Claustrophobic Horizon

by Neimie

Summary:

“Welcome to the Soot’s!”

Tommy attempts to take in the dark and big townhouse. It’s way too big for one family.

“Now, Tommy, I pulled a lot of threads to get you here. I expect you to behave,” Puffy says while getting out of the car. Tommy wants to cry. A boy like him simply doesn’t belong in the first district.

Or; Tommy struggles to hide razor blades and his nightly persona from his foster family. He is just like any other teenager; he gives sarcastic comments and is slightly suicidal. He just has an abnormal hobby; vigilantism.

Notes:

First ever published fanfic (!)
I have no beta reader for I have no friends so if anyone would like to beta read or smt id be very grateful! This chapter is short (not even 2,000 words) but I hope they’ll get longer. I’ll try my best!

tw: implied sh

Chapter 1: The Ballad of Tommy Shroud

Someone is behind him.

Tommy Shroud feels it in the wind. He feels it in the way the muddy water puddles on the rooftops splashes with the impact of a strangers heavy boots. Tommy feels cold stings every time a droplet leaves their nest and land a few inches away. The soft sounds his own sneakers make on the concrete are drowned out by the noises from the city beneath him. Still, he picks up the sound from the potential threat. He does so easily even, with the help from the water.

Tommy doesn’t look back to see who is following him. He doesn’t even speed up or slow down. He keeps his steady pace. He doesn’t want his chaser to know that they are detected. Instead he listens for more information.

Something flutters in the wind. Maybe a cape.

For just a second, a metallic noise is heard. It is that of a blade scraping against the concrete ground.

Tommy doesn’t need anything else to know who to expect when he turns around.

He launches himself up to a roof top further up and creates a wall of water with a swift hand movement, separating Tommy from the chaser. Just like he thought, a muscular man with long pink hair was trapped behind the wall. His eyes, although hidden by a boney mask, stares at Tommy with hatred trough the water wall. The red cape that had become the state-paid hero’s brand flaps above the ground angrily. A rather new addition to the medieval inspired outfit was golden crown on top of the bubblegum pink hair. What the hero did to deserve a crown is beyond Tommy. Maybe putting a kid in jail for stealing food is what made him feel entitled to the headwear reserved for monarchs.

Tommy thinks it’s time someone brings The Bloodgod back to the ground. And he’ll gladly volunteer.

“Ey, Bloodgood!”

The Bloodgod doesn’t move an inch at the tease.

“C’mon man, you’re so boring!”

Tommy let the wall of water fall, creating a puddle beneath The Bloodgod’s feet. The hero picks up the fight without missing a beat. He swings his sword at Tommy and he dodges it swiftly.

“Riot, you are under arrest for illegal vigilantism. You could come quietly and make this easier for both of us or I’ll have to do this the hard way.”

Tommy takes out his metal baseball bat. Engraved swear words and insults smile back at him. He hits it against a fan twice and it makes a horrendous noice. It’s a challenge, one Tommy knows the hero will jump at. The Bloodgod’s eyes darkens. Then he lounges. Tommy meets him in the air.

The Bloodgod had switched out his sword for his fists. He gets a good couple of hits in his stomach. Tommy scrambles back and manages to block another round of hits with his bat.

The Bloodgod is bigger and stronger than him. But Tommy is lighter and therefor quicker. He hits his opponent on his right arm with the baseball bat before spinning around and giving him a kick to the back. The two now have a bit in between them. Nothing happens for a few seconds. They are both circling each other, ready to jump into action at any given moment. The world is still continuing beneath them. A car honks in the distance. Someone is shouting in a foreign language. Tommy’s eyes are practically glowing behind his mask.

“Do something! Do something!” he thinks. Because Tommy is eager to fight. He doesn’t mind getting a few bruises or missing teeth. On particularly bad nights, pain is exactly what he seeks. The relief of getting punched real hard after an episode of self hatred. That’s why he started cutting.

“Riot, I don’t want to hurt you. All I want is to get you of the streets, yeah? But you’re making it real hard.”

“You don’t want to hurt me? Sure. That’s why you punched me two seconds ago.”

“Hit me, hit me!”

The Bloodgod shakes his head but keeps moving.

“I realised a long time ago that if I ever brought you in, it wouldn’t be without a fight. You’re good, I’ll give you that.”

The compliment sparks anger in him. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Tommy was going to push some buttons and The Bloodgod was going to beat him up. It always worked with foster fathers.

So Tommy jumped forward again. The Bloodgod must’ve sensed the attack because he got caught by the wrists.

His mind was screaming at him, an internal scream that voiced itself by a hiss. Tommy felt his heart start beating rapidly.

Not now, not now.

He forces himself to start trashing in the hero’s hold. Tommy summons a flood of water and aim it towards The Bloodgod’s legs. His knees buckles at the pressure and Tommy was able to roll out of his grasp, panting heavily.

Fuck. He knew he got irrational when he got angry. It could’ve ended badly. The sky feels like it’s falling down on him. His heart is in his throat and he chokes on it. Tommy can’t breathe.

Tommy can’t breathe.

He can’t panic. Not here, not now.

He starts stumbling away from the hero, who is slowly making his way towards him.

“Riot! Careful!”

The tall buildings are spinning around him. Someone calls his name again and Tommy trips on something. The ground disappears beneath him and he’s falling.

Tommy close his eyes, anticipating the crash to the ground. He has time to mourn over never getting to say goodbye to the few people who actually cared for him.

But familiar arms catch him.

“Purpled?”

“Oh my god, Riot! You are so incredibly stupid!”

Tommy looks up and sees the grey sky and the masked face of his best friend. Grayson Lilavo meets his gaze before putting him down on the ground. Tommy looks up the where he fell from. The fall wasn’t that long. He and Purpled were just on another, lower rooftop.

“C’mon, we can’t stay here. Bloodgod is still near.” his tone is short and holds no emotion.
Tommy wants to say something, maybe explain himself or thank Grayson. But he understands his friend. And he is currently not in a position to talk back. They can’t stay.

Purpled drags Tommy across the labyrinth of alleyways that is the city of L’manburg’s lower districts. He stops in some random alley. “What the hell were you thinking?”

He looks down and sets his eyes on his shoes. The sneakers used to be red and white. Now they wear the brown colour of dried blood.

His heart was still beating fast, but a lot less than before. He felt like he could actually focus again.

“It’s not like I wanted to jump of that roof.” he mumbles.

Purpled lets out a short laugh. Tommy can tell it’s not humorous.

“No, you idiot. I mean; how can you tell me you’re doing better when your obviously lying to my face.”

A car in the vicinity starts with a roar, making the discussion pause.

“I am doing better-“

“No.” Purpled cut him off. “You’re not doing better. I saw everything. You had a panic attack whilst fighting a hero. Do you understand the danger that puts you in? The danger it puts me in?”

A raindrop hits Tommy’s bare hands. Maybe he should’ve checked the weather before going out.

Purpled let’s out a frustrated noise and starts pacing around. Then he abruptly stops and looks at Tommy.

“You are getting relocated this week, right?”

Nausea welled up in his stomach at the reminder. The last thing he needed right now was more things too worry about.

“Tomorrow.” Tommy corrects, knowing where Purpled is going with this.

“For fucks sake, Tommy. You know you’re sensitive when you get relocated.”

Thunder clashes in the near distance. At some point the sky had gotten darker. The one raindrop is followed by many more.

“Go home, Tommy. And don’t come back before you’ve settled in at the new place.”

The sky had only grown greyer and the thunder had come closer when Tommy started walking back to the group home. When he finally stood in front of the heavy doors to the old building he was already drenched.

Tommy wishes the night had ended differently. But it’s too late now.

(Warm blood is already running down his arms. Angry gashes on his left arm glare at him, almost judging him.)

Chapter 2: Ghost Girl

Summary:

Tommy moves

Notes:

New chapter yayy!! This was supposed to come out on the 28th but let’s ignore that. This time it’s over 3k words!! This has not been proofread what so ever, not by someone else and not by me. I finished writing and then hit the post button without second thoughts. Let me know any mistakes! Enjoyy

Tommy wakes up by the high pitched screaming of the bell. ‘The bell’ is a bell that rings every morning to wake up the kids or when it’s time to eat. Tommy thinks it sounds less like a mechanical system and more like a crying baby.

 

The first of many ghost stories Tommy had heard by the older children in the group home was one called ‘The Bell Girl’. The townhouse that houses the group home was built in the Victorian era. This of course made for countless of ghost stories, all with dubious quality and creativity from the older kids. They had nothing better to do than to fuck with the younger ones. Tommy wasn’t too ashamed to admit, that lately, he had become one to keep up the tradition of story telling.

 

’The Bell Girl’ had been a girl, only about seven or eight, who lived at the same orphanage 100 years ago. According to most stories, she had blond, almost golden hair. Though, the small details seemed to change with each storyteller. One night, she wanted to look at the stars. She had climbed up on the roof of the townhouse, two stories up. Back then there wasn’t really any light pollution in L’manburg. Tommy can only imagine how beautiful the night sky must’ve been. But the story didn’t end as beautifully.

 

In some versions of the story, The Bell Girl was pushed off the roof by another orphan. In other, she simply fell. Anyway, The Bell Girl met her fate on the hard pavement that night.

 

The noise from the bell isn’t just a bell. It’s the anguished screams of the Bell Girl- the ghost who will forever haunt St Ophelia’s Orphanage.

——

 

“Tommy! C’mon Tommy we’ll be late.”

 

A young girl shakes Tommy in his sleep until he has to pry his eyes open. He was woken by the bell but quickly fell asleep again, already used to the noise. His legs are tangled with the covers and a thin blanket. He meets the dark eyes of the little girl and buries his head back into the pillow. The bed is far from comfortable but it’s still better than the cold floor.

 

“Clem…” he starts, voice muffled by the pillow that desperately needs a wash.

 

“Please Tommy.”

 

He sighs internally. He knows exactly what look Clementine is giving him and he knows he can never say no to the little girl. Tommy would kill the world for those puppy eyes.

 

“Okay, fine. Just give me five more.”

 

“Tommy!”

——

 

The dark colours and lack of natural light makes the dining room feel smaller than it actually is. It almost feels cramped with thirty kids in it. Tommy and Clementine arrive as the last ones.

 

They are served the same breakfast as the day before. It’s the same breakfast that they got the day before that, and it’s the same breakfast that they’ll get tomorrow. It’s always the same. Tommy doesn’t mind. Yoghurt and toast. Müsli is optional.

 

Tommy always covers his yoghurt in müsli. Clementine freaks out if a single cornflake touches her plate. The toast is mediocre at best.

 

Someone has pulled the thick curtains in front of one of the two windows. The darkness does nothing to make Tommy less sleepy. Neither does the toast.

 

“When are you leaving?” Clementine asks with her mouth full of yoghurt. Despite the eight year old not intending to show any emotion, she somehow manages to anyways. Something Tommy envies in Clementine is the way she is so expressive. She is so alive . The colours in Tommy have faded with the years and with the foster families. And that’s not just a metaphor. Tommy swears his blue eyes have turned greyer with each family.

 

“Don’t know. Hopefully after lunch at least.”

 

Clementine hums back sadly.

 

“Oh, come on. I’m gonna be back in less than a month.”

 

“You better!” she said with a wide grin that showed off multiple missing teeth. Tommy took a hesitant bite out of the toast. It tasted just like he expected, which is not a compliment.

 

“What do you want to do now?” Tommy asks when the first people starts to leave the dining room. Clementine looks up at him with hopeful eyes.

 

“Could we draw?”

 

“Of course!”

 

Tommy wanted to draw up on the roof. That was something he and Clementine usually did. Clementine found lots of fun in sneaking past the workers and up on the roof. She always kept a good distance to the edge though. Tommy supposes the ‘Bell Girl’ story did something good.

 

But the roof was still wet from the thunderstorm yesterday. It wasn’t currently raining, but it would probably start again soon, if the thick grey sky said anything. To get out on the roof you had to trough a window from the attic. When Tommy stuck his head out of the window all he could see was the smaller lake that the rooftop had become.

 

He does have water powers. But that was something Tommy liked to keep secret. He debated telling Clementine that drawing in the dining room would be just as fine. But then he turned around and saw the paper and pens in Clementine’s little hands. Her eyes screamed of happiness. He couldn’t shatter her hopes. Even though the eight year old wouldn’t voice her complaints, she was a foster kid after all, all her emotions would be perfectly served to Tommy on a silver plate. She displayed herself in a glass case she thought she had hidden well and had subconsciously wrapped Tommy around her small finger. And Tommy was leaving today for an uncertain amount of time. The least he could do was to give her this.

 

“Clem? Can you go back down and get my blanket? I forgot it on my bed.” It’s a white lie and it’s not a particularly good one. His blanket was the only thing he could come up with at the moment. It was an item he was enough sentimental about to be bothered to climb all the way down for, and therefor a lie that Clementine, who was way to smart for her age, could believe.

 

“What do you need your blanket for?” she asks with furrowed brows.

 

“I just want it. Please, Clem?”

 

“Okay, whatever.”

 

She walked across the attic and down a ladder to get to the dormitory. Her light brown curls bounced with each skip like step. Her walk was a reminder of the innocence she possesses. A reminder that she was just a precious child that he needed to protect.

 

With no one around, Tommy could pay the little focused it took for him to move the water off of the rooftop. He moves his hand up in the air and the water follows. When he clenches his raised fist the water flows down the gables the led up to the flat part of the roof. He climbs out fully from the window and crouches down. He runs a hand over the bricks that made the ground for the flat roof. Completely dry. He looked up and could see most of his home district. While his vigilantism had raised his standards for a good view- the rooftops in the more expensive districts were something else- this place was still high on the list. Nothing could beet his own amazement when he had first climbed up here.

 

“I’ve got your stupid blanket.”

 

Clementine throws the bunched up blanket out the window before she jumps. Tommy catches it with ease. Since his vigilante debut he had gotten better reflexes. Those and some kind of unearthly entity had saved his life many times. Some days he wishes they hadn’t.

 

No, what was he thinking? Grayson would kill him if he killed himself. Clementine probably wouldn’t understand, but she’d be sad. Tommy hoped she’d be sad. Was it weird to wish sadness upon someone else? Upon a child? Tommy just hoped he’d be a little missed at least.

