the asshole hadn’t been lying when he said he’d taken good care of his injuries.

Honestly, the first-aid care looked near professional. It just seemed to be the aftercare that Orion struggled with, not giving himself enough time to properly heal. The result was him reopening a lot of his wounds and giving himself more scars than he should be happy with.

Hopefully the potion would help with the scars.

“Here,” Tommy said, handing the man a smoothie.

Orion’s mask stared down at it before looking back up at Tommy. “What the hell is this?” he asked incredulously.

“You’re medicine, dickhead,” Tommy snapped back, head pounding from his coding homework. “Believe me, you want something sweet to counteract the taste.”

“You diluted it, right?” Orion said, staring down at the drink suspiciously. “And please tell me you added the potion after blending it.”

“I did,” he said, handing another potion-free smoothie to Michael. “I’m not stupid, I know what I’m doing.”

Orion sighed before gripping the bottom of his mask, turning away so Tommy wouldn’t see anything as he drank.

The guy had kept his mask on the entire time he had worked, as well as a weird head covering that wrapped around his entire head, hiding the man’s hair from view. It kinda looked like what astronauts wore underneath their helmets, and Tommy was seriously curious where the man got one.

Orion gagged, finishing off the potion-smoothie before tugging his mask down and turning back to Tommy. “Ugh, hate these things. They taste like ass.”

“And you know how that tastes… how exactly?” Artemis said, laughing aloud when Orion turned to stare at him.

Tommy could feel the bloodlust through the mask, and considering how absolutely fucking jacked Orion was, he did not want to get between him and Artemis right now.

“Told you they sucked,” Tommy said, trying to regain Orion’s attention…which probably wasn’t the smartest move, if he was being honest. “Here, eat something to get the taste out.”

“Oh! You should try his cookies! They’re really good,” Artemis piped up.

Tommy fixed him with a confused look as he went to the kitchen. “Didn’t I give you like an entire container of them last time you guys were here?”

Orion huffed. “They were gone before we even got back to base,” he said, fixing the archer with a look.

Artemis shrunk away, hiding a smile. “What?! They were good!”

“You also have an insatiable sweet tooth,” Orion shot back, turning to Tommy. “Please don’t give him any sugar.”

“Geez, okay Dad,” Tommy said, laughing when the two vigilantes started sputtering. He tossed over a tupperware box full of cookies, not caring if they got decimated to crumbs.

It had been a faulty batch anyway.

Orion caught the plastic container and popped open the lid. “What kind?” he asked, Michael reaching over and snagging one to munch on.

“Peanut butter,” Tommy said, leaning against the counter and watching closely.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want the opinion of the best vigilante  in the city (sorry not sorry Masquerade) on his baking.

“Hmm,” is all the hunter said in response, staring down at the cookies.

A beat.

“Odd choice,” he said finally, grabbing a cookie and turning away again to lift up his mask.

“Hey, I’ve been told they taste like childhood, apparently ,” Tommy shrugged, rolling his eyes. He turned back to his laptop, wincing at the time—yeah, he wasn’t getting full credit for this assignment—when Artemis spoke up.

“Orion?” he asked, sounding worried, Tommy turned to see him reaching a hand out hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

“What—?” he started, when he saw the hunter’s shoulders slightly shake, and it hit him like a truck.

Orion was crying.

“Fuck, is it that bad?” he asked incredulously. “It was a scuffed batch, I’ll admit, but—”

“How did you make these?”

The man had spoken so quietly, Tommy almost didn’t catch it, but the question still caught him off guard.  The man’s voice didn’t sound disgusted like he expected, it sounded…well…

…it sounded sad.

“I…” he trailed off. He hesitated, then, “It’s my own recipe.”

Orion didn’t move, shoulders no longer moving.

“Yeah, I…I’m making it up as I go,” he lied. “It’s still a work in progress, but…I might need to change some stuff if they’re that bad…” he trailed off.

Silence, then…

“They’re not bad,” Orion said finally, lowering his mask but still not turning. “They just…” a shuddering breath, then, “...remind me of someone.”

Artemis’s face fell, turning sympathetic in a moment. He turned to Tommy, glancing at Orion for a moment before explaining.

“Orion lost a…well, a keepsake, from a really close friend of his recently. He’s been a little, uh, emotionally tense lately. Which is partly why he’s been getting injured so much lately.”

Orion didn’t say anything, just continued to stare down into the tupperware container like it could see into the past.

“I’m…sorry for your loss?” Tommy said, still very confused by this entire mood change.

Orion snorted suddenly, catching both of them off guard. “He’s not dead, trust me,” the hunter explained, finally turning to look back at Tommy.

The mask still covered his face, so he couldn’t see his expression, but Tommy could see just a hint of moisture clinging to the underside of the man’s chin.

“He’s one of the people in the Upper that I mentioned to Tubbo.”

“...the ones you said you couldn’t protect?”

Orion lowered his head in a way that Tommy took to be a nod. “Yeah. And ironically, he’s also part of the reason I can’t go back.”

Tommy stared at Orion for a moment, debating on whether he should get involved with this.

…

Fuck it.

“Hey Michael, you wanna take Artemis and go check on Julia? She’s in my bedroom today,” he prompted. Michael nodded excitedly, sliding off the couch and grabbing Artemis’ hand before yanking him down the hall.

The two of them watched them leave before Tommy whipped his head to Orion. “We need to talk.”

Orion scoffed, looking away. “This isn’t any of your concern.”

“It is if Artemis has to keep dragging your sorry ass to my apartment every time you forget to take care of yourself,” Tommy snapped back, crossing the room and plopping down on the coffee table, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged on the wood in front of Orion.

“This won’t happen again, trust me,” Orion said seriously, making ‘eye contact’.

“No, it’s not, because we’re gonna talk about this like fucking grown ups,” Tommy said firmly.

“Aren’t you like twelve?”

“Fuck off.”

“Real mature of you.”

“Stop trying to change the subject.”

Time to put his ten weeks of psychology classes to use.

How do I help him through this?

{hum}

…

Okay, why the fuck is his power giving him dialogue options?

Information flashed across his vision, little quirks and ticks about Orion that his power had picked up on during their few interactions: things that set him off, made him tense, made him relax.

It wasn’t much information—his power couldn’t do much when it couldn’t see the man’s facial expressions, and his class hadn’t covered body language very deeply yet—but it was enough to give him options.

Okay…here goes nothing.

Please don’t get me stabbed.

“I’m gonna assume Artemis is right on the money and that you losing whatever the fuck it is you lost is the reason you look like you got hit by a truck seven times over?”

{Dry humor helps him relax.}

Orion scoffed, turning away. “That kid is annoyingly good at reading me.”

“Good,” Tommy said. “Cuz I’ve barely talked to you, and I can tell you’re so emotionally constipated that you can’t even get a grasp on your emotions.”

“Hey,” the hunter said, though he chuckled.

“Seriously though,” Tommy continued. “What’s so special about this keepsake that it’s making you emotionally self-destruct?”

Orion was quiet for a moment. He saw the man swallow before speaking again. “It was given to me by my mentor.”

Tommy blinked. “Wait, you had a mentor?”

Orion moved his head in such a way that Tommy could tell he was rolling his eyes. “Yes, I had a mentor. Before any of this vigilante shit.”

“What were you before you were a vigilante?” Tommy asked curiously, instantly regretting it when his power yelled at him for breaking form. “Sorry, forget I asked that.”

“‘S fine,” Orion said. “It’s not important anyway. Regardless, my mentor gave it to me.”

“And you miss him,” Tommy said bluntly, to which Orion nodded. He hummed in thought, before pushing, “So I assume you still care about him?”

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he said, staring off.

“Do you care about him as much as you care about Artemis?”

That got the man’s attention, and Orion turned to him. “What’s Artemis got to do with this?”

“...” Tommy stared at him. “Primes, you’re dense. A lot, actually. You know how worried he is about you, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Because I don’t give a fuck how much you care about this mentor you haven’t seen in—you’ve been a vigilante how long, six years?— over six years, because that is in the past.”

Orion bristled. “I’m sorry, since when is it wrong to miss someone you care about?”

“When it actively hurts the people you care about now.”

Orion was quiet, so Tommy went on.

“You care about this Fuckface so much—I’m calling your mentor ‘Fuckface’ from here on, by the way—and that’s fine. But again, you have not talked to him in over six years. And you are so focused on the past, that the second you lose what I’m assuming you feel is your only connection to him, you start spiraling. That is not healthy.”

“And you’re so focused on Fuckface,” he continued. “That you’re letting it get in the way with your relationship with Artemis.”

“So what?” Orion suddenly snapped, making Tommy flinch back. “I’m just supposed to forget about my best friend and pretend like he never existed?!”

“What? Fuck no!” Tommy yelled back. “If he’s that fucking important to you, find something else that reminds you of him.”

Orion froze, and Tommy had to resist the urge to facepalm.

He did it anyway.

“Oh my Prime, don’t tell me you didn’t think of that,” Tommy said. “Look, was this keepsake particularly valuable? Besides the sentimentality?”

“...yeah, kinda?”

“Is that why you kept it?”

“Wha—, no…”

“Then who the fuck cares what it is?!” Tommy exclaimed. “Get something else that reminds you of him and keep that on you. I mean it can’t be that heard, you got emotional over a fucking cookie of all things. It doesn’t even need to be a thing, get a hobby that reminds you of him. Something that Fuckface used to do…did he knit or something?”

Orion snorted again. “I mean, that’s kinda what the whole vigilante gig was supposed to be.

Tommy tilted his head. “I’m sorry, fighting criminals reminded you of Fuckface?”

“Please stop calling him that,” Orion deadpanned. “And honestly, it was more a distraction than anything.” 

Tommy stared. “So…vigilantism was a hobby to you?” he asked incredulously.

“No, it was more than that, obviously,” Orion scoffed. “But still, a hobby didn’t help.”

“Get a different one!” Tommy yelled. “One that doesn’t involve physical fucking harm!”

“So now you want me to give up crime fightin’? I don’t think so.”

“Oh my… PRIME WHY ARE YOU SO DIFFICULT!? You don’t need to give it up, just find something new for the love of fuck! Try a sport, learn to sew, try out fucking baking. You liked the cookies, didn’t you?”

Orion tilted his head. “...baking?”

“Yes!” Tommy said desperately. “Literally anything that doesn’t involve you getting more hurt.”

“...I mean, oven burns are a thing.”

“Don’t be an idiot and you’ll be fine,” Tommy deadpanned. “I can even give you some recipes to try out. They might be a little advanced for your lack of skills but they’re something to strive for…”

Tommy could feel Orion’s eyes narrowing behind his mask. “Is that a challenge?”

{He’s competitive.}

Yeah, no shit, sherlock.

Tommy crossed his arms, smirking. “I bet… you can’t recreate the cookies.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Literally just did.”

“Fine,” Orion crossed his arms. “What are the terms?”

Tommy thought for a moment before grinning smugly. “You have to recreate the cookies before I find out your civilian identity.”

Orion tensed. “I’m sorry?”

“Come on, add a little excitement to this. Race against the clock, sorta thing. I won’t even use my power, make it easier on you.”

“Wait, what’s your power?”

“Dude, rule number one: don’t tell what your power is. Come on, man, you should know this.”

Before Orion could respond, Tommy glanced at his watch.

“Oh hey, it’s been about ten minutes, the potion should have kicked in by now.”  He glanced up, looking over Orion’s torso. The wounds were still there, but they were healing ever so slowly before his eyes now.

Orion sighed. “I’m going to have to remove all the stitches now, aren’t I?”

Tommy nodded. “Once they’ve healed up to a certain point. I’ll keep an eye on them.” He flicked his eyes up to meet Orion’s mask before glancing back down. “It’d be easier if you’d let me help, ya know.”

Orion stayed quiet, and Tommy had to resist the urge to shift nervously. Finally, the vigilante sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “...fine.”

Tommy groaned. “Fucking finally, you stubborn prick.”

“I take it back.”

“Nope! Too late! Where the fuck are my scissors?!”

“Tommy…”

“Too late, dickhead, it’s snipppin’ time—”

“Thanks.”

Tommy blinked. “Stop distracting me, I’m still cutting the stitches.”

“Dammit.”

…

…

…

“Hey Tommy!” Niki called, poking her head in. “Come meet the new worker!”

“New worker?” Tommy asked, pausing his work.

“Yeah,” Niki nodded. “We’ve been so busy lately, I figured we could use a little extra help.”

“Oh wow, we’ve been doing that good?” he asked, dusting the flour off his hands.

“Yeah, we’ve been doing a lot better than I thought we would,” Niki admitted from the door. “So…we’re probably going to need the extra help once the holidays hit.”

“Ugh, that’s gonna suck aaasssss,” Tommy groaned, ignoring the Language! Bad called after him as he followed Niki to the front counter. “How’d you find someone so quick?”

“Oh! He’s an old friend from the Upper,” Niki explained, walking to the front.

“Do you just know everybody up there?” Tommy joked, to which Niki just winked.

“Tommy, meet Techno,” Niki introduced, gesturing to the tall man standing behind the counter. “Techno, this is Tommy. I’ll have him show you around.”

Tommy watched as the man in front of him seemed to go through an emotional crisis in front of him, so many emotions flying across his face before finally settling on something bored with a hint of pain.

“Do you always look like you just smelled somebody else’s fart?” Tommy asked, earning an elbow from Niki.

“...you’re a little young to be working, aren’t you?” Dickno rudely shot back.

“You’re a little old to have bubble-gum pink fucking hair , aren’t you?” Tommy bit back, smirking.

“It’s an aesthetic choice.”

“Yeah, a fucking stupid one.”

“Hey!” Niki yelled, pointing at her own hair.

“Hey, pastel pink is totally fine,” Tommy defended before pointing at Techno. “But bubble-gum?”

“Look, I tried to match Niki, but got the wrong shade, okay?.”

“And it’s making my eyes burn. Put on a hair net already, for the love of Prime, please. We have work to do.”

And work they did. Tommy gave the man a quick tour of the building before they had to open the doors for the day, and the rest of the day was spent showing Techno the various routines and recipes they made throughout the shift.

Thankfully, they weren’t as busy as they had been the past couple weeks, so Tommy had plenty  of time to introduce Techno to everyone else. Techno didn’t even look phased by Bad’s appearance, much to Tommy’s annoyance. He’d been hoping to tease the man when he screamed.

Despite looking like a fucking wannabe anime protagonist, Techno paid close attention to everything Tommy and the others said, and he picked up on everything remarkably quick. Even faster than Fundy had, and he had baked before.

(Apparently Wilbur was banned from the kitchen, so Fundy picked up on it fast.)

After a bit, Niki took Techno up front to learn the register, and Tommy was able to refocus on making sure the croissants didn’t burn. And after that?

Eh, it was a fairly boring day. They actually got to close a bit earlier, under the guise they train Techno how to help close. Which, again, he picked up on quickly.

And then Niki, because she’s too nice for her own good, decided to throw a little after-work party in their tiny break room to celebrate Techno’s first day, which he rolled his eyes at. 

While they were waiting for Eret to finish up in the kitchen, Tommy had asked the others what he felt to be a very important question, and was getting nothing but lackluster responses. Like come on guys.

“Hey Techno!” Bad called to the man, who had just been about to go help Eret. “Lend your ear for a second.”

Techno sighed, pulling his hair out of the work bun he’d had it in all day. “What’s the question?”

“Okay,” Tommy said, “I’ve been helping some friends out, and they keep insisting on doing favors, even though I don’t want them to—”

“Again, why?” Fundy said.

“— even though I don’t want them to,” Tommy continued, ignoring the interruption. “How do you think I should get them to stop?”

“Just tell them you don’t want it?” Niki said again, and the others groaned.

“That doesn’t work, Niki,” Bad said.

“Can confirm, doesn’t do shit,” Tommy nodded.

“Language!” Bad yelled. “Still, I think you should just check the Archives. I’m sure they’ve got something on this.”

“I told you, they’re not gonna have anything, Bad,” Eret piped up from the kitchen.  “It’s a library, it doesn’t have the answer to every question.”

Leave it to Lower dwellers to bring up the Archives as the solution to every problem.

“Anyway, what do you think, Techno?” Tommy veered the conversation back on track. “I’m sure you’ve got some brains under that anime mop.”

“Tell them it’s against your religion,” Techno instantly replied, combing out said mop while glaring at Tommy.

They all blinked.

“What?” Tommy asked.

Techno shrugged. “You sound like you’re from the Upper, right? Everyone’ll assume you’re from the Church of Prime, and you can claim just about anything about it and they’ll take your word for it.”

“I don’t…how will that help?”

The man sighed again, hands moving deftly through his hair before manipulating it into a side braid. “Look, almost no one in the Lower knows anything about the Church of Prime because they literally could not care less. Most people down here’d rather focus on the Matrons. You can say almost anything about the Prime’s religion.  Because in the Lower, ‘The only thing worse than being a literal murderer—”

“—is being a bigot,’” Tommy and the other Lowers finished immediately, nodding.

“Huh,” Niki said. “Never thought about it like that before. I just assumed everyone knew about it.”

“Because you’re an Upper,” Techno said. “No offense.”

“Are you sure that’d work?” Bad asked, not quite convinced. “Seems a little far-fetched.”

“I’ve done it before,” Techno confirmed. “Trust me, they’ll believe almost anything.”

“Wait, you’re Lower, aren’t you? How does that work for you?” Bad asked, tilting his head.

“How do you think Niki and I know each other?” he pointed out. “I just picked up the Lower accent after I moved.”

“Really?” Tommy said disbelievingly.

Techno turned to him, hesitating for a minute before smirking.

“Top of the mornin’ to ya, mate,” he said, in a fucking flawless Upper accent.

“FUCK NO, PUT IT BACK!”

“Okay, random change in topic, but do you think my name is weird?” Fundy asked as they walked.

Tommy gave him a side-eye. “Yes, Fundy—” the boy bristled before Tommy continued “—that is a random change in topic. Care to talk about it?”

“That’s why I asked,” Fundy deadpanned, smacking him in the arm as Tommy laughed.

“Nah,” Tommy answered seriously, crossing his arms over his head. “Your name is neat. Unique. I mean, come on, we work with people named ‘Bad’, ‘Eret’, and ‘Techno’. You really think ‘Fundy’ is an odd name compared to that?”

Fundy laughed. “True, true.”

“Besides, your guys’ names all sound cool. My name makes me sound like an old man.”

He winced. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned it,

Fundy halted in place on the sidewalk, and Tommy turned to look at him. “Hey, no slowing down. If I get you home even a second late, Wil will kill me.”

“How does ‘Tommy’ make you sound old?” Fundy asked, starting forward again. “That makes you sound young, if anything.”

Tommy glanced up at the sky, hesitating. It was already dark by this point. They were well into Fall, and the days were getting shorter and shorter.

Finally, Tommy said, “It’s not my actual name.”

Fundy’s steps faltered but he kept moving, glancing at Tommy. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…uh, it’s a nickname! Obviously,” Tommy said, grinning over at Fundy. “My actual name? ‘ Theodore’,” he said with disdain. “Or, well, ‘Theo’ when I was younger, but still, ‘ Theodore’? Ugh.”

“What’s wrong with ‘Theodore’?” Fundy asked. “It makes you sound important?”

“Really dude? How the fuck would you feel if your parents took one look at your face and decided, ‘Uh-huh, yup, that’s a ‘Theodore’ right there!’ It’s like they wanted my name to make people assume I’d be a boomer.”

Fundy gave him a look. “Please, stop your whining, you ain’t got nothing on me.”

Tommy shot the look right back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, since we’re sharing, you wanna know what my real name is?”

“Hit me.”

“‘Fundy Jonatahan Micahel Vincent Georgina James sus Soot’,” Fundy recited with a manic grin. 

Tommy slowed down more and more as Fundy spoke, finally stopping and turning to look at him in horror. “What the actual fuck, dude?” 

“My dad says he was trying to be funny. Pretty sure he was just drunk.”

“Okay, Wilbur is no longer allowed to name things. Ever. If he ever asks to name one of my animals, I’m gonna give him a hard no. And then slap him in the face because whatever he just thought of is an abomination to the English language and the Queen.”

“Wait, what Queen? L’manberg is a city-state.”

“Did I say ‘Queen of L’manberg’? No! I said ‘the Queen’, you uncultured prick.”

“...I’m not even going to ask.”

“Coward.”

“Whatever, dude,” Fundy laughed before tilting his head in thought. “What do you think the longest name in the city is?”

“In all honesty, you might have that title, big man,” Tommy said, smirking at him.

Fundy rolled his eyes. “No seriously, would you be able to find that? From like birth records or something?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess?” Tommy replied, shrugging. “You could always try the Archives.”

Fundy furrowed his eyebrows before turning a questioning look on Tommy. “The Archives is just a library, why would they have official birth records?”

“Dude, have you never been to the Archives before?” Tommy asked incredulously. “That place is, like, the pride of the Lower. It is so much more than a library.”

“...”

“Okay, it’s still a library, but it is a very impressive library.”

“Again, a library would not contain official birth records.”

“They might! You never know, I’ve heard of people finding crazy shit in those walls.”

“...like?”

“Uhh, let’s see…there’s the story of a volunteer finding an old tome that let them summon a literal demon.”

“Bull.”

“Dude, we work with one, I don’t see how that’s so far-fetched.”

“That’s just Bad’s power and you know it.”

“Fine. Then what about the rumors of secret passages and dungeons?”

“My building has holes in the walls big enough to be considered secret passages, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Our store is literally sitting on top of a war bunker,” Tommy hissed quietly. “Again, not far-fetched!”

Finally, they made it to Fundy’s apartment building. Fundy pressed the buzzer to let Wilbur know they were home, and the lock on the front door clicked open.

“Took you long enough,” Wilbur said once they made their way to the apartment. “You were almost late.”

“C’mon, Wiblur, how long have we been doing this for?” Tommy prodded with a grin.

The man rolled his eyes as Fundy walked in, giving his dad a fist bump. “Two weeks?”

“And have I ever gotten your son home late?”

Wilbur sighed. “No, Tommy. You have not.”

“Nope! And I don’t ever plan to,” Tommy chirped, before he dropped the grin. “Seriously, Wil, when he’s under my watch? Nothing will touch him.”

“You can’t promise that, gremlin,” Wilbur said, narrowing his eyes.

Prime, this dude has trust issues.

“Actually, I can,” Tommy shot back, before immediately clicking his mouth shut.

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed further. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, bad joke,” Tommy chuckled nervously, edging down the hall to leave.

“No, Tommy? What does that mean?” Wilbur pressed, stepping out of the doorway to keep him in sight. 

“I…” he trailed off. Okay, maybe he could use this to his advantage without telling the whole truth.

“It’s my power!” he blurted, causing Wilbur’s eyes to widen.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” the man hissed, grabbing him and dragging him inside. “You don’t just say stuff like that!!”

“I’m aware, big man,” Tommy deadpanned. “I’m still telling you.”

“Wh— Wait, you said you didn’t have a power!” the man accused, narrowing his eyes.

“Cuz it’s not flashy! It’s a completely mental power, but one you should be aware of.”

“...why?” Wilbur asked, honestly confused.

He shrugged. “You’re trusting me with Fundy’s safety, I can at least trust you with this.”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed. Then the man sighed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Fine. What did you mean you can promise nothing will happen?”

“I call it…” he paused for dramatic effect. “...my Tommy Tingle.”  

Wilbur’s nose scrunched up like he’d smelled something rotten. “What the actual fuck?”

“Okay okay, I know it sounds dumb—”

Mostly because I just came up with the name ten seconds ago…

“—but it’s super useful. It tells me when me or people around me are in danger!”

Wilbur stared at him for a second before his eyes widened. “That’s how you knew to grab the tray—”

“Yup!” Tommy interrupted. He didn’t need Wilbur picking apart every experience and finding flaws in the lie. “So as long as Fundy is traveling with me, I will know the second that we are in any danger. And I’ll make sure to get him to safety.”

Wilbur watched him carefully, thinking. Then he gave a small relieved smile. “...thank you, Tommy. That means a lot.”

“Yup!” Tommy said, opening Wilbur’s front door. “No need to thank me, big man. But I better get going. I’ve got a Graphic Design assignment due and I—” he glanced at his watch and winced. “—uhh, do not have a lot of time!”

“How many classes are you taking?!” Fundy quipped, popping his head around the corner. Shit, had he heard the whole conversation?

“And why Graphic Design?” Wilbur asked with a tilt of his head. “Aren’t you a baker?”

Tommy shrugged, walking backwards down the hall. “Color theory’s useful, innit?”

He turned around and rushed down the hall before they could respond.

…

…

…

“Aaaand done,” Tommy sighed, submitting his last assignment for the night. He stretched his back, groaning as it popped before glancing at his clock. Ugh, it was only three in the morning.

He slumped back on his coach, ignoring the way it squeaked while he rubbed his eyes. He glanced around his darkened apartment, trying to find something to do…

What to do, what to do?

Eh, some late night baking practice wouldn’t hurt.

He would figure out that fucking cookie recipe if it killed him.

He stood up with a groan, stretching again before heading to the kitchen. He flicked on the lights and went through the motions of grabbing ingredients and cooking tools, letting his mind run on autopilot.

Fuck he was tired.

He shook himself awake, scanning the ingredients on the counter before realizing he’d forgotten milk of all things.

Stupid autopilot.

He turned to the fridge before halting in place, tilting his head in confusion.

…

Okay, he must have been more tired than he realized, cuz his normally white fridge looked fucking purple.

And…green?

Actually the whole wall looked like there was a colorful spotlight shining on it—

There was a crash behind him, and he turned to see a swirling green and violet vortex swirling on his living room ceiling.

And directly beneath it, laying spread eagle on his couch and illuminated just barely by the light of the portal, was Masquerade.

“Dude…what the fuck?”

Masquerade didn’t answer, and the portal above him flickered and disappeared, plunging the living room back into darkness.

“...Masquerade?” Tommy called, moving over to the light switch on the wall. “You good?”

No response.

His power wasn’t humming, but something about the situation was putting him on edge, and he didn’t know what. He flicked the light switch, casting the room in dull yellow light.

Tommy’s eyes widened in horror. 

“Holy shit…”

Masquerade was hurt. Badly.

His eye-burning suit was a tattered wreck, slash marks littering the article of clothing and leaking red. One of the tails of his suit coat was completely severed, and most of the stopwatches that had adorned the man’s belt were shattered, some of the pieces actually embedded in the vigilante’s skin, red oozing from the wounds.

And there was so much… red.  

