Chapter Text
"-- last seen-... -ester street with the m--.. "
Tommy hit the top of his radio, a grimace lacing his expression, brows furrowed in annoyance. "C'mon, stupid old thing…". The radio buzzed, random, out of context words hissing out of it.
What Tommy would do to just go a day without something of his breaking.
Of course, he could just replace it, but it didn't seem worth it enough to do so. He had his phone to tell him what was going on. Unfortunately for him, that also meant he had to wait for the damned thing to charge.
He kept the radio regardless, the item being one of the constants in his life. The others were a small, matted and well loved stuffed cow and 3 raccoons that had recently started following him everywhere.
Tommy was just barely a D tier hero. Barely managing to get his hero licence and often causing more trouble than he's worth. The worst part was, he was so clearly young. Now, that wouldn't be bad in of itself, if it wasn't for the condescending attitude he received from every hero he encountered.
But that wasn't even the worst part, no.
The worst part was the villains. Obviously, he didn't expect any better of people who's life's mission was to terrorize the city. But it still made his blood boil whenever the fucks told him to 'run along, kid'.
He was no kid . He was goddamn Mellohi , the greatest superhero to ever exist, and whoever said otherwise… well he had a giant, glorious fuck you to say to them.
His phone finally switched on, and Tommy excitedly shifted to the edge of his bed where he sat. His apartment was not the nicest thing in the world, but it was his… and they allowed pets so how could he complain?
Rent was cheap enough, and the landlady was an old woman with a forgetful personality. Sometimes she'd invite him for tea, mentioning how he 'looked so much like her grandson '
He couldn't complain. It wasn't the best, but it was for sure not the worst. A one bedroom apartment, one bathroom, with a main living space that combined the kitchen and living room.
Plus, he had a balcony. That's where he would often enter from after a day of kicking ass.
Or ass kicking him.
His costume was modelled after a raccoon, the creatures being one of his favourite animals, the affection for them increasing after Fundy, the barista at a local coffee shop he frequented, told him that their name in dutch was 'wasbeer' which meant 'washing bear'.
The little shits with their funny little fur around their eyes that resembled masks. Their cute paws that rinsed anything given to them, he smiled at the thought. That's probably why he didn't think much of the 3 raccoons who started following him.
Henry, Harold and Harvey respectively. Named in the order he found them. They quickly became a part of his brand, joining him on hero missions as scouts. He learnt to communicate with them somewhat, and understand their body language.
They were his best friends. Only he could tell them apart, each had a distinct personality in Tommy's eyes. Each held a special place in the young hero's heart.
Henry, the first one that appeared. The one that would often climb up his back, resting on his shoulders. The one that gifted him a stick once with red yarn wrapped around it. The teen cherished that stick. Henry was definitely the clingiest of the three, but also the most protective.
Whenever a villain came too close, Henry would hiss and snarl, but hide regardless when the fight truly began.
Harold was the next to show up. Unlike Henry, Harold had darker fur and bigger ears. The patches of darker fur around his eyes were peppered with lighter, white hairs. Tommy would often joke that Harold was the old man of the group.
Harold was a hoarder, and a compulsive thief. Often he would gift Tommy his findings, looking up at him innocently. Tommy always accepted his gifts, how could he say no when the little thing would cling onto his pant leg, chittering softly.
Lastly, but certainly not least… Harvey. Beloved Harvey. The shyest of the group and the smallest too. Despite having sharper teeth, poor Harvey jumped at any sign of danger and at any loud noise.
During thunderstorms, Tommy distinctly remembers holding a shivering Harvey close, whispering how it's 'going to be alright'.
He loved his raccoons… they weren't pets to him. They were family.
Tommy's only family.
But things quickly changed.
It all started on a day like any other. Tommy patrolled the streets with a confidence like no other…
Well, maybe that was a bit of a lie, he was actually creeping in the back alleys of tall buildings, one earbud in, connected to his phone.
He listened to the boring police reports. Something, anything… anything that stuck out.
He wanted to do something.
Henry chittered in his ear, nudging his cheek with his own. Tommy idly patted the furry creature, quietly listening.
