Chapter Text
Hunting for cryptids and other mythical shit isn’t exactly a job. Really, in all definitions, it should be classified as “child labor” and “highly illegal,” but so are Tommy’s forged legal documents stating that he’s 18, so he doesn’t really have the right to argue.
Sometimes he wonders how he got here, other times he tries to ignore that question and keep trudging through some dark forest, tracking down a creature that might not even exist. Shit, he’s the one working, and he doesn’t believe in monsters. Kind of ironic, but hey, he needs the money, and this is the easy way to get it.
Besides, it gives him an excuse to get out of his old apartment more, a reason to escape the deafening silence and avoid the opossums that have decided to call his room a home. Seriously, those things aren’t even fucking native (italics) to L’Manburg. However the fuck they got in his apartment, Tommy doesn’t know, but no matter how many times he tries to bring it up to his landlord, they just shrug and tell him that it’s “not their problem.”
It most definitely is, and the landlord is just being a bitch. An itty bitty little bitch boy. An asshole, if you will. A buffoon, if you so prefer.
Maybe Tommy should toss an opossum into their window and see whose problem it is then.
Tommy’s thoughts are getting off track, so he forces them back to focusing on whatever he’s tracking now. Apparently, there’s rumors of some mysterious beings out in these woods, and the reasonable thing to do is to send the youngest (and probably only) member on the team out on his own to go find them. Granted, Tommy hates working with the other members of the “team,” but it’d still be nice if he wasn’t alone.
Every hoot of an owl makes him jump, and the more crows he sees, the more he regrets taking this job. Maybe he could’ve just applied at a café, or he could’ve even signed up to be an assistant to one of those hero fuckers who are on the news all the time. Honestly, Tommy’s not sure why “stray enhanced individual” isn’t the main conclusion to these cryptid hunting excursions.
Whatever, at least he’ll be able to pay rent. Maybe he’ll even be able to buy some actual food this month, but he shouldn’t get his hopes up too high.
There’s a branch snap in the darkness, and Tommy jolts, whirling towards it and aiming his flashlight at it as though the light will scare any monsters off. That’ll never work, but luckily, there isn’t a monster, and instead a stray black feather drifting towards the ground. It’s quite large for a crow, but Tommy really can’t think of any other ideas, so he just shrugs and keeps walking.
The crunch of leaves against his shoes is ominously loud, echoing throughout the trees as his feet dig into mud and forest litter. Oh, mud. How he loves mud.
What he loves less are the man-made objects scattered around the woods, an obvious, glaring example of litter and the fact that while heroes take on villains and fight all the fucking time, they don’t do shit in terms of the environment. At this point, there won’t be a world to defend, which would really piss Tommy off, because he fucking lives here and he’d like to make it to at least… well, he hasn’t really though that far ahead. The point is, he doesn’t want to die yet. He’s still got shit to do.
Unfortunately, his luck hates him, so as he kicks a broken beer bottle away into the bushes (he’ll pick it up on his way back), his flashlight flickers. He can do nothing but stare at it in horror as it clicks repeatedly, light fading each time it manages to summon up the last of its energy, until it dies completely.
Great. Now Tommy’s stuck in a supposedly haunted forest in the middle of the night, without any kind of light to guide his way.
Well, guess he’ll die.
Thanks for coming everyone! Leave a like and subscribe, well actually probably don’t subscribe, because chances are he’ll be fucking dead. Like Chunky Kong, who is also dead. Dead as fuck.
It’s times like this that Tommy wonders why he got the job, along with how he got it. He forgets shit constantly, and it’s a literal miracle that he’s not dead yet. He actually has no fucking clue how he’s even alive, but he accepts that, because apparently he’s been gifted with life and now he’s going to make that everyone’s problem.
And if any fucking cryptids come out at him in the night, he’ll make it their problem too.
He crouches down on the leaf litter, thinking. He could try to get back to his campsite, but chances are that he’ll get lost and it’ll waste time and energy. He could also try his phone, which would be a great idea if he had his on him. Earlier, he had made the big brain decision to leave it back at the campsite, and now he pays for it in full.
Plan C, then. He’s going to wait for the sunrise and try to live until then.
Great idea. Absolutely phenomenal. This is going to work.
Tommy pushes himself back up to his feet, groaning as his bones crack and his joints go back in place (seriously, he’s fucking 16, how does his body creak this much?), and takes note of his surroundings. The first, and only thing that he was ever really taught for this company, was how to make use of nature. This included making a shelter out of whatever materials you could find, and so Tommy decides to do just that.
Hey, he’s got nothing else to do. Besides, this forest is most definitely not haunted, so he’ll be completely safe as he reaches out for some sticks and tries to feel his way around the dark so he can find a proper place to build.
