Chapter Text
When Tommy had agreed to infiltrate the Syndicate, he had expected to die. That didn’t mean he didn’t have the right to bitch about it to Quackity. Sure he had plenty of fun with the whole being tortured and belittled thing that the Syndicate had going on but it was just not up to the TommyInnit code.
So to spite Quackity, Tommy has been working behind the bar for the last three months. Sure, the pay was shitty when compared to doing odd jobs for Las Nevadas, but it still was enough for rent. More than enough for rent, really— Quackity had always been too giving.
Despite his affinity for organized crime being the main reason he had begun to work for Big Q in the first place, it’s pretty easy to get lost in the monotony of bartending. The people who come to Las Nevadas to get fucked up are typically really nice. So if for a moment Tommy pretends that he leads a normal life instead of being kind of immortal then it’s all to spite Quackity and not at all because he wants to entertain the thought of normality.
Sure, he had breaks in his normality every once in a while when he would take other jobs— similar to the sketchier, less official jobs he would take when he had first actually started out. But he had been taking those jobs since he was sixteen and they’re so few and far between nowadays, so it was normal enough.
His semi-normality flies out the window on a Wednesday night though. He’s only working a half shift— Clementine, his cat, hadn’t been well lately and he wanted to get home as soon as possible. His plans are foiled when he spots a tall man wearing a shitty brown trench coat and with curly brunette hair shoved into a dark-coloured beanie walk through the doors.
Tommy, for as much as he had taunted one of the figureheads of the Syndicate during their last meeting, was certain that they had at least discussed him in the slightest. Which meant that there was the slightest chance that Wilbur Soot, the unnecessarily tall man, knew who he was— or at least knew his description. So with wide eyes, he scans the bar for Quackity. His search reins futile and Wilbur makes his way to the bar
“What can I get you started with, sir?” He asks, throwing his voice a little. He’s not exactly sure why he threw his voice, there was no way that the man knew what he sounded like. That is unless the Syndicate recorded him being tortured and killed and then watched it on repeat every night like a bedtime story.
Okay, it sounds a little crazy but the Syndicate leaders tend to be sick fucks so it’s a possibility! Wilbur glares at him from beyond his hipster circular glasses– as if the great Tommyinnit has ever done anything wrong— before speaking. “Have I seen you somewhere? You look familiar.” See, exactly Tommy’s point! Wilbur had probably seen him die on film hundreds of times.
Tommy blanches and almost stumbles as his knees cramp up. “No, I’m mostly just here, haven’t got much of a social life. You might have known my late twin though, he was such a big man. Did tons of partying and drugs and had so many wives. Passed a while back, rest his soul.” When in doubt, lie .
Wilbur’s nose scrunches up, as if in disgust, before he nods. “Don’t want anything, just waiting on someone.” Tommy wonders who he’s meeting with despite knowing that if the Wilbur Soot was to meet anyone in the Las Nevadas Casino, it’d have to be Quackity.
It was a little-known fact that Tommy was an absolute trash mouth, the blonde couldn’t keep his mouth shut to save his life— which was fine, he was immortal after all. “You meeting with Big Q, big man?” Honestly, if Quackity invited one of the leaders of the group who had tortured him not that long ago, Tommy would probably be a little upset.
Wilbur seemed interested in the questioning. “What would you know about Quackity, little man?”
Tommy bristled slightly at the nickname. “He’s my boss, asshole.” Now, maybe he shouldn’t really be calling the man names, especially with his brutal history, but once again Tommy was immortal and loved a good fight.
Quackity, as if sensing the chaos Tommy was about to cause, chose now to walk in from the main floor. “Wilbur,” he greeted tensely when his eyes landed on the brunette.
Wilbur spun around in his bar stool. “Quackity! I was just talking with your little barkeep about you.” As if reminded of his presence, Quackity’s eyes snapped towards Tommy. There was a flash of something in Big Q’s eyes before he fell back into his calm facade.
“Only good thing I hope, right chiquito?” Quackity asked, addressing Tommy with a nickname that he knew the blonde hated– he was very much not little. Quackity only used it when signalling for Tommy to get the fuck away from whatever situation was going on so he didn’t mind it too much.
Tommy eyed Wilbur before looking back to Quackity, who nodded. “Of course, Q. Only great things. I gotta get going though, I think Purpled is scheduled to come in soon. Don’t want to get in his way.” It was a valid reason for escape, he and Purpled had been beefing ever since Tommy had stolen the guy’s lunch from the break room.