 

Ugh. Sometimes Tommy wishes he was less selfish.

 

Tommy watches Clementine with a look of admiration.

She is humming a song, one he recognises from the radio. She is on her stomach and she’s kicking her leg. There’s that innocence again. An innocence that makes him want to cry. Tommy mourns the loss of his own innocence, one that was lost after many years of jumping from foster home to foster home.

 

“Are you just going to sit there?”

 

A smile finds its way up on Tommy’s lips. He realises that Clementine had already started on her drawing. To protect the paper from the uneven ground she had a copy of yesterdays newspaper. She had brought two newspapers. One for Clementine and one for Tommy. Even though he was just 15, Tommy often saw himself as a bit of a parental figure to Clementine. They were just 7 years apart, so it would be physically impossible, but Tommy couldn’t help it. He wanted to be the big brother he never got.

 

They drew for what felt like hours. Both of them enjoy drawing a lot. They only stopped when the yellow and the pink sharpies, Clementine’s favourites, had run dry, and Tommy heard his name being shouted from inside.

——

 

“There you are! You have two minutes to pack your stuff, you should’ve been there five minutes ago!” Ms. Elena scolded.

 

Tommy rolls his eyes but goes back up to the dormitory with Clementine close behind. They had sneaked back inside and down to the first floor undetected.

 

The Headmistress of St. Ophelia’s orphanage was a stern elderly woman who always wore her thick grey hair in a tight bun. The actual title of the Victorian townhouse was not ‘St. Ophelia’s orphanage’. It was actually ‘St. Ophelia’s group home’. Yet, Headmistress Elena insisted on calling it an orphanage. And when Ms. Elena said something, you listened.

 

Giving him two whole minutes to pack was generous. He only needed 1 minute and 17 seconds. Everything he owns fits into a duffel bag and a backpack. Some clothes, his blanket, the school provided laptop and charger, a pencil case filled to the brim with anything but pencils, a sketchbook, and of course his vigilante suit. The suit is always at the bottom of his backpack. It isn’t very well hidden, but Tommy doubts many people would connect the dots if they saw a hoodie and blue cargo pants in a teenagers bag. His trademark blue knitted balaclava was more recognisable and therefor well hidden in a plastic bag, which was hidden inside another plastic bag.

 

“Tommy! Your social worker is here!”

 

Tommy straightens his back, makes a serious face and moves his mouth along to Ms. Elena’s muffled voice, mocking her. Clementine bursts out laughing and Tommy smiles. Making Clementine laugh must be the greatest feeling in the world.

——

 

Cara Puffy, or just Puffy, is Tommy’s social worker. She is very nice and always asks him stuff. She treats him like a regular human being instead of throwing him a pity party every time a placement doesn’t work out.

 

She is waiting next to her car on the street outside the group home. Her fingers are tapping stressfully against her thigh.

 

“Goodbye then.” Clementine says. Tommy gives her a quick hug and ruffles her hair.

 

“I’ll be back soon.”

 

“One month!” she demands playfully. How could Tommy ever say no to her?

 

“One month.” he repeats.

——

 

Puffy’s car stops in front of big townhouse with three whole floors. It’s way bigger than the group home.

 

And it’s in the first district- where the richest of the richest lived.

 

The drive had taken longer than Tommy had expected and he didn’t have a clue to who his new foster family were nor where they lived.

 

He had slowly realised that they were driving into the richer districts by the surrounding cars. Puffy’s old Toyota Corolla from 2003 was looking a bit like a scrawny pigeon in the nest of an eagle. The houses also changed, until the cheapest once’s were leagues fancier than what Tommy was used to. He started paying attention to his surroundings once he realised that they were driving towards the higher districts. His eyes caught glimpse of a familiar building- Las Nevadas Casino. It was hard to miss with its blinking lights and big signs with promises of sex, alcohol and poker. That’s when Tommy understood that they were in the first district.

 

“Welcome to the Soot’s!”

 

Tommy attempts to take in the dark and big house, it’s way too big for one family.

 

“Now Tommy, I pulled a lot of threads to get you here. I expect you to behave.” Puffy says while getting out of the car. Tommy wants to cry. A boy like him simply doesn’t belong in the first district.

 

“Let’s go in and meet them!”

 

The doorbell is one of those modern ones with a camera on it. That’s something he will have to avoid when sneaking out, Tommy thinks. It plays some music when Puffy presses it. The creator should stop making doorbells and become a composer, the melody actually sounds nice.

 

A man with longer hair than what is usually accepted in these people’s social circle opened the door. The man was wearing relaxed clothes that, if Tommy had known anything about money, said ‘new money’. He assumes it’s the father of the family.

 

“Ah, welcome!” he turns around and shouts into the house, “Boys! Come down, they’re are here!”

 

He’ll have at least two foster brothers then. Fan-fucking-tastic.

 

“Mr. Soot, I am so sorry that we are late-“ Puffy starts but ‘Mr. Soot’ waves it away.

 

“No worries, you’re here now and that’s what matters.”

 

Behind Mr. Soot Tommy can see two vastly different young men, in their early twenties maybe, who he guesses are Mr. Soot’s sons. One has curly dark brown hair and the other has long pink hair. One is neatly dressed in a brown jumper and corduroy trousers. The other one wears a black jumper with white print and wide jeans. Tommy is almost certain that the print is a girl with a gun.

 

One dresses like he’s from the 40’s and the other one has some kind of alternative look. Definitely siblings then.

 

“Come on in, yesterdays storm is supposed to pick up again soon.”

 

Tommy finds himself doubting whether or not it even could rain in the first district.

——

 

The inside of the Soot’s house looked like it was picked straight out of a dark academia Pinterest board. It didn’t look bad, just a little depressing.

 

Built in bookshelves and old looking lamps, that definitely weren’t as old as they were made too look, we’re just some of the things that told Tommy everything he needed to know about the Soot’s financial situation. (If the fact that they lived in 1st wasn’t enough)

 

“You must be Tommy?” Mr. Soot asks while sticking out his hand for Tommy to shake. He takes it gingerly. Tommy’s handshake is one that business men would describe as a bad first impression.

 

“Yes, sir. Thank you for letting me stay in your home.” the formalities in his words are drowned out by his slight stutter and lack of eye contact. Mr. Soot laughs a bit.

 

“Please, just call me Phil. These are my sons, Wilbur and Techno.”

 

Jesus, Phil must’ve had an existential crisis while naming his kids. Tommy guesses that the one from the 40’s is Wilbur and the one with a gun on his shirt is Techno.

 

“Is there somewhere we can go over Tommy’s file undisturbed?” Puffy asks while trying to subtly look around at what you could see from the front door.

 

“Of course! Will, Tech, can you show Tommy around?”

 

The curly haired one nods enthusiastically while the pink one looks indifferent. Phil and Puffy walks deeper into the house and leave Tommy and the Soot brothers in an awkward silence.

 

“I could take your bag-“ 40’s guy says and reaches forward. Tommy quickly moves his duffel bag behind his back and let’s his eyes darken.

 

“No thank you.”

 

“Oh. Okay. Uhm… I’m Wilbur by the way.”

 

“I figured.”

 

Tommy directs his gaze to the wooden floor and misses the way Techno shoots Wilbur a short smirk.

 

“Well, we could start the tour down here?”

 

“Whatever you want.”

 

The first floor has the living room, kitchen and a big bathroom. On the second one you are met by a library and an Phil’s office to the right. Behind those were Phil’s bedroom which apparently had an en-suite.

 

(Tommy thinks ‘en-suite’ is a silly word)

 

On the third and final floor are Wilbur’s and Techno’s bedroom, doors facing each other. The guest room which would be Tommy’s room for the next month, is right next to Wilbur’s. Next to Techno’s bedroom is a shared study. Wilbur had explained that Tommy was also welcome to do his homework or study there. Tommy had figured that Wilbur was the more social of the siblings. Techno was quieter and only seemed to communicate with his brother using some kind of telepathy. They seemed to read each other’s facial expressions and body language very well.

 

There is a bathroom in the middle of the hallway.

 

“Hope you don’t mind sharing.” Wilbur says. It doesn’t seem like he is being sarcastic. Considering Tommy is used to sharing bathroom with 30 other kids, he definitely doesn’t mind. Voicing his dry remark seems like a bad idea though, in case Wilbur was being serious. He might as well have been, if this is how he grew up.

 

“So, what do you want to do now?” Wilbur asks and something excited flashes over his brown eyes.

 

“Will, chill. Let the kid rest, he’s probably exhausted.”

 

Tommy is half tempted to yell at them that he is in fact not a kid, but he decides against. Choose your battles and all that. He realises that both of the Soot brothers are staring at him, probably waiting for an answer.

 

“Eh. Could I just sleep, please?”

——

 

He was allowed to sleep if he wanted to.

 

Tommy lays in the bed he was assigned. The former guest room is quite bare, like guest rooms usually are. There’s the bed, a wardrobe, a desk underneath the window and a bookshelf. All are painted white and so are the walls. The flooring is a darker shade of brown, just as it is in the rest of the house. Tommy can tell all the furniture are rather fancy. The bed isn’t just some IKEA bed, but an actual wooden framed one. The drawers on the desk has old, decorated handles in brass. The curtains on the window are white as well but with laced edges. Tommy might have been wrong about Phil’s authenticity. These things feel old.

 

He doesn’t want to think about the manufacturing dates of the furniture right now. All he wants is sleep.

 

He falls asleep unusually quick. The obviously expensive mattress might’ve helped him. He curls up underneath the thick duvet and the sleepiness takes him over easily. His backpack and his duffel bag are both tucked away in the empty drawers underneath the bed.

 

When he closes his eyes he can pretend that Clementine is sleeping in the bunk above him.

 

“One month.” he whispers out the promise to the empty room. “One month.”

Notes:

Spelling mistakes in my TommyInnit fan fiction? Absolutely. (Lmk!)

 

I’M SO MAD RN I AM WRITING THIS WHOLE THING ON THE NOTES APP (stupid ik) AND THE NOTES APP DOESNT HAVE AN UNDO BUTTON!! SO I ACCIDENTALLY DELETAED 700 WORDS OF THIS CHAPTER AND THEN I COULDNT PRESS UNDO BECAUSE THERE WERE NO SUCH BUTTON!! AND THEN MY HEADPHONES BROKE LIKE TWO SECONDS AFTER

Chapter 3: Doubt

Summary:

Tommy eats breakfast.

Notes:

Ahahaha. Let’s ignore how it’s been almost a month 😘

“Tommy?”

 

Someone is knocking on the door. Go the fuck away, Tommy wants to yell. But he doesn’t. Despite popular belief, Tommy does have some self control.

 

“Tommy, are you awake?”

 

It must be Wilbur. After all his years in the system, Tommy is a bit of a self proclaimed psychoanalyst. He doesn’t  recognise the voice, it could bee any of the three men that live in this house. It’s probably not Phil, the dad, since it sounds younger. That leaves it to the two brothers. Techno didn’t seem too excited about Tommy’s arrival. He had come of as uncaring. Wilbur, on the other hand, had seem ecstatic . Those type of foster siblings or foster parents aren’t uncommon. They are better than the cold, hurting ones, but they always have too high expectations. Expectations that Tommy, the egoistic, the rebellious, the I-don’t-give-a-fuck teenager, could never meet. It makes the most sense that someone actually excited about the new kid would be the one to offer to wake him up.

 

“I just wanted to say that dad made breakfast if you wanna come down. You don’t have to or anything, I just thought that maybe you’re hungry?”

 

Tommy stays quiet. Better to fake sleep than have to engage in social interaction. Although, he is kinda hungry. He glances over to the wake up alarm on the bedside table. It shows 9:30 in the morning. Fucking hell, did he actually sleep through lunch and dinner?

 

“Or you could eat in your room if you want. I’ll- I’ll go now. Sorry.”

 

Light but tired footsteps pad away from the door. The old floorboards creak a little with every step. Tommy takes a mental note of it. Shit, Wilbur must really want this placement to work out if he is this nervous. When Tommy can no longer hear Wilbur’s footsteps he finally gets out of bed. He immediately misses the warmth from the thick duvet.

 

He stops right outside his door and cautiously takes a step forward. It creaks. He takes another one. No creak. Then another step. No creak.

 

Tommy continuous like this until he reaches the stairs. By then, he has a mental map of which floorboards that are safe if he wants to go out undetected. He does the same with each step of the staircase and then the same on Phil’s floor.

 

Tommy vaguely remembers the first room of the first floor from the night before. It’s the entrance. He hadn’t gotten a tour of the first floor since Puffy and Phil wanted to speak alone. Great, now he just had to find the kitchen. He can hear faint laughter from one of the rooms. He just has too follow that. Yeah, this would be easy. How hard could it be to find his way into the kitchen?

 

Not very hard at all, it turned out. Sure, Tommy did end up in the bathroom at first. But other than that, it was easy to find his way around. This townhouse, just like most townhouses, has more height than width. He kept following the sound of laughter and small talk and he eventually found the kitchen and the Soot family.

 

Tommy immediately calms down once he finds the kitchen. He doesn’t even realise he got nervous. Tommy supposes getting anxious over not knowing the exact layout of a place after less than 24 hours isn’t normal. He often gets abnormally nervous over the smallest of things and daily tasks. Lack of control and new things makes his stomach hurt.

 

“Oh, hi Tommy!”

 

It’s Wilbur who first notices his presence at the doorframe. Of course it’s Wilbur. He smiles warmly, as if merely looking at Tommy has made his day better. Tommy does not return the gesture.

 

“Do you want something to eat?” Phil asks and Tommy’s stomach reminds him of the fact that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast the day before.

 

“Yes please.”

 

“What do you want? We have yoghurt, toast and pancakes.”

 

Pancakes? For breakfast? Tommy sees Wilbur happily munching away on a stack of pancakes covered in syrup. It looks delicious. But he does not feel up to so much sugar this early. The toast and the yoghurt reminds him of the group home, which reminds him of Clementine. Tommy doesn’t want to get lost in trains of thoughts of what could have been again. He doesn’t want to spend the night crying. Pancakes it is, then.

 

“Could I have a pancake, please?”

 

Phil nods eagerly.

“Nothing more?”

 

“No thanks, I’m not very hungry.”