Red covered the man’s torso, stab and slash wounds everywhere. His arms were somehow worse, most likely from trying to defend himself from whoever or… what ever did this to him. And his face…

Oh Prime his face…

His mask was gone, and he looked like he had been hit with one of his own watches, glass and metal shards embedded in the man’s temple and cheek. His lip was split and bleeding, his nose crooked, and his eyes..

His eyes were gone.

Someone gouged out Masquerade’s eyes…

Tommy was going to be sick.

“W- Wha- How-” he stammered, stepping back in shock and slamming into the wall. “H-Hey, Masquerade? A- Are you okay?”

Stupid, stupid, why would you even ask that, LOOK AT HIM, HE’S—

No response.

He couldn’t move. He needed to move, he needed to help… somehow, he…he didn’t know how to help. He didn’t know how to—

Tommy swallowed down the bile in his throat.

Is he alive?

His power illuminated the man’s heart, showing it through his chest. It was barely moving. He’d already lost too much blood, and he wasn’t going to last much longer at this rate.

The health potion.

Tommy scrambled back into the kitchen, tearing open the cupboard and snatching down the bottle and just about having a heart attack when it slipped and almost fell.

The bottle was still about two-thirds full after helping Orion, but glancing over at Masquerade, Tommy could already tell it wouldn’t be enough to heal everything.

He still had to try.

He pulled down several rolls of gauze before running back into the living room, dumping the supplies on the floor before rushing to the bathroom to get the first-aid kit. He dropped to his knees next to the man, pulling out the scissors and frantically cutting his shirt open.

Oh fuck…

It was bad. This was so so bad.

How do I help him?

His power highlighted the visible stab marks, highlighting the potion and listing off how much to use for each wound and…and…

There wasn’t enough.

Still, Tommy grabbed the bottle, trying to still the shaking in his hands as he tried to soak bandages in healing potion before pressing them frantically to the bleeding wounds on his torso.

It’ll stop the bleeding, he thought, on the razor edge between determined and panicked. It’ll heal the surface wounds, but it won’t heal his organs. They’re too damaged at this point, they’re going to fail.

No no no, that wouldn’t save him. Treating surface wounds wasn’t going to keep him from dying.

How do I keep him from dying?

And… nothing.

His vision went dark. Nothing lit up, nothing stood out.

He looked frantically around the room, looking for the faintest glimmer of red red red so much red.

Nothing.

He stared in horror at Masquerade’s soon-to-be body. Because that was it. His power couldn’t help him here. Masquerade was…

The man was going to die. On Tommy’s couch. Because Tommy couldn’t help him.

Because Tommy couldn’t help him.

I can’t help him, Tommy realized, eyes widening. Maybe someone else can.

“Who do I call that can keep him from dying?!” he yelled aloud, frantically praying to whoever may be listening that someone out there could help.

For a split second, there was nothing. Nothing lit up, nothing glowed, and he almost lost hope. But he could feel his power working, thrumming through his skull, and he could almost feel gears turning.

Then, finally, a thin red trail appeared, leading across the apartment.

And out the window.

Tommy didn’t hesitate. He jumped to his feet and ran, slamming his foot into the plywood (that Artemis just got around to replacing) and knocking it out of the frame before climbing through, landing on the fire escape.

He glanced around frantically before spotting the trail leading down the metal rungs of the fire escape, and he followed.  He stumbled down each flight, reaching the end and kicking the final ladder into position before sliding down.

He hit the ground and fell, yelling as he landed awkwardly and stumbled to his knees. He got up as quick as he could, following the trail as it lead him out of the alley and down the street.

He ran as best as he was able, his ankle smarting from landing on it wrong, but adrenaline was keeping him moving.

He ran and he ran, passing building after building before realizing with horror that his power could be leading him blocks away. He wouldn’t be able to make it in time if they were too far from his own home.

Out of nowhere, though, the trail veered to the side and into another alleyway, and he followed.

His power lit up another fire escape fixed right above a dumpster, and he scrambled on top and jumped for the ladder, hauling it down with his body weight before scrambling up. He tore up the metal stairs, not caring how much noise he made.

Finally, finally, his power highlighted a window, and he almost tripped over his feet trying to get to it.

He pounded like a mad man on the glass, desperately hoping whoever was inside was awake, or at the very least a light sleeper. 

No response.

He pounded again, honestly not caring if he ended up breaking the glass, when the window shot up and hand reached out and yanked him inside.

He yelped, tumbling to the floor and wincing as his ankle flared with pain again. He heard a click above him, and when he looked up, he froze.

There was a gun pointed at his head.

“Tommy?!”

His eyes slowly unfocused themselves from the gun, gaze traveling up the arm holding the gun to a familiar face.

“Wilbur?!” Tommy yelled, scrambling to his feet. “Wha- What the fuck are you doing here?”

“What am I…this is my apartement, Tommy!” Wilbur yelled back, lowering the gun. “Why the fuck are you pounding at my window at half past three in the morning?”

The man glanced down at Tommy and froze, reaching for the light switch next to him. Tommy winced as the lights flashed on, stinging his eyes.

“And why are you covered in blood?” Wilbur asked horrified.

Tommy glanced down, blanching when he realized his hands and arms were covered in blood.

“I-It’s not mine,” he explained hurriedly. “I’m not the one who’s hurt!”

“Someone’s hurt?” Wilbur asked, looking concerned. “Then why did you come her—”

Wilbur’s expression suddenly darkened, but before he could say anything, Tommy blurt out, “Please, you’re the only one who can help!”

Wilbur blinked, dark expression vanishing. “Pardon?”

“You! I need help and you… ” Tommy trailed off, noticing the red trail did not lead to Wilbur. It lead past him, further into the apartment.

“...aren’t…who I’m here for, apparently,” Tommy finished, looking back at Wilbur urgently. “Who else is here?”

“No one,” Wilbur said, looking at Tommy suspiciously. “Just me and Fundy.”

Fundy.

“Where is he?!” Tommy said, near panic. “I need to talk to him. Now.”

“What? No!” Wilbur said, putting himself between Tommy and the door. “You can’t just barge into my apartment in the dead of night and—”

“Dad?”

Wilbur and Tommy both whirled to see Fundy standing in the door, rubbing his eyes while wearing sleep pants and a T-shirt.

The boy blinked blearily before narrowing his eyes. “Tommy?”

“Fundy!” Tommy yelled, shoving past Wilbur and grabbing Fundy’s arm. “I need your help. Now!”

Because it was Fundy his power was leading him to. The boy was glowing red in Tommy’s vision. Somehow, Fundy could save Masquerade.

“Wait, Tommy, you’re here? Holy shit, why are you covered in blood?!”

“It’s not mine,” Tommy explained desperately, dragging Fundy toward the window. “It’s someone else’s, and they’re hurt, and apparently you’re the only person I know who can help them, so please—”

“How do you know what his power is?” Wilbur suddenly snarled, ripping Fundy’s arm out of his grasp. “Who sent you?”

“Who sent— no one!” Tommy yelled, not understanding why they weren’t listening. “And I don’t know Fundy’s power. All I know is he’s the only one who can keep a man from dying tonight.”

Fundy paled and looked to Wilbur. “Dad—”

“No, absolutely not,” Wil said, grip tightening on the gun in his hand. “You are not leaving my sight, and yo—”

“Then come with us!” Tommy screamed. “I don’t give a fuck who comes, so come on!”

Wilbur was quiet for way too long for Tommy’s liking. He needed to get back. He needed to get Fundy back.

“No,” Wilbur said finally, pulling Fundy behind him.

“W-What?” Tommy said, not believing what he was hearing. “Wil, there is a man dying on my couch, he— he’s going to die.”

“And I…” Wilbur said, lifting the gun again. “...don’t care.”

Tommy blanched, stepping back and bumping into the window sill. “Wilbur?”

Wilbur’s expression was…it reminded Tommy of the day he dueled him in the bunker.  There was murder in those eyes, and it scared the crap out of him.

He doesn’t care if someone lives or dies, he thought incredulously. What the fuck is wrong with this guy.

“Get. Out,” Wilbur said, stepping forward with each word, and then continuing to step forward until the gun was pressed to Tommy’s chest. “Before I make you,” he snarled.

“-get up before I make you-!”

Tommy could hear his blood rushing in his ears, and he had to blink to keep his vision from blurring, he had to keep himself grounded.

Not now. Please not now.

Suddenly, Wilbur stiffened, shoulders tensing.

And then he collapsed in a heap at Tommy’s feet.

He stared down at Wilbur’s seemingly lifeless body before looking back up. Fundy was standing behind where his father was a moment before, arm extended.

And fingers held in a pinch.

“What—” Tommy shuddered, biting his tongue to ground and yank himself back to reality. Mostly because he couldn’t believe what he just saw. “Did you just fucking nerve pinch him?”

“You taught me how, remember?” Fundy hissed. “The very first day you started walking me home.” Fundy grabbed his arm. “Now, where are we going?”

“My apartment,” Tommy said, turning and scrambling out the window. “Come on, we don’t have much time.”

“Why not?” Fundy said, skittering out after him.

“Cause he has lost way too much blood, and he’s really hurt, and his fucking eyes have been gouged out—”

“What the ever-living hell— who is this?!”

“Masquerade,” Tommy said, leaping down to the ground. 

He turned back to see Fundy staring at him in disbelief from the ladder. 

“Masquerade? The vigilante?” Fundy asked, eyes wide and staring at Tommy like he’d grown a second dick.

“No, Fundy, the restaurant. Yes, the fucking vigilante, now hurry up!”

Fundy stirred back into action, jumping off the ladder and following him as he sprinted down the street, following the trail that would lead him back home.

“So why did you come for me?” Fundy asked as they ran, breathing not quite heavy, but getting there. “Is there a specific reason, or am I just your only friend?”

“Okay, first of all, fuck you, I have so many friends I can’t even begin to name them. As for the first half of your question, uhh…okay, that’s admittedly a bit more complicated.”

“Then sum it up,” Fundy quipped.

“...my power told me to get you,” Tommy explained, turning the corner into his own alley.

“Wha— your Tommy Tingle?” Fundy asked incredulously, and damn it, he did hear that whole conversation.

Welp…

“I lied,” Tommy said, and he heard Fundy’s steps falter behind him as he grabbed the ladder. “That’s not my power.”

“Why—”

“Okay, technically that’s just a part of my power, but yeah, no. I lied to you dad. Sorry, not sorry. Hurry up!”

Tommy glanced down to see Fundy grabbing the ladder and hauling himself up, and Tommy rattled up the stairs to his own apartment.

He hauled himself through his broken window, immediately rushing over to Masquerade’s side.

How is he doing?

{hum}

Fuck!

“Fundy!” Tommy yelled, dashing for the window. “He’s barely breathing, get up here!” he whisper-yelled down the fire escape.

Fundy was there within a moment, and Tommy hauled him inside. Fundy took one look at Masquerade and blanched.

“Primes,” he whispered, horrified.

“Help now, gawk later,” Tommy said, shoving him forward and down in front of Masquerade before kneeling down himself. “Okay, what can you do? All my power said was that you were the only one who could help him right now. So…” he motioned vaguely in Masquerade’s direction. “... do something!”

Fundy stared at Masquerade’s shredded form for a second longer before reaching out a hand hesitantly. He reached for the man’s face, but paused right before touching him.

Fundy turned to him, and Tommy almost started yelling at him for waiting, why are you waiting?!

But then Fundy’s eyes caught his attention, and…

They were scared. Fundy looked terrified.

“Please,” Fundy whispered, looking desperate. “You cannot tell… anyone, and I mean no one, what you are about to see.”

Tommy blinked, suddenly nervous. “I— I won’t, big man, seriously.”

“No, Tommy, promise me!” Fundy hissed, actual tears forming in his eyes. “Promise me you will tell no one.”

Tommy only hesitated for a moment.

“I promise,” he said determinedly. “I swear in the name of Prime, Irene and Ianite, and the Archives itself, that I will speak of this to nobody.”

Fundy’s shoulders slumped in relief and he gave Tommy a shaky smile before turning back to Masquerade. 

He placed his hand on Masquerade’s face, and closed his eyes.

Tommy watched, nervousness churning in his stomach when nothing happened at first, but then Masquerade’s wounds started… shimmering.

Light poured from each wound, dancing across the ceiling in patterns reminiscent of light bouncing off a pool’s surface.

Tommy glanced at one of the gashes on the vigilante’s arm, a particularly deep one, and one that Tommy hadn’t been able to treat.

As he watched, fascinated, it appeared as if the wound was being filled with liquid light. Pure white slowly rose from deep within Masquerade’s body, pouring into every slash and divot and flooding the wound with light. The light reached the point where the man’s skin would be, rippled, and appeared to solidify, forming a solid white patch where the wound was.

A scar of light.

Tommy’s gaze traveled over the man’s body, watching as a similar effect occurred for each and every wound on the man’s body, the man appearing to glow from the inside out.

His gaze snapped up to the man’s eyes, and he stared in wonder as the man’s eyes socket’s filled as well, gaping red holes quickly turning a pure glowing white.

A shockwave seemed to ripple through the man’s body, all the filled and glowing wounds rippling as one as a wave seemed to pass from the top of the man’s head downward.

A flash of light blazed outward, blinding Tommy and making him yell in surprise.

When he stopped seeing spots, he turned back to Masquerade’s body to see… nothing. The white scars and patches, the glowing lights… nothing.

Because where every scar had been located, healthy unmarred skin met Tommy’s eyes instead.

Tommy could only look in wonder, tracing his eyes over every slash and stab mark that littered the man’s outfit, expecting to see a wound or… scars, or something.

But every hole only showed unblemished skin. It wasn’t even pink, new skin, like what’d you get after a scab. It was just… skin.

Tommy looked up and noticed that Masquerade’s eyelids had been repaired as well, the flaps of skin having been missing prior.

And if the eyelids are back…

He carefully reached up, laying a thumb gently over the vigilante’s left eyelid and raising it.

Healthy, blue-gray eyes stared back at him, unfocused and unseeing, but there.

“Holy fuck,” Tommy muttered, sitting back and letting the man’s eye fall shut. “What even— I mean…hehe, holy fuck, Fundy, what…”

He trailed off, slumping down and letting himself sprawl out across the floor. “Ugh, I’m too tired for this bullshit.”

Fundy was silent for a moment before saying quietly, “He should wake up in a few hours. He’s still suffering from blood loss, I can’t fix that, but he should be fine if he’s careful.”

Tommy grunted in acknowledgement, not bothering to move.

They were both quiet for several minutes, both lost in their own thoughts.

Tommy was just trying to wrap his head around the fact his friend had a power that amazing. Able to heal wounds with a touch— no, not heal, regenerate. He was able to bring back a man’s eyes. That wasn’t normal.

Even among healing powers, Fundy’s was…honestly, it was on another level.

It also made some things click in Tommy’s head.

“I see why Wilbur’s so overprotective of you,” Tommy whispered, hesitant to even disturb the quiet. “Makes sense. There are some wack people who’d be gunning for you if they knew.”

“...I know,” Fundy whispered back, slumping against the couch. “Trust me, I know.”

Tommy’s heart sank at the tense tone in Fundy’s voice, and he raised his head to look at Fundy.

He looked…not all there.

“Fundy?” Tommy said hesitantly. “Did…why do you say that like…it’s already happened?”

Fundy was quiet, and his heart sank further.

“Because it has,” Fundy whispered, voice cracking. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself. “It already has.”

Tommy pushed himself up and crawled over to lean on the couch next to Fundy, both of them staring off into space. Cold wind pushed through the open window, drafting over where they sat in just T-shirts and sweatpants.

Neither of them really cared about the cold right now.

“What happened?” Tommy whispered hesitantly. “Who found out?”

Fundy was quiet, and Tommy honestly thought he wouldn’t answer.

He almost wished he hadn’t.

“The heroes.”

Tommy’s head snapped to Fundy, eyes wide. “... what?”

Fundy’s arms tightened further.

Tommy sat staring at Fundy for longer than he cared to admit, trying to wrap his mind around that little tidbit of info. The heroes kidnapped a kid for his power?

“...who?” he asked, afraid of the answer.

Fundy snorted, turning to study Tommy. “I think you know.”

Tommy felt the pit in his stomach deepen. The sad thing was, he think he did know, but he really did not like the answer his brain was supplying him with.

“I was around twelve, I think,” Fundy spoke up, grabbing Tommy’s attention again. “When a couple hero agencies caught wind of my ability.  They offered me an internship—only part-time, since I was still pretty young. They had me come and help out, heal wounds and such. I’d get paid, they were flexible around my school hours, I got to hang out with heroes.   It was a win-win as far as my dad and I could tell.

“And it was great, at first. It was neat seeing how the hero agencies operated, and I…I really liked helping people.

“But after a few months, they…” Fundy took a shaky breath. “...they stopped letting me go home.”

“...just like that?” Tommy asked and Fundy nodded into his legs.

“Just like that.”

“...and Wilbur?”

“We had been going through a rough patch at home,” Fundy admitted. “And I was… stupid enough to mention it to them, cuz I thought we were friends. Someone I could confide in. Instead, they kidnapped me and told my dad that I didn’t want to talk to him anymore.

“And obviously Dad didn’t believe that, but when he actually came to the agency to confront them, they… tricked him into thinking it was true,” Fundy spat. “And they made me watch as they broke my Dad’s heart in the middle of the fucking lobby.

“And then my dad left,” Fundy whispered. “Walked… right. Out the door while I was screaming for him to come back…I didn’t see him for months after that.”

Primes, I’m gonna be sick, Tommy thought. 

“How…” he swallowed. “How did you get away?”

Fundy barked out a laugh. “I didn’t,” he said bitterly. “They held me there for almost a year before someone ever came for me.”

“A year?!”

Fundy nodded. “Yeah. I missed almost a whole year of school, locked up inside a hero agency and being treated as nothing more than a resource.”

“Then who…?”

“Another hero,” Fundy said. “An actual hero, this time, not someone masquerading around as one.” His eyes flicked to the body next to them. “Pun not intended.”

“Who was it, then?” Tommy asked, his curiosity overtaking his sense to stop making the dude relive trauma the fuck is wrong with you!?

“Tengu.”

“Tengu?!” Tommy yelled, wincing when Masquerade groaned next to them. “The fucking Angel of Death saved you?”

“Yup,” Fundy said, popping the ‘p’.

“But he’s been retired for years, why…” Tommy trailed off, thinking. “Wait, was this why?”

Fundy shrugged. “I guess? I don’t know. He saved me, got me home, then a week later he retired, so…I dunno.”

“I’m assuming you and your dad went into hiding after that?” Tommy pressed.

Fundy snorted. “Yes and no. My dad, uhh, didn’t take the situation well, which, y’know, understandable. But yeah, we moved here after everything, and he…well, basically home schooled me through high school.”

Fundy’s gaze softened and he gave a tiny fond smile. “He’s given a lot to keep me safe. Left his job, paid some people to forge new identities, the whole deal.”

“Wait, so…”

“No, my name is still half a dozen names long, it just doesn’t say that on any records,” Fundy chuckled. “But he’s been meticulous in who I’m with, making sure no one learns anything.”

“Yeah, your dad’s, like, the textbook definition of a helicopter parent,” Tommy said, only half-joking. “Like, I get why he does it—kinda obvious in hindsight—but still, you have got to set some boundaries.”

“I’ll…work on that,” Fundy conceded. “I guess I’ve just been letting him do everything, so it’s kind of my own fault. Still, you can’t blame him for being careful. And he is careful.”

Fundy fixed him with a hardened gaze, and Tommy stiffened. “So how exactly did you know about my power, Tommy?”

Tommy sighed, pulling a leg of his own up to his chest. “I already told ya. I didn’t.”

“Then why was I your first choice when a man was dying if you didn’t know I had a healing power?”

Tommy groaned, smacking the back of his head against the couch a couple times. “Ugh, this is gonna suck.” He took a second to collect his thoughts before rolling his head to look at Fundy. “Care to trade?”

Fundy blinked at him, confused. “Huh?”

“Look, you just shared…well, a lot, all of which could potentially bite you in the ass should it get out, right?”

Fundy narrowed his eyes. “Your point?”

Tommy shrugged. “So I’ll share information that will bite me in the ass. Sound fair?”

Fundy thought on it for a moment. “What’ve you got?”

Tommy leaned his head back against the couch, staring up at his ceiling. “Well, you’re not the only one who’s been hunted for his power, for one,” he said nonchalantly.

He heard Fundy’s breath hitch next to him but didn’t bother looking. He didn’t really want to see Fundy’s expression.

“...what…what’s your power?”

“Dude, rule number one.”

Fundy leaned over and smacked him in the arm, making him laugh. 

“Quit stalling, spill.”

He sighed again, leaning back. “I guess…I dunno, I’ve never had to explain my power before, umm…” he thought for a moment. “I guess the best way to describe it is a problem solver?”

He tilted his head over to see Fundy blinking. “That…doesn’t sound super strong.”

“Well, if it was just that, you’d probably be right,” Tommy said, looking away. “I can give it a problem, or ask how to solve something, and it’ll give me an answer. Doesn’t work with hypotheticals, though, so I can’t use it to cheat on tests, unfortunately.”

“What do you mean ‘hypotheticals’?” Fundy asked, looking intrigued.

“Like, it has to be a situation happening in the moment,” Tommy explained. “I can’t ask some bullshit question like ‘hey, what would happen if a dude got tazed in the ass?’ and get an answer. But if someone actually got tazed in front of me, and I asked what’s wrong, it would probably tell me.”

“Odd example, but okay. Still doesn’t explain how you knew to come get me.”

“Yeah, that’s the other thing,” Tommy agreed. “My power knows things it shouldn’t. It’s honestly kinda terrifying.”

“...like?”

“Remember the keypad and how I figured it out in thirty seconds?”

“Yeah?”

“I literally just asked my power ‘ how do I activate this?’ and it gave me an eight digit number.”

“Oh…” Fundy’s eyes suddenly widened as the full implications hit. “ Oh shit.”

“Yeah, I could literally win the lottery every week if I wanted.” 

He hummed, tilting his head. “Actually, maybe my power is just flat out information, and problem solving’s just a bonus.”

“What the hell, dude?” Fundy said, looking awed. “That’s… wait, what about the Tommy Tingle.”

“Prime, stop calling it that!”

“That’s what you called it!”

“It’s the first thing that came to mind,” he groaned. “And yes, technically, that’s still a thing.”

“Wait, seriously?!” Fundy said, looking surprised. “How does that work?”

Tommy shrugged. “Information. It knows when something bad is gonna happen, so it warns me. And it goes fucking haywire whenever I’m in trouble, to the point where I don’t even have to ask the thing before it starts pointing out escape routes or things I could use as weapons.

“It actually happened when I first met Wil,” he said. Fundy looked at him odd, and he continued. “There was a robbery happening, and my power warned me of the danger before it even happened and showed me how to save my bosses life and kept your dad from getting a concussion and showed us where to hide. All without me asking it to.”

He paused. “No, wait, I asked it where to hide. Nevermind.”

Fundy was staring at him like he’d grown a second dick again.

“Dude, what the hell?”

Tommy laughed. “Yeah, it’s kinda stupid. And it’s not even at full strength, either.”

Fundy’s eyes widened even further. “What does that mean?!”

“Umm…” Tommy paused, thinking how to explain. “Like, it still learns as I do. Like…okay, if someone a year ago had been hurt, and I’d asked my power how to help, it would have given me an answer that… technically would have worked. Maybe not the best, but it would have gotten the job done.

“But now, I’ve taken a first-aid class, and my power remembers everything I’ve ever learned, even if I don’t. So if that same person got hurt, I’d be able to treat them a lot more effectively because my power grew.”

Fundy blinked. “So you’re already broken power just gets more broken the more you learn?”

Tommy smirked. “Why do you think I take so many online classes?”

“I am suddenly far more scared of you than I was previously.”

He snorted, leaning against the couch again. “Yeah, well, as overpowered as it is, it still didn’t help me much tonight. That was all you.”

Fundy was quiet next to him, probably lost in thought. Which was fine with Tommy. This was the most he’d ever shared, and it was a lot more emotionally draining than he thought it’d be.

“What did you mean when you said you were hunted?”

Aaaand the draining aspect just intensified.

“I…I was six,” he started, and Fundy stilled next to him. “I don’t really remember all the details, cuz, y’know, I was six, but I think my power had just started developing. I guess whoever was taking care of me at the time figured out just how strong it could be, because in one memory, I’m sitting on the floor playing with a teddy bear, and in the next I’m gagged and tied up in a van with a gun to my head.”

“So, you were kidnapped?”

Tommy closed his eyes sadly and shook his head, making Fundy quiet.

“No, Fundy. I was sold.”

He inhaled shakily, doing his best to keep the memories from overwhelming him.

“My parents worked a lot, so most of the time they just left me with whatever nanny they could hire. I can’t even remember them, or if we were close, or… anything, really. But they took one look at my power and saw a get-rich-quick opportunity, and they fucking ran with it.”

He laughed bitterly. “Well, six-year-old me didn’t like that too much, so once the people they sold me to finally locked me up, I asked my power how to escape.”

Fundy stared at him. “Did…did that work?”

Tommy gave him a look. “I don’t know, Fundy. Am I currently sitting in an apartment complex or a jail cell? You tell me.”

“Touche.”

“So yeah, I got out. Apparently, they’d brought me to the Lower, which was…well, I was a six year old with an Upper accent in the Lower slums, you can imagine how it could have gone.”

Fundy winced.

“My power kept me safe, though,” Tommy said, eyes far away as his memories wandered. “Helped me find food and shelter, avoid the crazies and what not. But then about a week later, I walked past an electronics store and saw a news report.”

His mind flashed with images of fire seen through a TV screen. Houses burnt to ash, not even the frameworks left, the road turned to gravel, stripped and cracked, trees torn from the ground and also set ablaze.

“They attacked my street,” he said quietly. “I guess they thought my parents must have found a way to get me back and keep the money, cuz they burned down my house. Torched it to oblivion and killed everyone inside, and then decided to torch the neighbors in case my parents talked to anyone. And then their neighbors for good measure.”

He could hear the gears turning in Fundy’s head next to him, and he winced when Fundy let out a gasp.

“Wait, you were six, so ten years ago— the Craft Street Massacre? That was your neighborhood?”

Tommy wrinkled his nose. “I really don’t get why they call it that, Craft Street wasn’t the only hit.”

“Tommy, that’s not the point!” Fundy yelled, unwrapping himself so he could turn and stare at Tommy properly. “An entire neighborhood was decimated and— Primes , Tommy please don’t tell me you’ve been blaming yourself for this the entire ti—”

“Of course not, dickhead!” Tommy snapped. “I was fucking six, I know it’s not my fault.” He turned away. “I’m not an idiot,” he mumbled.