“Oh no! We were having such a great time, you should really stay,” Wilbur said tauntingly. “Quackity, don’t you think he should stay?” Q spared a mournful glance towards the blonde before clenching his jaw and nodding.
This is how Tommy ended up in his current situation, in Quackity’s office, sitting next to Wilbur, as the two talked. He was meant to leave at least an hour ago if the clock in the office was right, and he was probably going to sue Quackity for endangering his workers.
As it turns out, Wilbur and Quackity apparently have some sort of love-hate, flirt each other to death sort of thing going on and Tommy was uncomfortable. It definitely didn’t help that Wilbur kept insisting that Tommy should contribute to the conversation.
“It just doesn’t make any sense how you got that information, Quackity. Tech told me he handled your little pest so unless you’ve found a way to transmit information with your brain, there's no logical way that happened.” Wilbur said with a lilt to his voice that Tommy couldn’t quite comprehend. Maybe it was threatening but it wasn’t aimed at him so it was really none of his fucking buisness.
Tommy— who has never been able to hold his tongue in his life— scoffs at Wilbur's words, garnering the duo's attention. Wilbur looks enthralled while Quackity looks like he regrets everything he's ever done. “You got something to say, sunshine?”
The blonde rolled his eyes at the name, Wilbur was a bitch. “You act as if this isn't the modern age," Tommy says, staring Wilbur directly in the eyes to establish dominance. It must work because Wilbur looks away after a few seconds, not that Tommy thought it wasn’t going to work. He was obviously the alpha male here.
“We obviously searched the pest before discarding it," Wilbur said with a bright smile as if he were talking about how beautiful it looked outside and not looting and destroying Tommy's corpse. “There was nothing. I obviously wouldn't be here without reason.” And the dehumanization without a cause is just properly fucked. It really reminds Tommy of who he’s stuck in a room with, sure his body might not have been holding his fucking soul or whatever but that didn’t make his vessel an it .
The condescending tone Wilbur takes makes Tommy's skin crawl. There's a period of time between death and rebirth where Tommy's soul floats— a period of decay for his vessel and then, later, rebuilding. The thought of the Syndicate doing whatever the fuck they did to his last body makes him want to spill his lunch all over Quackity’s pristine floors.
“ Obviously, ” Tommy repeats tauntingly simply because he wants to be an asshole. It doesn't exactly work out how he wants it to because Wilbur starts fucking beaming . It stresses him out a bit, but once again Tommy is the alpha male , which means that he’s going to find a way to annoy the shit out of Wilbur. He wants to see the man break and beg for a reprieve.
Wilbur scoots his chair closer to Tommy's and the blonde sends his boss a look that screams for help. “You're a delight, starlight,” the brunette says, throwing an arm over Tommy and pulling the teen into his side.
While Tommy was growing tired of the pet names, he was definitely not telling this fucker his name. “I think we should end this meeting here, Wilbur. We're obviously not getting anywhere," Quackity says and Tommy could honestly kiss the ground the man walks on, only not really because Tommy bets there was a way Quackity could have made this entire situation never happen.
Reluctantly, Wilbur agrees, loosening his grip on Tommy before standing up. He directs his attention to the blonde before speaking, “I'll be seeing you again soon, sunshine.” And with that, he's gone, leaving Quackity and Tommy to stare at each other dumbly.
“I want a raise," Tommy says after a moment of silence before leaving the office. He's slightly certain that Wilbur is far enough now that Tommy won't run into him and he really wants to get back to his apartment.
Luckily, he doesn't see Wilbur on his way out of Las Nevadas and he's able to make it home with no issues. Mostly because he lives incredibly close to the casino and Big Q had made it very clear that messing with Tommy wouldn't end well for anyone who tried, in spite of the fact that the teen could handle himself.
Opening the door to his apartment, he’s met with Clementine’s insistent mewls coming from the kitchen. Making his way towards the sound, he sighs when seeing that Clem’s automatic feeder hadn’t gone off when it was meant to.
He knew he shouldn’t have bought the cheaper one, it was a total piece of shit. And after the shitshow of a day he had just gone through, it was the last straw.
Tommy pulled out his phone, quickly searching for a new feeder. He added it to his cart but didn’t buy it, apparently reading the reviews would be beneficial. He sat down on the floor and Clementine quickly made her way over to him, crawling into his lap.
Running his hands through her fur he dialled Quackity’s number. If he was going to buy Clementine the fanciest, most expensive cat feeder, it would probably be best to get back to doing actual jobs.