 

That was only half a lie. He skipped lunch and dinner yesterday. His stomach is screaming at him. But the options got him feeling weirdly melancholy.

 

Tommy sits down at the table, as far away from Techno and Wilbur as possible. The kitchen follows the same aesthetic as the rest of the house- some kind of modern Victorian. It’s a bit lighter than the other rooms. There’s a fancy sash window that gives the kitchen a nice natural lighting and a view out to a back garden that Tommy hasn’t noticed before.

 

He eats his pancakes, Phil made him three, in silence. Phil and his sons start a lively conversation that Tommy can’t be bothered to listen to. They tried to include Tommy in the beginning, or at least Wilbur tried, but they stopped when all they got out of him was nods or mumbles.

 

The radio is on in background. It’s on a low volume and the others are not paying it any attention. But Tommy tries to listen to it. He always tries to watch or listen to the news. There’s always some kind of information or rumour about the fights between a top hero and the beloved vigilante Riot.

 

“The vigilante Riot who was seen falling of a rooftop yesterday after a fight with top hero The Blade is yet to be found. No body has been recovered and the vigilante is assumed to be alive. Now over to the weather.”

 

There it was. Squeezed in between a live report from a murder trial and the weather. The fact that they thought he might have died was new information. His nightly persona was still very much alive. Riot just had a bit of a though period right now.

 

First he had fought The Blade. Honestly, fighting a top hero had become an every day occurrence for Riot. Then he fell of a roof, which is not an every day occurrence. And the cherry on the top was of course Grayson’s little outburst. Tommy isn’t some child that needs protection. Tommy doesn’t need protection, because he is a protector . He is Riot, just as capable of protecting the city as Grayson. He can handle himself and the fact that his best friend thinks otherwise is just patronising. What right does he have to tell Tommy to go home? Grayson seems to think Tommy isn’t capable of doing the exact same job as him. As if Grayson is better than Tommy.

 

“I’m just saying, Phil, anteaters should not be allowed to exist in peace.”

 

Tommy is violently thrown back into reality and the conversation around him by Wilbur’s statement.

 

“What do you think, Tommy?”

 

Tommy’s brain short circuits at Wilbur’s question. He hasn’t been listening. It’s too early for this shit.

“What’s wrong with anteaters?”

 

Techno laughs and Phil smiles as he stands up and starts cleaning up the table.

 

“See, Will. You’re alone on this one.”

 

“Oh fuck you, Techno,” he says and turns towards Tommy, “Tommy, I’ll show you the real side of anteaters, then you’ll stand with me.”

 

Wilbur voice holds such a serious tone that Tommy has to rethink whether or not this is a joke. Techno rolls his eyes in the background and Tommy interprets the action as Techno playing along with Wilbur. He hopes he read the situation right. He tries to form a response in his mind. Tommy wants to have a fully thought out sentence before actually voicing it. He opens his mouth, but Phil saves him from the situation.

 

“Okay, before you steal the poor child and infect him with your unusual ideas, I think we should go over some boundaries and rules, yeah?”

 

Boundaries and rules. Not just rules, boundaries as well.

 

“That’s fine.”

 

Phil smiles at him. “Great! We can go up to my office once you’re done with that.”

 

Tommy smiles back at him and looks back down to his plate.

——

 

Phil’s office is very dark. It’s the kind of dark that makes most people calm and focused. Tommy thinks it’s the kind of dark that would make him fall asleep. There’s a window overlooking the leafy back garden instead of the busy front street. Phil sits down behind a desk that’s placed in the middle of the room. Right above his head there’s a clock that makes a constant ticking sound. His foster father gestures for Tommy to sit down on one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk. He brings out a familiar file from a desk drawer.

 

“So, Tommy. I was thinking we could start with going over your file together. I have already read it, but I’m sure you have things you want to add. I also know from experience that everything they write about you in these files aren’t true. Is that alright with you?”

 

Tommy is very tempted to say no to Phil’s question. To show him that this kindness will only blow back up in his face. But as so many other times in his life, Tommy holds his tongue. He keeps down the anger that seems to be constantly sizzling inside him, waiting for the right moment to attack. He has learned his lesson the hard way. It is never worth it.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay.” Phil echoes.

 

There’s an awkward silence as Phil opens the file. He skips the first couple of pages, the ones with information like height, legal name, age and so on. The stained and fainted paper rustles with every turn.

 

“It says here that you are not currently on any medication. Is that right?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Phil hums as he glanced back down to the paper. “There’s one major thing I wanted to talk to you about. There are a lot of notes of you sneaking out frequently, mostly trough windows.”

 

Tommy sinks down a bit where he sits on a leather chair. The leather is smooth but a bit slippery. He feels some kind of guilt when this subject is brought up, even though he knows he has no reason for shame. He doesn’t owe this man anything, least of all an explanation.

 

“Is that something you think is going to be a problem? I want you to be honest with me.”

 

“No, that won’t be a problem.”

 

Phil studies him for a second. Tommy doesn’t think he believes him.

 

“Okay. I really want to trust you, Tommy. But I’m only giving you one chance with this. If I find out that you’ve been sneaking out, I will have to lock your window, for your own safety.”

 

It’s not a threat. Phil’s voice holds no anger or underlying meaning. It sounds more like the voice of a father, and Tommy think that might be even worse.

 

“I understand.”

 

“Obviously, I don’t know why you sneak out so often. And you do not have to give me any explanation or defend yourself. I just want you to feel like you can talk to me if you want. We are big on communication in this family.”

 

Well, Tommy isn’t a part of that family. And he is not going to talk about his emotions with these strangers. He’ll be out of here soon anyways. Phil must’ve sensed his skepticism because he looks at Tommy with some of the most sympathetic eyes he’s ever seen.

 

“I know you don’t know us and that you’re probably tired of this whole ordeal. I’ve fostered before and I know just how shitty the system can be. If you want time alone or just escape the house, you can always talk to me instead of taking matter into your own hands.”

 

There were other foster kids before Tommy? That’s not reassuring at all. Phil leans closer to Tommy at the last part. During the whole conversation, Phil kept trying to get eye contact with Tommy. Not that Tommy even looked in the near vicinity of the man’s eyes, but he guessed it meant something. Phil didn’t just rush trough the formalities. He seemed interested in actually talking to Tommy, not just get him food in exchange for a pay check. Phil wanted to involve Tommy. Those families were always the worst ones to disappoint.

 

“In terms of curfew, since you are 15, I think 10 pm is a reasonable time, but I’m open for compromises and other suggestions. As long as I know where you are I’m not going to be strict about curfew. Does that sound okay?”

 

It becomes quiet for a second. The wall mounted clock is the only thing making any sound as Tommy simply nods instead of answering verbally. He just wants to get out of here.

 

He wants to sneak out and donn the mask of one of the city’s most beloved vigilantes. He wants to hang out with Grayson again. That is, if Grayson wants to see him. He did tell him to not come back until he had settled in. What does that mean? Does he not want Tommy to come back until after at least a week? Would he get mad if he came back earlier? Or did he need Tommy out there? Would he be angry if Tommy took too much time off?

 

He misses feeling the wind against his masked face. He misses feeling like he’s on the top of the world, with Grayson right next to him. But he has to admit, he needs to get his emotions under control. If he looses control like he did with The Blade again, it could easily be his last mistake as Riot.

 

“As I said before, we are big on communication. We want all of our families members to feel safe in our home.”

 

(Tommy ignores the implications of being included as a family member. )

 

“Do you know of anything at all that makes you upset or that triggers you?”

 

He probably can’t answer ‘fighting the blade’ or ‘getting apprehended by law enforcements’ on that question. Maybe they are a bit to specific to be considered triggers, even though they did apparently send him into a panic attack. Tommy decides to just shrug as response.

 

“None at all?”

 

He shakes his head. Telling your enemy your weaknesses is like, one of the worst things you can do in a fight. Tommy isn’t in a physical fight against Phil, but the statement still stands. In his everyday life, the one that does not include his other alias, Phil will be his enemy. That’s just the role of a parent in a teenagers life, biological or not.

 

“Well, if you want to, you could let us know if that changes.”

 

It is always ‘if you want’ and ‘as long as you’re comfortable’ with this man. He really doesn’t have to worry so much about his ‘ gentle parenting ’ or whatever. Tommy will do exactly as Phil says. Doesn’t he understand that?

 

“Moving on to school. My plan was to have you started on Monday already so you don’t fall to far behind, but I can totally change it to the next Monday of you want.” 

 

Monday. It was Saturday today, which would only give him one more day before he had to put up with a annoying professors and being the new kid once again.

 

“That sounds good to me.”

 

Phil smiles knowingly at him. “You don’t have to agree with me just because you’re afraid of making me mad, Tommy. I want to hear your opinion, that’s why I asked, not just what you think I want to hear.”

 

That actually got a genuine smile out of Tommy. He knows this kind of foster parents. The genuinely nice ones, the ones who actually tries. Too bad Tommy never fit in anywhere, especially not in these families.

 

“I do want to start on Monday though. I would hate to fall even more behind than I already am.”

 

Polite, but not in a way that could seem fake. Taking an initiative to speak up, but never contradicting the others opinions. Tommy would like to think he has perfected the voice of servility.

 

“Okay. Just remember that if you change your mind, or just want to talk to someone, I’m here.”

 

“I will. Thanks, Phil.”

 

“Alright then, what do you say about a picnic in the park for lunch?”

 

A picnic didn’t sound too bad, Tommy would have to admit. 

Notes:

The little guy is getting some breakfast!!
Anyways, I hope it won’t be a month until the next chapter? Can’t promise anything, my school just started as well so pray for me. I don’t really like the dialogue in this one. Again, not beta’d by anyone 👍 will probably go back and change stuff if I notice any errors
Also, 335 HITS??? 25 KUDOS??? THATS ACTUALLY INSANE, THATS LIKE MY WHOLE SCHOOL??!?! And extra thank you to the two people who commented! I luv youuu ♥️ ♥️

Chapter 4: Birds don’t sing

Summary:

Tommy eats lunch.

Notes:

Heyyy…. Long time no see ahaha (school is killing me)

A couple of hours passed after breakfast. Tommy spent them all laying in his assigned bed. He buried himself in the thick duvet and let himself drift in and out of sleep. All the lights are turned off and the curtains blocks the daylight from entering through the window. Tommy was having a great time, until a certain brown haired guy with a jumper that hadn’t been in fashion for the past 40 years came and interrupted.

 

“Tommy?”

 

He groans to let Wilbur know that he is awake. He makes sure to let his irritation seep through into the noise. Tommy doesn’t want to wake up and deal with the real world. The worlds in his dreams are always better than his pathetic excuse of a real life.

 

“We’re gonna have lunch in the park, remember? You don’t have to come with us if you don’t want to, of course, but-“

 

Wilbur is cut off mid sentence by the door flying open in front of him, revealing a Tommy whose blonde locks looks more like a birds nest than hair. Wilbur’s previous anxious fiddling is exchanged for a big smile.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes then?”

 

Tommy just mumbles something incoherent and walks past Wilbur down the stairs. He’s a bit too tired to care about being polite and easy to deal with.

———

 

They walk to the park. It’s a park that Tommy, despite his knowledge of the city, doesn’t recognise. Then again, they are in district-fucking-one. Tommy doesn’t know the upper districts quite as good as the lower ones. The heroes patrol these areas anyways, which keeps both the criminals and the vigilantes away. Not that the heroes cares to make a difference between the two. Vigilantes are nothing but glorified thieves in the eyes of the heroes.

 

Technically, they’re not wrong. Vigilantism is illegal. A lot of the vigilantes do some criminal acts here and there to make ends meet. And sure, Tommy isn’t the purest himself. He has done everything from light shoplifting and vandalism to burglary. But you don’t exactly get paid for almost sacrificing your life for this goddamned city every night.

 

Tommy hates to admit it, but district 1 is pretty . The street him and the Soot’s are walking down is surrounded by old, elegant houses. Sculptures and patterns are delicately carved into the facades and there is no trace of the modern minimalism. Each street number is written in gold above the great, wooden front doors. One thing Tommy realises, is that every house is different from the other. The front doors, although similar, all have different traits. No sculpture is an exact replica of another.

 

Where Tommy grew up all houses look the same. Grey, concrete apartment complexes that looked identical, as if manufactured. Grayson lives in one of those and the majority of Tommy’s foster parents lived in such buildings. Almost all old houses were demolished to make space for the new, cheaper housing. But some old houses still stood, the group home for example. They were few and the most expensive in the area, but beautiful.

 

“What do you think so far of this placement?” Wilbur asks from where he walks beside Tommy. Phil and Techno are walking a couple of metres in front of Tommy while Wilbur choose to walk next to him. Tommy didn’t have to carry anything, but his foster family are all carrying blankets and picnic baskets. He had offered to help out but was quickly shut down. Tommy isn’t complaining.

 

“It seems good.” Tommy answers. He can’t really say anything else and frankly, it’s a bit of an invasive question. Wilbur seems satisfied with the answer though, as he smiles and starts talking about everything and anything.

 

The park is very luscious. Phil spreads out the two blankets underneath a tree. The sky is still bright blue, but heavy grey clouds in the distances tells them that they won’t be able to stay all day. A couple of children are playing on a patch of grass on the other side of a marble fountain. Other than that the park is pretty much empty.

 

“So, Tommy. Do you have any hobbies?” Phil starts the conversation while giving everyone paper plates. Tommy hadn’t realised that he would be the main character of this lunch. A cute bonding moment in a park that felt as showy as this family. Great.

 

“I quite enjoy drawing.”

 

It’s basic, but not a lie. Tommy’s main hobby revolves around running around the city at night, but he thinks saying that out loud would land him back at the group home rather quick.

 

“So you’re creative?”

 

“I’d say I’m pretty creative. I like to portray my emotions and thoughts trough art.” Tommy is aware that he sounds pretentious as fuck, but he also knows that foster parents like that.

 

“That’s nice. We can get you some art supplies if you want? Don’t be afraid to ask for stuff you want or need.” Phil said with a smile.

 

“That’s a very kind offer, I’ll keep it in mind.”