“Still, I thought…” Fundy huffed out a laugh. “You seem like the type of guy to self-blame a lot.”

“What the fuck.”

“So…” Fundy trailed off. “What happened after? Are your parents…?”

“Dead? Yeah. I didn’t watch the whole report, but I remember them saying my house was the first to burn and everyone inside was burned to ash. I can’t really check records, either, cuz my six-year-old brain didn’t think last names were important enough to remember.”

“I thought your power’s memory was photographic,” Fundy pointed out.

“Okay, ‘photographic’ and ‘hyperthymesia’ are two very different things,” Tommy said. “And my power had just developed. It wasn’t as… iron clad as it is now.

“But yeah, after that? I went into hiding, my power keeping me alive. It took a while, but I managed to fake some documents so I could get odd jobs here and there, start saving up. Finally found this place, though I’m pretty sure the landlord, Clem, saw right through the forgeries. Probably just took pity on me.

“Soooo, yeah!” Tommy finished, glancing at Fundy with a smirk. “Look at us, sharing traumatic backstories.” He paused, before immediately facepalming. “Godammit, what is it with trauma bonding in my living room?”

“What, this has happened before?” Fundy laughed, raising a brow.

Tommy shrugged. “I mean, I wasn’t the one bonding, but yeah.” He nodded his head at Masquerade. “He’s not exactly the first person I’ve helped.”

Fundy looked between Tommy and the vigilante, eyes slowly widening. “I’m sorry, are you saying you’ve helped other vigilantes before?!”

“...maybe.”

“Tommy!”

“Whatever,” Tommy said, getting to his feet. “Let’s get you home before your dad tracks us down and tries to shoot me again.”

Fundy winced. “Yeeaahhh, he might actually do that if he sees you again.”

“Wait, really?! I was just being sarcastic!”

Tommy helped Fundy up before leading him to his front door. “Might as well take the elevator now that we’re not trying to keep a man from dying.”

“Do you plan on fixing your window anytime soon?” Fundy asked as they walked down the hall to the elevator.

“Eh, I’ll cover it again when I get home.”

“Dude, you look dead on your feet, get some sleep.”

“Sleep is for weak bitches, I only sleep once a week.”

“Tommy, that is not healthy.”

“Neither are the nightmares, so…”

“Tommy!”

They chatted quietly for most of the walk home. It was kind of jarring, going from adrenaline-inducing panic to trauma bonding to just… talking.

It was also, like, past four in the morning at this point, so…

“Y’know, Dad’s probably not gonna let me go to work for a while after this,” Fundy mentioned as they approached his building. They’d both agreed they should actually use the building’s elevator this time as opposed to getting shot trying to climb through the window.

Tommy winced. “I’m sorry.”

Fundy shrugged. “Eh, I’ll talk him out of it, hopefully. As crazy as he can be, he still listens to reason……most of the time.”

“Aaaand…?” Tommy prodded.

Fundy sighed. “And I’ll…try to set some boundaries. Fuck off.”

Tommy snorted as they entered, walking the familiar route to the elevators.

As they exited the elevators, however, Tommy got all of three feet before grinding to a halt, staring wide-eyed at Fundy’s door.

“Tommy?” the older boy asked, looking back when he realized he’d stopped.

“...so you remember the Tommy Tingle?”

“I thought you said not to call it that.”

“Yeah, well it’s less of a ‘tingle’ and more of a ‘my brain is convulsing inside my skull’, and I’m pretty sure I’ll die if I get any closer to your door.”

Fundy snickered at the comparison, waving him off. “Go home. I’ll handle my dad, don’t worry.” 

Tommy gladly backed the fuck up into the elevator and smashed the button to go down. “Bye, big man, cya whenever!” he called.

He sprinted back to his apartment.

…

…

…

“Ugghh, where am I?”

Tommy glanced up from his laptop—trying to get ahead on some homework—to see Masquerade finally stirring.

“About fucking time,” Tommy muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Masquerade’s eyes shot over to Tommy. He blinked. “Wait…aren’t you that Tommy kid?”

“Aren’t you the asshole who portalled into my apartment in the dead of night while on the brink of death?” Tommy deadpanned.

“What do you—?” Masquerade cut himself off abruptly, hands shooting up to his face and feeling around his eyes. “M-My eyes. I can see.” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s a miracle, all that shit. Now get the fuck out of my apartment.”

Masquerade’s hands moved down to the rest of his body, patting himself down. His eyes shot up to Tommy. “Did you…?”

Tommy sighed, rolling his eyes. “No, I did not heal you. And you are going to forget you ever were healed, and if you ever mention this to anybody , I will make your life a living hell.”

Masquerade blinked at him, tilting his head. “What do yo—?”

“I’ve seen your face.”

The vigilante’s eyes widened, hands shooting up to his face again. He winced when his fingertips met bare skin instead of his mask, and he glanced at Tommy worriedly. “I remember you being nicer.”

Tommy levelled a glare that made the man flinch back. “It is six in the morning, I have not slept yet, and I have a twelve hour shift in thirty minutes, so you can fuck right off, asshole. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Tommy sat forward suddenly, staring the man dead in the eye. “You said yourself you’re a morally gray person, so I have no guarantee you won’t cause problems for me in the future. Just know that I can cause you problems. And I will, if you don’t get the fuck out.”

Masquerade flinched before nodding, standing up and waving his hand to make a portal.

At least he would have if he didn’t lose his balance and fall back on to the couch.

“Hey!” Tommy snapped, standing immediately. “No portals.”

“What?” the vigilante said incredulously. “How do you expect me to leave, then?”

“Call a friend. Or an Uber. I don’t care.”

“Why—?”

“Look at my couch,” Tommy said, and Masquerade turned and blanched when he caught sight of it. “You see all that blood? That came from you. Your body needs time to recover, and in order to do that, you need to stop. Moving. No portals, no crime fighting, no running around, nothing. ”

“I—”

“There’s a change of clothes and a trash bag in the bathroom,” Tommy said, ignoring him.  “Get changed, hide your costume, and call a ride. I need to get ready for work, but if you are still here when I come out of my room, I will post your face to the web so fast your head will spin.”

The man nodded quickly and stood again, keeping his balance this time as he slowly made his way to the bathroom.

The door clicked shut, and Tommy sighed, running a hand down his face.

He knew he was being a dick, but he was too tired for this.

He turned to head down the hall to his bedroom, and nearly screamed when he saw Michael standing there, Julia on his shoulders.

“Michael? What the hell are you doing here?!” Tommy whisper-yelled.

I came over yesterday and took a nap on your bed, Michael signed. I…may have been asleep longer than I thought.

“...how did you sleep through all the yelling last night?” Tommy asked, slightly concerned.

Michael gave him a deadpanned glare. I’ve gotten used to sleeping through yelling.

Tommy winced. Right, parents. He rubbed his eyes, cuz they were starting to burn. “Fair, that’s fair.”

He looked back to the boy and gave him a tired smile. “I’ve got to head to work in a bit, but you can hang out here if you want. Just, uh…” he glanced behind him at the bathroom before turning back. “...maybe hang out in my room for a bit first, yeah?”

Michael tilted his head but nodded nonetheless. Julia’s leg is better, he signed. Is it time to take her back?

Tommy glanced over to see the lemur’s paw unwrapped and healed. “Yeah, looks like. Wanna go with me again?”

Michael nodded excitedly and Tommy smiled.

Guess his evening was booked.

Chapter Text

Tommy nervously glanced up from his pastries, ignoring the twisting feeling in his stomach. He watched Niki work at the next table, mixing and kneading dough for the day.

Ignoring the way his stomach coiled, he spoke up.

“Hey, uhh, Niki?” Tommy prodded. “Could I ask a favor?”

Niki froze in her kneading, blinking down at the dough before glancing up. “A… favor?”

He blanched. “Wait, no, not that kind of favor!”

Niki laughed, focusing back on her task. “I know, I know, wrong kind of favor.” She flicked her gaze up to him, still working the dough. “What’s up?”

“Soooo, I— uhhh, I…” he trailed off with a groan, resisting the urge to run a hand down his face, if only for the fact his hands were covered in pastry jam. “Could I— fuck, I hate even having to ask this…”

“You okay?” Niki asked, sounding concerned. “You’re scaring me—”

“Could I have a couple days off?” Tommy rushed out, already wincing.

Niki froze again, slowly turning her head up to stare at him. “... what?”

He blinked, resisting the urge to shiver under the sudden gorgon stare what the fuck is up with this girl?! “I-I…umm…”

“That’s it?”

“Huh?”

Niki laughed again. “Why are you getting so worked up over asking for a few days off?” she asked incredulously.

Tommy had to resist the urge to sigh in relief.  He didn’t know why the thought of asking Niki for time off had made him so uncomfortable. It’s not like he was afraid she’d say no —and even if she had, it wasn’t that big a deal, he would’ve managed—it was just…the thought of actually asking her…

Look, Niki fucking terrified him, okay?

Don’t get him wrong, she was one of the nicest people he’d ever met, but at the same time, she was just… off somehow. Her gazes were just a tad too intense for his liking, and he’d seen her stay aloof and chill through things that most people would not be aloof and chill about. 

Like finding a civil war bunker in your basement.

“If you don’t mind me asking, though…” Niki continued, tilting her head with a smile. “What do you need the days off for?”

Ah. And there was the other reason he had been hesitant to ask.

“Oh, it’s…nothing major,” he said, resisting the urge to rub his neck, both because of the jam on his hands and the fact that he refused to show any more weakness in front of his boss. “I just…need a mental health day.”

If he hadn’t had her attention before, he definitely had it now. She instantly pulled her hands from the dough, quickly wiping them down on her apron as she walked over, concern oozing from her expression.

“Prime, are you alright?” she asked, like he had just been physically wounded in front of her. “If you felt like you were being overworked, you should have told me, Tommy! Shit, you do look exhausted. I should have known you were working too many hours, that can’t be healthy for anyone. What the fuck, Niki?!”

Tommy just blinked at the sight of his boss frantically switching from fretting over him to verbally tearing herself a new one all in the span of ten seconds.

“Niki— Niki!” Tommy said, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. “Calm down, bitch!”

She blinked. “Fuck you, too.”

“And we’re back,” he snorted, releasing her shoulders with a roll of his eyes. “Now stop worrying! It’s not because I’m overworked or anything.”

“It’s not?” she asked, somehow more confused. “What’s wrong then?”

—blood soaking into his couch, oozing out of wounds embedded with metal and glass while empty, gouged-out eye sockets stared into his soul…

A gun aimed at his head—

“A family member died,” Tommy said, blinking himself back to reality. “Not anyone I was super close with, but it…it kinda came out of nowhere, and they weren’t that much older than me, so…yeah.”

Which was… technically half true. He’d seen Masquerade’s face last night, and the guy looked like he was barely twenty.

Plus he’d…

He’d almost died…

Not that he was gonna tell Niki that a man had almost died on his couch last night.

“Oh,” Niki said quietly, looking at him sadly. “I’m sorry, Tommy.” She glanced back at the prep table, brows furrowed thoughtfully. She turned back to him, smiling. “If you want, you can go ahead and head home for the day. I can finish the prep.”

“What? No!” Tommy spluttered, shooting down the idea instantly. “I’m not just gonna leave, I’m scheduled for today!”

Niki nodded. “Yes, you are. And now I’m unscheduling you. Go home.”

He crossed his arms. “Make me.”

She crossed her own arms, smirking. “Would you rather I just suspend you?”

“...damn it.”

She laughed. “It’s fine, Tommy, seriously. The others and I can do just fine for a couple days.”

He glared at her, thinking. “How ‘bout this?” he started, ignoring the exasperated look Niki sent him. “Fundy mentioned he might not be able to make it today, so—”

“He did?” Niki asked, confused. “When?”

“Uhh, last night, on the way home,” Tommy fibbed, avoiding eye contact. “Anyway, I will go home IF—” he stressed, holding up a finger. “—Fundy manages to make it in today. I’m not leaving you short two people with no warning.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, thinking. Tommy tried his very best to make his face look like he wasn’t about to pass out from exhaustion, but he knew there wasn’t much he could do about the bags under his eyes.

“Fine,” she groaned, slumping back. “But the second that Fundy shows up, you’re gone.”

“Deal.”

Tommy struggled to hide his smirk, turning back to his pastries. Yeah, after what he’d learned last night? There was no fucking way Wilbur was going to let Fundy out of his sight for at least a week.

…

…

…

He showed up an hour later.

Tommy had moved up to the front counter, restocking a few items that the closing shift the night before had missed (fuck you, Eret), when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

He glanced up, and nearly dropped the box of little jelly cups he was holding when he saw Fundy stomp past the front windows, heading for the adjacent alley and the employee entrance.

He did drop the box when he saw Wilbur storm by a few seconds later, his power flaring up in warning.

“Nope!” Tommy yells, dashing for the back and brushing past Bad. “Not today, Satan!”

“Excuse me?” Bad spluttered, looking at Tommy like he’d just personally insulted him.

“Not you, dickhead,” Tommy yelled, running into the back.

“Hey!”

He skid to a stop in the back, frantically looking for a place to hide. Niki had holed herself up in the office, so that was a no go. The kitchen was wide open with no places to hide, unless he tried shoving himself under the sink. 

Break room it was then.

He scrambled over, skidding to a stop in the doorframe and immediately freezing.

Techno looked up to stare boredly at him from where he was seated waiting for the shipment, a copy of Moby Dick held open with a single hand. He must have seen the look of pure terror that Tommy was sure his face  was making, because he instantly shut the book, eyes hardening. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Tommy started, trying to convey with his eyes just how fucked he was. “...am not. Here.”

Techno’s face blanked for a second. “Heh?”

“I’m not here,” Tommy repeated, before darting for the storage room next door.

Techno apparently decided to follow him, because a few seconds later the man appeared in the doorway, watching in bewilderment as Tommy tried to squeeze himself between a couple of boxes.

“...what are you doing?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Tommy hissed, trying to fold his gangly limbs into the tight space. “Shove that stack of boxes over here.”

Techno glanced at the stack, each box full of several pounds of flour. He glanced back. “Why?”

“Do it!” Tommy yelled, before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Techno just stared at him, face blank. Then he turned back to the stack, stuck out one foot, and just… slid …the entire fucking stack… in front of Tommy’s hiding spot.

With one foot.

The fuck did this guy’s parents feed him? he thought incredulously

He blinked in surprise when a fucking list of foods appeared in the corner of his vision.

Dammit, I wasn’t asking you!

…

A lot of potato dishes, apparently.

Geez, some of these are fucking gourmet, who the f—

The sound of the employee entrance slamming open jarred him out of his thoughts, the list disappearing as his power flared in the back of his mind again. Techno whirled around, body tensed, when the sound of arguing reached their ears. 

Loud arguing.

“Fundy Soot, don’t you dare—”

“Ya can’t stop me, Dad—!”

“Fucking watch me!”

Techno turned to look in Tommy’s direction, a pained expression on his face. Tommy just waved a hand at him frantically, trying to get him to look somewhere else before he gave away his hiding place.

Techno sighed heavily before turning to face out the door. “Hey!”

The arguing cut off momentarily, then the sound of scampering footsteps sounded out, and Tommy heard Wilbur yell out in protest.

Fundy suddenly dashed into the storage room, ducking past Techno and hiding behind the burly man.

“Fundy, get your butt out here.”

“Nope!” Fundy yelled, Tommy watching him cross his arms as he leaned his back against Techno’s. The older boy looked completely done with the situation, glaring at the back of the room.

Techno didn’t even budge with the additional weight, his face having shifted back into a forced, almost bored neutrality. “What seems to be the issue, sir?”

Tommy couldn’t see outside of the room from where he was hiding, but he could easily imagine a vein bulging on Wilbur’s head as he spluttered. “W-What…I’m taking my son home! It’s too dangerous for him here!”

A look of bewilderment crossed Techno’s face before he re-schooled his expression. He sighed. “Look, Wil, was it?”

“Wilbur,” Tommy heard the man growl.

“Right, Wil, anyway…” Techno continued, ignoring the angry mutters.  “How exactly is it dangerous for him here?”

“Because it is!”

Techno’s eyes didn’t move as he stared out the door, supposedly holding eye contact with what could very well be a manic man.

“Wil—”

“Wilbur!”

“—this is a bakery.”

“And?”

“Run by Niki Nihachu.”

“And?!”

Techno stared harder. “Nihachu.”

“I heard you the first time!”

“...”

“...”

“...Fundy, go help Bad up front.”

Fundy practically melted in relief, darting past Techno. “Thanks Tech!”

“Hey, Fundy! Get back here!”

Tommy heard the swinging door leading out front slam open, leaving the back of the building in tense silence.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Wilbur’s voice seethed.

Techno didn’t look phased in the slightest. “No one importan’. How ‘bout you?”

“Hi, ‘no one important’, I’m Fundy’s father, and I am taking him home. Now.”

“Mmm, no.”

Tommy’s eyes widened as he stared at the side of Techno’s head, suddenly fearing for his life.

“...what did you just say?” And ooookay, Tommy didn’t know Wilbur’s voice could get any scarier.

Techno shrugged. “I said ‘no.’ He’s eighteen, isn’t he?” He asked, pointing his chin at the door. “He’s old enough to make his own decisions. And if he wants to work, he can work.”

“Not when it puts him in danger!” Wilbur yelled. “Not when there are people here who could—”

Wilbur cut himself off suddenly.

“Is Tommy here?”

Oh fuck the scary voice is back.

Techno blinked, looking confused. “What?”

“Is. Tommy. Here?”

That hidden keypad was suddenly looking very inviting to his power.

“Does that matter?” Techno asked, still confused. “Did he do something to you?”

Fundy’s voice suddenly rang out from the front. “HE DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”

Techno’s expression only grew more confused. “I’m…lost.”

“What he did or did not do isn’t important,” Wilbur pressed, scary voice still very present. “Where is he?”

Techno’s eyes flicked down in thought, brow furrowed. Then, very subtly, they flicked over to where Tommy was currently trying not to shit himself.

Realization suddenly dawned in Techno’s eyes, and his gaze snapped back up, expression darkening instantly. “Did you do something to him?” he asked coldly.

“Not yet—”

Oh shit oh shit oh shit—

“—but I will, if he comes near my son again.”

“What could he have possibly done to your son to warrant a threat?”

“He…” Wilbur trailed off, and Tommy realized his hands were tied.

Fundy’s power was a major secret. Just saying something vague like ‘Tommy figured out his power’ would instantly draw unwanted attention. So how—

“He’s a bad influence.”

Oh for fuck’s sake, Wilbur.

Tommy had to resist the urge to facepalm.

“Really?” Techno said, expression still dark. “That’s what you’re going with? I’m sorry I didn’t realize I was dealing with an unhinged soccer mom.”

“How dare—”

“Oh, and a Karen to boot! Well I’m just gonna have to tread carefully now,” he continued, sounding like he very much did not care about treading carefully.

“Listen here, you motherf—”

“Did you wanna talk to the manager?” Techno asked condescendingly, grinning viciously. “Sorry, Tommy’s not here today.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what?” Wilbur said, suddenly confused.

“You heard me,” Techno snapped. “He’s not here —”

Wait, no, go back—

“—because he’s taking a personal day today,” he finished.

“Why?” Wilbur said, suddenly sounding scared. “Why is he taking a personal day?”

Oh for— did he just instantly assume he was off reporting Fundy or something?

“Someone in his family died,” Techno spat. “So how ‘bout you leave the kid alone?”

“...what?”

“Great, a deaf Karen. Can my day get any better?”

“I heard you just fine, but that’s not what Fundy said!”

“Oh? And what did Fundy tell you?”

“Not much!” Wilbur yelled, raising his voice, presumably so Fundy could hear him.  “He was being purposely vague, which does not inspire confidence.”

“Hmm,” Techno hummed, faux-thoughtfully. “Maybe because Tommy asked him not to say anything? And you’ve actually managed to raise a son who’s a decent human being, which, considering who his parent is, is pretty incredible—”

“What could Tommy possibly be hiding that would warrant—”

“A family member died,” Techno snapped, glaring. “And he didn’t want pity points from people, so he asked to keep it quiet.”

Okay, that is not what he told Niki, but he was fine with that.

“I…they died?”

“Yes, moron, they died, so maybe have a bit more class and back off.”

“I…but…” Wilbur trailed off, suddenly sounding far less sure of himself.

And it suddenly clicked for Tommy why. The last time he had talked to Wilbur, Tommy had been begging him to help keep someone from dying. And the next day, he’s not at work because a family member supposedly died, of course Wilbur’d assume they were connected.

Plus, Tommy had only seen Fundy’s power in action once, and he could already tell just how powerful it was.  Wilbur, conversely, was far more familiar, which meant he knew exactly how powerful it was, and if Fundy had gotten his hands on someone injured, they would not have died.

Which to Wilbur must mean that they had died before Fundy showed up.

Which would mean that Tommy hadn’t actually seen Fundy use his power.

Techno, you’re a fucking genius and you don’t even know what’s going on.

“I’m…sorry,” Wilbur said, voice noticeably calmer. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” Techno said coldly. “And you’re not going to apologize to Tommy either. In fact, you’re going to stay far away from the kid, because you still don’t look very sorry to me.”

Shit, he was still suspicious. Which, you know, fair, considering he burst into his apartment in the middle of the night and started essentially asking for a medic when he had no business knowing what Fundy’s abilities were.

There was a beat of silence, before Wilbur finally said, “fine,” an edge still obvious in his voice.

Techno stared at the man for a moment before seeming to relax slightly, muscles untensing. The sight made Tommy breathe a sigh of relief.

“Good,” Techno said, suddenly much more quiet. “On a similar note, you need to back off with Fundy.”

Techno, you just de-escalated the situation, you fucking moron—!

“Don’t you—”

“No!” Techno interrupted sharply, still keeping quiet. “You, shut up. And listen to me. You need to back. Off. I understand being wary of your son and wanting to keep him safe, but this? This is only going to serve to drive you two apart, and I know you don’t want that.”

“Oh, yeah? What, you speaking from experience?”

“Yes.”

“...wait, you have a kid?”

“The hell— no. I was the kid in this situation. So shut up, listen, and maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.”

A beat.

“My parents were just like you,” Techno said sharply, still keeping his voice quiet. “To a ‘T’. Overprotective, controlling, downright possessive—”

“I’m not—”

“Shut up, the adult is talking. Long story short, my parents died when I was sixteen.”

“...and? Your point.”

“I don’t miss them.”

…oh.

…. oh.

The realization must have dawned on Wilbur too, because he didn’t say anything.

“You keep this up…” Techno continued, still glaring out the door as he whispered. “...and Fundy is going to hate you to the point that he won’t even miss you when you’re gone. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet, if I’m honest. So if you plan on having an actual relationship with your son, you need to back. Off.”

Techno was apparently finished, because he stepped forward slightly, still keeping in Tommy’s sight.

“Now get out.”

“Wh— no! I’m not leaving without—”

“Did you not hear a thing I just said?” Techno suddenly snapped, all caution gone. “Let the kid live his fucking life without breathing down his neck!”

“Just because your parents were assholes doesn’t give you the right to tell me how to do my job!”

“...get out of my kitchen before I throw you out.”

“It’s not your kitchen, you fucking cumstain—”

The sound of a gun cocking snapped the room into silence, and Tommy saw Techno’s head snap toward the direction of the office.

“No, it’s not,” Tommy heard Niki say cheerfully, and holy shit she heard all that. “But it is my kitchen. So get out, Wil.”

“Niki?”

“You heard me,” she said. “You’re causing a disturbance in my kitchen. I do not take kindly to people causing disturbances in my kitchen.”

“Hold on—”

“I’ve done a lot of good for you, Wilbur,” Niki said, suddenly sounding cold. “Don’t forget who helped you with Fundy in the first place. I helped him then, I can still help him now. So get out. He’s safe here.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Wilbur stressed. “It’s—”

“If you’re still worried about Tommy,” Techno cut in. “Then you clearly don’t know the kid.”

“He’s never done anything that wasn’t to help someone else,” Niki agreed. “I would know. Hell, you would know! He kept you from getting hurt!”

“I…” Wilbur trailed off.

Tommy waited in tense silence.

“Fine,” Wilbur spat, footsteps ringing out through the kitchen before the back door slammed shut with a bang!

Instantly, Techno was shoving the stack of boxes to the side, looking down at Tommy in concern. “Breathe, kid, breathe.”

Tommy inhaled with a gasp, not even realizing he had started hyperventilating at some point in the conversation.

Niki appeared in the room a second later, gun still in hand, and Tommy tensed again until he realized she was putting the safety back on and tucking the gun into her waistband.  “Shit, how long was he here?”

“Whole time,” Techno said. “He came through in a panic. Tommy, breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Tommy gasped out, just proving that he was, in fact, not breathing. “Dickhead.”

“Uh-huh,” Techno deadpanned. “Seriously, you okay?”

Tommy opted to just nod, focusing on Techno’s chest and trying to match its rise and fall. After a few seconds, he blew out a breath, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Okay,” he breathed quietly, shutting his eyes. “Okay, I’m good. I’m good. Sorry.”

“You sure?” Techno said, standing up to help Tommy out of his little hidey-hole.

“Yeah,” Tommy grunted, stumbling to his feet, wincing at the feeling of pins and needles from his legs falling asleep. “All good, Big Man. Thanks for the help.”

“Mm” Techno grunted, the man’s aloof mask falling back into place.

“I’m so sorry about Wilbur,” Niki piped up, looking ashamed. “He’s…well…”

“It’s fine, Niki, really,” Tommy stressed. “I get it.”

“Tommy, did…” Techno hesitated for just a second, and that was enough for Tommy to guess what he was gonna ask.

He shook his head. “No, Techno, he didn’t hurt me or anything. Threaten me, absolutely. But he didn’t hurt me.”

Niki narrowed her eyes. “Threatened how?”

—a gun pointed at his—

“Shovel talk,” Tommy said. “With an actual shovel, believe it or not, cuz he’s a dramatic bitch.”

Niki rolled her eyes. “That’s for sure.”

“With that said,” Tommy said, brushing his pants off. “Fundy actually made it, so, uhh…I’m gonna…I’m gonna go ahead and go, if…can I?” he asked, hating how quiet he sounded.

Niki nodded instantly. “Of course,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Go get some rest, ‘kay?”

He nodded, smiling. “You got it, boss.”

He slipped past, heading next door to grab his stuff from the break room.