Quietly waiting…
Something… he thought, anything.
"We've got a two-eleven in progress-! I repeat, a two-eleven"
Tommy's heart lurched forward, his hand shaking in uncontrolled restlessness. Two-eleven… a robbery.
Where? Where?!
"Two-eleven! Down St. Craft street-!"
Tommy instinctually slouched at the street name. His eyes narrowing in annoyance.
St. Craft Street was one of the safest places in the entire city of Esempi. Who was dumb enough to steal something in a place riddled with heroing agencies?!
Not only that, but due to the amount of heros that would most likely be at the scene, Tommy wouldn't even be able to shine!
Groaning, he grabbed a metal pipe that was tossed away. With a bit of hesitance on his part, the pipe fazed away, with a slight flash of light.
Safely in his inventory for further use.
It only took Tommy about 7 minutes to reach the outskirts of the scene, taking back alley shortcuts to get there faster. But it was still too slow, he was always too slow.
The scene was packed. Heroes, police, reporters, journalists and onlookers alike.
The thief had already been caught, and Tommy silently cursed to himself. Unfortunately, his secret observation was compromised.
Harold snuck out from behind him, ever curious to get a closer look. Once the raccoon was close enough, well… the ever bald, annoying hero 'C4' immediately spotted him, along with his much kinder partner 'Neimki'. The self proclaimed 'Team Rocket'.
C4 glared at the raccoon, his nose wrinkling slightly in either disgust or annoyance. "... Mellohi." He muttered, grabbing some other heros' attention.
Now, Tommy may be borderlining D tier, but that didn't mean he wasn't somewhat known around town.
Unfortunately, he was mostly known for his fuck ups instead of his successes,
and he's had many fuck ups.
In the mind of other heros, he just got in the way. But that would never discourage the teen. No matter how many concussions he received from overpowering villains. No matter how many times he, himself, had been saved by other heros.
Being a hero was one of his constants. Something that would never change.
Harold by-passed C4, and inched closer to the tied up thief. What was he stealing anyways? What could be so important as to be stolen in broad daylight, in the most hero-filled street in the city?
Was it desperation? Or just plain idiocy? Maybe even a little bit of too much hubris?
Now that is an issue Tommy cannot relate to.
Tommy opened an app on his phone, which connected to tiny cameras hidden in his little friends' accessories. He just had to sit back and let Harold do the work for him. The best part was, none were the wiser of the animals being a secret, moving surveillance system.
Harold stood at the edge of the threshold between the press and lesser heros, and the actual crime scene.
"- stolen what appears to be jewellery from a local jewellery shop" a reporter spoke in a loud, clear voice, staring into the camera pointed at her. She glanced down, spotting Harold who scrubbed his face before placing a paw past the police tape.
Tommy used the camera to pan towards the woman, the news camera now pointing directly at his raccoon. Everyone who knew about him, knew his raccoons. It was the dead giveaway that the rookie hero was nearby.
"In an unsurprising turn-" the reporter couldn't help but laugh softly, it didn't sound mean… but it did sound oddly mocking. "It seems like a certain raccoon hero has shown up late to the scene."
Harold snarled in response, before officially passing the police tape. Tommy narrowed his eyes, staring at the shaky camera. He now could see the tied up man, laughing maniacally.
"You don't know who you're messing with… " the man cackled. " Long live the syndicate"
With a struggle, he dumped a thin vile of something down his throat. How'd he even get his hands untied?
"Someone stop him-!" A hero called out, a little too late. The laughter grew in volume and pitch before abruptly cutting off, his body swayed before falling limpy onto the ground.
He was dead.
Harold bolted, but not before someone spotted where the creature ran to.
The animal jumped into Tommy's hands, who hugged it tightly, but not too tightly. His brain was too muddled by what he just saw that he didn't notice the person who joined him in the alleyway.
"... Late to the scene again are we, Mellohi?"
Tommy stiffened, looking up. There stood still as a statue, was Sam, chief of police.
"Sorry, Sam, but big men have big men business, I can't always be there immediately. Don't got a teleportation ability, innit?"