 

Tommy hates the way he speaks with his foster parents. He always makes himself into someone else. Someone who speaks very maturely and someone who can play the role of a well behaving charity case. That isn’t Tommy and that will never be Tommy. He can sense that the Soot’s understands that this is not how he usually speaks. When he hangs out with Grayson and other people his age, Tommy acts a lot more like the 15 year old he is. He swears a lot, it has somehow become part of his nature. He makes immature jokes and acts like a child. That’s the Tommy he wants to be and the one he misses each time he makes conversation with adults. Sometimes he just wants to be a child for once.

 

“Do you have a favourite colour?” Wilbur digs into the pasta salad Phil had served him. Tommy answers his question without needing time to think.

 

“Red.”

 

“Red is a good colour,” Techno agrees, “what shade of red is your favourite?”

 

“I like all shades. But especially the bright ones.”

 

It is nothing but pointless small talk, but Tommy can suffer through it thanks to the food. It starts innocently enough with questions like “what’s your favourite colour?” Or “do you have a favourite subject in school?”, but it quickly escalates to “what happened in your last house?” and “why have you’ve had so many placements?”. Thank god that Phil is a good cook, because this conversation has probably just started.

 

“I also like red, and pink.”

 

Well. Techno isn’t exactly subtle about it with his long, pink hair.

 

“I’d say mine are blue and yellow. Phil likes green.” Wilbur states.

 

“I’ll remember that.”

 

They laugh a little at that. Not at him, but with him. It’s nice.

 

“Okay, enough with all these questions. Tommy, do you-“

 

“Who’s your favourite hero?” Wilbur interrupts his father rudely. Tommy can’t name a single hero that hasn’t hurt him at one point in his career. This family actually benefits from the heroes, they live where the heroes patrol the most. That means they probably think very highly of the heroes, and that Tommy should just name a random hero to fit in. But it’s not often Tommy gets a golden opportunity like this to hate on the heroes.

 

“None. I think they’re proper assholes, all of them.”

 

His foster family goes silent. Even the birds seem to quiet down and he can’t hear the playing children anymore. Wilbur smiles a pained smile.

 

“Interesting, not a lot of kids your age dislike the heroes?”

 

“Then you haven’t been to the lower districts. No hero patrols the poorer districts of this city. The vigilantes are the real heroes.”

 

Wilbur goes to say something, but his brother is quicker. “But vigilantes are illegal. What do you think of the fact that the majority of the vigilantes commit crimes?”

 

Tommy eyes Techno suspiciously. He looks genuinely intrigued, so Tommy decides to continue.

 

“Sure they do some illegal stuff, but at least they help the people that really needs it. Besides, it’s not like the heroes doesn’t swoop problems under the rug. They pay off the friends and the family of the innocent who die in the crossfire and make them sign an NDA. How is that justice? The heroes only care about collateral damage when it’s in the upper districts. How can they call human lives collateral damage?”

 

Tommy can see how Phil and Wilbur are trying to come up with other arguments and how they are clearly made uncomfortable by the reality that they probably just try and ignore in their everyday life. But Tommy is having this conversation with Techno. Techno, who seems genuinely interested in this subject. Techno, who just looks at Tommy and nods along as he speaks.

 

“I agree, I think that there’s a lot of things that the system needs to change.”

 

“You do?” Tommy hates how he gets something childish over his eyes as someone from the upper districts agrees with him.

 

“Well, there’s probably a lot that the heroes personally can’t change. The hero commission are the ones in control of the heroes.”

 

“Oh, shush Wilbur. We both know that’s just an excuse.”

 

“Boys.” Phil warns quietly.

 

“Yeah, the heroes should be able to do something. The commission needs the heroes. The public will listen to the heroes, and that gives the heroes power over the commission.” Tommy didn’t mean to gang up on Wilbur with his own brother, and that is certainly not what he should do if he plans on staying in this placement for a while, but he can’t help himself.

 

“Dessert anyone?” Phil ends the conversation in a painfully obvious way before Wilbur can say anything else.

 

Getting this political with a foster family is nothing Tommy planned on doing. If he’s unlucky he might betray his secret. He doesn’t know what capture would entail for him. He’s not a legal adult, they wouldn’t be able to put him in Pandoras Vault, the infamous prison of L’manburg. But there’s plenty of cases of young vigilantes being put in juvenile detention centres. Worst case scenario would be forced heroism. The Bloodgod had been a well known vigilante before he eventually got captured. A month later he appeared with a new outfit and a new motive. Tommy would rather die than start working for the corrupt heroes.

 

“Does the child want chocolate or vanilla ice cream?”

 

It takes a second for Tommy to realise that Wilbur is speaking to him. And Tommy makes a severe mistakes; he gives Wilbur, an individual he’ll be sharing a house with for an undisclosed amount of time, the pleasure of annoying him.

 

“Oi! I’m not a child!”

 

The Soot’s bursts out laughing at the unexpected phrasing.

 

“Also, I’d like vanilla please.”

 

“Who the hell chooses vanilla over chocolate? That’s so boring.” Wilbur says as he serves Tommy vanilla ice cream.

 

“I’ll have to agree with Tommy on this one, Will. Vanilla is really good.” Phil chimes in while smiling softly at Tommy.

 

“Bastards, the whole lot of you.”

 

Techno raises his hands in a playful confusion. “What did I do?”

 

As the dark clouds come closer and closer, the conversation starts to shift. The political debates are exchanged for jokes and the stiff atmosphere opens up a bit. They never change their attitude towards Tommy. Despite his rather rude remarks on the clearly beloved heroes and despite how it clearly made them uncomfortable. And Tommy realises something.

 

The Soot’s wants to get to know him.

 

It should be a nice thing, so why did it fill Tommy with such anxiety? Why did it hurt that he could see himself laughing alongside Wilbur and Techno? Why did it hurt that he could picture his future with this family?

 

It is always the same. These families were all the same. It works really well in the beginning. The foster family is kind and seems to want to love Tommy. Tommy gets his hopes up only to have them come crushing down. And the only one to blame for each and every failed placement is none other than Tommy himself. He is unpredictable and foul mouthed. His speaks before he thinks and doesn’t have a filter. He is selfish and unlovable. Not to mention his rapidly declining mental health and how he hurts himself at any minor inconvenience. Thank god the one foster parent who noticed the cuts on his wrist didn’t report it to Puffy. She saw it and sent him away the same day without giving Puffy an explanation. It’s better this way. Tommy does not want to know how he would be treated of anyone knew of what he is capable of doing to himself.

 

The nice picnic is cut short by the roaring sound of yesterdays storm returning. The thunder rumbles hungrily and Tommy looks up at the grey sky with worry.

 

Thor is fighting the giants, Tommy thinks idly. Considering the abnormally loud thunder, the giants must be very strong. He smiles a bit at his own thoughts. He doesn’t believe in Thor. Or any other god. But it’s fun to imagine a Viking fighting giants with a hammer. It puts the otherwise dark and melancholic weather in better lighting.

 

“Just what we needed.” Phil grumbles. “Boys, let’s pack this up quickly so we at least have a chance at avoiding the rain, yeah?”

 

They did not manage to avoid the rain. Thor was probably laughing at them from above. He’d outdone himself this time, Tommy doesn’t remember the last time experienced this much rain.

 

Drenched to the bone, the Soot’s and Tommy all but ran home in the pouring rain. They were alone on the streets, even the bravest of dog owners stayed home in this weather. Luckily the townhouse wasn’t very far away. Tommy felt as if even his blood was cold. His teeth were chattering and so were Wilbur’s and Techno’s.

 

When Phil finally unlocked the fancy door to the warm house it wasn’t enough. Tommy wants to inject the warmth into his veins. He studies himself in the entryway’s gold framed mirror. He looks like a wet cat. Or perhaps a wet rat. His blonde hair sticks to his forehead. It’s usually curly, but the weight of the water has straightened it out. The red zip up lacks any kind of enthusiasm and hangs lazily over Tommy’s frail body. His jeans are darker due to the water. His shoes have never looked great, but this might be a new low.

 

”Tommy, can I take your hoodie and dry it?”

 

Phil looks at him expectingly. It’s a very nice offer, one Tommy would like to follow up on. But, he can’t take off his hoodie. He has a t-shirt underneath. Taking off the hoodie would expose his bare arms. Tommy can’t risk them seeing it.

 

“Can I uhm… go up to the room first?”

 

Phil tilts his head and looks at him weirdly.

 

“Of course. You can take a shower as well if you want to, we’ll make sure the upstairs bathroom is empty.”

 

“Thank you.”

———

 

The warm water hits his trembling body with the perfect amount of pressure. The sudden change in temperature makes his body feel weird.

 

The bathrooms are the lightest rooms of the Soot’s townhouse. Whilst the rest of the house has muted green and brown colours, the bathroom stands out with the white tiles and white light. Tommy hasn’t seen all of the rooms. He hadn’t been showed the bedrooms, not that he needed to, but he thinks at least Phil’s would follow the same colours as the rest of the house. Phil was the father and sole adult in the house, It makes sense for him to be the one in charge of interior. Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if Techno with his long, pink hair had a completely differently styled room. Wilbur seems like the kind of guy to follow the old fashioned style.

 

As Tommy reaches for the shampoo, he notices the razor right next to the bottle. It’s dark blue with orange accents. His hand stops mid action. Instead of picking up the shampoo, Tommy finds himself with the razor in his hands.

 

He doesn’t notice how his breath speeds up. He doesn’t notice how he stops to register the warm water around him.

 

The razor blade shine brightly in the bathroom light. Tommy turns it around in his hand. He inspects it. Traces its shape with his fingers. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the multiple amount of scars that litters his arms and thighs. Disgusted, Tommy puts the razor back. He picks up the shampoo bottle instead.

 

It is a razor with exchangeable blades. That means they probably store a bag of razor blades somewhere, most likely in the bathroom. Tommy makes a mental note of that.

 

When Tommy steps out of the shower he wraps himself tightly in a towel that Phil had provided him. He gets dressed in new, dry clothes. He puts on sweatpants instead of jeans to be more comfortable. Then he starts to go through the drawers.

 

The mirror doubles as a cabinet which stores orange pill bottles and various different first aid supplies. No razor blades in there. Neither are there any in the first drawer beneath the sink. Then finally, in the second drawer, Tommy finds what he’s looking for.

 

Multiple razor blades are stored in an innocent plastic bag. Tommy grabs one, they would never realise it’s missing. He looks up and catches his own reflection in the misty mirror. The same dull eyes and the same sunken cheeks as always looks back at him.

 

Sometimes Tommy himself has a hard time to understand that he is Riot. He looks frail. Vulnerable. With the scarred arms exposed he even looks weak.

 

Once again Tommy finds himself wondering whether or not he should put his mask back on. His best friend told him not to come back until he had settled in. Had he settled in? Maybe. Tommy doesn’t know. On one hand, the anxiety over being in a new place has calmed down. On the other hand, how could Tommy ever settle in anywhere? He knows this won’t last forever. He knows he’ll have to pack his bags again once Phil tells him Puffy is on her way. It’s inevitable.

 

Tommy likes patrolling. He likes it when little children stare at him with awe or when the old lady he helped cross the street gives him a smile and an honest ‘thank you’. He likes it when his people feel safer at night. Sure, Grayson is still out there as Purpled. But Tommy wants to make something of his life. There’s an overwhelming amount of anxiety from not going on patrol, yet there’s the relief from not getting beaten up every night. Tommy has made himself a name in this city, he can’t give up now. He wants to protect L’manburg. It’s not about giving anything back, this city has brought him nothing but pain. Tommy wants to make a difference. Tommy wants Clementine to grow up in a safer community than he did. Staying out late almost every night and only catching a few hours of sleep before school is worth it because of her. Everything is worth it for Clementine.

 

He stares at his reflection again. Those grey eyes which were once a vivid blue stare right back. He puts on a dry hoodie to cover his scars.

 

If Tommy snuck a razor blade into his pocket, no one noticed.

Notes:

No beta we die like my social life 👍 no but actually it feels like my life is falling apart and I’ve never been a very social person, I’ve always considered myself an introvert. And I didn’t feel like I needed anymore friends than the one I had because she was my best friend and I love her but over the summer we like drifted apart so much and now she won’t even talk to me and I don’t know what I did wrong. I regret that our friendship was never very deep. She was my best friend for 9 years but we never had any actually serious conversation. I would never cry I front of her and stuff like that. I’m just so emotionally unavailable all the time and I hate that. Anyways sorry for the rant but like I said I’m kinda lonely right now and don’t really have anyone to talk to so yeah.

New chapter!! Hoped you liked it, will definitely try and write quicker! <3

Chapter 5: Taunt

Summary:

Things start happening.

Notes:

Me: It won’t be a month until the next chapter!
Also me, a month and five days later: 👋

It’s with a comforting sense of familiarity that Tommy puts on the mask again.

 

The black ski mask and the light blue balaclava have been staring at him from the bottom of his backpack since the day he arrived.

 

The old fashioned clock on the wall shows a couple of minutes left until midnight. It’s a bit later than his usual patrol, but it’ll have to do. He puts a dagger and throwing stars in the pockets of his blue cargo pants. The white compression shirt might be a bit too cold for the cold autumn wether. It’s fashionable, but the colour is not practical for his line of work. There are still a couple of tinted bloodstains on the white shirt from his earlier days. Back then he didn’t know how to get rid of blood, but Grayson had taught how to when they first met.

 

Looking out the bedroom window, Tommy can see that he’s too high up to jump down. He’ll have to climb up on the roof and take it from there.

 

Cold and crisp air hits him as he opens the window. It smells like wet asphalt and Tommy stays still as he looks up at the beautiful night sky. Thousands, maybe millions of stars shine back at him. In this moment, Tommy feels real. The sight of the night sky is grounding. It always makes him realise that he is just one person out of the multiple billions that exist on this earth.

 

Tommy is not special, he never has been and he never will be.

 

It is both a comforting and a depressing fact. It’s comforting in the way that all his mistakes won’t matter in the end. It’s depressing in the way that Tommy is just a number in the statistics.

 

Just like when you watch a live count of the world’s population. There’s always numbers disappearing, but always even more numbers adding. Three steps forward, one step back. For every number disappearing on the screen, for every dead human, there’s people mourning. And for every new number added, there’s people celebrating.

 

Tommy’s only goal in life has always been to have someone to mourn him. He wants someone to sob over his dead body. To scream out their agony. He wants someone to miss him, someone who would put flowers on his grave and write letters to his ghost.