“Hey, Tech?” he heard Niki ask quietly. “Do me a favor?”

He ignored them, grabbing his bag—making sure to grab his charger this time, he learned his lesson—before heading for the employee entrance.

A hand on his shoulder made him pause, however. “Tommy.”

He glanced at the hand on his shoulder before turning, following the arm to see Techno staring at him intently, almost unnervingly. He almost did a double take when the lighting of the room made the man’s brown eyes almost… red.

It was unnerving enough that his power started humming quietly in the back of his mind.

But he blinked, and the effect was gone, leaving Techno looking at him carefully. “You sure you’re okay?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, shrugging the man’s hand off. The quiet humming didn’t go away, though. “I’m fine, Techno, I swear. I’m just gonna go home and pass out for…well, we’ll see how long.”

Techno narrowed his eyes, not looking entirely convinced. Still he nodded. “Fine. Stay safe, kid.”

Tommy snorted. “Careful, Big Man. You almost sound like you care.”

The phrase, for some reason, seemed to catch Techno off guard, the man blinking in surprise.

Over his shoulder, Tommy noticed the door leading up front swing open, Fundy poking his head into the kitchen and glancing around.

“Is he gone?” he asked quietly, before locking eyes with Tommy, the older boy’s eyes widening slightly.

Tommy smirked and sent him a cheeky salute. “Have fun!” he chirped, before turning and marching out the door to enjoy his mini-vacation.

And enjoy it he did.

He did exactly what he told Techno he would do, heading straight home and passing out for a solid twelve hours before Michael barged into his bedroom, practically throwing Julia at him.

The two of them chatted with each other as they walked, but they managed to get her back home before it got too dark, Michael waving sadly as she disappeared.

(He got a new patient within a day.)

After getting home and passing out for another nine or so hours, he immediately started stress cleaning his apartment. Or… de- stress cleaning.

The first thing he did was shove the couch out the window, which was still looking like a horror movie prop with the amount of blood that had soaked into it. It landed with a CRASH in the alley below, and after a moment’s thought, he dropped a water balloon full of bleach down as well and prayed no one looked too closely.

He winced when the balloon just bounced off the couch and onto a stray alley cat.

Oops.

After that, it was just…lots of cleaning, for the rest of the morning. He started in his bedroom, before slowly moving on to the bathroom and into the kitchen. By that afternoon, his apartment was basically spotless.

If you ignored the bloodstain in the living room that he just covered with a towel.

Michael came over not long after he finished, and the two of them spent the rest of the afternoon and evening watching movies and old cartoons, sitting on the living room floor (while pointedly ignoring the beach towel on the ground). 

Michael got bored eventually, so Tommy let him borrow his laptop to play Minecraft, since he wasn’t working on any homework. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t touch any of his assignments while he was off work, so he wouldn’t be using his laptop any time soon.

Unfortunately, it was a school night, so Michael wasn’t able to spend the night, as much as he and Tommy wanted him to.  But, since he wasn’t distracted by the hyper-active seven-year-old, he was able to konk out again for a good nine hour sleep.

He was really catching up on that sleep deficit. He only woke up from nightmares once!

The next day, though, was a little…less fun.

Mostly because he spent most of the morning trying to get the bloodstain out of his living room carpet.

First of all, ~trauma~. And secondly, blood stains were a bitch to clean. Plus, he was starting to regret chucking his couch off the fire escape.

At some point during his scrubbing, he’d started debating whether he should just get a couple cheap chairs or bean bags, or if he should bite the bullet and buy another couch in case…

…in case something like that happened again.

He paused in his scrubbing.

Did he…should he be doing this?

He fell back with a groan, laying on his back as he stared up at the ceiling.

That was the big question, wasn’t it. Did he want to keep doing this?

So far, he hadn’t gotten hurt yet, but he’d come awfully fucking close, when he spectated the battle between Orion, Artemis, and Sewage Boy.  The only reason he and Tubbo hadn’t been seriously injured was because Artemis evacuated the two of them, and the archer was injured.

And even if physical harm wasn’t an issue—which if he was being honest, it really wasn’t. That big battle had been a fluke, and something of that caliber happening again was really unlikely. But even ignoring the chance of getting hurt…

That night…

That Night™ was terrifying.

That Night™ was probably in his list of ‘Top 5 Most Traumatizing Moments’—yes, that was an actual list, no, he was not going to share it with anybody— and the thought of having to go through that again…

…someone almost died the other night. In front of him. On his couch. He never would have been able to look at that couch again without having a panic attack. Hell, he yeeted the thing out the window anyway, and the fucker lived.

“Not ‘cuz of me, though,” he muttered quietly, ignoring the twinge in his back as he continued to glare at his ceiling.

Only reason he didn’t die is because of Fundy, he thought bitterly. All I did was panic.

He squeezed his eyes shut as frustrated tears threatened to well up, and he had to resist the urge to press his palms into his eyes. He really didn’t want bleach in his eyes, to top off everything.

“What the hell do I do if something else happens?” he wondered aloud, blinking his eyes.

And that just brought him right back around to his first question: if something happened again.

Was he willing to do this again?

Could he help someone at the risk of harm to himself, at the risk of more mental trauma to add to the fucking grocery list he already had?

……he should be more annoyed that the answer was an obvious ‘yes’.

As terrifying as That Night™ had been—hell, the last month— he’d never felt more… whole. Tired, yeah, and scarred in more ways than one, but still whole. 

It was how he felt when he let Michael hang out at his place to avoid his parents. The way he felt when he brought random animals into his home to help treat them.

…the way he felt when he patched up a couple moronic vigilantes with relationship issues.

He…he liked helping people. He liked being a refuge. Maybe because he knew better than most what it was like not to have a refuge. He lived on the streets for literal years, he knew how hard it could get.

But getting the chance to be that refuge? That place of safety for someone?

It made him feel whole.

Like he wasn’t complete if he wasn’t helping someone.

Was that a bad thing? Eh, maybe. Jury’s out. Did it say a lot about him that he’d rather take care of others than he would himself? Yeah, the jury for that one just went on vacation, so…

He sighed and sat up. He needed air. And a walk.

He yanked off his cleaning gloves and chucked them in the trash as he passed the kitchen, heading for the front door. He paused, thinking, before shrugging and turning to the window. He’d take the fun way out.

He hopped out the window—which Orion still hadn’t gotten around to replacing, and Tommy hadn’t bothered fixing the plywood yet—and dropped onto the fire escape, slowly making his way down and into the alleyway.

He pointedly ignored the couch.

After he got out of the alley, he just kinda wandered for a while. Despite being the middle of the day, not many people were out and about, but that was the Lower for ya. Casual strolls were a good way to get you mugged or shot.

That is, of course, unless you have an apparently near-omniscient power that smacks you with a migraine the second you even think of walking down a sketchy looking alley.

Honestly, though, just being outside nowadays was enough to get his power buzzing anxiously. For fuck’s sake, he was walking through the good part of the neighborhood right now, and his power was acting up.

A little too much, actually.

He slowed down, pace faltering as his mind switched gears. Now that he actually focused on his power, it wasn’t just the typical anxiety-ridden tingle that he was used to. It was a little more… present? He didn’t really know how to describe it, it was kinda like how it got whenever Tubbo was sneaking around—

He froze, steps halting.

Someone was using a power on him.

He whirled around, scanning the area. The sidewalks were still clear, though several cars were driving by. None of them looked suspicious, though, and none slowed down or seemed to be following him. There weren’t any obvious hiding places on the street, and none of the building alcoves seemed to house anyone other than the occasional young brat who didn’t pay him any mind.

He glanced around one more time before ducking into an alleyway that his power had marked as clear, trying not to panic.

His power wasn’t screaming at him, so he wasn’t in any danger at the moment. But that still didn’t erase the unease that someone was nearby and keeping tabs on him.  Unless it was a wide-range power? No, powers like that were rare, and the effects were obvious, not something his power would flag.

What if…what if it was a tag?

Some people could mark others with their powers, and the marks could remain long past the initial placement. The tags could do different things—it varied with the power—but had someone tagged him? And he hadn’t noticed?

Shit, how hadn’t he noticed?

Okay, how long? How long has he been tagged?

He shut his eyes, mind racing frantically. Looking back, he remembered noticing that his power had been acting up at random times over the past couple days. He’d chalked it up to lingering anxiety and paid no attention, but that meant he’d been tagged for days now.

He breathed in deeply, screwing his already-shut eyes even tighter.

Okay, Tommy, think, think. Who had he interacted with? Could it have been a customer? No, his power would have acted up if someone had marked him with ill-intent.

Co-worker?

Why would…nevermind. Don’t worry about intent or motive, just focus on whether they could or not. What’s everyone’s powers?

Niki’s was some kind of future vision, so that wasn’t it. Bad’s was obvious, and it definitely wasn’t Fundy. Eret? Their power had something to do with their eyes, maybe—

Eyes.

A memory of Techno looking down at him intently, eyes seeming to flash red before looking at him in concern.

His eyes blinked open, before narrowing in confusion. He looked down in thought.

Techno tagged him.

…

…huh.

Gunshots rang out in the distance, and he blinked himself out of his thoughts, wincing when his power flared.

That was probably his cue to get back. He didn’t want to get caught in some gang war while in the midst of…panicking?

He stepped out of the alleyway and back onto the streets, subconsciously asking his power how to get home safely before following the revealed path.

He wasn’t really panicking anymore. Now he was just confused.

Why would Techno tag him?

It obviously wasn’t for malicious reasons. His power would have set off a fucking fog horn in his mind if Techno had been doing something harmful.

And what kind of power did Techno even have? What kind of tag did he have on Tommy?

The path that his power marked for him suddenly bent into an alley, and Tommy turned the corner before halting, blinking in surprise.

This was his alley.

Okay, not his alley, but the one that led to his apartment!

He turned, looking back the way he came, and realized that, if he squinted, he could see the entrance to the alley he had just hidden in.

He’d been out for over two hours, how the fuck did he make it all the way back home?!

He sighed, turning to head inside when a gleam of light caught his eye. He glanced over to one of the trashcans near the mouth of the alley, and perked up when a hint of metal caught his eye, poking out of the lid.

He hurried over, yanking off the lid before laughing victoriously, pulling out a large piece of flat steel.

It wasn’t super big or anything, not much bigger than the size of his torso. It was painted black, and looked a bit greasy, and it took Tommy a second to realize it was probably the backing of an old backyard barbecue.

Why did someone have a full-sized grill in the middle of the city? He didn’t really care. What he did care about was the fact that this little hunk of metal would be perfect for his welding project.

He winced. He… did swear off homework during his vacation…and he probably shouldn’t tempt himself, but…

Eh, he doubted he’d find a good sheet like this again, let alone this easily. He was taking it.

He slung it under his elbow, pressing it against his side before turning to head to the fire escape.

He froze again.

There was a boy. Blonde, about Tommy’s age, maybe a little bit older, though it was hard to tell in the shadows of the alley.  He was dressed in mostly black, helping to conceal him in the shadows even more than he was already, with purple highlights tracing his form in a couple places.

But what caught Tommy’s attention was the fact that he was sitting on the remains of his couch.

And also staring at him.

He stared back, confused. “Ummm…”

The dude tilted his chin up in a reverse nod. “‘Sup.”

“N-Nothin’ much,” Tommy stuttered, still… so confused. His gaze fell to the boy’s shoulder, where he seemed to be firmly pressing his hand.

Like he was hiding something there.

Knowing Tommy’s luck, it was probably a bullet wound.

He nodded his head at the guy’s shoulder. “You, uhh, you good there—?”

“Yup,” the boy cut him off, answering a little too quickly. He seemed to realize it as well, cuz he winced slightly as soon as the words left his mouth.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, eyeing the boy’s hand. His eyes only narrowed further when he saw a hint of red between the boy’s fingertips.

“...you’re hurt.” It wasn’t a question.

“Mm, nope,” the boy said, leaning nonchalantly against his couch, looking to all the world that he was just… relaxing in a Lower alleyway, and he just decided he wanted to rest his hand on his shoulder. “Just chillin’.”

“Mmm,” Tommy hummed, unconvinced. “Well, considering that couch is currently soaked in blood that is not yours, I wouldn’t be leaning your ‘nonexistent’ wound against it. Unless you want to get a disease.”

The dude all but leapt off the couch, jumping to his feet and instantly wincing as he tightened his hold on his shoulder. His eyes widened though when he actually took a closer look at the couch he’d been sitting on.

“Dude,” Tommy said, raising a brow. “How did you not see the massive bloodstain on a pale-colored couch?”

“I was a little busy!” the guy yelled back, wincing again like he was in pain, which, ya know, he probably was. “Who’s couch even is this?!”

“...mine,” Tommy admitted, gaze unwavering when the guy snapped his head over to stare at Tommy.

“...what did you do?”

He shrugged. “I threw it out cuz some dude bled all over it,” he replied nonchalantly. “Speaking of, ya need help with that?” 

The guy flinched back. “Why the hell would I let you help me?”

Tommy stared back before nodding his head at the couch. “Cuz the guy who left that puddle of blood is still alive and kicking.”

The guy’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he turned to examine the couch.

Tommy could tell how it looked. It would have taken a drastic amount of blood loss to leave a stain that large, and the fact that the guy was still alive said a lot.

“You want my help or not?” Tommy said, dramatically tapping his foot. “I got stuff to do, and the sooner I can patch you up, the sooner I can kick you out.”

The guy blinked. “Your bedside manner needs work.”

“I’m not a nurse, and you’re not in bed,” Tommy replied with a roll of his eyes. “Help. Yes or no?”

Instead of answering, much to his annoyance, the guy just stepped back. “Mm, yeah, helping me is really not in your best interest.”

Tommy just blinked, giving him a deadpan stare.

The guy sighed, before using the hand that wasn’t currently pressed to his shoulder to pull at a strip of fabric near the collar of his shirt. The strip flipped up, revealing a small pin, engraved with the outline of…a playing card?

“You’re…?” Tommy trailed off, confused, looking at what appeared to be an engraved Ace of Hearts on the guy’s hidden lapel.

“Part of the mafia,” the guy confirmed, mistaking Tommy’s pause for dawning understanding as opposed to just being more confused. “So it’d be in your best interest not to get involved.”

“Huh.”

“...”

“Cool! So, yes or no?”

Tommy had to hide a smirk when the guy’s eye twitched.

“Clearly you’re not understanding just how badly this could turn out for you if the wrong people catch wind that you helped a mafia member.”

“And clearly—” Tommy patronized. “—you’re not understanding that I don’t really give a shit. Seriously, you’re acting like I’ve never helped a high-profile person before.”

That got the dude’s attention, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

Tommy let the smile creep onto his face before pointing lazily at the couch. “How many jobs can you think of that can make a person bleed that badly?”

 “...touche.”

“Exactly,” he nodded. “So, for the third fucking time, yes or no?”

The guy looked like it pained him to answer, but finally, “........ fine.”

Tommy just stared at him.

Mafia Goon just shifted uncomfortably, looking to be at a loss. “What?”

“That wasn’t a yes or no.”

“For fuck— yes!”

“Great!” Tommy chirped, clapping his hands and dropping the sheet metal at the same time. “Let’s get down to business. Where are you hurt?” he asked, stepping forward.

How do I treat his wounds?

“Besides the gunshot wound to the shoulder?”— because of-fucking-course it was— “Not much,” Mafia Goon shrugged, instantly wincing. “Ow.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, waiting for his power to highlight the wound that he already knew was there because of course it was a fucking bullet wound he just HAD to jinx it didn’t he—

And then froze, his mind grinding to a halt, when he realized his power wasn’t working.

His…it wasn’t working.

“Where, uhh…” he swallowed nervously, trying to speak past the anxious lump that was suddenly halfway up his windpipe. “Where did you say you were injured?”

Goon gave him a look, confused. “The…” he glanced at the hand still grasping his right shoulder, where blood was now very clearly seeping through. “The shoulder?” he said hesitantly. “A couple bruises on my back when I got slammed into an AC unit?”

Tommy heard the blood rushing in his ears, unable to keep his eyes from widening in horror.

It wasn’t working!

“You okay dude?” he heard Goon ask, probably seeing the horrified expression on his face, but he didn’t react, trying to keep his breath from picking up anymore.

Because it wasn’t…why wasn’t it working?!

The guy’s body remained bare and unlit as he frantically scanned Goon’s form, looking for the slightest trace of light. But nothing showed up.

Where was his power? He couldn’t function without his power, where was it?!

His power was the only reason he made it past six years of age. His power is the only reason he was able to survive on the streets for almost ten years. His power had let him live.

His power was the only reason a man hadn’t died on his couch the other night.

And it had never failed him before, except for right now for some reason, because it wasn’t working, and it’s never done this before, not since Michael—

His thoughts screeched to a halt.

And then he slammed his hand to his face, groaning, Goon flinching back.

“Oh my Prime, you’re Powerless,” he groaned, and even he could hear the relief dripping from his voice.

Goon moved instantly, hand whipping out a gun from seemingly nowhere and aimed it straight at his head.

“How did you know that?” he demanded, voice cold.

Tommy raised his hands up, eyes widening as he stared the gun down.

What was it with him and guns lately, seriously? He was already in a love-hate relationship with them, and the past week had been steadily and very quickly shoving that slider into the ‘hate’ side of it.

“Well,” he said, glaring at Goon. “If I wasn’t sure before, I definitely am now.”

Goon flinched, his arm lowering in surprise before he shook his head and corrected his aim. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Uhhh, intuition?” he said, shrugging, hands still raised. He stared at the gun, blinking, before tilting his head, confused. “Wait….”

Goon’s grip tightened. “What?”

Tommy just eyed the gun, confused. His power may not work on Goon, but his power should still be screaming at the fact he was being held at gunpoint.

Unless…

What’s wrong with the gun?

{hum}

Tommy rolled his eyes, dropping his arms to cross them before glaring at Goon again. “The safety’s on.”

Goon’s steely-eyed gaze fell into a deadpan ‘really?’ look. “Did you honestly expect me to fall for that? No it’s not.”

“True, true,” Tommy shrugged, before flashing him a smirk. “You are out of ammo, though—”

Goon’s eye twitched.

“—and you know it, too,” Tommy finished smugly.

Goon kept glaring at him for another second before lowering the gun, tensely slipping it back into his waistband. “How did you know that?”

“Intuition.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well duh.”

“How did you know I was a Husk?” Goon demanded.

Tommy opened his mouth.

“If you say intuition one more time, I’m chucking the gun at your head.”

He clicked his mouth shut before sighing, before deciding to bite the bullet (okay, maybe too soon for that turn of phrase).

He shrugged. “My power wasn’t working. I feel like that’s kinda obvious.”

Somehow, the guy tensed even further, and he drew a knife. “What were you trying to do?”

“Geez, calm down, dude,” Tommy placated. “Normally, my power highlights wounds when people tell me about them, and when my power didn’t highlight the very obvious hole in your shoulder, I kinda panicked. But then I remembered, oh yeah, he’s mafia, that makes sense.”

Goon continued to stare at him, eyes flicking between his own before finally relaxing, but only partly. “That’s not really public knowledge. How’d you know about that?”

“The Mafia Husks?” he asked. When Goon nodded, he shrugged. “I, uhh, did some research a while back. For personal reasons.”

Goon narrowed his eyes. “That’s not suspicious.”

He shrugged again. “I mean, you’ll probably see why in a few minutes. If, uhh, you still wanted help…” he trailed off, looking at Goon’s shoulder pointedly. “You’re startin’ to look a bit pale there.”

That, and the dark red patch on his shoulder had been steadily growing this entire time, quickly spreading into the purple highlights.

He glanced down at his shoulder, noting the red. He frowned, fingers twitching along the hilt of his knife nervously.

“Fine,” he grunted, still gripping the knife. “But I want you in front of me, at all times.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, turning to the entrance to the alley. “Well duh, how else am I supposed to lead you to my apartment?”

“And I want your hands visible.”

Tommy groaned but complied, reaching his hands behind him and clasping them against the small of his back like a bodyguard. Quickly, he led Goon to the front of the building, glancing through the glass to make sure the lobby was vacant before unlocking the front door.

“I know you’d probably prefer we take the stairs…” Tommy said, glancing over his shoulder. “But that’s more likely to get you killed than being in an enclosed elevator with me.”

“How likely is ‘more likely’?” Goon questioned, thankfully not sounding suspicious.

“I have used those stairs only once in my life, and it was one of the scariest experiences of my life. And I’ve seen some shit.”

His experience with his apartment stairs easily made the ‘Top 5 Most Traumatizing Moments’ list.

“It can’t be that bad,” Goon started as Tommy led him into the lift.

“Oh no, trust me,” he said seriously. “I’m pretty sure that staircase seconds as a portal to hell. You try to go down, and you just keep going down.”

“....okay?”

The elevator doors opened onto Tommy’s floor with a rough grinding noise, which Tommy ignored. He glanced out into the hallway, glancing down both halls before waving his fingers at Goon to follow him.

And so, while being held at knifepoint by a member of the mafia, Tommy unlocked his door, making sure to keep his hands clearly visible so Goon wouldn’t stab him out of paranoia.

“Welcome to Casa de Innit,” Tommy deadpanned, waving Goon inside. “I’d offer you a seat, but my couch is currently in the alley, so…yeah.”

Goon stood in the door, eyes scanning the room quickly before stepping inside, apparently deeming the space clear.

Tommy shut the door and locked it. “Michael!” he called, making Goon tense. “You here?!”

Goon whirled on him, brandishing the knife. “Who the fuck is Michael?”

“Calm down, he’s just my neighbor,” Tommy calmed, walking past Goon and flat out ignoring the knife.

“And he’d be here… why?” Goon demanded, immediately turning down the hall to investigate the other rooms.

“He hangs out a lot,” he replied simply, standing in the hall entrance, watching. “He would have come out if he were here.”

“Well forgive my apprehension…” Goon muttered, thrusting one of the doors open and scanning the inside before moving to the next. “...but I’m not taking any chances—”

He opened the door, glanced inside, and then immediately slammed it shut, blinking.

Tommy tilted his head. “What?”

“...what was your name?”

He blinked. “Tommy? Why?”

“Tommy,” he repeated, voice sounding oddly strained with disbelief. “Would you care to explain what it is I just saw in this room?”

Uhhh….

“What do you mean?” Tommy asked, confused, heading down the hall to Goon who simply stared at him incredulously before shoving the door open and stabbing a finger inside.

Tommy glanced inside and… oh, right.

“Oh, that’s just Brunhilda.”

Goon just stared at him.

“What?”

“Tommy.”

“Yes?”

“That is a moose.”

He nodded in affirmation. “Yup. That is also Brunhilda. Michael named her.”

“Would you care to explain why you have…a moose in your bedroom?”

“You really think I managed to lift the couch out the window on my own?”

“...I…that doesn’t answer anything—”

Goon cut off suddenly, swaying on his feet and gripping the door for dear life.

“Shit,” Tommy muttered, darting forward to grab one of Goon’s arms and throw it over his shoulder. The knife clattered to the floor, forgotten.

“I’m good,” Goon grit out, voice coming out strained.

“Yeah, you’re just the picture of health, aren’t ya?” Tommy grunted, transferring the guy’s weight onto himself. “Come on, let’s get you sitting down.”

“Thought you threw your couch out,” Goon muttered, letting Tommy lead him toward the main room.

“I still have kitchen stools, I’m not an animal,” Tommy muttered back as they teetered over to the kitchen counter. He eased him onto one of the stools, taking care not to jostle the wound.

“Thanks,” Goon said, leaning heavily on the counter.

“No problem,” he replied with a smirk, moving to go around the counter to head into the kitchen proper. “Gimme a sec and I’ll—AGH!”

He screamed as his shin slammed into something, sending him sprawling. “Prime fucking…OW!”

Goon turned to him from the counter, staring down at him with a brow raised. “What the hell?” he deadpanned.

“Good question,” he gritted out, turning onto his back and clutching his shin in pain. He raised his head and scanned the room for whatever the fuck he left out that tripped him, but his eyes caught on…a crate?

“That…was not there before,” Tommy said, pain forgotten as he sat up, staring at the metal box sitting in front of him.

It wasn’t very large as far as crates went, but it definitely looked important. It was metal, the sides clearly reinforced. The lid was hinged, with metal clamps holding it shut.

It looked fucking expensive, which made it stand out all the more in his gloomy apartment with mismatched and missing furniture.

“The fuck?” Tommy muttered, crawling over to kneel in front of it.

“You don’t recognize it?” Goon asked, eyeing Tommy.

“N-Nope,” he replied, confused, before shaking his head. He needed to focus.

Is it dangerous?

{hum}

Then it can wait.

“Let’s…get you patched up first,” he relented, getting to his feet.

“You’re going to ignore the strange metal crate in your room that you don’t remember putting there?” Goon asked incredulously. “It could be a bomb.”

Tommy waved his hand dismissively, moving to open his cupboard. “It’s not dangerous.”

“You just said you don’t recognize it, how could you possibly—”

“Intuition,” Tommy cut in without turning around, smirking to himself.

His power flared suddenly, and he ducked his head as Goon’s gun flew past and sailed into his cupboard with a thud.

He turned and glared at him. “Really?”

“I warned you,” Goon glared back.

Tommy went to retort when the sound of a lock turning gained both of their attention, their heads whipping to the door.

“Oh hey, he’s early!” Tommy perked up. “C’mon in, Michael!”

Goon whipped his head to him, eyes panicked, before whipping back as the door squeaked open.

“Hey bud!” Tommy chirped, grinning at the boy while Goon just stared, surprised.

“Your neighbor’s a kid?” he questioned, before making a face. “That question made more sense in my head.”

Michael stared at Goon for a moment, blinking, before taking one look at the bleeding shoulder and fixing Tommy with a look that said ‘Again? Really?’.

“What?” Tommy yelled defensively. “He was bleeding out in the alley!”

Michael just rolled his eyes and signed, I’m a little more concerned about your bleeding heart.

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, yeah, ya little shit.”

Goon coughed to get his attention before asking. “Care to introduce me?”

“Oh, right! Uh, this is my neighbor, Michael. Say hi, Michael.”

Michael did a little two-finger salute, much to Goon’s amusement.

“Michael,” Tommy continued. “This is…” he trailed off, blinking for a second before facepalming. “Oh for fuck’s sake I never asked for your name.”

Michael let out an amused snort, shutting and relocking the door and dropping his backpack by the door before walking over to elbow Tommy in the leg.

“Ow, hey,” Tommy said, glancing down to see Michael making a letter ‘L’ with his fingers and holding it over his forehead.