A branch cracks behind him.
Yup, perfectly safe, nothing to see here, ahaha.
They say the first stage of grief is denial, and Tommy sighs as he realizes he’s about to go through every single other fucking stage when he turns and sees the hulking figure standing above him, crimson eyes flashing in the night and the moon reflecting off of its tusks.
“Hey, don’t suppose you’re here to help me, are you?” Tommy asks, and he’s perfectly aware of how tired he sounds. Fuck, if he dies tonight, at least he’ll finally be able to get some fucking rest. He’s tired as shit, and if he’s lucky, maybe this boar-cryptid-guy won’t kill him and will just give him a short coma instead.
“Nah, not really.” The cryptid’s voice is gruff as his red eyes focus on him. “To be honest, I came here to kill you.”
“Fair enough.” Tommy mutters. “I’d appreciate if you don’t, though. I’ve got shit to do.”
Boar guy tilts his head, a curious, yet very confused expression on his face as the corners of his mouth tilt. “Oh? Like what?”
“Running.” Tommy says simply, and just like that, he’s off, bolting through the forest and trying his absolute fucking hardest not to get thwacked by a stray tree branch as he runs. He’s not sure if he’s just a dumbass, or if he’s running purely on adrenaline as he can just barely think back to the two-second long encounter.
He’s never believed in monsters. He’s never believed in cryptids, ghosts, the undead, anything of the sort.
Yet here he is, running from a literal boar-hybrid-man-guy who had quite literally towered over him, eyes crimson and tusks flashing, what seemed to be gold reflecting onto them.
And his first reaction was to be sarcastic.
This is what Tommy likes to call a “Tubbo Moment.”
He can hear crashing behind him, and he sucks in his breath, his heart drumming against his chest as though it’s trying to rip itself out, his lungs battered and his feet moving too fast for him to even think about where he’s going.
He leaps over another barely-lit log, using the faint moonlight as his guide as he navigates through the darkness of the forest, hoping and praying to any gods out there that he won’t die tonight. He really wants to tell Tubbo what happened to all of the Fruit Loops, which may be a really shitty goodbye, but Tubbo will kill him regardless so at least it’d speed up the process.
More crashing ensues from the bushes behind him, and Tommy begins thinking of options. He’s been full of big brain ideas tonight, so obviously, he’s going to use his massive cranium to do something smart.
And by fuck does he do something smart.
He barely even realizes what he’s doing before he’s clambering up a tree, hooking his arms around branches and using his feet to push himself up, gritting his teeth and ignoring how the wood digs into his skin. His camera is dangling from his neck (oh shit, he’d forgotten about that), but he barely pays attention to it as he claws his way up the bark.
One good thing about growing up on the streets of L’Manburg, the city ruled by heroes, villains, and other shitheads, was that he learned how to make quick getaways. He also knows how to kick someone in the balls and not regret it.
A villain who jumpscared him in a parking lot learned that the hard way.
Again, a fucking miracle that he’s still alive, and this will be another one for the records as Tommy heaves himself over yet another branch, jaw tight while he struggles to maintain his balance. He can hear what sounds like gruff shouting from below, and, to be honest, Tommy doesn’t feel like having an argument with the boar guy right now, so instead he just climbs higher.
In terms of big brain ideas, this one probably isn’t his best, Tommy realizes.
Because now, Tommy’s high up in a fucking tree, with no clue on how to get down, and no clue on where the fuck he even is.
One of the reasons as to why Tommy took to cryptid hunting was because they aren’t supposed to be fucking real. This was supposed to be a distraction from the chaos in L’Manburg, heroes and villains throwing themselves at each other in a relentless manslaughter, people born with powers and using them no matter how much it inconveniences others.
Now it’s become yet another life or death situation, and to be honest, Tommy’s quite sick of it.
The boar calls out again, a howl against the wind, a mix of human and animal sounds clashing in his voice as he shouts at Tommy.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Tommy hollers back. “I CAN SCREAM TOO, YOU’RE NOT SPECIAL!”
For once, boar guy goes quiet.
Then he goes right back to roaring in Tommy’s general direction, which is really pissing Tommy off, and he’s really wishing that he had his phone on him so he can call Tubbo to beat this guy’s ass with a fucking hibiscus or something. One of the few times that Tommy’s grateful for powers is when he sees Tubbo clart someone with plants.
Come to think of it, just how powerful would Tubbo be in a forest?
Huh. That’s a good question.
Tommy ponders over it while Boar Guy keeps shouting up at him.