 

It may sound selfish. It may sound morbid. But is it really that much to ask? It’s human to want to be loved. It’s human to want to be remembered.

 

And Tommy won’t be remembered, but Riot will.

 

With shakier hands than he would like to admit, Tommy climbs out from the window and stands on the windowsill. He grabs the roof and hauls himself up. From here he easily makes his way towards the rest of the city, jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

 

Something in the air changes when you enter the lower districts. Tommy can’t quite place it, but there’s a clear difference between the air in his foster home and the air in district 11. It’s almost like nature favoured the rich. Where district 1 had clear and fine air, the air of district 11 carried the scent of weed and dirt.

 

Tommy doesn’t need to go deep into the lower districts until he hears shouting. It’s not a shout for help but any disturbance is worth checking out. He turns around mid sprint to go towards the noises.

 

The one shouting turns out to be a young woman, maybe in her early to mid twenties. She is dressed up in high heels and a sparkly skirt and top, probably on her way home from a night out. The thing that catches Tommy’s eyes is her bright pink hair. She is fighting against a man in black clothing. The fight has come to a stalemate when Tommy arrives, with both pointing a knife at the other while shouting. The man demands the woman’s purse, to which the woman answers that he could go fuck himself.

 

Tommy made his entry by jumping down behind the two of them.

 

“Good evening, fellas.”

 

Two pairs of eyes were directed towards him.

 

“Lovely evening we’ve got today, hmm?”

 

When no one answered, Tommy took the liberty to continue.

 

“Now, how about we make this an even greater evening by putting away the knifes and talk this out like adults?”

 

The man answers by throwing his knife at Tommy. Luckily for Tommy, it misses. Unluckily for the masked man, he is now weaponless and with his back turned towards the armed woman. She wastes no time stabbing him in the calf.

 

Tommy winces at the pained shout from the man. He is against unnecessary stabbing, he could have just knocked him out for a bit and then tied him up. Tommy didn’t believe in violence like the rest of the city seemed to do.

 

Despite the pink haired woman’s unconventional ways of handling her would be robber, Tommy had to admire her skills.

 

Sure, many people carried a knife in the lower districts, but not everyone was capable of incapacitating another person. Especially not while drunk, which Tommy assumed the woman is based on the familiar smell on her breath.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Of course I am.”

 

A moment of awkwardness follows.

 

“I was just making sure- you know, robberies are kind of a big deal…”

 

“ Attempted robbery.”, the woman corrected. “He never did anything.”

 

“Yeah no, you’re right. Do you want me to walk you home?”

 

The woman fixes her hair quickly, pulling a couple of loose strands of pink hair from her face. She looks Tommy (Riot) up and down as if inspecting him.

 

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got a knife.”

 

She turns around and starts walking away, her heels clicking against the pavement.

 

“Don’t stab anyone else, please!” Tommy shouts after her but she doesn’t seem to hear him.

 

Interactions like these aren’t uncommon. Not everyone likes Riot, not even in the lowest districts. Far from everyone gives him a small ‘thank you’ or any gesture of gratitude. Tommy doesn’t mind though.

 

He could save someone’s life and then never see them again. People in this city come and go, it would be impossible to remember all the faces, all the stories. Tommy feels bad about that sometimes.

 

He feels a weird sense of responsibility for L’manburg. If he stays home one night to rest, he can’t assure that no one doesn’t get home safely that night. He’s never trusted the heroes, but sure, there are other vigilantes. Tommy doesn’t doubt their abilities, but there’s an itch at the back of his head telling him that he is leaving the city to fend for itself. Tommy feels responsibility for the city. He wants to protect it, because he believes the heroes are doing it wrong. He wants to protect Clementine and others like her, like Tommy.

 

Maybe it’s more about control than guilt.

———

 

“Riot!”

 

Tommy doesn’t even bother to look around for the voice. He recognises it, it’s the slightly distorted voice of his best friend. He grins beneath his mask.

 

“Purpled!”

 

The other vigilante sits down next to Tommy on the edge of an apartment complex rooftop.

 

Tommy has missed Purpled. They haven’t seen each other for a couple of days now, which is odd. Usually, they see each other every night. They see each other in school if Tommy isn’t placed with a foster family in another district, like with this placement.

 

After school, more often than not they will hang out at Purpled’s place. He lives with his older brother who has custody of Purpled. Purpled has never asked Tommy about his biological parents, so Tommy has never asked about Purpled’s.

 

Tommy would be lying if he said he wasn’t a bit nervous about finally seeing Purpled again. Sure, it’s only been a couple of days. But the last time they saw each other hadn’t exactly been friendly.

 

The thing with Purpled though, is that he moves on very quickly.

 

While Tommy knows he endangered not only himself but also Purpled by going out on patrol whilst in a not so good mental state, he does thinks Purpled overreacted. What right does Purpled have to send him home as if he’s some little kid? Both of them make mistakes and will continue to make mistakes.

 

There are some teenagers smoking weed in a corner down on the ground. Tommy had debated whether or not to go down and tell them off. He decided to turn a blind eye. The teenagers were his age, maybe a bit older. They were laughing. They wouldn’t listen to a vigilante. Besides, it was only weed. Tommy wasn’t completely innocent either.

 

“You wanna go for a patrol? Together?”

 

Tommy looks at Purpled, really looks at him. His purple clothes complements the dark sky. The lights from the city gives him a glowing outline. It’s clear that he has already forgotten about their ‘fight’. Tommy is the only one still thinking about it.

 

“So..?”

 

Tommy hates and loves how easy it is to ignore his emotions.

 

“Sure, bossman.”

 

Purpled brightens and practically jumps up from his sitting position.

 

“Let’s go then! I got some information about a drug deal downtown.”

 

As both of them jump across rooftops at a rapid pace, Tommy lets the feeling of familiarity flood his mind. It’s hard enough with a brand new foster family, fighting with Purpled doesn’t make it easier.

 

He doesn’t know why he beats himself up so much about the incident with The Blade, but he does. And how stupid isn’t it that he’s still upset about Purpled’s reaction when Purpled very clearly has moved on.

 

The sour smell of various bodily fluids greets Tommy and Purpled as they turn left and enter yet another sketchy alleyway. Tommy is growing tired of those, but he also knows that drug deals don’t happen in broad daylight on a main street, even in the lower districts.

 

Just as he’s about to turn around another corner, Purpled pulls him to a stop rather harshly. He signals to Tommy to stay quiet and Tommy instinctively presses his back to the wall to make himself smaller.

 

“Here’s the plan, I go in as a distraction while you go for the seller.”

 

“Simple enough.” Tommy says sarcastically. Purpled’s oversimplified plans have never not annoyed Tommy. He prefers detailed plans, and preferably a review earlier than two minutes before action.

 

“Shut up. The only information I have is that this is a deal out of the ordinary. There’s big money involved, some new drug or something.”

 

“A new drug? What do you mean?”

 

Purpled rolls his eyes.

 

“It’s completely new on the market. They call it ‘Blue’ or something, I don’t know.”

 

They? Blue? Tommy suddenly got the feeling that they are out of their debt with this one.

 

“Hold on, who the fuck is your source?”

 

His best friend looks like he just wants to go already.

 

“Just some guy down in Las Nevadas, now let’s go.”

 

Still feeling unsure about the whole situation, Tommy nods hesitantly. He trusts Purpled. He is his best friend after all.

 

“Yeah, let’s go. It’s just a drug deal anyways.”

———

 

In the future, Tommy will wish it had been just an ordinary drug deal.

 

When Riot and Purpled storm the alley, they’ll have no idea what’s waiting for them. In a black suitcase lay a dozen of capsules filled with a blue liquid. They look innocent, almost like blueberries.

 

A man in an expensive suit followed by two armed bodyguards will hand over the suitcase to a man in a less expensive suit. This man will pass it down in the hierarchy to a man in sweatpants and hoodie. He will give it to anyone who can pay.

 

The drug will continue to sell until it has infested the city of L’manberg like the plague.

 

And Riot and Purpled will stand defenceless to its terror.

Notes:

As always, constructive criticism is always appreciated. This chapter is probably one of my weaker ones but that’s because I really wanted to get it out :) Support on this fic has been crazy I love u all <3 Still not Betad by anyone so expect some spelling mistakes and such. I’m also starting to regret writing in present tense, I should have written in past tense like I always do.

Chapter 6: 1929

Summary:

Tommy gets to fight :D

Notes:

Okay listen, I know it’s been very long BUT I’m really gonna try to publish faster. However, sometimes life just gets in the way.

A bird sings peacefully. Everything is still for a minute or two. The sun is even shining through the thick layer of dark clouds.

 

Tommy is positioned up on a rooftop. Purpled stands down in the alleyway, ready to give Tommy the signal any second now.

 

The alleyway is connected to a wider street where all the buildings look to be abandoned. The buildings are old. Tommy thinks one of them might be an old hospital. The street is short and abruptly cut off with a tall brick wall. The whole place reminds Tommy of a film set for a movie taking place in the 1940’s. From Tommy’s viewing point he can see the man he identifies as the seller. The seller has a black suitcase and is flanked by two bodyguards. That’s what gives away his place in the hierarchy.

 

The fourth man is dressed in all black. Black suit, black undershirt, black tie, and black sunglasses. By process of elimination, Tommy thinks he’s the buyer.

 

The bodyguards all have thick tails with scales. They’re some kind of reptile hybrids. The buyer and the seller don’t have any physical attributes that give away their powers or abilities.

 

Tommy refocuses on the seller, the man he’s supposed to go for. The goal is to incapacitate all four men and hand them over to the police. And of course, secure the suitcase containing the drugs.

 

He looks down to Purpled again. He can’t see his face beneath his mask, but he assumes he’s smiling.

 

Purpled fishes up a pebble from his pocket and throws it in the opposite direction of where he stands. The pebble makes three separate noises as it skips down the pavement. The four men immediately makes the mistake of turning that way.

 

That’s when Purpled storms in from the alley.

 

The men are unfortunately experienced. They won’t do the same mistake twice.

 

Therefore, Purpled has to take advantage of this momentum. He does not disappoint.

 

One of the bodyguards falls to the ground. It’s the result of Purpled’s precise and well placed blow to the man’s head.

 

One down, but three more to go. And now Purpled doesn’t have the moment of surprise on his side anymore. But Purpled is just a distraction.

 

He makes sure the remaining three men have their backs towards Tommy. He takes hit after hit in order to keep their position.

 

Tommy summons a heavy wave that gets the men off of Purpled before getting down to the street. He immediately focuses on the bodyguard. One is already down, but he needs the other one gone as well so he can take on the other two without having a skilled fighter getting in his way. He knows Purpled wanted him to go for the seller, but he also trusts Purpled to trust him.

 

Purpled continues fighting the seller and the buyer. It’s a two versus one, but Tommy isn’t worried. It’s Purpled, well known vigilante, versus two men in suits. No man in a suit has ever been a good fighter in Tommy’s experience.

 

The seller doesn’t seem to have any powers. He’s relying more on the buyer, who has rather pathetic fire powers. The buyer can never create more than smaller flames that Purpled easily jumps over. Their lack of powers is probably the reason to why they ended up as people who fight with their words and sketchy contracts rather than their fists.

 

As the world continues around them, Tommy and the bodyguard are circling each other. Every now and then one of them strikes out. Tommy thinks it’s getting rather boring.

 

The next time the bodyguard strikes out, Tommy uses his opponents predictability to move behind him and knock him in the back of the head. He doesn’t seem to like the fact that Tommy got the first hit.

 

The bodyguard advances quickly and Tommy gets a kick to his ribs. He’s too high on adrenaline to notice any pain.

 

It’s a hard fight. His opponent is paid to offer his life in situations like this. He’s a skilled fighter, something the drunks Tommy usually deals with are decidedly not.

 

Tommy hears Purpled yelp and he quickly glances at the other fight right beside him. The bodyguard sees his chance and Tommy finds himself pressed up against a wall. He takes another punch to the ribs before an ice cold wave washes over the man.

 

The bodyguard is heavy and his muscles can’t be hidden by his fancy suit. Tommy could never pick him up by himself, but with the help of a strong tidal wave he manages to chuck the man right into the buyer.

 

“You motherfucker!”

 

Wet and enraged, the bodyguard comes running at Tommy.

 

Instead of taking the impact, Tommy uses the wall behind him to jump behind the man. The bodyguard sees it coming and turns around just in time for Tommy to land a hit. They’re soon engaged in a fast paced fist fight.

 

Punch, dodge, punch, dodge.

 

It’s a familiar pattern to Tommy. He has spent his whole life following that pattern, doing whatever he needs to survive.

 

Whether it be beating up a school bully or protecting himself from foster parents or defending Clementine from the world, Tommy has always found his answers in violence. He doesn’t like it. But that’s just the way it is.

 

Violence is the easy way out. It’s easier to hurt someone physically than mentally. It’s easier to break a nose than to face the actual problem. Tommy is not an advocate for violence, even though he knows his persona is heavily associated with it. Tommy doesn’t like violence, but sometimes red is all he can see. He can’t help it. It’s how this world raised him.

 

The bodyguard presses him up towards a wall again. This time he has learned his lesson and keeps Tommy’s hands pinned away from himself.

 

Maybe pushing the guilt for his own anger onto the society he was raised in is just escaping the real problem again. It’s what he does, it’s a common pattern in his life. He does wrong and blames society, the foster system, the orphanage, and the vigilantism.

 

A hard blow to his jaw.

 

Tommy doesn’t fight back.

 

Escaping his guilt by putting the blame on everyone else and escaping his mind with self inflicted pain is the pathetic methods of Tommy Shroud. His body is a well built facade with a crumbling inside. His body is covered in small but deep messages, serving as constant reminders of his fragility. The leaks which will eventually lead to his collapse.

 

He feels the blood gushing from his nose. Everyone is screaming, but it sounds like they’re all under water. Tommy is slowly drowning and he’s not doing anything about it.

 

“Riot!”

 

The name drags him back from the labyrinth of his mind. The sounds return to normal. He slowly realises the pressure on his wrists is gone. His nose is burning with pain but the punching has stopped.

 

The bodyguard lays in front of him. Unmoving.