The universal sign for ‘fucking loser’.

Tommy flicked him in the side of the head, eliciting a yelp.

“It’s Purpled,” Goon spoke up suddenly. Tommy glanced up to see him smiling softly at the two of them.

The name took a second to register, and then Tommy made a face. “That can not be your name.”

“What’s wrong with my name?” Goo- ahem, Purpled (ugh) responded.

“Who names their kid after a fucking color?”

“Uhh, Rose, Jade, Amber, lot’s of names are based on colors.”

“Still a weird name,” Tommy argued before feeling a tug on his jeans.

You’ve heard weirder names than that, Michael shot back, smirking.

“Name one—”

Ranboo.

“Okay, yeah, I take it back. Your name’s fine.”

Purpled let out an incredulous laugh, glancing at Michael. “What did you tell him?” Michael just stuck his tongue out, earning a snort. “Brat.”

“Alright,” Tommy said, clapping his hands. “Since it’s basically tradition at this point, Michael? Wanna grab the first-aid kit?”

Michael nodded, heading for the bathroom.

“Tradition?” Purpled questioned as Tommy went over, gesturing for the mafia goon to remove his coat.

“Yeah, he always seems to be here when people get hurt,” Tommy explained as he took Purpled’s jacket. “Except for—”

Except for That Night™, thank Prime.

“—uhh, the guy on the couch,” he finished vaguely, hoping Purpled understood.

“Ah,” he replied, nodding. “That’s probably for the best. He seems a bit young to be dealing with…all this.”

Tommy shrugged, frowning. “He’s dealt with more than you think, trust me. Could you pull your collar down so I can see your shoulder? Or would you rather just take your shirt off? Up to you.”

Purpled just shrugged his good shoulder. “If it’s easier for you to get at the hole, you can just cut it off. I’m not attached, and I’d rather not have to maneuver my arms out the sleeves.”

Tommy shrugged as Michael slid back into the room. “Your loss. Michael, hand me the scissors?”

Michael nodded as he climbed onto the other stool, plopping the first aid kit down and flipping the top open.

“Don’t move,” Tommy warned as he took the scissors, starting at the hem of the shirt and carefully making his way up to the collar.

After moving to the sleeves and cutting those open as well, Tommy eased the fabric off of Purpled’s chest, wincing when the wet fabric tried to cling to the wound.

Purpled kept quiet, only wincing once or twice but otherwise pushing through rather well. Still, Tommy offered him some painkillers while he worked, and he gratefully accepted them.

“Alright, now for the fun part,” Tommy sighed.

How do I treat this?

No response.

He sighed again. “Well, worth a shot I guess,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes, already feeling a headache coming on. “Doing this without my power’s going to be a pain in the butt.”

Michael shot him a look, confused, and Tommy almost slapped himself.

“Sorry bud, I completely forgot to mention,” he said, smiling despite himself. “Purpled here is like you.”

Michael frowned, glancing at Purpled’s face and bare torso, before lifting his hands.

I don’t see any patches? he signed, referring to his vitiligo.

Tommy just laughed, earning a slap from Michael. “Not that bit, bud,” he said, before fixing him with a look. “The other thing?”

Michael’s brows furrowed for a moment before his eyes shot wide with a gasp. He whirled on Purpled, who was watching the interaction curiously.

You’re Powerless too?! he signed frantically, and Tommy could see the excitement shining in his eyes. What do you do? Do your friends know? How do you fight? Is that why you got shot?

Purpled just stared at the blur of hands and fingers wide-eyed. “I’m, uh, gonna need a translation.”

Tommy just chuckled and grabbed Michael’s hands, stilling them. “He’s just excited. He’s never met another Powerless before.”

Purpled’s eyes widened, turning to Michael. “You’re a Husk too?”

Michael flinched away, looking disgusted. Ew, is that what people call us?

“Agreed,” Tommy nodded. “‘Husk’ sounds gross, which is why we won’t be using it,” he said, giving Purpled a look.

“Fair,” he conceded, turning back to Michael. “Sorry.”

Michael just shrugged.

Purpled turned back to Tommy, a questioning look on his face. “Is he the ‘personal reasons’ you mentioned earlier?”

“Yeah…” Tommy conceded, glancing at the boy. “We didn’t realize for the longest time, and I never questioned it until one day I tried to use my power on him aaaaand it didn’t work. He had to pull me out of a panic attack.”

That had been a, uhh, not very fun day, to say the least. 

“Once I realized my power was fine, and it was just him that it wasn’t working on—” Tommy continued. “—I did some research. A lot of research, and I finally learned about the Powerless.”

“You didn’t know before?” Purpled questioned.

“Nope,” Tommy said, rising to grab a suture kit from the kitchen. “It surprised me, too. We have this entire sub-class of people, and almost nobody knows about them. It’s so dumb. Like, Powerless are kinda overpowered, when you actually think about it.”

Powerless, or Husks, as the uncultured assholes like to call them (Exhibit A: Purpled), were probably the best kept secret in their superhuman society. Most people just wrote them off as worthless, but they could not be more wrong.

Because ‘being powerless’ was not how the Powerless work. They didn’t just not have powers.

Powers didn’t work on them.

Powers like Sapnap’s or Orion’s? Useless. Sapnap’s spirit animals would just phase through them, Orion wouldn’t be able to track them, hell, one of Orion’s enhanced punches would just feel like a regular blow.

It got to flat-out physics-defying levels of bullshittery when powers like Sewage Boy’s were involved. The man could launch a full-powered, super-heated blast of steam at a Powerless that would blast away everything in the surrounding area, and the Powerless would just get wet.

Mental powers? Worthless. Tracking or location powers? Better luck tracking their phone. Enhanced physical abilities? Go against a Powerless who could throw a punch and suddenly you were shoved onto an even playing field that you aren’t used to.

Powerless were the ultimate equalizers in their society.

And most people didn’t even know it.

All this to say that Powerless aren’t invincible, the whole point was that they weren’t. He just had to glance at Purpled’s bleeding shoulder to confirm that. They could still be hurt by a bullet, or caught in collateral damage from a building falling on their head.

Purpled winced as Tommy started cleaning the wound, glaring at the bottle of peroxide. “Yeah, well, don’t feel terribly ‘overpowered’ at the moment,” he grunted.

“Just be glad there’s an exit wound,” he assured, examining the back of his shoulder. “I really don’t want to be digging a bullet out of your shoulder without a guide.”

He may have been getting a bit too reliant on his power. Even he could admit that.

“Should I even ask how you got shot?” Tommy asked, wiping off the excess white from the peroxide.

“Occupational hazard,” Purpled replied simply, shoulder tensing in the beginnings of shrug before he thought better of it.

“You should have just gone to work at the Archives,” Tommy scolded jokingly. “Way better healthcare, plus the building is fucking sick.”

“Yeah, well…” Purpled trailed off, eyes slightly distant. “...my brother had already joined, and there aren’t exactly a lot of places that let Hus— Powerless work, so…”

Tommy had to resist the urge to sigh in frustration. Just another aspect of being Powerless.

Most places didn’t touch Powerless folks if they could help it, and most could.  Again, it was dumb, because Powerless were just as capable of working a job.

Really, there were only two places in the city that offered regular employment for Powerless: the Archives, and the Mafia.

The Archives, on top of being the pride and joy of the Lower, was also something of a safe haven for those with powers that were more… physical, than most.

Mutations, as the assholes call them.

Even in a superhuman society, a lot of people were shunned for the way their powers made them look. He’d never asked Bad about it, but he was probably a good example.

But the Archives had also become a haven for the Powerless as well, who were shunned for their lack of uniqueness, if that made any sense.

Which also had the added side effect of providing the Archives with what essentially amounted to an entire security force worth of individuals who were completely immune to powers.

Yeaaahhhh, people who fucked with the Archives were rarely seen again.

Which, coincidentally, is why the Mafia hired them.

Granted, it was a fairly recent change, but the Mafia had started hiring people like Purpled several years back. It wasn’t super well-known—Tommy had had to do a fair amount of online digging, illegal and otherwise, to find anything substantial—but in the underground, the Mafia Husks were a force to be reckoned with.

“That’s fair, I guess,” Tommy admitted, as he grabbed the needle. “Not a lot of choices for Powerless.”

He glanced at Michael, who was listening intently, and he couldn’t help the way his heart ached.

Michael didn’t have a lot of choices.

His life, already bleak enough, didn’t seem to have a happy ending waiting in the wings for him. Destined to either a life of crime or shunned into hiding in a sanctuary. 

The kid just couldn’t catch a break.

He was pulled from his thoughts when Purpled chuckled quietly. “It’s fine, honestly. Just had to make due with the hand life dealt me.”

Tommy paused in his efforts to sanitize the suture, frowning, before turning to glare at Purpled. “Was that a fucking Mafia pun?”

A smirk. “Maybe.”

“I hate you,” he admitted instantly. “Should just stab you in the leg with this needle and kick you back into the alley.”

“Please, you wouldn’t—”

Tommy shoved the needle into his shoulder.

“Holy motherfucking shit fuck ow—” Purpled swore, eliciting a snort from Michael while Tommy started threading the needle through his skin, taking care despite the initial jab.

“Stop your bitchin’ and let me work,” Tommy muttered, focusing on the needle, thanking anyone who was listening for his first-aid class.  He paused momentarily to glance at Michael. “Hey bud, could you get a couple bags of ice ready? Purpled mentioned bruises on his back.”

Michael nodded seriously, hopping off the stool and making his way into the kitchen.

Purpled winced slightly as Tommy pressed the needle through his skin again. “You couldn’t have numbed it or something first?”

Tommy shrugged, eyes not leaving the needle. “I mean, I was going to, but then you threw a gun at my head, so…”

There was a smack and a tiny grunt from the kitchen before Michael’s head popped above the counter, eyes snapping in their direction instantly.

He did what now? he signed, glaring at Purpled viciously, who could only blink back.

Tommy switched his attention from the needle to watch Michael’s hands before snorting. “Easy, boy, it was empty. And I dodged.”

Michael narrowed his eyes at Tommy before snapping them over to Purpled and giving him the ‘I’m watching you’ motion.

Purpled’s lip twitched, but otherwise didn’t respond as Tommy snipped the thread, sealing the wound. “‘Aight, turn around. I need to do the exit wound.”

“You gonna numb it this time?” Purpled grumbled while Tommy grabbed his second needle, already sanitized and threaded.

“Nope!” he chirped, stabbing it into his shoulder and eliciting another string of curses.

…

…

…

“Forget your bedside manner,” Purpled grumbled from his place on the mattress that Tommy had dragged from his bedroom (he was really regretting throwing out his couch). “All your manners suck.”

“Not as much as you,” Tommy shot back, applying another ice pack to the bruises on the guy’s back. “Seriously, I thought you got slammed into an AC unit, how are your bruises this bad?”

Purpled grumbled into his good arm, cushioning his head with it as he laid on his front. “Cuz I got knocked off a taller roof and fell on it.”

Tommy blinked at the words before shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. “So you didn’t get slammed into an AC unit, you fell onto one.”

Purpled’s lip twitched. “After getting slammed off the roof, yes,” he agreed.

Tommy smacked him in the head.

“Ow!”

“I should have left you in that fucking alley,” Tommy muttered, grabbing another ice pack from Michael, who was currently trying to stifle his giggles.

Purpled hissed as another ice pack was applied. “I bet you say that to all your patients,” he mocked.

Tommy actually paused for a moment, thinking back. “Actually…I don’t think I have, which is kinda surprising if I’m being honest.”

Purpled snorted. “To you and me both.”

Tommy went to smack him on the back of the head again when he felt a tug on his sleeve, and he turned to see Michael raise his hands.

What’s in the box? he signed.

He titled his head “What box?”

Michael just narrowed his eyes before pointing at the metal crate, and then pulling his arm back.

It’s been sitting there this whole time, and it’s driving me nuts! he insisted, looking both annoyed and excited. Come on, what’s in it?

“Oh, that box,” Tommy drawled, purposely drawing out the sentence. “No clue.”

Michael just spluttered, hands twitching before finally, WHAT DO YOU MEAN?!

Tommy just shrugged, smirking. “No clue. It’s not mine.”

And you didn’t CHECK?!

“Hey, I checked if it was dangerous or not!” Tommy defended. “And it’s not, so calm down.”

“You did not check the box,” Purpled argued from his spot on the ground. “You just stared at it for a second and then walked away.”

Tommy pointed at Purpled as he gave Michael a look. “See? I checked it.”

“No, you— you know what, nevermind,” Purpled muttered.

Michael, thankfully, seemed to understand what Tommy meant, because he calmed down and glanced at the box, curiosity finally overtaking his suspicion.

Sooooo….

“Fine, I’ll open it,” Tommy relented, applying one more ice pack before getting to his feet, peeling off the medical gloves. “I’m a little curious myself.”

Do you know who left it? Michael asked as they both crouched in front of the crate, Tommy fiddling with the clamps.

“Well, I’m assuming it was one of our other ‘patients’,” Tommy guessed. “But I’m not sure.”

The clamps snapped open with a click, and Tommy threw the lid open without hesitation.

There wasn’t much to see. Whatever was inside was covered by a layer of black protective foam, but Tommy could see little divots on the side where it could be removed.

As he reached for them, however, his eyes caught sight of the underside of the lid, and he froze.

“The fuck?”

Laser-etched into the lid were the capital letters ‘B’ and ‘E’, the ‘B’ turned around and placed back to back with the ‘E’ with a sword shoved between the two, with the word ‘blade’ etched into the…well, blade of the sword in detailed calligraphy.

The logo for Blade Enterprises.

“Uhhhh….”

“Why do you have an industrial crate from Blade Enterprises?” Purpled questioned, eyebrows lifted suspiciously.

“Good…question?” he responded, to which one of Purpled’s eyebrows quirked just a tad higher.

“You’re gonna have to give me more than ‘good question’ while holding a crate from a weapons manufacturer.”

“I mean, they don’t just produce weapons,” Tommy defended, glancing apprehensively at the emblem. “They produce like medicines and tech and stuff too, right?”

“Yeah, for the military,” Purpled argued. “So unless you’re some government experiment or a colonel at fourteen—”

“Sixteen.”

“—there is no reason you should have that.” He blinked, before narrowing his eyes. “Why are you living alone at sixteen?”

“Why are you working for criminals at sixteen?” Tommy shot back.

“I’m seventeen,” Purpled deadpanned. “And I told you, I joined ‘cuz of my brother.”

Tommy heard rustling next to him turned to see Michael trying to subtly lift up the foam in the crate to peek at the contents.

“Hey…” Tommy said, crossing his arms. “What are you doing?”

Michael dropped the foam and put his arms behind his back, smiling innocently.

“Little shit,” Tommy smiled, rolling his eyes. “Alright, let’s see what I’ve gotten myself into this time…”

“You are such a bad role model,” Purpled muttered, grunting as he pushed himself up, careful not to pull his stitches as the ice packs that Tommy just fucking applied slid off.

“I’m sorry, who joined the mafia because of their brother?” Tommy asked distractedly, grasping the divots in the foam.

Gently, he tugged the foam top off, easing it up and to the side before glancing inside.

He dropped the foam.

“Holy… shit,” he stared into the crate, bug-eyed and unbelieving.

“What?” Purpled said, sliding himself over and glancing in. His jaw dropped. “What the fuck?!”

Inside the case were six glass vials resting horizontally in fitted indents in the foam, with every other one staggered and flipped upside down so they all fit inside the case. 

But the glass vials weren’t what caught their attention. No, what caught their attention were the contents.

Four of the vials shimmered a bright cherry red. A familiar bright cherry red.

Health potions, his mind supplied numbly, still staring.

But even that isn’t what caught their attention.

Because the two center vials were not a bright cherry red.

Ohhh-ho-ho- ho no. These? These glowed magenta.

“The- those- why the fuck do you have regen pots?!” Purpled screamed, whipping his head back and forth between the case and Tommy so fast that he was giving Tommy whiplash.

“I told you I don’t know!” he screamed right back, panicking. There was no reason, absolutely no reason whatsoever, in the fucking multiverse, that he should have regen potions in his apartment.

“Do you know how valuable those are?!” Purpled continued to scream. “Do you know how much just one of those potions would sell for?!”

“I—”

“Thousands of dollars! Possibly tens of thousands! For one! And you have two! WHY DO YOU HAVE TWO?!”

Tommy couldn’t really respond to any of it. He stared at Purpled, then stared at the case, then stared at Purpled.

He shrugged.

Purpled just turned and face-planted into the mattress, muffled screaming coming from him a second later.

He felt a tug on his sleeve, Michael already signing at him. 

Bet you it was Tubbo again, he said, wide-eyed.

His heart dropped into his fucking socks, and his stomach may have just done a quadruple-backflip before transitioning into a handspring transitioning into a cartwheel.

“Ohhh no,” he muttered, pulling out his phone. “Nooo nonononono it is one thing to steal a potion from a clinic, it another thing entirely to steal a fucking military grade crate with regen pots.”

“Wait, steal?!” Purpled said, head shooting up.

Tommy ignored him, putting the phone to his ear. “C’mon,” he muttered, panicked. “Pick up pick up pick up…”

“Who is he calling?” he heard Purpled mutter to Michael.

A smack. 

“Ow! The fuck was that for?”

…

“Okay, I know what that sign means…”

“Yello?” Tubbo answered, and Tommy resisted the urge to sigh with relief.

Instead he started screaming.

“What the fuck did you do?!” he screamed into the receiver.

“Prime, you’re loud,” Tubbo muttered, voice muffled  like he wasn’t holding the phone to his ea r. "Gonna have to be more specific, Big Man. I do a lot of things, most of which are either illegal and-slash-or immoral. Which one are you talking about?"

“Well, that depends,” Tommy hissed into the phone as he paced. “Make any excursions to Blade Enterprises lately?”

“I…what?” Tubbo asked, voice confused. “Noooo?”

Tommy gave a deadpan stare, knowing full well Tubbo couldn’t see him. “Dude, you could not sound more suspicious if you tried.”

“What- no!” Tubbo cried. “I haven’t gone anywhere near B.E. Why would I?”

“Then why—” he stressed, pointing his finger aggressively down at the crate. “Is there a Blade crate in my apartment, Tubbo?!”

“How the fuck would I know?!” Tubbo yelled back. “I haven’t been able to leave my house in like four days!”

Tommy blinked. “You haven’t? Wait, why?”

“...”

He smirked. “Are you grounded?”

“No!”

“...”

“Maybe.”

“Knew it.”

“But it’s not my fault! My dad’s being overprotective because of all the stuff going on?”

“Oh Prime, not another one,” Tommy muttered, rubbing his temple before pausin. “Wait, what stuff?”

“You do remember what’s happening this week, right?”

“...no?”

“Oh for fuck- it’s Presidential Election Week, Tommy! The Upper’s been going nuts with paparazzi for the past two weeks, and it’s gotten to the point where my dad’s basically put me under house arrest.”

“The fuck?” Tommy muttered, frowning.

“Yeah, he’s got a camera on all the exits and everything.”

“He’s got a what?!” 

“Y’know, security cameras? My power’s already pretty useless, but it’s even more useless when cameras are involved. The man even put one on the fourth story window! I don’t even know how he figured out I used that!”

“I—”

“And even if I got past my home security, then I’d have to try and sneak past the paparazzi cameras, and I know from experience that’s not gonna work.”

“Who the fuck is your dad?” Tommy questioned. “And why are you talking about paparazzi like you’ve dealt with them on a regular basis?”

“Uhh, because I do? I’m—” he cut off abruptly.

“Tubbo?”

“Nevermind. Point is, District 1? Swarming with paparazzi, I’m stuck at home, so whatever it is sitting in your flat was not…me.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Tommy groaned, running a hand down his face. “Sorry for…y’know, assuming, I just…”

“Just what, Tommy?” And oh, he sounded annoyed now.

He sighed. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble. I’m sorry.”

“...”

“...Tubbo?”

“...apology accepted.”

He chuckled. “Good to hear, Big T.”

“So,” Tubbo started, a clang suddenly sounding from his end. “What’s in the crate?”

“Some…uhh, expensive stuff, to say the least.”

“Yikes,” Tubbo said, his voice suddenly echoing strangely . “Yeah, no, I wouldn’t have touched anything from there. You don’t fuck with Blade Enterprises.”

A pause.

“Y’know, I think I used to know them.”

He blinked. “Who, the Blade’s?”

“Yeah, they lived on Craft Street. Got killed in the massacre.”

Tommy winced. He remembered that part of the story.  The media had especially focused on their deaths in the following weeks, though the assholes were more worried about who was taking over the company than any actual memorial.

Didn’t help that whoever inherited the company was a notorious hermit. The guy had never appeared on any form of media. Ever. It was kinda scary how off the grid he was, to the point where people weren’t even sure if someone from the family took over or if it was just a bunch of higher ups keeping the place running.

Regardless, whoever was in charge, the company had flourished in recent years. Like, flourished. Seriously, the company had grown more in the past decade than it had in the past three generations.

And now there was a box of their products in his apartment. Valuable products.

“You there?”

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah, I’m here. You, uhh, you knew them?”

“Well, not knew knew, but I think my dad was friends with them.”

“Of…course he was.”

“Uhh, ignore that. I should…probably get going. You called me right in the middle of break-out attempt number seventeen.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes, listening closely to the weird echo of his voice and the sound of shuffling.

“Are…”

“...what?”

“Are you crawling through air vents?”

“......maybe?”

CLANG

A loud noise echoed distantly over the phone, followed by someone distantly shouting ‘Tobias!’.

“Uh-oh.”

“Your dad, I’m assuming?” Tommy smirked.

“Gottagobye! Tobi—!”

Click

Tommy snorted, pulling the phone away before glancing at Michael. “Well, good news, it wasn’t Tubbo.”

Michael rolled his eyes but let out a sigh of relief all the same. Purpled just looked at him from the mattress, confused.

“Does ‘Tubbo’ do stuff like this a lot?”

Tommy shrugged. “Kinda? He gets medical supplies for me, and I found out a couple weeks ago he had been robbing pharmacies and clinics to get me better stuff.”

“And you said he stole a potion for you?”

He winced. “Yeahhh, I did not condone that.”

“Why?” Purpled pushed, looking beyond confused. “Why would he go to so much effort to get you medical supplies?”

He sighed before sitting, falling on his butt in front of the crate. “I helped him out a while back, patched him up. He refused to leave without paying me back, so I told him to replace or upgrade my supplies and he…uhh, yeah.”

Purpled suddenly narrowed his eyes.

Tommy blinked. “What?”

All he got was a stare for a few more seconds before Purpled sighed and slumped forward, resting his face against the mattress. “Speaking of…” he muttered to himself.

“Huh?”

Purpled pushed himself up, wincing as he did. He crossed his legs, sitting up straight and looking suddenly very stiff and uncomfortable. 

“What do you want for your favor?”

Prime fucking dammit.

“No,” he said immediately.

Purpled quirked a brow, shoulders loosening slightly in confusion. “No…what?”

“No favor,” Tommy clarified. “I don’t do them.”

“......bullshit. What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything!” he yelled, frustrated, because was he really gonna have to do this whole song and dance agai—?

He paused.

“It’s…uhh….”

Please let this work.

“It’s against my religion,” he said, sounding much more confident than he actually was. Though, the look Michael gave him certainly wasn’t helping his confidence levels.

Whatever reaction he was expecting, he was not expecting Purpled to flinch back like he’d been sucker punched, face aghast in horror.

“Your…shit. Fuck, I am so sorry, oh my Matrons, I didn’t realize that was a thing in the Upper, Matrons-fucking-dammit Purpled—”

Tommy just blinked in surprise. “Uhh, dude, it’s- it’s fine. This happens, like, all the time. Literally every single time.”

Purpled inhaled sharply, still looking horrified. “That doesn't make it better, Tommy!”

…

Techno, you’re a fucking genius.

“Maybe not,” Tommy played along. “But people make mistakes, it’s not a big deal. But yeah, I don’t accept favors.”

“No no, I totally get it,” Purpled said, waving his hands frantically. “No favors, got it.”

He sighed in relief, trying to hide his smirk. “Thank you.”

“Y-Yeah, no problem, uhh…so, what’re you gonna do with…y’know, those?” he asked, pointing pointedly at the crate and sounding like he desperately wanted to change the subject.

Tommy turned to the crate with a sigh. “No clue. I’m still trying to figure out who left them. I mean, I’ve been here at home for, like, two days straight, and nothing happens. I leave for a two-hour walk? Suddenly I have military supplies in my apartment.”

“You gonna sell them?” Purpled asked. “Cuz I know a couple people who’d pay top dollar for those, and…okay, no offense, but…” he gestures around him. “...your place looks like you could use some extra cash.”

He thought about it, he honestly did, but he only did for about two seconds before making his decision.

“Nah,” he said, looking down at the crate with a smirk. “I’m gonna use them.”

“Wait, what?”

“Use them,” he repeated, turning to Purpled. “Do you know how useful these would have been a few nights ago? How much stress and effort they would have saved?”

“But these are military property— okay, potential military property—do you know how much trouble you’d be in if someone found out you were using them? On criminals?”

“I mean, you’re the first criminal I’ve helped so far—wait,...do vigilantes count?”

“Wha—” Purpled stared at him. “You’ve been helping vigilantes too?!”

“Uh, duh? What’d you think I meant when I said I helped high-profile people?”

“That you helped people like me! Like hitmen or… something, I don’t know!”

“Nope.”

“Ugh,” Purpled slumped back onto the mattress. “I don’t even know you and you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“I mean, I doubt that, considering I’m gonna treat you with one of them,” he offered nonchalantly.

Purpled shot up instantly. “What? No! You can’t waste one of those potion on me, it’s just a gunshot wound!”

Tommy stared at him. “Uh-huh. Just a gunshot wound.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been shot, I’ll survive.”

“Yeah you fucking are, because I’m using a potion!”

“No you’re not!”

“I’m sorry, which of us is the patient bleeding out on my mattress?”

“Michael.”

Smack.

“Ow! You little—”

…

…

…

“Drink this,” Tommy ordered, handing Purpled one of his diluted-potion smoothies.

Purpled just glared at it. “I still think it’s a waste.”

“Calm down, dude, seriously,” Tommy said, returning the flask to the case. “I didn’t even use a quarter of the potion, it’s fine. Give it ten minutes to start working, and it should be healed in a couple hours.”

“Potions are so overpowered,” Purpled muttered, taking a sip. He immediately gagged. “Oh, Matrons, what the fuck did you put in this?!”

“Healing potion.”

“No shit. What else?”

