Chapter Text
Foolish was not a flashy hero. He didn’t take down many villains or play much offense at all, and he was fine with that. Healers didn’t fight on the front lines. He waited in the wings in case he was needed, even though he never was. It’d been months since he’d used his powers—he could feel the energy under his skin. He was fully charged up, and in this state, he could revive a newly dead person. He always had to be at full power, in case a hero were to die. Foolish was the absolute last line of defense. There were other healers in the association that could take care of the cuts, bruises, and broken bones that came with fights. Foolish was the only one that could remedy death, which meant he always had to be ready for it. Just in case.
He watched most confrontations from nearby, especially if they involved Dream, the association’s number one hero and golden boy. Foolish didn’t see what was so great about him, if he was being honest, but he was a rallying force and took down his fair share of crime, so he looked after him like his guardian angel. Hence, his alias: Guardian. Foolish hadn’t been allowed to choose it himself, unfortunately. Guardian didn’t have quite the ring he was looking for, but he settled for it. The job was more important than having a fancy name—not that Foolish did much besides hover around other heroes in case they dropped dead.
Hey. Work looked different for everyone; for some people, it was a lot more boring than others.
At least tonight’s fight was interesting to watch. Dream and 404 were up against Zephyrus, Protesilaus, and Orpheus—no small feat. Since 404 was invisible, Dream looked like he was taking them all on himself. Foolish winced as Zephyrus landed a wing-powered kick to his ribs, sending Dream skidding across the ground. The heroes were going to lose this fight, and some healer was going to have a field day over all the injuries from it. Not Foolish, though—his power took a while to charge up. Even healing a broken rib would keep him from full capacity for about six hours, and if a hero died in those six hours, he wouldn’t be able to help them. The trade-off wasn’t worth it.
Orpheus began to whistle a tune as Dream picked himself up off the ground. Foolish covered his ears, even though the music wasn’t directed at him. It was probably his song of sorrow or something similar, and while the effect wouldn’t be too bad if it wasn’t intended for Foolish, he still didn’t feel like having emotions shoved into his head. Dream shook his head stubbornly, only pausing for a moment, and headed back toward the fight. Orpheus’ powers never had kept him down for long. As he ran past an alleyway, a blond head poked out of it, watching him rejoin the fray and push the villains back. A spike of alarm pulsed through Foolish as the teenager leaned cautiously out of the alley. He was probably too scared to leave it with the fight going on, which was fair, but it was dangerous to stay. As if to prove his point, 404 knocked off Protesilaus’ aim and one of his fireworks went straight into the ground, sending debris flying. A chunk of asphalt caught the teenage onlooker in the forehead and he stumbled back into the shelter of the alley.
As stealthily as he could, Foolish made his way down from his rooftop lookout. It was as much his responsibility to help civilians as it was any other hero’s, no one could get mad at him for protecting an innocent. Well, Dream probably would, but he wouldn’t be able to actually punish him for it. He slipped into the alleyway and found the kid leaning against a wall, one hand pressed to his head.
“Hey, kid.” He jumped in surprise, and Foolish put his hands up. “It’s alright, I’m here to help. Let’s get you out of here, yeah?”
“What? I’m fine,” he insisted, blinking blood out of his eyes.
“Doesn’t look like it.” He reached forward slowly, and the boy hesitantly let him inspect the wound on his head. “Yeesh, that’s not good. Gotta clean that up when you get home.”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“Kid-”
“I’m not-!”
“-five of the biggest supers in the city are fighting each other a literal stone’s throw from here,” Foolish said, kicking the chunk of asphalt that had hit him for emphasis. “You need to get home.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
Foolish got the sense there was something being left unsaid, and it made him nervous. “You’d rather stay here than go home?”
“Okay, whatever the fuck it is you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”
“Then why-”
“Fine! I’ll go home!” he exclaimed. “There, alright? I’ll go!”
Foolish smiled, ignoring the sound of a small explosion coming from outside the alley followed by Dream cursing loudly—he and 404 would be fine without his constant supervision for a little bit. “Great! Where to?”
“None of your business.”
“I’m walking you home,” Foolish said stubbornly.
“Do you really-” the kid ran a hand down his face with a sigh when Foolish raised his eyebrows. “You fuckin’ gentleman heroes. Come on, it’s not too far.”
—
The teenager—Tommy, as Foolish had managed to wring out of him as they walked—led him to a modest townhome on a quiet street. The noise of the fight a couple blocks away had disappeared by the time they reached the door, so Foolish figured the heroes had finally cut their losses and called it quits for the night.
“Well, here we are, home sweet home.” Tommy leaned up against the front door. “You can go now.”
Foolish didn’t move. “Aren’t you going to get inside?”
He blinked, pausing for entirely too long. “Yeah.”
“Then go.” Tommy crossed his arms and mumbled something under his breath. “What was that?”