 

Purpled is battling the seller and the buyer and Tommy assumes he was the one who took down the last bodyguard whilst Tommy was out of it.

 

He blinks a couple of times to regain focus before rushing to his friend’s side. Tommy focuses on the seller to at least try and stick to the plan. He knows that one was probably abandoned a long time ago.

 

Fighting side by side with Purpled is thrilling. It gives Tommy the same kick as alcohol and playing video games with his friend does. The two suit wearing men are  holding their own quite good for two white collars but Tommy knows it will be over soon. He can’t wait to get back to the house and clean up his throbbing nose and ribs before finally getting to sleep.

 

Maybe he could socialise with his foster family tomorrow. They hadn’t seemed all too bad. Maybe he could actually try with this placement.

 

Sirens wail in the distance and Tommy knows their time is limited. Someone must’ve heard or seen the fight and called the cops. Riot and Purpled aren’t scared though. They’ll just have to wrap up a bit quicker, which shouldn’t be much of a problem, and then disappear into the alleyways and rooftops.

 

A wave of Tommy’s water surprises the seller who falls on his arse. Tommy is quick to hit him in the head with his baseball bat. The man doesn’t get up again.

 

The other man, the buyer, sees his companion and only ally fall to the ground.  He knows it’s over for him at that point. But he’s still carrying the suitcase containing the drugs. In a moment of panic, he creates a small wall of fire between himself and Purpled. It’s not particularly big nor anything Tommy can’t put out with his power but it does win the man some time.

 

Through the red flames Tommy and Purpled watches as the man opens the suitcase.

 

Tommy keeps his water flowing just beneath his fingertips, waiting and anticipating action.

 

The two vigilantes understand the scene unfolding in front of them too late. The suitcase is full of pill bottles. Tommy knows it’s just a sample and that there’s probably warehouses upon warehouses stocked with the pills, waiting for further distribution. The man swallows a pill.

 

Tommy puts out the fire and has time to wonder why the buyer would waste one of his valuable products like that.

 

Then hell broke loose.

 

Purpled comes at the man from the left while Tommy goes in from the right. Just as Purpled was about to reach him, a tall and deep red flame rises from the ground in front of the man. Purpled and Riot stop at the last second.

 

More flames start spreading like wildfire around the abandoned street. They are tall and burn with more passion than just a few minutes ago. What had changed? It would be impossible for the man to evolve his power that quickly. Did the drug have anything to do with this?

 

“Riot! Riot, where are you?”

 

Purpled has disappeared into the smoke. Tommy can see faint outlines of a human between the flames that are licking the nearest houses. He’s not sure if it’s Purpled or the criminal though.

 

“Purpled?”

 

The flames have grown into a full fire in the span of a minute. This wasn’t right. They needed to get out of here.

 

“Purpled!”

 

No answer. There are so many sounds, yet none of them come from Purpled. The flames greedily gasping for more air. The wooden support beams of the old houses cracking due to the fire. The sirens in the distance. Civilians shouting and screaming.

 

“Purpled!”

 

The sound of his footsteps disappear in the chaos. Tommy is running around to try and find Purpled.

 

His shoes meet something heavy but soft and he trips over the obstacle. When he manages to stand up again he sees one of the bodyguards. He had tripped over the bodyguard’s blacked out body.

 

Fuck.

 

They needed to get the criminals out of here safely as well. He hadn’t thought about that. Tommy doesn’t want them to die. A picture of four burnt corpses laying in the ash covered alleyway flashes across his mind. He has to physically shake the image out of his head. No one is going to die today.

 

The sirens are close now. They’re probably just around the corner. The firefighters aren’t far away.

 

Tommy grabs the bodyguard he tripped over under the arms and start to drag him away from the fire. He’s too heavy. The purple reptile tail is black in some places where the fire had gotten a bit too close.

 

“C’mon.” he whispers to himself. The poisonous smoke makes it hard to breathe and the already challenging task of dragging the muscular bodyguard becomes impossible.

 

“Riot!”

 

A hand lands on Tommys shoulder. It’s Purpled.

 

The sound of the fire is deafening. Tommy didn’t know fires could be so loud. He thought they were a quiet grim reaper who took lives in a showy but calm way. He was wrong.

 

“Help me, he’s to heavy.” Tommy gestures to the bodyguard. His friend looks at him with that expressionless masked face.

 

“We can’t. We have to leave, can’t you hear the cops?”

 

“We can’t fucking leave them here!”

 

Tommy is shouting. Many policemen run into the street. He sees their silhouettes in the smoke.

 

“See, the police are here. Leave it!”

 

“No-“

 

Purpled grabs his arm and pulls him away. Tommy’s reaction reflexes are no match for Purpled’s enhanced speed and agility. Somehow, Purpled manages to climb up on a nearby rooftop with Tommy right behind.

 

From the roof they watch as the fire department spends hours on trying to put out the fire. The sky is dark and the amount of hours they’ve been out on this patrol are starting to catch up with them. Tommy discretely helps the firefighters with his power. He doesn’t try to go back down there. He can’t risk getting caught by the cops, he knows that. Purpled was right, as always. He can just hope the police got everyone out safely.

 

“I saw no sign of the man with fire powers. He must’ve left shortly after setting the whole street on fire.”

 

Tommy agrees with a mumble.

 

“Something is wrong, Purpled.”

 

“What? What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, something’s off about that drug.”

 

As the fire calms down and the police starts searching the area for proof and clues, Purpled signals to Tommy that it’s time to leave by nudging him with his foot. Tommy continues to talk as they move.

 

“That guy couldn’t have been that powerful naturally. Why didn’t he use his full power earlier in that case? He could’ve knocked us out way before we took down all of his teammates.”

 

“He was pretty weak in the beginning.” Purpled adds.

 

“Exactly! But then he took one of those pills, ‘Blue’ or whatever you called it, and boom- all of a sudden he’s as powerful as a hero.”

 

The only known individual with significant fire powers is the hero Inferno. Fire powers occurs in many other individuals as well, but no one has ever been as strong as Inferno. Except for this guy, apparently.

 

“You’re right. I think it has to do with the drug.”

 

Purpled comes to a stop on the roof of his own apartment complex.

 

“We should look into the drug more closely. I’ll check some things with my source and the we can decide our next move. Sounds good?”

 

Tommy grins. It felt good to be back.

 

“Sounds good. Do you wanna hang after school tomorrow? No vigilante shit, just you and me?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Tommy tried to suppress the fact that he needs to be up early for his first day in a new school, and it was already hours past midnight.

 

Instead he enjoys the pretty lights in the upper districts. They look pretty from afar but up close they are a bit stiff.

Notes:

2024 is in less than a month and I’m still writing mcyt fanfiction??

Chapter 7: As the sun sets (I really wanna run into it)

Summary:

Tommy watches a sunrise (eventually)

Notes:

*disappears for a month*
*gives you a 6k chapter*
*proceeds to disappear for another month*

Sneaking back into the house was trickier than Tommy had expected.

 

His body is tired and sore. His ribs hurt the most. Tommy had first tried the front door to see if he could sneak in that way. He had to avoid the camera on the doorbell, which resulted in him having to stand in various positions to not get caught on camera. The door was locked anyway. Of course it was, Tommy had expected that. Though, he had some hope it wouldn’t be considering the crime rate in the first district is so low. Simply walking up the stairs and avoiding creaking floorboards would certainly feel better than what he would have to resort to.

 

The tall building towers over Tommy just like it had done the first time he came here. He would have to climb the ivy to reach his window on the third floor. Still wearing the full Riot gear, Tommy starts scaling the building.

 

Despite having survived a literal hell on earth just half an hour ago, Tommy is freezing. His teeth clatter loudly and he has lost feeling and complete control over his fingers. He grips the ivy sloppily.

 

When he’s almost at the second floor, the lights turn on in the window above him.

 

All of Tommy’s muscles tenses as he abruptly stops. It must be Phil’s bedroom window. Why the hell was he awake at this time?

 

If Phil looks out the window he would see the well known vigilante Riot hugging his walls. There is no where to hide, no where to go. He couldn’t climb backwards without risking falling all the way down. But continuing upwards would also put him at risk. All he could do was to stay still and maybe say a prayer.

 

Multiple minutes passes. The light is still on. Tommy’s breaths are shaky. A car driving on a different street not too far away is the only source of sound in the night.

 

Finally, the window goes dark. Tommy feels the knot in his stomach loosen. He reaches the roof of the townhouse and swing his legs over the edge. Then he lays there for a short while. Breathing heavily and letting his ribs rest for a while.

 

He walks across the flat roof. The wall he had climbed faces the street. Tommy’s window faces the back garden and to reach it he has to climb down the ivy on that wall as well.

 

He peeks over the edge of the roof and mentally deflates at the thought of having to cling to the wall yet again. He just wants to sleep so bad. It’s surely around 3 am at this point. He needs to get up again in 3 hours, 4 if he skips breakfast.

 

Climbing downwards is scarier than climbing upwards. He doesn’t have to climb very far though.

 

When Tommy is finally able to close the window behind him and slip underneath the covers he’s asleep at an instant. His vigilante clothes are hidden in his backpack again. He can probably not bring them with him to school. Where he’ll hide them during the daytime would have to be a problem for tomorrow.

———

 

The next morning Tommy does not wake up by his blaring alarm but by Wilbur knocking on his door.

 

“Tommy? Tommy? Your alarm is going off. Are you awake? Could you turn it off please?”

 

Tommy practically flies out of his bed when he realises he has overslept.

 

“Yeah, I’ll do that right now. Sorry.” he says groggily.

 

He turns off the alarm. He takes a minute to just sit on the bed and breathe before forcing himself to get up and change. The throbbing from his ribs hasn’t stopped and his legs feel like they’ll collapse at even the smallest strain. School would be a delight, running on three and a half hours of sleep and an empty stomach.

 

Tommy comes downstairs dressed in baggy jeans and a muted red coloured hoodie. He’s intentionally underdressed. It’s not much of a fashion choice, it’s more of a political statement. The new school would surely be a posh one with well dressed students in expensive clothes, judging by Phil’s obvious wealth. Tommy is trying the waters with baggy clothes and unbrushed hair. How much of a mess could he look before Phil interrupted with the fear of his reputation being damaged?

 

“Good morning Tommy!” Phil says cheerily.

 

“Morning.” Tommy answers with far less enthusiasm.

 

“We’re running a bit short of time, I was just about to wake you up, so I made you breakfast for you to have in the car.”

 

The small gesture of kindness was unexpected. With some uncertainty Tommy accepts the nicely wrapped sandwich. Free food sounds really good, especially with the consequences of last nights patrol evident in his body. Yet, he kind of wants to decline the offer just to break any kind of olive branches he was offered.

 

Some call it self sabotage, others call it stupidity.

 

Tommy calls it a defence mechanism.

 

Destroying the relationship with his foster family before they even get the chance to build it up is important. If there isn’t even an attachment to begin with, then Tommy doesn’t have to waste his time mourning them when he inevitably ends up back in the system. He has spent too many nights crying over families that could have been. Families that made an effort, who showed him love. So many different families where he wished he had been their biological son.

 

But he’s still in that system. Nothing has changed, except for Tommys motivation and will to live.

 

Somehow he always finds himself back at the front doors of the Orphanage. This family won’t be any different.

 

At some point, Tommy thinks he stopped caring. He gave up on actively trying to stay in placements. More time at the Orphanage meant more time with Clementine anyways. Clementine could never hurt Tommy the way a foster family could.

 

Having an internal debate about whether or not to accept a simple sandwich is stupid. But he couldn’t help but wonder if he made a mistake accepting it when he wolfed it down during the car ride to his new school.

———

 

The school isn’t very far away from the Soot’s house. It’s located at the outskirts of the first district. There’s less skyscrapers there and more suburbia.

 

Tommy spent most of the ride by eating his sandwich and looking out the window. Phil did try to start a conversation, but all attempts fell flat.

 

The car comes to a stop at a parking lot filled with other fancy cars. There’s kids waving goodbye to their parents, or more commonly, their driver.

 

The building looks old and just like Tommy imagines all posh schools look like. Tall iron bars partially covered in a dark green ivy separates the parking lot from the school yard. A big gate, rich with details, stands wide open in an inviting manner. If it didn’t give Tommy the impression of a poorly hidden prison he might have found it more appealing.

 

Phil looks at him through the rearview window. He smiles and it makes his blue eyes crinkle with crows feet.

 

“Will you be okay if a drop you off here? Parents generally aren’t allowed on school grounds.”

 

“You’re not my dad.” Tommy shoots back quicker than he can think. He didn’t mean for it to come out as aggressive as it did.

 

The crow feet disappear for half a second before returning, albeit a bit weaker this time.

 

“No, but I am your legal guardian. If you want me to come with you I could totally get the teachers to make an exception.”

 

Tommy is already half way out the car.

 

“No, I’ll be fine.”

 

“Great. You’re supposed to go pick up your time table at the counsellors office. It’s in the smaller building to right of the main one.” Phil has to half shout to make sure his foster son hears him. Phil thinks he did, considering the vague mumbling he got as an answer.

 

Tommy doesn’t notice how Phil’s nice car doesn’t immediately leave the parking lot. Neither does he notice how Phil watches him as he follows the flood of students through the big gates with something fond in his eyes.

 

Luckily Tommy did hear where the counsellors office is. It is hard to miss. The school consist of three buildings from what Tommy could see. The main building is the biggest one, one building for PE, and the smallest one houses offices.

 

A secretary tells him to wait on a leather sofa. How a school could afford fancy furniture like leather sofas was beyond Tommy.

 

A couple of minutes pass. It’s very quiet. The only noise is the soft humming from the secretary’s coffee machine. At some point a bell rang, signalling the start of the day. The school yard goes quiet when all students have gone to class. The bell reminds Tommy too much of the one in the Orphanage. And the orphanage reminds him of Clementine and how long it’s been since they last spoke.

 

“Tommy Shroud?”

 

His thoughts are cut off by a stern voice and Tommy immediately stands up. His full name always got that reaction out of him.

 

“Yes, sir. That’s me.”

 

The counsellor is an older man dressed in an expensive jumper and dress pants. He’s got glasses and an unnaturally straight posture that sends all the wrong signals to Tommy. He can already tell that this man will bring no good for him.