“No, seriously, the potion is what tastes bad.”

Purpled glanced at him, surprised. “Wait, really?”

He shrugged. “The shit taste is to discourage people from using potions too often. They’d get addicted too quickly otherwise.”

“Huh, fair point,” Purpled conceded, before screwing up his face and downing the rest of it. “Ugh,” he shivered. “Nasty.”

“Great,” Tommy sighed, taking a seat on the stool. “You should be good in a few minutes.”

“Sweet—”

“BUT,” he interrupted, holding a finger. “I only gave you a healing potion, not a regen. So while the wound may have healed, it did not help with the… copious amount of blood you lost. You’ll have to take it easy over the next couple weeks.”

“Weeks?!”

“I’m sorry, do you want to pass out in the middle of a gun fight because your heart can’t supply your brain with enough oxygen to function?”

“But weeks?”

“...week and a half—”

“Ugggghhhh”

“—but I’m only guessing since I can’t use my power. So…” Tommy chucked him his cell, which the guy fumbled to catch with his good arm. “...call your ride.”

“Uhh,” Purpled stared down at the phone before glancing up. “You sure you want people knowing where you live?”

He rolled his eyes. “Then tell them to come pick you up across the street or something, I don’t care. Just get out of my apartment.”

“Okay, you’re not allowed to act like you don’t care after using a potion on me,” Purpled argued, hiding a smile.

The smile faltered for a moment before he glanced down at the phone, seemingly in thought, before reaching for his jacket that he’d laid on the ground.

“Here,” he said, reaching into an inner pocket and pulling out a small item before tossing it to Tommy. “Take this.”

Tommy managed to catch it without fumbling too badly. Glancing down at his hand, he saw a…poker chip?

“What’s this?” he asked, examining the piece more closely. It didn’t feel like it was plastic like a real chip—steel, maybe?—and it was colored bright red. In the center of the chip was a white heart with a black capital ‘A’ inlaid in the center.

An Ace of Hearts… poker chip.

Wait a sec.

“Is this supposed to be like an IOU?” Tommy accused. “I thought we agreed no favors!”

“It’s not a favor, I promise!” Purpled assured hurriedly. “It’s just a precaution, trust me.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “Precaution how?”

“Just…keep it on you, at least for now,” Purpled said, already dialing the phone. “You’ll know if you need to use it.”

Well that wasn’t ominous as fuck.

He put the phone to his ear, waited for one second, and then immediately yanked the phone away from his head as a voice started screaming through. “Matrons, Punz, calm down!”

Tommy watched as Purpled rolled his eyes fondly, relaxing almost immediately.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine— no, of course I got away, I’m a fucking legend— says the guy who tripped over loose roof gravel— seriously, I’m fine, I…” A glance to Tommy. “...I got some help.”

A second of silence.

“Yes, they’re clear…….no, I’m not being coerced, I—” A sigh. “Chinchilla.”

The fuck?

“Satisfied?......Good, then come pick me up, I’m bored, and this kid keeps glaring daggers at me.”

Tommy blinked before turning to see Michael staring at Purpled, eyes threatening. He chuckled, coming over to ruffle the brat’s hair.

“We’ll be fine,” he whispered, not wanting whoever the hell Punz was to hear him. “Gimme two minutes, and he’ll be gone, all right?”

Michael hesitated for only a second before nodding, and Tommy smiled.

“Thanks bud.”

He glanced down at the metal crate at their feet

“You wanna help me find a hiding place for this?”

…

…

…

It was Tommy’s first shift back at the bakery. His first shift. They had already closed the lobby, everything was looking dandy, and what happens?

Tubbo.

The aggressive little short stack all but kicked in the alley door, hands on his hips and proudly proclaiming, “I’m back, bitches!”

“Language!” Bad called from the break room while Tommy just stares at Tubbo.

“What the heck, Big T?” Tommy said, coming around the prep counter. “I thought you were still under house arrest or whatever the hell you were calling it.”

He ignored the stares that garnered from Niki and Eret.

“I hid in my closet until there was an opening,” Tubbo boasted, ignoring Tommy and moving towards the bowl of cookie dough Tommy was in the process of mixing. “On a completely unrelated note, did you know that saws work on drywall?”

Tommy halted, blinking, before just sighing and following after Tubbo. “Know what? Not gonna ask. You managed to get past all the people around your place?”

“Yeah, no thanks to my stupid power,” Tubbo muttered,  grabbing the spoon out of the bowl. “Had to sneak around the old-fashioned way.”

Tommy snatched the spoon back before Tubbo could start eating the dough that was stuck to it. “Hey, I think you’re power’s sick.”

“I don’t,” Tubbo said, rolling his eyes.

He tilted his head. “Wait, really?”

“Nope. My power only has two uses: tricking people into ‘liking’ me, and making me invisible.”

“Exactly!” Tommy agreed. “It’s super useful!”

Tubbo just sighed, leaning against the counter.

“It feels wrong.”

The sadness in Tubbo’s voice made Tommy pause. He glanced at Niki and Eret, the two of them looking just as confused.

That…wasn’t right.

Powers were… you. People debated whether a person’s personality and character quirks influenced their powers, or if it was the other way around, but everyone agreed that a person’s power was supposed to feel like an essential part of you.

Your powers were an extension of you.

So your powers feeling wrong to you just…well, that sounded wrong.

“Wrong how?” Tommy asked hesitantly.

“It feels like…” he paused, thinking. “I dunno, like politician powers. I hate politicians.”

“But…that just means you could take over the world, Tubbo,” Niki suggested, smiling.

“I know, I’m working on it.”

Oh Prime.

Eret chose that time to step in. “You know, if you don’t like the way your powers are now, you could just work on changing them.”

That caught the two boys’ attention.

“I’m sorry, what now?” Tommy demanded.

“I could change my power?!” Tubbo yelled, before getting a manic grin. “Can I have laser eyes?”

“No,” they all said simultaneously.

“Damn it.”

A quiet “Language!”.

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Eret chuckled. “Your powers tend to grow and adapt as you grow. It does take actual effort on your part, though, your powers won’t just grow willy-nilly on their own.”

Oh, like how mine grows as I learn, Tommy thought.

“So, you’re saying my powers could… evolve?” Tubbo asked, intrigued.

Eret glanced at Niki and, after getting a nod, turned back to the boys. “I think it’s time I told you guys my power.”

They watched, amazed and confused, as Eret reached up and…

…took off their glasses.

It was a little underwhelming for a second before the two of them realized that Eret’s eyes were just pure white. And they almost seemed to glow if you looked at them right.

“Whoa,” Tubbo breathed. “That’s sick.”

“ And I’m assuming they’re not just for show,” Tommy prodded.

Eret smiled. “Right. My eyes let me see a person’s aura, which, in turn, lets me see their powers.”

Shit.

Tommy blanched. “Wait, you can see what my power is?!”

Eret’s smile turned apologetic. “Not…well, yes and no. I can’t see details or anything, but I can tell the general things about a power. Like…whether it’s mental or physical, how strong it is, and…” they paused for effect. “...it’s potential for growth.”

“Cooool,” Tubbo breathed. “How does it work?”

“Well…mind if I use you guys as an example?”

“Yeah!” Tubbo agreed instantly, sounding excited.

Tommy was a little… less certain, but he nodded nonetheless.

“A person’s aura…” Eret started. “...looks just like that: an aura —at least to me—and its size varies depending on the power’s strength and its potential. A weak aura will just appear as a shimmer along someone’s skin, while strong ones can easily fill a room.”

He turned to Tubbo. “You’re aura, Tubbo, is admittedly a little on the weaker side.” Tubbo visibly deflated until they held up a finger. “But your potential is definitely on the stronger side. I can tell that much.”

Tubbo didn’t perk up as much as Tommy thought he would, asking, “How strong could a power like mine actually get? It’s not that useful.”

“My kitchen cupboards say otherwise, Tubs,” Tommy muttered quietly, smirking as his friend flushed.

Eret tilted his head. “Huh?”

“Nothing!” Tubbo yelled, driving an elbow into Tommy’s stomach.

Tommy grunted and smacked Tubbo back before turning to Eret. “You said you could see a power’s strength and its potential?”

Eret nodded.

“If they both appear as auras, how do you tell them apart?”

Eret frowned, thinking. “It’s…I don’t know, it’s more instinctual for me, if I’m honest. I guess…the aura showing current strength has a more solid color? If that makes sense? And the potential aura is more transparent, not as fleshed out.”

“Cool, cool,” Tubbo said dismissively, before grabbing Tommy and pointing at him. “What’s his aura look like?”

Damn it, Tubbo, I want to not draw attention to myself.

…says the guy helping vigilantes and mafia goons on an almost weekly basis.

Eret just glanced at Tommy. “He’s…uhh…”

They made eye contact, and even with their strange eyes, Tommy could tell Eret was asking permission.

They know, he thought, annoyed. Prime fucking dammit.

Well, guess there wasn’t much point in hiding it any longer. At least not from these people.

He…he trusted them.

He nodded, and Eret smiled.

Whoo…character growth. Yipp-fucking-ee.

“Well, the strength of Tommy’s power now,” Eret started, looking back to Tubbo. “Is on par with your potential.”

Tommy’s jaw dropped, as did Tubbo’s.

Really?!

He knew his power was a little on the crazier side, but…Eret had just said Tubbo’s power had the potential to be really strong. And he was at that point now?

“Wait, what?” Niki cut in, eyebrows raised in surprise before turning to look at Tommy. He shrunk under her gaze. “I thought you said you didn’t have a power.”

“Uhh,” he replied cleverly. “So…you know how I mentioned that people get trafficked for their powers?”

Her eyes widened.

“Yeah, I’m not about that life,” he said lightheartedly, ignoring the way his stomach clenched. “Plus, if I tell people I’m powerless and they give me that look, I know if their discriminatory assholes who I shouldn’t bother being around. It’s a really easy character test.”

“So…not only do you have a power, but it’s a really strong power,” Tubbo clarified, narrowing his eyes.

“.....yes?”

Tubbo grabbed his arm and turned back to Eret. “What’s his potential look like?!” Tubbo asked, grinning.

“Right now?” Eret asked, glancing around. “Easily filling the kitchen.”

What…

The actual…

FUCK

“...wat?” Tommy squeaked, ignoring the stares being leveled at him from Niki and Tubbo.

“Yeahhhh,” Eret droned, rubbing the back of their neck. “I can’t enter the same room as you without just…seeing red everywhere.”

He blinked. “Shit, Eret, I’m so—”

“Oh no, don’t apologize,” Eret laughed, waving a hand as they put their glasses back on. “That’s what the glasses are for, aside from hiding my eyes. Plus, your aura is different than most anyway.”

He frowned. “How so?”

Eret shrugged. “Well, I’ve only seen a couple people with powers on par with yours, and their auras tend to just overwhelm the room. Just flood and overtake everyone else’s auras with their presence. But your aura just sort of…I don’t know, caresses others.”

Tommy wrinkled his nose at the description. “Ew, the hell?”

“Okay, that sounded better in my head,” they chuckled. “But it’s true. Your aura doesn’t overpower others. It’s…more like it’s examining them. Like a curious, energetic child at the zoo.”

“Eret, that did not help, now I just sound psychotic.”

“I mean, I think it’s fitting,” Tubbo said, and Tommy went to smack him again.

“Shut up, dickhead,” Tommy growled before turning back to Eret. “Can we focus back on Tubbo now? Please?”

Eret nodded in understanding. “Sure, but there’s not much I can do to help him grow,” they admitted. “I can tell you which direction your power is heading, so you know what to work on, but you’ll have to come up with how to do that on your own.”

Hmm…

He glanced at Tubbo, eyeing the excited gleam in his eye.  Admittedly, it might be a bad idea to give the troglodyte more power. He might actually make good on that threat to take over the world.

Then again…

…Tubbo was his friend. 

“I think I can handle that,” he admitted, smiling as they all turned to him.

Eret smiled back. “I figured.”

Tommy nodded before turning to Tubbo, who was staring at him, wide-eyed. “Got a place we can practice?”

Tubbo wrinkled his nose. “Pfft, no, I can’t exactly go home right now. I’ll just get stuck again.”

Tommy frowned. “Wait, then where are you stayi—?”

“On a completely unrelated note, could I room with you for a couple days?”

“Dammit Tubbo!”

Niki decided to step forward then. “I…may have a place for you to train,” she said, giving Tommy a knowing look.

He perked up. “Wait, really?”

She shrugged. “Sure, why not? We’re not really using it for anything.”

“‘It’?” Tubbo asked, looking between the two. “What’s ‘it’?”

“Oh Tubbo,” Tommy smirked, already making his way to the storage room. “You…are going to love this.”

“Love what?” a new voice asked.

They all turned to see Fundy poking his head in from the front, where he had been cleaning the lobby. He did a double take at the sight of Tubbo. “What are you doing  here?”

“Training, apparently,” Tubbo said, shrugging his shoulders. “Eret and Tommy had an idea on how to help me improve my power.”

Fundy blinked.

“So what’d you steal?”

Tommy snorted, and Tubbo flinched back, confused. “Wait, what?”

“What’d you steal?” Fundy repeated. He pointed at Tommy. “He said you stole something important from someone and wouldn’t say what. So…what’d you steal?”

Tubbo just turned to glare at Tommy, who was covering his mouth with a fist to keep from laughing. “Tommy? What the fuck?”

“Language!” Bad yelled from the break room, poking his head out. He spotted Tubbo. “Oh, hey Tubbo! So what’d you steal?”

“Dammit Tommy!”

“Language!”

“Boys, focus,” Niki called, snapping her fingers to get their attention.

“Right, sorry,” Fundy said before turning to Tommy and the others. “You said you guys were training? Could I join?”

“Sure—” Tommy started.

Wait, shit, his power’s a secret!

“No point,” Eret interrupted, glancing at Fundy. Even behind the glasses, Tommy could tell they were also eyeing the space around Fundy. They turned back to the storage room. “Training wouldn’t help you.”

Fundy blanched. “W-What?”

“B-Because you don’t have a power! Remember?” Tommy prodded, and Fundy’s eyes widened.

“R-Right,” he agreed hastily. “But, uh, I could still watch, right?”

Tommy glanced at Eret again, but they had already entered the storage room.

“I…guess that’s fine,” he started, before tilting his head in thought. “Actually, if Eret helps out Tubbo, I could help you with our own stuff.”

Fundy perked up at that.

Niki narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean ‘your own stuff’?”

“Oh, I took a self-defense class, so I’ve been teaching him some of what I know.”

“Dude, since when can you throw a punch?” Tubbo laughed.

“Hey, I beat Wilbur in an official duel, lay off!” Tommy shot back.

Not that I’d ever be able to do it again, he thought dejectedly. If he ever sees me again, Wilbur won’t even use his power. He’ll just shoot me.

“Tommy!”

“Huh?” he said, glancing up. Niki was looking at him concernedly.

“You’re shaking,” she said quietly.

He blinked, then glanced down at his hands.

They…

…yeah, they were shaking.

He looked back up to see Niki frowning before she turned to the others. “Eret,” she called. “Why don’t you take the others down. We’ll join you in a minute.”

Eret nodded from the doorway before waving the others inside.

Tommy turned to Niki, ignoring the Down? from Tubbo.

“Tommy,” she said, and ohhh he already didn’t like that tone of voice. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He sighed. “Honestly?”

They both ignore the What the fuck is that? from the storage room.

She nodded, crossing her arms and not bothering to hide the concern in her eyes.

They, again, both ignored the confused screeching coming from the storage room.

“I’m just…I’ve been dealing with some stuff lately. For a while, actually,” he admitted. “I’ve handled it pretty well, if I do say so myself, but there’s been some, y’know, circumstances recently that have been dredging up old memories and…yeah.”

She frowned. 

“I promise I’m fine,” he assured. “It’s just been a rough couple days. I’m fine now. I swear.”

Her frown didn’t leave, but her eyes softened.

“...if you’re sure.”

He nodded, smiling thankfully.

“I am,” he promised. He hesitated for a moment before adding quietly, “And, uh… thanks. For caring.”

She smiled, rolling her eyes. “Well at least someone in this place knows how emotions work.”

He snorted. “Let me guess, Techno’s being an emotional vegetable? He seems like that kind of guy.”

She laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Speaking of Techno…

“Actually, have you seen him? I needed to ask him something.”

“Oh, today was his day off,” Niki said, tilting her head. “Why?”

Oh no reason, I just have a sneaking suspicion he used his power to put a tag of unknown intention on my person while I was having an emotional breakdown the last time I saw him. No reason at all.

“He, uhh…” he floundered for an answer before, “Actually, you could probably answer it for me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he told Wilbur I was a manager of all things, which y’know, is a lie, since you’re the only why the fuck are you smiling?”

“Yeah, about that,” Niki started, grinning sheepishly. “I… may have asked the others opinion, and they all agreed that, uhh, you’d make a good first manager!”

He blinked. “Niki, I’m sixteen. I am literally the youngest person here, you can’t just put me in an authority position over people older than me!”

She scoffed. “Sure I can! You’d be great!”

He leaned back, narrowing his eyes. “Ehhhhh hhhhhh—”

“Tommy,” she said dramatically, getting down on one knee.

“Niki what the fuck…”

“Would you do me the honor…” she barreled on, ignoring him. “...of being my manager?”

He stared down at her, beyond weirded out by this, before it suddenly clicked.

“Nobody else wanted the position, did they?”

“Nope!”

He sighed. “.....ugh, fine!”

“Yes!”

Tommy stirred in his seat in the break room, shifting uncomfortably. He was trying to keep from fidgeting, but it was kinda difficult when his power was screaming at him.

Today marked the first time Fundy had worked a night shift since the Incident. Which, y’know, was only last week, but still!

Problem was, Tommy also worked the night shift, which made the chances of potentially running into Wilbur very very high.

But he then thought, hey, it’s been a week since the Incident, surely Wilbur’d have calmed down by now.

But just in case, he was gonna hide in the break room until well after the shift change.

Cuz Wilbur wouldn’t come into the break room, right? Right? Come on, he had zero reason to come into the break room.

He was totally safe.

Absolutely.

Ohh, he was so wrong.

Because sitting in the break room across from him was Wilbur himself.

And he looked pissed.

Hence his power screaming at him.

Thankfully, he hadn’t made a move yet. They’d just been sitting there staring at each other for almost ten minutes now, and Tommy was pretty sure the only reason Wilbur hadn’t tried to stab him yet was because Niki was watching closely from her office with the door propped open.

Wilbur chose that moment to bare his teeth and honest-to-Prime growl at him.

What the fuck is wrong with this guy?!

“TOMMY!”

Tommy jumped a foot off the chair, whipping his head toward the door.

Techno came storming into the room, a slightly crazed look on his normally stoic face. “Tommy, you have a minute?”

“Uhh,” he glanced at Wilbur, who just narrowed his eyes with a sneer. “Absolutely. What’s up?”

“Oh, y’know, nothing much,” Techno grit out. “Just a little curious, actually. Do you happen to know Hannah Rose?”

Tommy blinked, eyeing Techno. “The…the assassin?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Techno continued. “The assassin. Who works for the mafia.”

“What—?”

“Another, y’know, quick question,” Techno interrupted, crazed look intensifying. “Would you happen to know why Hannah Rose, the mafia assassin, is currently in the lobby asking for you? By name?”

He blinked again. “Huh?”

“That’s what I said!” Techno yelled, looking manic. “Because there’s absolutely no reason why you would know her, right?”

He leaned back. “What, no! Why would I have met her? I don’t even know what she looks like. Nobody knows what she looks like.” He narrowed his eyes. “Wait, why do you know what she looks like?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Techno said, changing the subject. “Just explain to me why she’s here asking for you by name.”

“How the f—?!” Tomm started, before a cold voice cut in.

“I’m rather curious too.”

Tommy froze, heart hammering in his chest as he turned to look back at Wilbur.

If he’d thought the man looked crazed before…

The man’s eyes were wide, boring into Tommy’s. One hand was clenched into a fist so tight, Tommy could see blood welling up in his palm.

His other hand was open, locked in a familiar pose.

Oh fuck he’s charging his power, oh shit oh fuck—

“Wilbur,” he started, raising his hands placatingly. “I know what you’re thinking, and—”

“Oh, you know what I’m thinking, do you?” the man sneered, rising to his feet. Techno shifted closer to Tommy in an instant, narrowing his eyes. “What exactly am I thinking?”

“That I put your son in danger,” Tommy replied instantly, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. “And I promise you, I haven’t done anything of the sort.”

“Then why is there a mafia lieutenant in his place of work?”

“I don’t know!” he yelled. “But Fundy is in the front right now, so why don’t we all go up front and figure this out, huh?!”

Wilbur froze at the realization his son might be in danger, hand unclenching. He narrowed his eyes. “Move.”

Techno pushed Tommy in front of him, putting himself between him and Wilbur, which Tommy was eternally grateful for. He spared a glance to the office where Niki was sitting, but instead of looking suspicious or worried like he’d suspected, she was just… grinning.

And then sent him a thumbs up the hell?!

He walked through the door into the kitchen, immediately scanning the lobby for anybody that set off his power.

It was…surprisingly quiet. Aside from the quiet humming in the back of his mind from Techno’s tag (the bastard).

What did catch his attention, however, was the rather-average-looking girl standing by the front counter. She didn’t look like she’d stand out: long brown hair, green eyes… 

…bright red trenchcoat.

Really? I thought assassins were supposed to be inconspicuous.

“Can I help you?” he asked, stepping up to the counter and subtly motioning for Fundy to back the hell up.

The girl turned to him, eyes locking with his. Despite the eye contact, Tommy could tell she was scanning his form, judging him.

“Hi!” she said, voice deceptively sweet.  “Are you Tommy Innit, by chance?”

“Who’s asking?” he dodged, narrowing his eyes and suddenly very happy they didn’t wear name tags.  He could see Techno out of the corner of his eye, body tense.  Wilbur had grabbed Fundy and shoved him into the back with a quiet yelp before turning back to them, watching with rapt attention.

“Oh, sorry,” Hannah said, extending a hand. “I’m Hannah.”

Tommy stared at the hand. His power wasn’t thrumming, but he couldn’t help being suspicious.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, raising a brow at her. “Yeah, well, if you’re the Hannah I think you are, then you’ll forgive me for not wanting to shake your hand.”

He barely caught the way her eyes widened before she schooled her expression. She hummed, lowering her hand. “I see.”

“What do you want?” he asked. “Because unless you’re planning on buying something, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

She gasped, hand to her chest. “Well, that’s rather rude. I haven’t even done anything.”

He shrugged. “True. Honestly, I don’t really care if you stay or not, but you’re making my coworkers… uncomfortable.”

She tilted her head before looking to Techno, eyeing his tensed stance. “Hmm. So it would seem.”

She shrugged before eyeing the menu.

“I’ll take a strawberry tart with a salted caramel cookie. To go, please.”

He narrowed his eyes but stepped to the register, ringing up her order.

“Anything else I can get for you?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s not for me,” Hannah laughed, waving her hand. “It’s for my friend, Purpled.”

He flinched back in surprise, and she smiled.

Shit.

“Hi Tommy,” she said, smile widening as she handed over a twenty. “Keep the change.”

“What do you want?” he questioned again, swallowing the urge to…well, swallow.

“Purpled wanted me to pick you up,” she said nonchalantly. “He’s been wanting to thank you personally.”

Prime, he could feel Techno and Wilbur’s stares.

“...I’m assuming you’d like to leave now?” he asked, dreading the answer.

She shrugged. “That’d be nice, yes. The limo’s already waiting outside.”

He gaped. “I’m sorry, limo?”

She hummed, smiling.

“How the fuck is that inconspicuous?”

Her smile widened. “Nothing’s as inconspicuous as standing out.”

He furrowed his brows. “That makes literally no sense.”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you coming or not?”

“Mmm, nah. I’m good—”

“Let me rephrase that,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Are you coming willingly or not?”

“...damn you.”

“Mm, I’ve heard worse.”

“I could say worse, if that’d make you feel any better.”

“Tempting!” she laughed. “But no, that’s quite alright.”

She turned to walk out the door, apparently expecting him to follow, before she paused.

“Ah right, I almost forgot—”

I doubt that highly.

“—do you have it?”

He blinked. “‘It’?”

She turned back to him, looking at him knowingly. “Yup.”

He frowned, thinking.

Oh.

Ohhh—

“—hhhhh,” he said. “You mean this?”

He pulled the poker chip that Purpled gave him out of his pocket, the heart in the center gleaming.

Hannah blinked in surprise, apparently not having expected him to have it, before grinning. “Yup, that’s it.”

He heard Techno facepalm behind him.

“Tommy.”

“Hmm?” he turned to Techno, surprised by the very pinched expression on his face. “You good, big man? You look constipated.”

“Tommy.”

“What?”

“How do you have that?”

“A, uhh, friend gave it to me.”

“And that friend is waiting for you,” Hannah cut in, raising a brow. “So? Come on. Let’s go.”

“Absolutely not,” Techno snapped, stepping forward. “Not by himself, he’s not.”

Hannah looked unimpressed. “Oh? You plan on coming too?”

“If you expect me to let a sixteen-year-old go off alone with a known killer, you have another thing coming,” Techno spat, glaring at the girl. 

She stared at him, mouth set in a thin line. “You do realize that even if I were to let you come, you’d be severely outnumbered where we’re going.”

“I’ll take that chance—”

“It’s not chance, it’s fact,” she interrupted, eyes hardening. “If you come with us and try and start something, you will die.”

“Then pray I won’t have to start something,” Techno shot back. “I’m coming.”

“Tech—”

“Shut up, Tommy, you don’t get a choice in the matter.”

“Well fuck you too, asshole…” Tommy muttered. “...was just gonna say ‘thank you’....”

Techno blinked, sparing a glance before turning back to Hannah. “Well?”

She stared at him for a moment longer before reaching into a pocket on her trenchcoat.

Tommy tensed for a moment, but realized almost immediately that his power wasn’t spiking. Whatever she was grabbing, it wasn’t a danger to them.

Techno seemed to realize it as well, but he still followed her hand carefully.

She pulled out a phone, tapping on the screen a couple times before waiting. A second later, her phone buzzed and she put it back in her pocket.

She smiled again, honey sweet and disarming. “Alright then!” she chirped, turning around. “Come along, you two.”

He and Techno glanced at each other before following after her.

He didn’t miss the way Wilbur’s eyes trailed after him, burning holes in the back of his skull.

They stepped outside, and he looked in amazement at the sleek black limo that was parked directly in front of the store. In the midst of the filth of the Lower, it stuck out like a sore thumb.