"Mh.. what is your ability again, Mellohi? Other than being a general nuisance?"
Tommy forced a smile, letting his companions climb onto him. Henry at his shoulder, Harold snuggly fitting into his half-opened bag, and little Harvey on his head.
With no response from the other, Sam shrugged and started walking out the alleyway, simply saying "stay out of trouble, raccoon."
Tommy silently cursed him out, but on the outside he remained straight-faced.
The day came to a close, for most at least. Unfortunately for Tommy, he had work.
Like, actual work.
His inability to properly perform heroism (at least in the eyes of the government) have forced the teen to seek a livable wage elsewhere.
After going from job to job, with only slightly forged legal documents, he finally managed to find a place willing to take him.
His shift was every other day in the late evenings, in some random bar that stood in the deeper parts of town. Not the most secure location, but Tommy was willing to take what he could get.
He's been working there for the past few weeks. His shifts were mostly alone, sometimes he'd have a co-worker. A woman with split dyed hair, half black half blond. He didn't talk much with her however. Tommy found her voice annoying .
The people that occupied the bar were… unnerving to say the least. But he kept his head down and served them as best he could.
After he quickly arrived home, changed and kissed each of the pets on the head, he headed to the bar, entering it as quietly as he could manage. Jazz emanated from the worn speakers, only a few heads turning to look at him as he passed by.
He hoped today would be a quiet one. He was oddly tired despite doing barely anything that day.
A man entered through the doors, Tommy glancing up for a moment to see who it was. The man wore a warm yellow sweater, and black jeans that screamed expensive . His hair was a chocolate colour, curly but well kempt. Round glasses were well balanced on his nose and he wore a relaxed expression.
Or at least, Tommy thought he looked relaxed.
The man walked up to the bar where Tommy stood, who quickly pretended to be doing something important. Nope he was definitely not staring, don't mind him.
"Hello" he greeted, in a somewhat posh, British accent, his voice a tad deep.
"Hello, how can I help you?" Tommy said in the most even voice he could manage
A smile formed on the man's lips as he stared at the younger teen. "Blue Angel, please."
Time passed and the man got his order and sat down. However Tommy quickly realised that… is he-? Is he staring at me?
He was! The annoyingly taller man was staring directly at him. When they made eye contact, instead of looking away like any other person would do if they were caught staring, he smiled at him, like a creepy fuck who's going to end up on some sort of watch list-! If he hasn't already.
Tommy sent the man a death glare, wordlessly wording his opinion on the taller without directly saying it. Fuck off.
His shift continued, hours passing by until he realised that the man from earlier, who still hadn't left might he add, was walking up to his bar counter again.
Assuming he wanted another drink, Tommy got up. He ordered at least 4 different drinks in the time he spent creepily staring at Tommy, which varied from alcoholic to just simple soft drinks.
He would no doubt need the longest piss ever when he was finished, Tommy mused to himself as the man's smiling face reached his counter.
"Hiya, sorry to bother you again-"
"No you're not" Tommy dullfully added, not meeting direct eye contact with the chocolate brown eyes of the other man.
The other chuckled at Tommy's snarky response, but didn't comment on it, simply requesting another drink that had a weird name.
Why did so many alcoholic drinks have weird names anyways? Tommy wondered to himself as he mindlessly prepared the drink. He could feel the man's gaze burn a hole into his back.
"Can you cut it out-?!" Tommy finally snapped, turning around to make eye contact with a smirking face.
"What do you mean-?" The man responded softly, his voice had a weird… tone to it. But Tommy brushed it off.
"What I mean is.. you keep fucking staring at me-!! What are you? A wrongun??"
The man burst into uncontrollable laughter, before straightening up and simply saying "My name is Wilbur."
"Like I give a shit"
"Yours?"
"Fuck off."
With that, he shoved the drink into Wilbur's hands, turning back around to pretend to be busy. He felt Wilbur's eyes cling to his back for a little longer before the feeling subsided, looking back, Wilbur had reclaimed his seat which stood across from the bar.
Tommy still directly in his line of sight.
What the fuck?