 

“Well of course, young man. You are the only one here.” the counsellor looks him up and down distastefully. The school had provided no dress code other than skirts which had to be a certain length and the no tolerance policy of bare shoulders. But it hadn’t mentioned anything about unbrushed hair and hoodies.

 

Tommy sheepishly looks around and realises that yes, he is in fact alone in the lounge area.

 

“Come with me, boy. We do not have all day.”

 

The second his back is turned towards Tommy, he rolls his eyes dramatically.

 

He follows the old man into what he assumes is his office. Tommy hasn’t seen any other private school counsellor offices before, but he imagines this one is a bit too over the top. The man is a school counsellor for fuck sake. He isn’t even the principal. Why does he feel the need to have a big mahogany desk with his name engraved on a golden plaque. Bookshelves completely covers the wall behind the desk, which is placed in the middle of the room. The counsellor, or Mr. Blackstone as Tommy reads from the plaque, takes a seat on one side of the desk. Tommy sits down on a velvet chair on the other side.

 

Mr. Blackstone opens a drawer and pulls out two papers. It’s Tommy’s time table and his locker number. Tommy takes it eagerly and quickly starts scanning through it.

 

“Now, as you can see you currently have math with Ms. Anderson in room 408. That is on floor four, room eight.”

 

Simple enough. Most schools work like that. It’s helpful for someone like Tommy who has changed schools more than he can count.

 

“I will write you an absence note for Ms. Anderson’s class. However,” Tommy looks up from the paper to meet Mr. Blackstone’s stern eyes, “I want to make sure that you are aware that we do not take lightly on coming late to class in this school.”

 

“Of course, sir”

 

Tommy has to grit his teeth to prevent himself from saying something else. The man is getting on his nerves.

 

“Considering your records, I also want you to know that we have a no tolerance policy towards any and all violence.”

 

There it was. Finally. Tommy had almost started wondering whether this school even knew who they were dealing with.

 

The name Riot might invoke respect or disgust all over L’manburg. But the name Tommy Shroud is feared by just as many districts. His social worker used to complain about how if he continued like this she’d have no other choice but to send him to a school in another town. Tommy mostly thought it was funny. He found some weird sense of humour in seeing others give up on him.

 

“I’ll be on my best behaviour, Mr. Blackstone.”

 

Mr. Blackstone looks at him distrustingly.

 

“Well. Was there anything else you needed?”

 

“No, sir,” Tommy says with faux charm as he stands up, “I should head off to class.”

———

 

The numbers 408 stare back at Tommy as he stands a few steps from the door. He can hear voices inside. The anxiety is bubbling inside of him at the thought of having to walk into the classroom and feel everyone’s attention turn to him.

 

Eventually he collects his thoughts and knocks on the door.

 

Seconds pass without anyone opening. Tommy is just about to knock again when the door suddenly opens. A woman with a bleached buzzcut stands on the other side with her hand out for Tommy to shake.

 

“Hello! You must be Tommy, right?”

 

They shake hands hastily.

 

“I’m Ms. Anderson, your math teacher.”

 

“I’m Tommy.” he offers awkwardly, despite the fact that Ms. Anderson already greeted him by name.

 

More than twenty pairs of eyes turn to Tommy. Curiously they examine the new person who does not look like he belongs here. All Tommy can see is carefully put together hairstyles and shoes without a single speck of dirt on them. Tommy takes pride in the contrasts. He’s not like them and he will never be.

 

“You can sit there, next to Toby.”

 

Ms. Anderson points to a table in the back of the classroom. There’s only one student sitting there, the second chair is empty.

 

Ms. Anderson continues the class and Tommy makes his way to his new seat when her voice steal most of the attention.

 

“Hi! I’m Toby, but you can call me Tubbo!” the boy whispers with a wide grin.

 

Tubbo has light brown hair and brown, intensive eyes. He’s wearing a green knitted jumper with too long sleeves. He has this glint in his eyes, like he’s seeing something Tommy can’t.

 

“I’m Tommy. You can call me wife haver.” Tommy responds with a serious look.

 

Tubbo giggles. The glint in his eye shines brighter.

 

“I’m not calling you ‘Wife Haver’. That feels wrong on so many levels.”

 

“But it’s true. I have so many wives.”

 

Tubbo laughs again, a bit harder this time. Ms. Anderson gives them an annoyed look. It’s worth it though, because Tommy made someone laugh.

———

 

It turns out Tommy and Tubbo shares chemistry, which they have right after maths.

 

The two of them had basically talked through the first class. Tommy didn’t solve a single math problem.

 

Tubbo had filled Tommy in with all the different dramas in the school, who liked who, who to avoid, and where they usually ate lunch. He talked a lot about his friend as well. Apparently Tommy shares PE and history with this friend. He also shares biology with Tubbo, and all three have English together.

 

This wouldn’t be unbearable then. Tommy is only one period in and he already has a friend. At least he thinks Tubbo and him are friends.

 

Tommy has always been an extrovert, never afraid to talk with strangers. But actually making friends in a new school is hard. But he always has Purpled. He’s never completely alone. Maybe a couple of new friends wouldn’t hurt though.

 

There’s a big boom that snatches Tommy right out of his own mind. He jumps a bit, his mind instinctively going into fight mode.

 

“Toby!”

 

The chemistry teacher rushes towards Tubbo. A small fire burns where Tommy’s and Tubbo’s group project ones was. Tommy laughs and Tubbo turns around with a grin. The teacher frantically lowers the heath on the hotplate, where the group project is slowly turning black.

 

Tommy and Tubbo had been paired together for a group project that involved hotplates and chemical substances. Tubbo had proved to be either really bad at chemistry, or just an explosion maniac. Somehow Tommy thought the latter might be the correct answer.

 

“What the fuck man. We were almost done with the project!” Tommy exclaims, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.

 

“Too bad.” is all Tubbo says.

 

Once the teacher had finally put out the fire, sadly before the fire alarm went off, the rest of the class were practically done with their experiments.

 

“Okay class, now you’re going to write a summary on how your experiments went,” she shoots Tubbo a look that radiates irritation, “and then we’ll pack up.”

 

Since the accident earlier, Tommy thinks it might be a good idea to actually do school work now if he wants a chance of ever getting on this teachers good graces.

 

Tommy remembers shortly after he picks up his pen that he’s not very good at chemistry. He looks up from his own paper to annoy Tubbo into helping him, only to find his new friend rapidly writing on his paper. He doesn’t even pause as Tommy pokes him with his pen.

 

“Tubbo!” he whispers. The classroom is almost silent. Everyone else are also focusing on the task, even if none of them keep the same speed as Tubbo.

 

Still no response.

 

“Tubbo!”

 

“What.” he mumbles.

 

“Help me.”

 

Tubbo finally lifts his eyes from his paper and looks at Tommy.

 

Tommy is being annoying. He knows that. He doesn’t know why he got so comfortable around Tubbo so quickly. Tubbo seems to be doing great on his own. Tommy is a burden asking for help and bugging Tubbo. He shouldn’t have gotten so comfortable.

 

“What do you want help with?”

 

Oh.

 

Okay. Maybe he didn’t get to up close. Maybe he wasn’t that annoying.

 

“I mean, you blew up our project. How am I supposed to write about conclusions for something that never existed?”

 

“It’s easy, just describe the outcome.”

 

Tommy blinks at Tubbo. Once. Twice.

 

“The fuck. The only outcome was your fucking fire!”

 

Tubbo grins again. A stupid and sly grin.

Nothing about Tubbo makes sense. He’s classy yet careless. He’s childish, but not naive. There’s something in his dark eyes weighing him down, keeping him shackled to the ground.

 

“Just write about what would have happened if it didn’t blow up.”

 

“You’re a dickhead.” Tommy states simply.

 

It makes Tubbo giggle again. Tommy brightens.

 

He snatches Tubbo’s paper to start reading for himself.

 

A lot of words are spelt wrong, but even Tommy can see that Tubbo isn’t stupid. The pure knowledge scribbled onto the paper is something that Tommy knows he can never comprehend. Little doodles in the margins show constructions and theories completely unrelated to the actual topic.

 

“Fucking hell. How do you know all of this? Are you like smart or something?”

 

Tubbo blushes a bit. A light shade of pink sits like a soft cloud on his cheeks and nose.

 

“It’s simple, really.”

 

Tommy looks up to him as if to say ‘no it’s not’.

 

“I mean, I’ve done this already. It’s boring.”

 

Something finally clicks in Tommy’s brain. He smiles impossibly wide at the realisation.

 

“You exploded that shit on purpose, didn’t you?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Tommy tries to stifle his laugh but fails miserably. The teacher, who is clearly fed up with the two, shouts at him to be quiet. The rest of the class watches with interest as Tommy and Tubbo get a scolding. When the teacher goes back to writing in her computer Tommy turns towards Tubbo again.

 

“That’s cool as fuck. Can I copy you?”

 

He rolls his eyes playfully.

 

“Don’t make it too obvious.”

 

Tommy wonders how he ended up with a friend like Tubbo. On his first day as well. He wants to pry and get to know everything about Tubbo as an individual. He wants to know every detail, every expressions and every motive. But Tommy really likes Tubbo. He wants to be his friend. He has a feeling that prying into those dark eyes won’t help with.

———

 

“Had a good first day?” Phil asks from the drivers seat.

 

He looks a bit stressed, but Tommy doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t need to know why and he doesn’t want to know why. Doesn’t want to indulge in conversation more than necessary.

 

“Mhm.”

 

Wilbur is in the passenger seat. He also looks stressed. And a bit sweaty. Maybe he had been working out or something. He was already in the car when Phil picked up Tommy from the parking lot.

 

“Made any friends?” Wilbur asks.

 

“Yes, actually.”

 

Wilbur turns around to look at him. There’s some trace of exhaustion, but he’s smiling and his eyebrows are raised in surprise.

 

“What? That’s great!”

 

Tommy nods and gives his foster brother a forced smile in return.

 

“What’s their name?”

 

“Tubbo.”

 

It doesn’t occur to Tommy that ‘Tubbo’ isn’t a real name, and that it doesn’t mean anything to other people. He doesn’t need to explain any further though, because both Phil and Wilbur brighten up at the name.

 

“Tubbo?” Wilbur says with enthusiasm.

 

“Tubbo is a great kid, you two will get along really good.” Phil offers with a smile.

 

“Tubbo is crazy, man. He’s a literal genius, and a chaotic little shit.”

 

Wilbur’s words are said with such fondness that Tommy almost grows jealous.

 

“How do you know Tubbo?” Tommy asks after swallowing the threatening and unwanted lump in his throat.

 

The car goes silent. As if they can’t answer. They obviously know Tubbo quite well. Why can’t they answer?

 

“He’s the son of a colleague of mine.”

 

There was something else to it. There had to be. Tommy just hums, absolutely not about to have that conversation with practically strangers.

 

“What do you work with?”

 

Tommy’s sudden initiative to start a conversation seems to surprise Phil.

 

“Well,” he fumbles with his words, “I work in the hero tower. With paper work and other boring stuff.”

 

Another lie. Or maybe just not the whole truth.

 

Tommy doesn’t want conflict. Doesn’t want to confront Phil with his obvious lies. He wouldn’t be the first foster father to lie to him anyway. It’s obvious that he’s hiding something though. Tommy wouldn’t describe Phil as a stern man. But he is certainly confident, he doesn’t trip over his own words like that.

———

 

It wasn’t until the car rolled up on the Soot’s street that Tommy remembered how he was supposed to meet with Purpled.

 

He sits in his room in the townhouse. The lacy curtains allow the afternoon sun to cast spots of light in the bedroom. The hardwood floor looks beautiful in the lightning. He debates whether or not to go downstairs and ask if he can go out, or simply just sneak out.

 

This family had been nice this far. Tommy really shouldn’t try his luck and sneak out more than necessary.

 

That’s how he ended up hiding at the bottom of the staircase, the one that lead to the first floor and the living areas.

 

They argue with hushed voices in the kitchen. Tommy can’t really make out what exactly they’re arguing about.

 

“No, dad, you’re not listening!” Wilbur groans. Tommy’s interest is piqued.

 

“Calm down Wilbur. I know what you saw, I saw it myself. You have to trust me on this one.” Phil tries to be calmer but Tommy can sense his worry.

 

“This might be one of our biggest issues ever, how can you be so calm?”

 

“Wilbur”, Techno inserts himself in the conversation, ”we’ve got people on it. This might be huge, or it might be nothing to worry about-“

 

“Nothing to worry about?” Wilbur says with disbelief, “Did you not see what that man did?”

 

Tommy goes to take another step forward, to hear the argument easier. But as he sets his foot down on the lower step he hits a particularly creaky board.

 

The kitchen goes quiet. Phil is the first to speak again.

 

“Tommy?”

 

Fuck.

 

He curses his own stupidity and has no other choice than to get out from his hiding and face his foster family.

 

“Hi.”

 

He looks around nervously. People tend to get mad when they catch you eavesdropping. He is already rescheduling his plans with Purpled in his head.

 

“Hi buddy,” Phil smiles softly and there’s not a single trace of the previous stress in his face, “did you need something?”

 

Phil’s calm and kind voice has Tommy freezing up. Both of the twins are looking straight at Tommy. He can feel his fingers starting to fidget, a subconscious thing he does whenever he gets anxious. They both look a bit unimpressed, but Techno looks angrier than Wilbur. Everyone’s attention is directed at him again. He hates it.

 

“I was just, I was just going to ask if I could hang out with a friend?”

 

He stutters his way through the sentence. Wilbur’s eyes soften at the innocent question whilst Techno’s eyes grow darker.

 

“Why not, that’s fine.” Phil says and stands up from where he’d been sitting at the kitchen island.

 

“You have to be back before dinner though, and I’ve got a bit of work left, so is it fine if one of the boys drive you there?”

 

Positively surprised, Tommy nods eagerly. The faint wish to see Purpled was now becoming more and more a reality.

 

Tommy notices how Techno won’t stop glaring at him. Half of him wants to glare back. The other, more reasonable, half wants to avoid Techno at all cost.

 

“I’ll go and get my work done, dinner will be around six or seven, alright?”

 

“Thank you.” Tommy says with far more sincerity than he wanted to.

 

“No worries, Tommy.”