She opened the door, climbing into the back seat before motioning for them to follow.

Techno went first, glancing around the interior before nodding back at Tommy, and they both climbed in.

“Take us to the casino,” Hannah called to the front. Tommy couldn’t see the driver with the tinted divider, but the car started moving immediately, pulling away from the bakery.

They sat in silence for a moment before Tommy glanced at Techno. “We probably should have let Niki know we were leaving.”

Techno sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, never taking his eyes off of Hannah. “Knowing her, she probably already knew.”

Ah, right. Future vision.

“Well, I’ll admit,” Hannah started, leaning back and relaxing in her seat. “This trip did not go the way I was expecting it to.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “How so?”

“Well, normally, I’d have killed you by now…”

Tommy felt his mouth go dry. “Pardon?”

“So were you planning to kill him this whole time?” Techno asked, body… not tensed, surprisingly.

“That was the intention, yes,” she confessed. “Though he caught me off guard when he refused the hand shake.”

“The- the hand shake?” Tommy asked, stomach feeling very queasy suddenly.

She held out her hand again, but this time spread her fingers apart, drawing attention to a smooth metal band she wore around her middle finger.

It didn’t look particularly dangerous, until she curled her hand like she was shaking someone else’s. A small barb seemed to materialize on the band, tip glinting in the light.

Poison.

Hannah Rose's execution style of choice.

She’d gained a reputation for using plant based poisons on all of her targets, all of which were astonishingly complex in their design, as were her methods and strategies.

And Tommy had almost been a victim.

“S-So, if I had shaken your hand, I would have…” he trailed off, not wanting to finish the statement.

“Oh, you would have been fine for a while,” Hannah rebutted, unclenching her hand and withdrawing the barb. “The poison is extremely slow acting. You could have gone a solid week without any symptoms. After that? Eh, it might have gotten a bit… messy.”

Holy shit, he could have died. He could have actually died today. Well, not actually today, but still…

His little panic session ground to a halt a moment later, however, when he remembered one little detail about that interaction.

When she’d initiated the hand shake, his power hadn’t gone off.

His power hadn’t detected the ring, or the poison.

Which shouldn’t be possible, unless…

He chuckled, startling the other two, before full on laughing for a second.

Techno and Hannah just blinked at him.

“Care to share with the class?” Techno prodded, still watching Hannah.

“So that’s why you weren’t setting off any red flags,” Tommy said, grinning at her.

He glanced at Techno briefly before turning back to Hannah and raising his hands.

You’re Powerless, he signed.

She tilted her head. “Pardon?”

Techno, however, got the message. His eyes widened ever so slightly.

So he does know sign language, Tommy thought. Useful.

He focused back on Hannah. “You’re Powerless.”

She stiffened, eyes widening in surprise, and he smirked.

Gotcha bitch.

“How—”

“So why haven’t you killed me?” he interrupted, tilting his head at her. “You said you would have by now and that that was your intention from the start. What changed?”

She narrowed her eyes at the obvious change in subject, but went along, leaning back against her seat. “You had the coin.”

“This?” he said, glancing at the steel medallion in his hand. “What’s so special about it?”

“That is the only reason you don’t have poison pumping through you right now,” Techno said, taking his eyes of Hannah to stare at the coin. “It’s a sign of trust, reserved for top members of the mafia.”

Okay, how the fuck does he know that?

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t actually expecting you to have it,” Hannah admitted. “When I was asked to ‘pick you up’, I assumed you were just a target. But then you showed the coin and I realized he genuinely wanted to see you.” She shrugged. “My bad.”

“‘My bad’?” Tommy repeated incredulously. “‘Your bad’ could have cost me my life!”

She shrugged. “Oops.”

His eye twitched, and he went to try and get across just how fucked that was, when Techno put a hand on his arm.

“Tommy,” he started, gaze serious. “How exactly did you get that coin?”

He sighed. “I didn’t really do anything,” he admitted. “I found a mafia goon bleeding out from a gunshot wound and patched him up. That’s all.”

Techno narrowed his eyes, like he didn’t believe him, which… rude.

“Seriously!” he defended. “All I did was patch up a mafia goon!”

“Ahem,” Hannah cut in. “That ‘mafia goon’ you helped? That was the Ace of Hearts.”

Techno’s head snapped to look at Hannah before snapping right back to Tommy, staring at the coin in his hand.

A heart with an ‘A’ in the center.

“And?” Tommy asked, looking between the two. “Why is he called that?”

Techno gave him a pained look, while Hannah suddenly looked excited.

“Oh yay!” Hannah clapped. “Someone who doesn’t know mafia hierarchy! Nice, I never get to use the deck.”

He just watched confused as Hannah reached into a seat compartment and pulled out a deck of cards.

“Alright, so,” Hannah started, shuffling the deck. “The original heads of the mafia were heavy poker fanatics, and tended to do any and all business over a game of cards. So one day, when they were all drunk off their asses, they came up with the hierarchy of their little gang and based it off a deck of cards.”

She pulled out four cards at random, and Tommy blinked when he noticed she’d drawn the four Kings.

“The mafia leadership is divided into four heads and twelve lieutenants. The four heads are known as the Four Kings, and each of them are represented by their own suit. King of Hearts, King of Spades, etc.”

She put the cards back in the stack before drawing another four cards, this time the Queens.

“Then you have the four Queens,” Hannah continued. “The Assassins.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “I’m going to take a wild guess and assume you’re one of them.”

She simply smiled, returning the cards to the deck before drawing another four.

“Then you have the Bodyguards, the Jacks,” she said. “They’re in charge of all the security for the Kings. You go after a King, you have to get through his Jack first.

“And then finally, you have the Snipers.” She smiled. “Also known as the Aces.”

Realization dawned, and his eyes widened. “Are you saying Purpled is…”

“The Ace of Hearts,” Techno muttered, rubbing his face into his hands. “One of the twelve lieutenants of the mafia, and you just happened to make friends with him.”

“I…well…he…yeah, I don’t know what to say here,” he admitted, feeling a little stunned.

Hannah laughed, shuffling the cards again. At this point, she seemed to be doing it just to occupy her hands, drawing random cards and glancing at them before shoving them back in the deck.

“What, uhh, what about the rest of the cards,” he asked. “Is there a person for each card?”

Hannah hummed. “Technically, yes, but outside of the Royal and Ace cards, the others aren’t really of much consequence. Supervisors and group heads, maybe, but no one of particular importance.”

Tommy watched her draw another card and glance at it, but narrowed his eyes when she blanched and hastily shoved the card back in the deck.

But not quick enough for him to miss what card it was.

“What about Jokers?” he asked.

Hannah froze, but tried to play it off. “Hmm?”

He nodded at the deck. “You made it sound like that deck is only used for explaining the hierarchy to people. You just drew a Joker, but you didn’t mention them in your speech. They wouldn’t be in that deck if they weren’t important.”

She paled, fidgeting nervously before shoving the deck into the compartment.

“We, uhh,” she coughed. “We don’t talk about the Jokers.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“If I told you, we’d be talking about them,” she snapped, suddenly on edge.

He stared at her for a moment before turning to Techno. “Tech?”

“They’re basically the mafia’s last resort,” he replied smugly, ignoring the indignant hey! from Hannah. “And they’re not singular people, they’re families.”

“Shut up!” Hannah said, looking frantic. “How the hell do you know about them?!”

Techno shrugged. “Unimportant. Anyway—”

“I beg to differ, asshat!” Hannah yelled.

“...I’m lost,” Tommy said, glancing between the two.

“Good, you’re not allowed to know,” Hannah snapped, glaring at Techno. “Neither of you.”

Techno just let a small smirk grace his features before shrugging. “I mean, he’s got a coin, I’d say it’s okay for him to know.”

Hannah glared at him but didn’t say anything, so Techno turned back to Tommy. “Positions in the mafia like Jacks and Kings can change hands easily. They’re not inherited or passed down or anything like that, they just change hands over time.

“The Jokers? They’re strictly familial. And they are the very last resort.”

Tommy sat back, narrowing his eyes. “Last resort how?”

“As in ‘the mafia is crumbling so we’re taking the country with us’ kind of ‘last resort’,” Hannah cut in, still glaring at Techno. “If the two Jokers are ever called in, consider yourself fucked.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “So…you’re saying that in L’manberg, there are just two families who could wipe out the country at a moment’s notice?!”

Techno nodded seriously. “Basically. They’re the mafia’s wildcards, pardon the pun, and Matrons forbid those cards are ever put into play.”

“Just how strong are these families?” Tommy breathed, feeling a little pale.

“They’d make the L’manberg Civil War look like a birthday party,” Hannah deadpanned.

“....oh.”

Techno snorted. 

“Now shut up, the both of you,” Hannah snapped, turning away from them. “We’re almost there.”

Tommy glanced out the window to see that they were currently driving through one of the Lower’s warehouse districts that bordered the docks, massive buildings and shipping containers flying past as they traveled at a rather concerning clip above the speed limit.

They rounded a corner, running parallel to the coast, and Tommy saw it in the distance.

Las Nevadas.

…

…

…

The best way Tommy could describe Las Nevadas was shiny.

Also sandy, but that was neither here nor there.

They drove up a smoothly paved driveway that wrapped around an extravagant water fountain before leading to the front entrance of the frankly massive casino that served as the focal point of the entire city.

(To clarify, focal point of Las Nevadas, not the L’manberg city-state. Because while Las Nevadas was technically a part of L’manberg, it had amassed so much power as its own district that it basically functioned as its own entity at this point. It had a monopoly on several business ventures, being the only area in L’manberg with casinos and gambling rings, plus with access to the docks, it had a vice hold on the production and distribution of several legal— and illegal — high-value products.

And lava lamps, for some reason.)

The limo pulled up to the front of the casino, where a valet stood at the ready.

A very… slimy looking valet.

The door opened and Hannah climbed out ahead of them, flashing something to the valet.

“Greetings, Hannah Rose of Las Nevadas!” the valet yelled excitedly, motioning her forward.

Tommy glanced at Techno before climbing out himself, ignoring Techno when he tried to leave first.

The valet took one look at him and smiled. “Greetings, Tommy Innit of District 69!”

Tommy didn’t know whether to be incredibly disturbed that this random valet knew where he lived or laugh at the exuberant declaration of his home district.

He ended up letting out some kind of strangled snort that had Hannah looking at him oddly.

He coughed once to clear his throat before whirling on Hannah. “How did he know that? How’s he know where I live?”

Hannah smirked. “Say hello to Charlie, the Jack of Clubs,” she introduced as Techno stepped out behind him, eyeing their surroundings. “If you exist in L’manberg, he knows you.”

“Greetings, person I’ve never met from somewhere I don’t know!”

Hannah blinked before whipping around to stare at Charlie, who just continued to smile at Techno. “The hell?! How do you not know him, Charlie?!”

The valet shrugged, the motion causing a really disturbing ripple across the man’s(?) entire body. “I am not sure, Hannah Rose of Las Nevadas! Somehow, he’s escaped my gaze.”

Techno blinked. “Uhh, Techno of L’manberg.”

“That is incredibly unspecific, but okay!” Charlie said cheerfully, smiling wide.

Hannah’s eye twitched before she whirled around and stormed toward the casino. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit,” she muttered darkly.

“I highly doubt that,” Tommy said, following after her, Techno coming to walk next to him.

Before he made it more than a few steps, though, he heard the driver side door pop open and the driver step out. He turned purely for curiosity’s sake, and did a double take when another Charlie stepped out of the vehicle.

His gaze snapped back and forth between the two comically, going completely unnoticed as the two men (man?) made eye contact and nodded, both rounding the front end of the car to (presumably) trade positions.

Tommy almost gagged when the two gave each other a passing high five that sent a ripple down both their arms, as well as tiny chunks of what could only be described as slime flying through the air.

Charlie Number two took the valet position while Charlie Number One got into the car and drove off. Tommy just stared unseeingly for a minute, trying to process what he just saw, when he saw the little chunks of slime that were now littering the ground start to move.

They all vibrated slightly before converging into one tiny ball of goo, no bigger than a golf ball, before rolling across the ground, up the sidewalk, and into Charlie’s leg. And he did mean into his leg, as the ball just melted into the man seamlessly, leaving no trace that it was there.

Tommy turned to see Techno staring as well, and they both exchanged What the fuck? looks before high-tailing it after Hannah.

As they stepped inside, Tommy couldn’t help but gape at the sheer amount of wealth the place seemed to exude. Massive pillars carved from what looked to be solid blocks of quartz stretched far above their heads to a beautifully painted dome ceiling, the center of which supported a massive, intricately designed chandelier. 

Which, according to his power, was overlaid with gold and embedded with several dozen diamonds.

Rich bastards.

Hannah led them past the front desk, not bothering to show any identification. The staffers didn’t bat an eye, though they did glance suspiciously at him and Techno as they followed her.

They pass through several gambling halls, filled to the brim with slot machines and black jack tables, the sounds of machines and excited cheers filling the room and beginning to overwhelm Tommy’s senses.

They approached an elevator bank, and Hannah headed toward one that was clearly separated from the others and only opened after she placed her hand on a panel next to the call button.

He started getting a little nervous when she pressed the button for a sub-level.

His power had started buzzing the moment they’d stepped into the building, the kind of tingle he got when walking down alleys at night: cautious, nervous, and ready to act in an instant.

That tingle only increased once the elevator started to descend, his power clearly not liking the narrowed escape options.

If he shifted a little closer to Techno, no he didn’t, shut up.

The elevator dinged open, but instead of grungy, dimly lit hallways, they were met with clean-almost-to-the-point-of-sterile hallways that looked like they belonged in a high-tech office building. 

Despite the almost unnatural cleanliness of the place, the hallways were busy, with people quickly making their way past, some holding papers, others carting boxes…

…some carrying weapons.

His power was starting to get antsy.

Hannah stepped out of the elevator, and everyone in the hall seemed to tense simultaneously. People stepped aside immediately, keeping their heads down while also making sure to watch her every move, lest they risk getting in her way.

Tommy and Techno glanced at each other before following after her.

Techno, despite his earlier tenseness in the bakery, had been… remarkably calm since entering the building. He exuded a frankly eerie sense of calm and control that completely contrasted Tommy’s own tensed shoulders. He honestly couldn’t tell if Tech actually felt that calm or if it was just a front for his own sake.

As they continued down another passageway, Techno nudged his shoulder. When he glanced over, the man’s hands were moving.

Calm down, he signed, still facing forward. You’re stressing me out.

Well, excuse me, Tommy signed back, glaring. We’re in the middle of the fucking mafia headquarters, pardon my nervousness!

Child.

Dickhead!

He crossed his arms after that, markedly not pouting, before realizing that Techno had successfully managed to calm him down by pissing him off.

He did not like the fact that Techno was familiar enough with him to know that that would work.

Whatever.

He nudged Techno’s arm, getting his attention.

What should I do? he signed, glancing up at the man. When all he got was a blank look, he continued with, Do I play dumb? Or do I play smart?

Techno raised a brow. The hell does ‘play smart’ mean?

Tommy hesitated for only a second. Do I use my power to give us an advantage here? Scare them off?

Techno frowned, hands lowering slightly in thought. I don’t think it’d be wise to play your hand too soon, but…that depends on how ‘smart’ you play.

Tommy grinned. Oh I can play very smart. 

So far all I’ve seen you do is act like a moron.

You underestimate my power.

…I honestly can’t tell if that was a taunt or a Star Wars reference.

Oh don’t think it couldn’t be both. I am quite the multitasker.

Several hallways later—which, now that Tommy thought about it, had stretched on long enough that he was pretty sure they weren’t even under the casino anymore—Hannah all but kicked a door open and stormed into what appeared to be…a hospital room.

“Aight, I’m back,” Hannah said, strolling to the foot of the bed and crossing her arms. “This better be worth it, asshole.”

The person waiting in the room was decidedly not Purpled.

Resting in the bed was a young blonde man, wearing an outfit that looked fairly similar to the one Tommy had seen Purpled wearing, only with white accents instead of purple, and a gold medallion resting on his chest.

“Hey, Hannah,” he said, before turning steel-blue eyes on Tommy. The man blinked. “Oh hey, you didn’t kill him.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you, moron,” Hannah snapped. “Hey, Hannah, there’s this random kid who could be a potential threat to my brother, do me a favor and ‘pick him up’. The fuck did you expect me to do with that?!”

“Hey, at least you checked for the coin this time,” the man shrugged.

“This time?” Techno asked dryly, gaining their attention.

Blonde’s eyes snapped to Techno. “Who the heck is he?” he asked Hannah.

“His escort,” Techno answered for her, gesturing to Tommy. When the man wrinkled his nose, Techno rolled his eyes. “Wrong kind of escort, pervert.”

“I literally messaged you about him,” Hannah deadpanned. “He’s the guy who wouldn’t let me take the kid alone.”

Alright, Tommy was starting to get annoyed at everybody talking like he wasn’t standing right there.

Let’s do this, then.

What can you tell me about him?

{hum}

“Can we get down to business already?” he cut in, eye twitching as information started flowing, and wow there was a lot. “The fuck did you want so badly that you had me dragged all the way here?”

Punz chuckled. “Fine, fine, that’s on me. The name’s—”

“Punz, yes, I know.”

Everybody froze.

Punz blinked, tilting his head. “You do?”

“Yup,” Tommy said with a smirk.

“How—”

“Purpled,” Tommy sorta lied, and he didn’t miss the way the guy flinched at the name. “You were the one he called to pick him up, right?”

Punz blinked at him. “True. Overheard us, did you?”

“Hey, I wasn’t eavesdropping, if that’s what you’re asking,” Tommy defended, crossing his arms. “Seriously, though, the fuck you want?”

Punz smirked. “Straight to business. I like it.”

And with that, he lifted his foot up off the bed. 

“I sprained my ankle.”

He, Techno, and even Hannah just stared at Punz in disbelief.

“Okay?” Tommy started. “And?”

“And I want you to treat it,” Punz replied simply.

Primes, Tommy’s eye was twitching so badly, it was bordering on spasming.

“What. The ever. Loving. Fuck. Does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Punz said, mouth set in a faux-serious frown. “I want you to treat my ankle.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Techno muttered.

“Punz,” Hannah started, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I swear to the Matrons, I am going to kill you and cement your body into the casino fountain as an ornament.”

“Wait, he didn’t bother telling you what he wanted me for?!”  Tommy yelled at her.

“No, he just said to pick you up,” she seethed, not bothering to remove her hands from her eye sockets. “Which apparently can mean either ‘make them disappear off the face of the earth’ OR ‘bring them over for a social call’.”

Punz just shrugged. “I mean, either would have worked for me, if I’m being honest.”

“How the fuck does killing me and having me treat you end with the same result?!” Tommy yelled.

Seriously, the only reason Tommy could think of to bring him here—because coming here to treat a sprain was the biggest piece of bullshit—was to threaten him. But he didn’t know why Punz felt the need to—

…oh for fuck’s sake.

“This is about Purpled, isn’t it?” Tommy deadpanned. “You think I’m a threat to him.”

Punz’s smile turned sharp. “Clever guy.”

Tommy just followed Hannah’s example and pressed his face into his hands, groaning loudly.

“So,” he started, voice muffled by his hands. “Hannah either poisoned me and let me wither away over the course of the next week or so, or I get brought in and given the shovel talk.”

“Exactly,” Punz replied. “Either you stop being a threat, or I figure out if you are one. And if you are, I kill you. It’s a win-win for me.”

“And a royal pain in my ass,” Hannah muttered. “Next time, you can play errand boy yourself.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Hannah,” Punz whined, smirking. “Admit it, you—”

“I’m not a threat to Purpled,” Tommy groaned in interruption. “I swear, what is it with this city and overprotective parents?”

Punz wrinkled his nose. “Ew, I’m his brother.”

“Guardian then, I don’t care. It doesn’t change anything,” he pressed. “I’m not going to hurt your brother.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Punz said. “And honestly, I’m less concerned with you hurting him and more worried about what you’re going to make him do.”

Tommy blinked. “Huh?”

“The real reason I called you here,” Punz said. “Is because I wanted to ask you something. And you are going to answer honestly or I’ll kill you where you stand. Or I’ll let Hannah do it, she looks like she needs to blow off some steam.”

“Asshole.”

Tommy swallowed, glancing at Techno. He was still emitting that same aura of calm, but even Tommy could see the tenseness in his shoulders. 

This man was fully ready to fight his way out of here to keep Tommy safe.

Not gonna lie, it warmed his heart a touch.

“Fine,” Tommy said, doing his best to soak in the calm Techno was exuding. Honestly, it was like the dude had Tubbo’s power, only instead of inciting trust, it brought about calm. “What do you want to know?”

Punz’s face turned dead serious, eyes cold. “I want to know what favor you asked of my brother.”

…………oh his eye was definitely spasming.

Both of them, actually

“You’re telling me you dragged me all the way out here to ask me about a favor?” he seethed, clenching his fists.

He ignored the way Techno was trying to stifle a laugh behind him.

“Not just any favor,” Punz confirmed. “My brother’s favor. He refused to tell me what you asked for, so now I’m asking you.”

“I didn’t ask for anything!” Tommy yelled, throwing his hands up. “I don’t accept favors! Why the fuck does this keep happening?!”

Punz didn’t look impressed. “I don’t buy it. Tell me what you asked for, or I’ll kill you.”

Tommy scoffed. “No you won’t.”

“Oh?” Punz’s voice turned dark. “And why is that?”

“You’d have to deal with an angry Purpled, for one,” Tommy answered. “I may not know him well, but he seems like the kinda guy who likes to keep a close eye on the friends he makes. He wouldn’t have given me a coin otherwise.”

Punz scoffed. “He knows friends die in this business. He’ll get over it.”

Purpled chose that moment to kick in the door. 

“I definitely will not,” he growled, storming up to Punz. “Just to spite you.”

Punz looked shocked and amusedly sheepish. “Heeey, bro. How did you—”

“Charlie snitched,” Purpled answered simply, glaring down at his brother. “Why is Tommy here?”

“Uhh,” Punz said, suddenly looking nervous. “He’s, uhh, here to treat my ankle!”

“Bullshit,” Purpled and Tommy said in tandem, much to Techno’s amusement.

“We have medics here,” Purpled argued. “And it’s not like we’re short on cash.”

“Yeah,” Tommy cut in. “Why don’t you pay for a doctor with one of your 4-carat diamonds? You know, the ones embedded in your fucking chandelier?”

Punz frowned. “Those are 5-carat—”

“Nope, 4-carat,” Tommy interrupted. “Your craftsman conned you.”

Punz blinked. “Hey Hannah,” he said, glancing at the assassin. “Why don’t you go pick up Grian?”

Hannah threw her hand up in frustration. “Okay! Sure! Why not?! Care to specify which ‘pick up’ you mean this time?! Do you mean actually bring him in, or slit his throat?!”

Purpled snapped his gaze back to his brother. “You told her to ‘pick up’ Tommy?!”

“Exactly!” she yelled.

 “Of course I did!” Punz snapped back. “He was a potential threat.”

“Or he could be a potential ally, Punz,” Purpled argued back.

“So? We have no shortage of strong people, Purp. What can he bring to the table that anybody else can’t?”

Purpled paused, frowning. He turned to Tommy. “You never actually said what your power was,” he said, making Tommy stiffen. “I know it’s useful though.” He turned back to his brother. “From what he told me, he can detect injuries, and sense danger to… some degree.”

Punz narrowed his eyes. “Meaning?”

Purpled shrugged. “I pointed a gun at him, and he knew immediately that it wasn’t loaded.”

Punz blinked. “Okay, I’m intrigued.”

Purpled glanced back at Tommy. “Care to share?” he asked. 

Tommy opened his mouth.

“If you say ‘rule number one’, I’m slapping you.”

“Damn you.”

Purpled’s eyes just bore into his own, the look screaming Work with me here, or you’re going to die.

Techno elbowed him, and Tommy glanced at him. Techno was giving him another look , and it wasn’t hard to tell what he was trying to say.

If you’re going to play smart, now’s the time.

He took a breath, then turned to Punz, accessing the information he’d been provided.

“Punz Vove, current Ace of Spades. Your power allows you to land any shot with any object perfectly so long as it’s within your body’s abilities. If you can see it, you can shoot it.

“When you were six years old, you attempted a trick shot with a basketball that ended with two things: you actually landed the trickshot, discovering your power in the process, and also landed on your leg, fracturing it and leaving you with an uneven gait that you suffer from even now.

“Your apparent skill at the sport despite your injury caught the eye of several athletic scouts and gained you a potential full-ride sports scholarship, which you gave up when you ran away from home several years back to protect your brother by joining the mafia, which I’ll admit is a bit of an oxymoron.”

Purpled’s jaw dropped before he whirled on his brother. “You gave up what?”

Oh shit, that was a secret. Oops.

Punz just stared at him, eyes wide. Hannah’s eyes had narrowed, looking very suspicious of Tommy right now.

Techno just face-palmed before lifting his hands.

When you said ‘playing smart’, I didn’t realize you meant precognitive.

Tommy’s smirk widened.

Oh, trust me, I can do better.

Please don’t.

We’ll see.

“H-How…” Punz started, before swallowing. “How could you know all that?”

“Especially when I didn’t even know about it,” Purpled added on, looking at Tommy in amazement.

Tommy grinned. “Intuition,” he replied cheerily, before ducking when Purpled drew his gun and chucked it at him.

“Seriously, the hell is your power?” Hannah said, eyeing him warily.

Tommy scoffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would, actually,” she said.

“Rule number one, bitch.”

She drew a dagger

And this time, his power did react to the weapon, spiking in the back of his mind, which, thanks for that, y’know, marking the very visible weapon and not the hidden one.

As if to further fuel his annoyance, not only did it not react to Hannah’s hidden weapon, it also did not react to Purpled palm slapping him upside the head.

Great, his power had a sense of humor. Lovely.

“Are those your only good lines, Tommy?” he said in exasperation.

He just shrugged, eyeing the dagger in Hannah’s hand.

Punz sighed. “Hannah.”

She grumbled, but put the knife away.

“So,” Punz said, turning back to Tommy. “Is that all you can do? Seeing someone’s past?”

Tommy crossed his arms. “That’s all I’m going to show you about it.”

Hannah immediately bristled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, bitch. That’s all you’re getting.”

She put a hand on her dagger again but didn’t draw it. “You seem to be under the assumption that you have a choice on whether or not you spill your guts.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “We talking proverbial guts or actual guts?”

“That depends on how you answer,” she drawled, tapping a finger against the sheath of her knife. “What is your power? I want specifics.”