“I said it’s locked,” he muttered.
“What, and you don’t have a key?” Foolish asked. “Is no one home?”
“Nope.”
Foolish narrowed his eyes. “Is this really your house?”
“Yes, it’s my fucking house!” Tommy exclaimed. “I-”
He took a step forward and nearly fell down the porch stairs, righting himself and putting a hand to his head. Foolish rushed to support him.
“Shit, you might have a concussion.”
“I’m fucking fine.”
“You really have to get better at lying, kid. Let me have a look.” Tommy rolled his eyes but let Foolish inspect his gash again. “It’s not bleeding anymore, but it fucked you up pretty good.”
“My dad’s gonna throw a fit,” Tommy groaned.
“Yeah?”
“He’ll be right pissed. Not at me,” he added quickly. “At T- at the, uh, the guy that did this. Tell ‘im he should be more careful where he points those things.”
Foolish chuckled at the mental image of this random kid’s dad chewing out one of the city’s biggest supervillains. “Kind of a strange choice of weapon, isn’t it? Fireworks?”
“Fuckin’ effective though,” Tommy said, indicating his head with a wince.
Foolish bit his lip uncertainly. “I could fix that up for you,” he told him quietly, as if Dream was about to come around the corner any minute to chew him out for using his powers.
“Yeah?” Tommy shrugged. “Be my guest, big man.”
Foolish placed a hand over the boy’s forehead and concentrated, allowing energy to flow out of his hands. Tommy’s wound glowed yellow before closing up. He reached up in wonder, feeling along where the cut had been.
“Ta-da,” Foolish said sheepishly.
“Why didn’t you just do that in the first place?” Tommy asked, seemingly more in awe than upset.
“Oh, well, I’m not really supposed to use my powers,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know how it is.”
Tommy stared at him blankly. “You, a literal fucking superhero, aren’t allowed to use your powers,” he deadpanned.
“Gotta maximize my potential.”
“Gotta what?”
“Nothing.”
Foolish averted his eyes, spotting a light in one of the townhome’s windows. He could’ve sworn the building was completely dark when they’d arrived, which made sense, given that no one was home. He frowned. Maybe he was crazy.
Tommy cleared his throat loudly. “Thanks.”
“Oh, you’re welcome,” Foolish said. “Just don’t get stuck in a situation like that again, yeah?”
“Sure.” He checked his phone. “My family’s almost home.”
“Where are they, anyway?”
“Work,” Tommy explained shortly. “We have a family business.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Foolish said. “What kind of business?”
“What is this, an interrogation?”
“It’s small talk.”
“I’m a big man, I don’t do small talk.”
“Right.” Foolish grinned. “Wanna engage in some big talk, then?”
Tommy puffed his chest out theatrically. “The biggest.”
“I need to brush on my big talk skills, why don’t you start?”
He leaned forward, wiggling his eyebrows. “Get many women, Guardian?”
That got a genuine laugh out of Foolish. “Nah, I’m not looking for women.”
“Getting men is pog, too,” Tommy said sagely.
“Wh- no!”
“You don’t think getting men is pog?”
“I didn’t say that,” Foolish huffed. “What the fuck does pog mean, anyway?”
“It’s a big talk word,” Tommy sighed dramatically. “I wouldn’t expect you to know it.”
Foolish nudged him gently on the shoulder. “Y’know, you’re pretty funny, Tommy.”
“Thanks, I drive my brothers up the wall.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Two,” Tommy said. “They’re pretty cool, actually. Most of the time. They-” he cut himself off and feigned a scandalized expression. “You’ve tricked me into small talking!”
“What? Me? Never,” Foolish chuckled. “How could you accuse me of such a thing?”
Tommy shook his head. “And you call yourself a hero.” His eyes brightened and he pointed behind Foolish. “There they are!”
He turned around, half-expecting there to be nothing there and for Tommy to pull some sort of prank while his back was turned, but three people had just turned the corner. One had to be Tommy’s dad—there was a clear family resemblance between the blond hair and bright blue eyes. The other two (Tommy’s brothers, he assumed) didn’t look quite as much like him—one was tall and lanky with a mop of brown hair on his head, while the other was built like a brick wall and sported a slightly disheveled pink braid that he pulled off surprisingly well.
“Hi, mate, I’m Phil,” the father greeted cordially, shaking Foolish’s hand. “Thanks for taking care of Tommy.”
“No problem,” he said.
“I was doing just fine without him,” Tommy muttered.
The taller of his brothers ruffled his hair. “Sure you were.”
“Hey!”
The second brother ran a hand through Tommy’s hair as well, but… differently. He swiped his fingers along the boy’s hairline, as if he was checking for something and didn’t find it. Unlike with the first brother, Tommy hurriedly swatted this one’s hand away.
“Care to step in for a cup of tea?” Phil asked Foolish, unlocking the door. “It's the least I can offer you after getting Tommy home safe.”