Would Tubbo be able to control the trees and shit? Most of the time, Tommy’s just seen him guide smaller plants to follow his will, or even cause some plants to attack others, depending on how Tubbo’s feeling. Once, Tommy saw Tubbo’s power uproot a cactus in a store and throw the thing straight into the manager’s nose after she said she didn’t like bees.
Once again, Tubbo is fairly epic.
Tommy’s still thinking about this as the tree starts to shake, Boar Guy evidently trying to get him to come down so he can kill him.
However, Tommy doesn’t do death, because it’s annoying and Tommy’s the only annoying thing allowed to exist.
So, he just clutches onto the bark and hangs on for dear life with each time the tree tilts, pine needles drifting onto his head and scattering down towards the ground. At one point, Tommy could swear that he could hear Boar Guy sneeze, and he’d make fun of him for it if he wasn’t a literal cryptid in a forest trying to kill a child.
“Holy shit,” Tommy shouts after a few minutes of this, “can you fucking stop?”
To no surprise, Boar Guy doesn’t hear Tommy, and so he keeps fucking shaking the tree.
Is this how apples in Animal Crossing feel? Or berries in Pokémon SWSH?
Because now Tommy’s beginning to feel bad for all the fruit he’s mercilessly destroyed in video games.
“Give me a fucking break.” Tommy mutters when the tree tilts violently again, a branch swinging against him as he just narrowly dodges a pine needle in the eye. “Get a hobby or something.” He’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or Boar Guy at this point. Shit, he might even be talking to the tree. At this point, he doesn’t care.
“A hobby?” A voice echoes above him.
“Yeah, a hob- fuck.” Tommy’s not sure how much sanity he has left as he looks up, peering right into the bright blue eyes of a man with black feathers lining his skin, curling around his eyes as he grins, and stretching from his back in enormous black wings that glimmer with a faint light reminiscent of the stars in the sky. His hands end in dark, pointed talons, one of which is reaching towards Tommy, though it seems more like an unconscious movement. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What?” The crow guy just laughs at him, his grin growing larger as he peers at Tommy. He’s hanging upside down from a tree, his talon-like feet clinging to a branch while he examines the kid. “Mate, are you okay?”
“I am literally having a fucking crisis, man, so if you don’t mind me, I’ll just be trying not to fucking die.” Tommy snaps. It’s probably a bad idea to argue with a guy who appeared out of fucking nowhere and looks like a literal death omen, but at this point, Tommy doesn’t care. He just wants to go back to sleep, because this is above his pay grade, and he’s definitely quitting once he gets the chance.
“Oh, is Techno giving you a hard time?” Crow man questions, and when he doesn’t get an answer, he keeps talking. “I keep telling him, ‘don’t fucking traumatize people in the woods.’ Then he ignores me and does it anyway. Kids, y’know?” He flashes his teeth at Tommy again, which makes Tommy wonder just how much this guy has smiled in his life. Most likely a lot, going off of the lines around the edges of his mouth.
“I actually don’t know.” Tommy states matter-of-factly. “In fact, I am only eighteen, and if I see a child, I am heavily tempted to punt it like a football. I’m not even sure if I’m legally allowed to have kids.”
The crow’s eyes narrow. “You’re eighteen?”
“Yes?” Tommy tries his hardest not to snap at the cryptid, instead ending his answer with a questioning lilt, as if to ask him what he means. If this fucking guy calls him a ‘child,’ Tommy will simply lose his mind.
“You don’t exactly… look eighteen.” Crow guy murmurs.
“That’s it, I’m out, you’re fucking stupid, I’m going home so I can eat Fruit Loops.” The words are out before Tommy can stop them, and once it’s too late to take them back, he starts winding his way down the tree, ignoring the way the bark slips out of his fingers as he performs his own personal balancing act.
“Mate, no-” the crow man is following him now, using his talons to navigate the branches as Tommy quickens his pace, dropping from tree branch to tree branch in his effort to get away. This isn’t his problem, and Tommy doesn’t give a shit over just how nice the bird guy seems to be. He’s a cryptid, and Tommy literally took this job in order to get away from mysterious shit.
“Fuck off.” Tommy grits out.
“No, the branch is dead-” black talons reach out towards him, and Tommy flinches, stumbling back onto a long piece of wood extending from the tree. His feet struggle to find a place to hook onto, but his arms are away from the tree, swinging wildly in midair, and, to make the matters worse—
A sickening crack! fills the air, and Tommy’s eyes widen as the branch breaks from under him and he starts to fall.
He’s plummeting through the night, and the last thing he thinks is how pretty the stars are, glimmering at him like tons of bright fireflies lost in the galaxy, fluttering around a much larger crescent of light that illuminates the sky, if only just by a bit.
Then the lights are gone, and something’s diving down towards him, and Tommy really wishes he could tell Tubbo about the Fruit Loops.