“No,” Tommy said instantly, shaking his head. “Not happening.”

“Tommy,” Purpled hissed, eyeing his coworkers. “Cooperating would be in your best interests.”

“I beg to differ, actually,” Tommy shot back, holding firm. “Nothing good comes from me talking.”

“You’ll get to live,” Punz said.

“I’ll be exposed,” Tommy replied with a glare. “Are you all idiots?”

Purpled paused, turning back to him, eyebrows raised in question.

“How the fuck do you think I, a kid with an Upper accent, ended up living alone in the Lower slums? It wasn’t by choice, I can tell you that.”

He was starting to get through to Punz, at least. He could tell that much by the way the man was starting to look hesitant.

Hannah only looked more determined.

He turned on her before she could say anything. “The answer’s ‘no’. I don’t like having my secrets spilled to two of the biggest criminals in the country. People learning about my power cost me my home and family. I’m not risking that again.”

“And what makes you think we give a fuck?” Hannah said with a glare. “You’re either a threat or an asset. Either way, your secrets aren’t staying secret for long.”

Okay, she was really starting to piss him off.

“Oh really?” he snarled, stepping forward to both Purpled and Techno’s horror. “Then you wouldn’t mind having some of your own secrets spilled? Let your coworkers learn a thing or two about you that you’d rather them not know?”

She scoffed. “Please, you and I both know your power won’t work on me.”

“You don’t know anything,” he shot back, taking another step forward. “There’s more than one way to find someone’s secrets.”

“You want to give it a shot?” She spread her arms, smirking. “Be my guest, brat.”

“Oh, I am going to ruin you,” he snarled.

“Tommy,” Techno warned, speaking up for the first time in a while. “Careful.”

“Don’t worry, big man,” he assured, narrowing his eyes at Hannah.

He was gonna make this woman regret ever meeting him.

He narrowed his eyes, focusing.

He may have to abuse his power a bit for this, but it was worth it.

What can I say that will scare her off?

….aaaaaand nothing.

Yeah, he expected as much.

Okay, his power couldn’t actually read her like it normally would. He’d have to do a bit of round-a-bout shenanigans to get something.

Let’s see…she’s an assassin, and a good one at that. The only thing connecting any of her targets is their cause of death, which doesn’t actually provide much evidence against her.

But he also bets there are some jobs that weren’t connected back to her. High-profile ones that could cause a full-scale investigation were the truth to come to light that she was involved.

So let’s start with those.

What are some of Hannah Rose’s best jobs where she was never connected to the crime?

 A list appeared in his vision. A long list that already started giving him a headache.

Okay, geez. Let’s see. Which of these were high profile?

The list narrowed, but it was still pretty long. Several politicians and potential politicians were on the list, as well as rival mafia heads, crime lords…

Wait a minute.

That one. Can you give me everything on that one?

{hum}

He had to resist the urge to gape as the information filled his vision, because Primes that is both genius and really dark.

“Uhh, Tommy?” Purpled said, suddenly sounding worried.

He blinked, pulling himself out of his head to see everyone in the room staring at him.

“What?”

“Your, uhh…your eyes are glowing.”

He paused. “Huh. Been awhile since they’ve done that.”

“I’m sorry, that’s normal?” Purpled stressed.

It kinda was. Tommy’d had it happen before, so he knew what it looked like. Red wisps of light—the same red light that his power showed him—had been leaking out of his irises, making it seem like his eyes were on fire.

The first time he’d seen it, he’d terrified himself. Now he just thought it looked badass.

Even though it made him look more anime protagonist-y than Techno, Mr. Long-Pink-Locks himself.

He also knew, unfortunately, that it was the first sign that he was overworking his power. 

He needed to wrap this up quickly.

“I’m assuming you found something?” Techno asked gently, looking concerned but also vaguely amused.

He smirked. “Oh yeah,” he said, turning to Hannah. “I found a good one.”

She raised a brow. “Oh really?” she mocked, though she suddenly looked a little nervous. “And what exactly did you find?”

“How you killed your mother.”

Hannah paled instantly, hand flying to her knife. “W-What?”

He smiled. “That must have really sucked, having the biggest Anti-Husk politician in the past generation as a mom. Bet growing up was fun, knowing that no matter how smart you were, you’re mother would always treat you like scum—”

He inhaled sharply as the tip of her knife flew toward his trachea, but Techno was at his side before she could complete the motion, gripping her wrist and twisting it.

The knife clattered between them.

“Tommy,” Techno grit out, glaring daggers into Hannah’s eyes. “Maybe don’t antagonize the assassin.”

“She literally asked for it,” Tommy defended. He turned a glare on her. “Have I made my point?”

“What… was your point, exactly?” Purpled asked, glancing between them warily.

“Don’t fuck with my secrets, and I won’t fuck with yours,” he said cooly, staring at Hannah. “Deal?”

Hannah yanked her arm out of Techno’s grip, snarling at him. Techno eyed her warily, but stepped back.

“Fine,” she grit out, eyes cold. “Deal.”

Punz turned to Purpled, eyes wide as he gestured to Tommy. “How is that not a threat?!”

Purpled met his brother’s eye calmly. “How is that not an ally?”

“You done?” Tommy said. “Because if I am going to help you, we’re gonna need some ground rules.”

“I’m sorry,” Punz said. “Since when are we negotiating?”

“Since I proved that I can and will reveal to your brother every embarrassing thing you’ve ever done.”

“.........you mentioned ground rules?”

Tommy sighed.

“Look, I don’t really give a fuck that you dragged me down here,” he started. “So long as it means I’m helping someone.” He paused. “Preferably Purpled, considering it’s his coin that saved my life, but whatever.”

Purpled snorted.

“Honestly, I don’t even care if you come to my apartment,” he continued. “I’ve already helped several people there, what’s a few more?”

He looked Punz dead in the eye.

“But if you ever show up at my place of work again, or go anywhere near any of my friends? Well…”

He left the threat unsaid. In their eyes, he had the power to unearth every secret they’ve ever hidden. Every murder, theft, crime, and extortion.

Punz threw his hands up. “Fine! Whatever. We won’t bug your friends. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t still a threat to Purpled.”

Said boy groaned. “Oh my Irene, Punz, stop.”

“No!” Punz argued. “I want to know what favor he asked of you!”

In an instant, Purpled paled and he gasped. “Punz, you did not ask Tommy about the favor.”

Punz suddenly looked suspicious. “Of course I did. Now what is he making you do?”

“Nothing!”

“Bullshit, why are you so pale?”

“Because he doesn’t do favors, Punz! It’s—” he glances at Tommy, his gaze screaming apologies.

“It’s what, Purp?”

“He’s from the Church of Prime,” Purpled stressed.

“...okay? Good for him?”

“Punz,” he stressed. “It’s against their religion to accept favors.”

Punz and Hannah instantly paled.

Purpled turned to him. “Tommy, I am so sorry—”

Punz cut in with, “Shit, I had no idea, I’m—”

Hannah yelled, “I had nothing to do with this! Punz made me—”

The three just continued to overlap apologies (and excuses, in Hannah’s case) and stumble over each other, expressing their deep regret over having ‘violated his religious views’, and that they were not bigots, and—

Tommy just shared a look with Techno, who looked equal parts surprised and smug.

Smart bastard.

“I’m leaving,” Tommy said without warning, turning toward the door. “Put a compress on your ankle and ice it for 20 minutes every 4 hours, call me if you need me, stay away from my work, bye.”

Purpled ran after him with a I’ll show you out! before whirling on his brother and Hannah. “We’re not done talking,” he threatened, before Tommy was shoved out the door.

Purpled shut the door behind them, walked to the other side of the hall, and then proceeded to smack his head into the wall.

“Moron,” he muttered quietly, though Tommy didn’t miss the fondness in his voice. He took a breath before turning to him and Techno. “I am so sorry for the both of them. I didn’t mention the whole, y’know, Church of Prime thing. Which was an obvious mistake, in hindsight.”

Tommy just shrugged, blinking away the sudden blurriness in his eyes. “It happens.”

Techno snorted. “Only you could be this nonchalant about being kidnapped.”

Tommy winced slightly before shrugging again. “I mean, it was… somewhat consensual.”

Unlike his other experience, but that was beside the point.

“Come on,” Purpled said, turning down the hall. “Let’s get you guys out of here. I’ll call Charlie to give you guys a ride.”

“No,” Techno said almost instantly as he followed. “We’re walking.”

Tommy blinked before following after Techno’s blurry form. “We are?”

Purpled almost tripped but caught himself before turning to give Techno what he assumed was a confused look over his shoulder.  “That’s…kinda far, to walk, isn’t it?”

“I don’t trust your driver,” Techno said. “From what Hannah said, it sounds like he likes to spy on people. He didn’t know who I was, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Purpled’s eyes widened at that, apparently just as surprised that Techno had managed to stay hidden from Charlie for so long.

“Yeah, Charlie is scary,” Tommy agreed. “No offense to the guy, but what even is he?”

“Eh, no one really knows,” Purpled admitted, turning down another hallway.

Tommy just gaped. “What do you mean no one—”

He’s cut off abruptly when his nose smashed into the corner of the wall that Techno just rounded, flinching back with a shout.

Techno was by his side in an instant. “You good, kid?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice muffled as he clenched his nose. “Ow.”

“What happened?” Purpled said, coming up to them.

“I walked into a wall, dumbass, what do you think happened?”

“Okay, you have no right to say that and still call me the dumbass,” Purpled said with a smirk. “Seriously though, you acted like the wall wasn’t even there. You good?”

He groaned, pulling his hand away and pleased to see a lack of blood. “I will be in a few hours. Can’t see very well right now.”

There was a pause before Techno asked hesitantly. “What do you mean?”

Tommy groaned, already dreading where this was going. “Okay, so, the whole ‘glowing eyes thing’ that just happened? Not just for show.”

Another pause, which Tommy spent clutching his nose and pointedly avoiding eye contact before Purple asked, “What exactly do your eyes glowing mean, Tommy?”

Tommy kept quiet.

“Tommy,” Techno prodded.

“......means I overused my power.”

“Tommy!” Techno hissed.

“It’s not that bad!” he argued, glancing up at Techno’s face. At least, what he could see of it. “Seriously. I just tried to process too much information at once. I’ll be fine in a few…hours? Hours.”

“Tommy.”

“Okay, it might be a day.”

Techno facepalmed while Purpled just glared(?) at him.

“Yeah, no, you’re a dumbass,” he said, turning and heading back down the hall. “Overworking your power for a bluff.”

“Hey, it was not a bluff,” Tommy shot back. “I can and will make their lives hell, don’t think I won’t.”

“Not if it puts your life at risk,” Techno said coolly, putting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder to guide him. “Overtaxing your power could have a permanent effect on your health—”

“Yeah, I know,” Tommy said, accepting the help. “It was a calculated risk.”

“An unnecessary one—”

“Can we change the subject please?” Tommy growled.

He was getting tired of people thinking he didn’t know what he was doing. Yes, the mafia stuff threw him for a bit of a loop, but he’d argue he’d handled the situation rather well.

He wasn’t an idiot.

The others were silent for a moment, and Tommy dreaded the next question he knew was about to pop up.

Thankfully, Purpled seemed to take the hint and obliged, albeit awkwardly. “Have you, uh, heard about the new president?”

Greeeeaaat.  

Politics.

“Not really?” Tommy said, voice hitching up in question. “I’ve been trying to avoid that dumpster fire like the plague.”

“Politics are important, Tommy,” Purpled said, looking over his shoulder. “Especially nowadays.”

“I guess?” he agreed. “Just…not really my thing. The only thing that I’ve actually picked up on is that the guy who got elected was a Lower? I think? All I know is that the Upper has been throwin’ a hissy fit ever since.”

“Well, you’re not wrong, but…if the rumors are to be believed,” Purpled said quietly. “The guy’s a Husk.”

Tommy glared at the back of Purpled’s head.

“Sorry, Powerless.”

The statement finally registered, and he paused midstep, Techno’s hand shoving him forward before the man could correct himself.

“Wait, seriously?” Tommy asked, recovering his balance. “That’s huge!”

If this guy plays his cards right, then Powerless might just have a chance in this fucked up country.

Michael might have a chance.

“Right?” Purpled said, sounding excited. “One guy won’t be able to change everything, obviously, but it’s a start.”

“It’s something,” Tommy agreed. “Hopefully he can calm down the Upper. Don’t want them starting a revolt.”

“You’re surprisingly interested,” Techno pointed out, voice curious. “You just said you didn’t care for politics. What’s the guy being Powerless got to do with it?”

“I…um…”

“Supposedly Powerless,” Purpled interrupted. “That’s just the rumor in the underground. It’s not really common knowledge.”

“If it’s true, it’s surprising he’s kept it hidden for so long,” Techno said. “Pretending almost always backfires for politicians, and it never lasts longer than a few weeks. If he’s able to keep it up though, he could probably get a lot done.”

A pause.

“Or he could just have a really subtle power. I’d say like Tommy’s, but his personality more than makes up for it.”

This time, Tommy ground to a halt on purpose, effectively brake checking the man before he drove an elbow into the man’s gut.

Or tried to. Techno saw it coming, which, again, Tommy was not happy the guy could read him that easily.

“My point exactly,” Techno said, and oh he could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Dickhead,” Tommy muttered before turning back to Purpled. “Where the fuck are we? This isn’t the way Hannah led us.”

“If you guys are walking,” Purpled said, leading them down another hallway. “I figured I’d get you to a better exit. These tunnels spread all over Las Nevadas, with a couple extending a little beyond. I might be able to get you close to a bus station or something, if you’d rather do that.”

A pause.

Tommy’s lip twitched. 

“Are we there yet?”

“Tommy, I swear to—!”

…

…

…

The elevator doors opened, and Tommy flinched back as the bright sunlight assaulted his eyes.

“Ow, geez, where are we?” he said, stepping out onto sand and glancing around. “Why are we outside?”

Purpled snorted. “Dude, look up.”

Tommy glanced up, squinting. “Is…is that the Las Nevadas sign?”

“Yup.”

“......why is there an elevator in the Las Nevadas sign?”

“You really think we were gonna put something this big out here and not have it be useful?”

“I mean, I guess?” Tommy conceded. “Just seems a bit extra.”

“Yeah, can’t argue with you there,” Purpled said with a snort. He was quiet for a minute before speaking up, sounding more subdued. “Look, I’m really sorry about my brother.”

Tommy waved his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. The last guardian I pissed off aimed a gun at my head. This was pretty mild, all things considered.”

“I’m sorry,” Techno said, voice suddenly hard. “What did Wilbur do?”

Oops.

“Uhh, nothing,” Tommy replied hastily. Probably too hastily. “I said ‘the last guardian’. I never said it was Wilbur.”

Techno crosses his arms. “Was it Wilbur?”

“...”

“...”

“......maybe?”

“Who’s Wilbur?” Purpled asked, looking between the two of them.

“Nobody,” they said in sync.

Purpled just shrugged. “Regardless, I’m still sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

“Absolutely not,” Tommy shot down. “I already said—”

“I know, I know!” Purpled interrupted. “I have a feeling you won’t accept money or anything anyway, but for the love of the Matrons, can I please get you a new couch? If I end up at your place again, I do not want to be stuck on your mattress again. That thing is awful.”

Tommy blinked. “Actually, I’ll take you up on that offer.”

“Wait, what happened to your couch?” Techno asked.

“Uhh…”

“...”

“...tell you later?”

“...I’m done,” Techno said, turning away. “Let’s go.”

Purpled called after him. “You sure you don’t want—”

“Nope.”

Tommy just turned in Purpled’s general direction and gave a shrug. “Cya ‘round, I guess?”

“Hopefully under better circumstances,” Purpled agreed. He smiled. “Thanks again.”

Tommy turned away to hide a small smile, following after Techno’s bulky figure and trying not to slip on the loose sand.

It didn’t take long before they’d made their way into the warehouse districts, walking parallel to the shore as they trudged through the city.

“Watch it,” Techno said, pulling Tommy to the side to avoid running into a fire hydrant. “You need glasses, kid. Or eye surgery. Seriously, how could you miss that, it’s bright red. ”

“Fuck off, I’m fine,” Tommy said without any of his usual bite. “This doesn’t happen often enough for me to get a fucking prescription. ‘Sides, how bad it is can vary.”

“How often has this happened, by the way?” Techno asked. “Every time you use your power?”

“Prime no, that would suck,” Tommy said. “It depends, but I’d rather not get into it.”

Techno hesitated for a second before shrugging and saying “Alright.”

“Hey,” Tommy asked, thoughts drifting onto the topic of work. “Think we should call in? Let work know we’re alright? Nik—”

He cut himself off abruptly, halting in place.

His power was humming again.

“Tommy?” Techno asked, pausing.

“...”

“...you okay—?”

“Can I borrow your hoodie?” Tommy asked suddenly, looking in Techno’s direction.

Even with his messed up vision, he could see the man’s face screw up in confusion. “Huh?”

“Gimme your hoodie,” Tommy repeated. “I’m cold.”

He was not, in fact, cold.

Techno was silent for a moment, and Tommy could imagine the look of confusion in his eyes.  Finally, after a moment, Techno shrugged off his hoodie, handing the fabric over to Tommy. 

He was too blind at the moment to see the criss-cross marks of scars littering the man’s arms and shoulders.

“Thanks,” he said, turning the hoodie in his hands. The thing was fucking massive compared to him, and just confirmed how large Techno really was. 

Thankfully, he didn’t ask for the sweater so he could wear it.

He asked for it so he could root through the pockets.

“Hey!” Techno yelled as Tommy shoved his hands into the pockets, frowning when he didn’t feel anything. He squinted his eyes to get a better look at the jacket, saw another set of pockets, and shoved his hand in those.

The left pocket was cold and wet.

“Knew it,” Tommy said, gripping the cold mass in his hand before yanking it out with a tug, the thing staying together surprisingly well.

In his hand rested a large, flat, green mass, which slowly condensed into a spherical form in his hand about the size of a baseball. He smirked down at it.

“Nice try, Charlie,” Tommy said.

He heard Techno inhale sharply, stiffening.

“When did he get there?”

“Not sure,” Tommy admitted, tossing Techno back his hoodie. “But he’s been listening in for a while. Probably trying to figure out more about you.”

The mass vibrated slightly, as if in confirmation.

Tommy just grinned. “Nice try, but we’re gonna have to cut you off here,” he said, walking closer to the edge of the sidewalk. Specifically, walking closer to the storm drain at the corner. “Have a nice swim!” he yelled, before pitching the ball of slime into the drain.

He turned to Techno. “We need to move. He’ll send other copies of himself this way, and we need to be gone by then.”

Techno, who had been staring down at his hoodie with what Tommy was pretty sure was a look of mild disgust, instantly switched gears.

“We can head for the rooftops,” he said, moving toward an alley and chucking his hoodie into the closest dumpster. “The warehouses are so densely built, you can literally just step over the gaps between most of them. We can make good distance.”

“Good idea,” Tommy said, following Techno’s form. “I’ll probably need a hand though. Still temporarily disabled here.”

Techno just nodded, yanking down a fire escape ladder before guiding Tommy over, showing him where the bars were.

Moments later they were on the roof of the warehouse, staring out across the district toward the ocean.

The view probably would have looked a lot better were his vision working properly.

“Let’s move,” Tommy said, turning to walk in what he was pretty sure was the general direction of their district. “We need to put some distance between us and here—”

Techno grabbed the back of his shirt collar half a second before he would have tripped over a pipe that blended into the roof.

“Maybe let the guy with working eyes lead the way,” Techno suggested, stepping in front of him. “Grab the back of my belt and follow me.”

“I don’t need to hold your metaphorical hand,” Tommy argued. “I’m not that blind.”

“Either hold the belt or I’m carrying you.”

“Got it. Belt it is.”

…

…

…

Several rooftops and ten minutes of scanning the surroundings later, Techno deemed it safe to get back down to street level. By this point, the sun was less than an hour from dipping into the horizon, and Tommy really did not want to be wandering around the warehouse districts in the dark while half blind.

“Alright, now that we’re free of any curious slimes,” Tommy started. “Think we should call Niki now? Let her know we’re safe?”

Techno shrugged. “Might as well,” he conceded, pulling his phone from his pocket.

Before he could press her contact info, however, her icon lit up Techno’s screen with an incoming call.

“Stupid future vision,” Techno muttered, picking up. “Hey Niki. We’re all clear.”

Tommy tried to listen in on what Niki was saying as they walked, but couldn’t really make out what Niki was saying. He got slightly concerned though when Techno started to frown.

“You sure?” he said quietly. “We can make it back in— alright, if you’re sure.”

At Tommy’s tilted head, Techno covered the phone and whispered. “She said no need to come back in today. It’s slow.”

Tommy shrugged, but before he could say anything, Techno flinched back from the phone.

“Wait, what’d you do?” he asked incredulously. After a moment, he snorted. “Alright, that’s karmic…yeah, apparently he threatened Tommy at gunpoint, so— no, Niki, don’t. You’ve done enough.”

Now Tommy was just confused.

A second later, Techno said farewell and hung up the phone before turning to Tommy with a smirk. “Apparently, Wil got into another argument with Niki after we left, so she banned him from the bakery.”

Tommy winced. “I’m going to assume that argument started because of Hannah showing up.”

Techno shrugged. “Probably. Also, Niki said she had to pull a gun on him to make him leave, and she was very vague on whether or not she actually shot him.”

At Tommy’s wide-eyed look, he added, “It would have been somewhere harmless…mostly.”

“I don’t think a bullet hole being placed anywhere can be considered harmless,” Tommy argued.

Techno shrugged as they crossed another street, finally making their way out of the warehouse districts. “Regardless, he’ll be fine. Niki knows how to use a gun. She would have been careful.”

They walked in silence for a while after that, slowly making their way through the districts bordering the coast and making their way inland.

The sun had already started to set at this point, blue giving way to a swath of red, orange, and purple that Tommy would have loved to watch. Unfortunately, the only thing that typically kept him safe at night was his power preemptively warning him of danger, and considering he’d already overused it tonight, he didn’t want to make it work any harder.

Thankfully, with the pace they were setting and the shortcuts that Techno happened to know, they were set to make it back to Tommy’s apartment not long after dark.

Though that did get Tommy thinking.

“Hey Tech?” he prodded suddenly, breaking the companionable silence they’d had going on for the past while. “Where do you live?”

The question obviously took Techno off guard, but he just glanced at Tommy. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you live close to the bakery too?”

“Not really. Why?”

Tommy stopped in his tracks. “Wait, then why are you coming to my place? Shouldn’t you have split off already?”

Techno kept walking for a moment before he realized Tommy wasn’t next to him anymore, sending a confused look his way. “I’m walking you home.”

Tommy just stared incredulously. “No! I don’t need an escort anymore. Go home, dude, get some rest.”

Techno snorted. “Yeah, if you think I’m letting you out of my sight after the afternoon we’ve had, then you’re on something.”

Tommy just groaned, starting forward again. “Okay, I get that, but it’s not like you need to physically be here to do that.”

Techno frowned in confusion as he fell back into step next to Tommy. “How would I do that, exactly?”

“You tagged me almost a week ago. You’ve been tracking me.”

Techno’s steps faltered slightly, but he managed to save face fairly well.

Before he could fully recover, however, Tommy added. “It’s getting kind of late, shouldn’t you be on patrol by now anyway?”

This time, Techno did stop in his tracks, and Tommy turned to see Techno staring at him with a not-quite-concealed look of shock.

A look that quickly morphed into one of annoyance and defeat as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“...how long have you known?”

Tommy didn’t even bother hiding the self-satisfied smirk. “About you, or the tag?”

“Both.”

“Not long,” Tommy admitted, turning around fully. “I knew about the tag before I knew about you, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. Also, dude…”

Techno raised an eyebrow.

“You chose the one bakery I actually worked at, the fuck is your luck?” Tommy laughed.

Techno just groaned, starting forward again. “Tell me about it.”

“So,” he prodded, eyeing Techno as they started walking again. “Did you figure out the recipe?”

Techno didn’t respond, which was answer enough. Along with the way Techno glared forward and grumbled under his breath.

“So you know what that means,” Tommy smirked before chirping out in a sing-song voice. “I win the bet.”

“Do I dare ask what exactly we were betting?” Techno asked wearily.

“Oh, nothing much,” Tommy said. “Just need you to take me somewhere.”

Techno eyed him warily. “Cuz that doesn’t sound conernin’.”

He rolled his eyes. “Calm down, it’s nothing dangerous. ‘Sides, it’ll be awhile anyway.”

“This sound suspiciously like a favor, Tommy.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Techno scoffed, but said nothing else. They walked in silence for a few more minutes, Techno in thought (most likely) and Tommy in smug satisfaction at figuring out the identity of the most infamous vigilante in the city.

Finally, Techno asked, “How’d you know it was me?”

“Found a pink hair in my apartment when I was cleaning this week.”

Techno turned to stare at him. “That’s it?”

Tommy smirked. “A bubble-gum pink hair. And I know for a fact that Techno has never been to my apartment.”

Techno just pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Unbelievable. Six year secret, and I get outed by a hair follicle.”

“It’s your fault for picking such a bright fucking hair dye. Seriously, why?”

Techno smiled. “Well, would you expect Orion to have long pink hair?”

He blinked.

“Exactly,” Techno affirmed. “In the words of Hannah Rose, ‘nothing’s as inconspicuous as standing out’.”

That logic both made sense and made absolutely no sense at the same time.

“That’s fucking stupid,” he said aloud.

“It’s worked for me for six years,” Techno argued. “And Hannah for far longer. You don’t expect the person with something to hide to try and stand out.”

“Still stupid,” Tommy countered. “I’ve been doing the literal opposite for almost a decade. I prefer my method.”

“Ah yes, I too willingly get kidnapped by known assassins to avoid drawing attention to myself,” Techno drawled. “Your example is inspiring.”

“Fuck off, that wasn’t planned.”

“Well, now that the cat’s out of the bag,” Techno started. “Please, tell me you found a place to hide the crate?”

“Crate?” Tommy asked. “What cra—”

Wait a fucking minute…

“That was you?!” Tommy screamed, earning a hand across the mouth from Techno.

“Can you keep it down?” Techno hissed, glancing around. “Come on, we’re not having this conversation on the streets.”

With that, Techno dragged him into another alley. Now that he no longer had to worry about hiding his abilities from him, the man all but threw Tommy up the fire escape with his enhanced strength before leaping up after him.

“Yes, the crate was from me,” Techno confirmed after dragging Tommy onto the roof. “Artemis dropped it off. Didn’t you get the note?”