“You’re offering him tea?” the one with the braid asked flatly.
“It’d be rude if I didn’t, Techno.”
“It’s fine, really,” Foolish said quickly. “I’ll just be on my way and-”
“No, I insist.” Phil held the door open with a warm smile. “Tommy spoke very highly of you in his texts.”
The teenager immediately turned beet red. “I- I did not-”
“Aw, that’s so sweet!” his brother cooed.
“Shut the fuck up, Wilbur!” Tommy shoved past him and walked past his dad into the house, quietly hissing, “I told you that in confidence!”
Phil just laughed. All three boys filed into the house and yet he continued to hold the door, waiting for Foolish. He hesitated.
“You’re sure I’m not interrupting?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t insist if you were.”
“Oh, alright.” Foolish followed Tommy’s brothers into the house and Phil shut the door behind them. “A quick cup of tea, and then I’ll be on my way.”
The inside of the townhome was cozy and lived in. Foolish followed Phil into the kitchen, where Tommy was already sitting on a stool at the counter. He indicated the seat next to him and Foolish sat down.
“So.” Phil set a kettle on the stove. “Anything you’d like to say to our guest, Tommy?”
Foolish shrugged when he turned to him with clueless eyes—he was just doing his job.
“Uh… sorry? Thank you? Please?” Tommy rattled off. “I’m not really sure which one you’re looking for here, Phil.”
“I was thinking the thank you would be most appropriate.”
“Oh, he thanked me already,” Foolish assured him.
“Did he really?” Phil mused. “Well, Guardian-”
“Call me Foolish,” he said quickly. “My alias feels too formal.”
Tommy spun his mug around on the counter absently. “It’s a shit alias.”
“Tommy!” Phil scolded.
“No, he’s right, it’s pretty shit,” Foolish laughed. “I didn’t get to choose it.”
“I could choose a better one for you,” Tommy said.
“Yeah?” he asked. “What are you gonna do, write to the hero association and formally request for me to be rebranded?”
He grinned deviously, like he had plans Foolish couldn’t imagine. “Something like that.”
Techno poked his head into the kitchen. “Phil, can we talk for a second?”
“Sure, mate.” Phil pointed to the stove. “Watch the kettle, Tommy.”
The boy saluted him as he left the room, hopping off his stool to take his place next to it. Drumming his fingers on the counter, he glanced between Foolish and the door.
“They’re talking about you,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Mm-hmm,” Tommy hummed. “Techno doesn’t really like heroes. He’s probably trying to get Phil to kick you out.”
“He doesn’t like heroes?” Foolish asked quizzically. “What did we ever do to him?”
“It’s more of what you don’t do,” he told him. “Or, well, it is a bit about what you do. Mix of both. You know how it is.”
Foolish shook his head. “I really don’t.”
“Yeah, alright, superhero who’s not allowed to use his powers,” Tommy muttered. “You have no clue why someone might be a little pissy about the system.”
He had a point. Foolish didn’t really want to hear it. Well, that wasn’t true—he did want to hear it, he just… couldn’t. If he listened to Tommy, there was every chance he’d believe him. The system wasn’t perfect and Foolish was frustrated by that, but he couldn’t leave it. The heroes tried their best. They didn’t deserve to die, and the city needed them. Things had to change, but not for Foolish—he was serving the purpose he was supposed to.
“Maybe I should go,” he said. “I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.”
“It’s fine, really.”
“No, I’ll just leave.” Foolish stood up. “The fight ended a while ago, my roommate’s probably worrying about why I’m not home yet.”
“I mean, I’m not gonna force you to stay or anything.” Tommy pointed at the kettle. “Tea’s almost done, though.”
Foolish smiled. “Tell Phil thanks for me. And try to stay away from supervillains.”
“Aw, but how else am I supposed to check on you?” he joked.
“I’m sure you can come up with something,” Foolish laughed. “See you, Tommy.”
“Bye.”
Tommy didn’t object or move to escort Foolish out of the house, responsibly staying by the tea kettle. It was a straight shot from the kitchen to the front door, anyway, but Foolish couldn’t help noticing voices coming from behind a closed door on his way out. They’re talking about you.
He paused, unable to deny his curiosity to know just what Techno had to say about him. The first voice he heard was Phil’s.
“-they’re always talking about bringing him along-”
“Yeah.” There was Techno. “Specifically about how he’d never agree to it. He’s in too deep.”
“If anyone can drag him out, it’s Tommy.” That was Wilbur’s voice. “Right?”
“I dunno, mate,” Phil sighed. “Maybe we’ll just have to wait and see.”
Foolish stepped away, quietly exiting the house. That didn’t sound like a conversation about him. If it was, then it was… concerning. There was something about Tommy that just made Foolish trust him, though. Phil, too.
Foolish headed back home. He needed some sleep before Dream yelled at him for leaving his post in the morning.