 

The second Phil leaves the room, the atmosphere changes drastically.

 

Techno takes two powered steps in Tommy’s direction, effectively cornering him.

 

“How long were you eavesdropping for? How much did you hear?”

 

The pink haired brother glares down at Tommy. His long hair is tied up in a messy bun but a few strands have come loose and frame his face very well. The hair is way more threatening than it should be. He’s wearing a T-shirt. If Tommy hadn’t noticed Techno’s muscles before, now he certainly had.

 

“Techno.”

 

Techno backs up a bit at his brother’s warning tone.

 

“You’re scaring him.”

 

“Will-“

 

“No, fuck you. He’s a kid , Techno.”

 

Wilbur and Techno stare at each other quietly for a while. Tommy is just happy the attention isn’t on him anymore.

 

“He was very clearly spying on us.” Techno says, not ready to let it go just yet. “We don’t know him.”

 

“And ‘he’ is right there, Techno.”

 

Tommy’s eyes cartoonishly dart from Wilbur to Techno as they speak. It’s awkward but also familiar just standing there. Watching as two others have a conversation about you, never with you.

 

Wilbur lets go of his brother with his eyes and instead turns towards Tommy.

 

“I’ll drive you, Tommy. Are you ready to go now or do you need something?”

———

 

Wilbur’s car is different from Phil’s. It’s still fancy but it’s smaller. The biggest difference between the two cars though, and probably between the two owners, is their cleanliness. Where Phil’s car was basically shining, Wilbur’s looks like it doubles as a bin.

 

The floor is covered in paper, mostly note sheets, and the occasional coffee mug. Tommy hopes they’re empty.

 

“Where does your friend live?” Wilbur asks as Tommy fastens his seatbelt. He has google maps pulled up on his phone.

 

“You can drop me off at the hospital in 12th.”

 

Tommy meticulously scans Wilbur’s face in search for some kind of prejudice against where Tommy comes from. In his experience, most people from 1st scrunch their nose or give him a weird look whenever he mentions the lower districts. He has to give it to the man though. Wilbur’s face doesn’t even twitch.

 

The car starts rolling and Tommy feels weirdly eased by leaving the house, leaving Techno. He hasn’t exactly had a good start.   

 

“Ignore Techno, he gets like that sometimes. Especially with new people.” Wilbur says as if he could read his thoughts.

 

“It’s fine.”

 

Wilbur sighs.

“No, it isn’t.”

 

Tommy stares at the road in front of him. The year is nearing its end. Each day is shorter than the one before. The leaves are starting to fade into reds and yellows. A light pink sky meets the road in the horizon. Skyscrapers out of glass which the sunset made into shining diamonds watch over the car as it leaves them behind.

 

“I want you to know something, Tommy.” Wilbur speaks up after a while of the calm and quiet atmosphere inside the car.

 

“Okay?”

 

Wilbur takes a deep breath.

 

“Foster kids usually don’t like me. I’m a bit too much sometimes, I can get too excited and too inpatient.”

 

That was not what Tommy had expected.

 

When he doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t know what to say, Wilbur continues.

 

“If I ever do, or if I already have, I want you to tell me, so I can change. I really want this to work out.”

 

His slender fingers tap anxiously on the wheel. His eyes never letting go of the road ahead of them.

 

Wilbur is nervous, Tommy realises. He doesn’t know how to deal with nervous people. The implications of the confession , if there even were any, are too hard for Tommy to comprehend. Does this mean that Phil has had many foster kids?Is Tommy just one of many? Someone they’ll forget and then move on to the next kid? Does Tommy matter?

 

(Does Tommy matter?)

 

He feels like he should say something. That he is expected to say something.

 

“Has Phil fostered a lot?”

 

It was just something Tommy said without thinking. He does that too often. It was probably not a very appropriate question considering Wilbur had just shared something he’s clearly self conscious about.

 

“What? No, just you, me, and Techno.”

 

Tommy’s brain short circuits.

 

“You and Techno are foster kids?”

 

He doesn’t even realise how his voice grow louder and how it’s almost like his mind loosens up a bit. When he looks at Wilbur something about his appearance has changed. He can’t put his finger on it. Maybe it’s just in his mind. Maybe Tommy had been too afraid of getting judged by Wilbur that he didn’t even realise his own prejudice.

 

“We’re adopted now, and legal adults of course, but we were just like you.”

 

“But-,” Tommy says, dumbfounded, “but you said ‘foster kids’, in like plural or some shit.”

 

Wilbur makes a turn and Tommy starts to recognise the area. It’s just a couple of minutes left until they’ll be at the hospital, which is right next to Purpled’s building.

 

“Well, Phil fostered me first and then Techno. Techno and I had some problems in the beginning, I was always too up and close. But I had many other placements before I met Phil, those foster siblings never quite liked me either.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Wilbur just shrugs. He seemed a lot calmer. Tommy clears his throat. Prepares himself mentally to ask a question.

 

“How many houses?”

 

He makes another turn and sighs, deep in thought.

 

“Seven I think, if you count Phil. It’s less than Techno and probably less than you, but I still think it’s way too many. What about you?”

 

There was something different in Tommy’s approach to Wilbur. They were the same. But Wilbur and Techno got adopted. Tommy did not. That’s the difference.

 

“This is my nineteenth.”

 

Wilbur whistles.

 

“Damn.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

The car stops outside an apartment building. It looks like an ash grey shoe box made out of concrete. Tommy could recognise it from a mile away. He knew every stain, every graffitied word, and every bullet hole like the back of his hand.

 

“I hope you won’t have to go through number twenty.”

 

Tommy doesn’t answer that one.

———

 

Wilbur follows Tommy all the way up to Purpled’s apartment. He wonders if Wilbur doesn’t trust this area, if that’s why he insisted on making sure Tommy made it to the apartment.

 

The elevator smells strongly of cigarettes. Tommy has rode it many times. He instinctively presses the button to the fifth floor. Wilbur scrunches his nose at the smell but he doesn’t say anything. Tommy feels like jumping around in pure excitement. He’s like a little child finally getting to see his friend again after a long time.

 

But Tommy isn’t a little child. He’s 15, so he keeps his excitement hidden from Wilbur.

 

The elevator dings and comes to an abrupt stop. Wilbur isn’t used to the hasty end and stumbles. Tommy has to catch him. It’s awkward for Tommy to show his foster brother a safe space. It feels like he’a bringing an outsider into his own little world.

 

Tommy almost skips down the corridor until he reaches Purpled’s door. Wilbur is right behind him. His long legs help him keep up with Tommy.

 

He knocks on the door. They have a doorbell, but it’s been broken for at least three years now. There’s shuffling from inside the apartment. A neighbour is watching a football game on full volume. The horrendous noise go through the thin walls easily. Purpled’s door flies open.

 

“Tommy!”

 

The wide smile faints as Purpled sees the tall man behind his friend.

 

“Who’s that?” Purpled asks bluntly. The question is directed towards Tommy, yet he doesn’t let go of the stranger with his eyes. Tommy sighs.

 

“Grayson, this is my foster brother Wilbur. Wilbur, this is my friend Grayson.”

 

“Hi.” Wilbur gives an awkward wave which Purpled does not return. Instead he just glares at the man.

 

A couple of awkward seconds follow.

 

“I guess I’ll go now, I’ll be back at like six, alright?” it looks like he wants to say something more, but refrains from doing so.

 

“Yeah, see you later.”

 

When the front door closes and Wilbur is gone, Tommy feels free.

 

He turns towards Purpled, who is showing off a toothy grin.

 

“Come on.” he motions for Tommy to follow him into the apartment. He hurries to take off his shoes before following Purpled. He knows where he’s headed.

 

“Punz isn’t home.”

 

Tommy knows Punz quite well. His best friend’s brother is the only constant adult in his life, except for his social worker. Punz is very protective of Purpled, but he could be protective of Tommy as well. Purpled always complains about his brother and his curfew. Tommy secretly loves the protectiveness.

 

Purpled opens a drawer in his bedside table. It’s filled with notebooks, gum, and other non alarming stuff. The wooden drawer has a false bottom though, one Purpled installed himself. The secret drawer contains his vigilante suit neatly folded, along with a packet of cigarettes. Tommy recognises the brand. They’re expensive. Purpled offers Tommy one.

 

“How the fuck did you afford these?” Tommy says and accepts the cigarette without hesitation.

 

“I didn’t.”

 

They both start laughing. Tommy knows exactly what his friend is implying.

 

Purpled carefully puts the false bottom back where it belongs. There’s no hint of what’s hidden beneath the innocent notebooks. Then they make their way up on the roof.

 

They walk up the stairs to the highest floor, floor 6. At the very end of the corridor there’s a solid, white door. They figured out it leads the rooftop many years ago during a sleepover. Punz had fallen asleep on the sofa and Tommy and Purpled had realised they could to whatever they wanted. Punz wasn’t there to tell them off.

 

Tommy picks the lock while Purpled keeps watch. Lock picking is a skill Tommy learned a long time ago. It comes in handy more often than not. Finally, there’s a satisfying click and Tommy is able to open the door with a grin.

 

The sunset is one of the most beautiful Tommy has ever seen. The sky is an explosion of pink, red, and orange. Purple clouds frame the low sun. It’s windy, which makes the already chilly autumn afternoon even colder.

 

The duo’s favourite spot on the roof is right next to a fan. It emits warm air from the apartments which helps them keep warm. They sit down on the edge of the roof, with warm air surrounding them and with their feet dangling over the edge. Purpled brings out a lighter from his pocket. The lighter is purple, what a surprise. He lights his own cigarette first. He shields it with his left hand whilst lighting it with his right. When it’s Tommy’s turn, the air from the fan keeps blowing out the flame.

 

“First time?” Purpled jokes and a big, white cloud of smoke escapes his mouth.

 

“Fuck off.”

 

In the end, Tommy has to turn his whole body away from the fan and shield his cigarette with his hands for it to work.

 

The relief is immediate the second he breaths in his first breath of the toxins.

 

It’s like his whole body relaxes. He doesn’t cough anymore when the smokes scratches his throat. He’s far too used to it by now.

 

“How’s your new place?”

 

A crow lands on the roof, just a couples of inches from Tommy. It crooks its head as it watches the two teenagers.

 

“It’s good I guess.”

 

“If they do anything you have to promise me you’ll leave.”

 

Tommy chuckles a bit. The crow stays completely still. Quietly observing.

 

“Sure.”

 

“I mean it. I refuse to watch you get abused from the sidelines again.”

 

Both of them take a drag of their cigarettes in sync. The crow stays eerily still.

 

“You won’t. I’m in a new house now.”

 

Purpled runs a hand through his hair in an anxious manner.

 

“I know. I just never want to see you like that again.”

 

“Me neither.”

 

Purpled looks like he’s hesitating before he speaks up again, something he rarely does.

 

“Are you okay though?”

 

Tommy is almost caught off guard by the question.

 

“I’m fine? How are you?” he says with a nervous chuckle and a sudden urge to close up, to not be vulnerable. Purpled ignores him.

 

“And Clem? How is she?”

 

Tommy is hit with a pang of guilt. He hasn’t seen her since he left the group home. He misses her, he always does. That’s why he always find a new method of escapism.

 

“She’s good. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

 

He takes a deep drag of the cigarette. Purpled must’ve sensed his discomfort because he drops the subject quickly.

 

”Christmas is only a couple of months away.”

 

The blatant change of topic is almost painful. Tommy plays along with it though, he doesn’t want to keep talking about himself or Clementine. It just makes him sad.

 

“Are you gonna celebrate with me and Punz this year as well?”

 

“I don’t know. Probably.”

 

Tommy really does not know. Most likely he would end up doing that. He doesn’t mind celebrating Christmas with his best friend. But some part of him is obsessed with the idea of celebrating Christmas with a family. The chances are very low, but not zero.

 

The sky grows darker and the cigarettes grow shorter. Eventually they’re stomped out as the clock is nearing 6 PM. The crow flies away as Tommy stands up. He follows it with his gaze as it flies off towards the skyscrapers in the city.

 

If only he could be as free as the bird.

Notes:

I’m backkkk

Merry Christmas/chanukka/new years and everything! (yes I know it’s almost February)

Chapter title from As the suns sets by Sorry

Chapter 8: *NOT A CHAPTER*

Summary:

Asking for your help with my moral dilemmas.

Hello, this is not a chapter.

I’m a bit torn about whether or not to continue this story, considering Wilbur is a big character in it. It was pretty obvious who Shelby was talking about in her stream, but today Wilbur came forward. I read his apology, it was pretty shit ngl. In this story I write about the characters, not the CC’s. Although, I feel like in the DSMP case, the line between characters and CC’s fade. I was a bit hesitant to start this fic because of that reason. I feel like a lot of our community, me included, forget or simply choose to ignore how closely intertwined the CC’s and the characters are. Sure, Will Gold isn’t Wilbur Soot, the character in a Minecraft roleplay server. But Wilbur Soot is heavily based on Will Gold. Characters in movies are not based on their actors. It’s the same with all of the CC’s. A lot of us writers tend to base the characters in our DSMP/QSMP fanfics on the CC’s, and not the roleplay characters, despite claiming to write about the characters. If we truly wrote about the characters of TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot (for example), their brotherly dynamic often showed in fics wouldn’t exist. In the DSMP lore, Wilbur and Tommy have quite a strained relationship. However, we have seen the CC’s interacting with each other and adopted that dynamic for our fics. We kind of just slap a “characters not CC’s” tag on the fic and call it a day. I’m guilty of this. While writing this story I’ve debated quite a lot on the ethics of giving Tommy mental issues. I’m projecting onto another, living person, even if I claim he’s fictional in this particular story. The lines are blurry, probably nonexistent, but I chose to ignore that.

Anyway, I felt the need to rant a bit, I’m quite upset. This was not on my 2024 bingo card :( Should I continue this story? I kind of want to, just because it’s a project I’ve worked a lot on. I could maybe switch out all the characters to my OC’s, if anyone would be interested in that. I would really like to hear some of your thoughts on this.

-Neimie

Chapter 9: Things to do

Summary:

Tommy eats. That’s like it.

Notes:

Fuck Wilbur Soot. Support Shelby and support victims always <3

 

(Heavy on the “c! not cc!” tag on this one)

The robber falls down to the ground with a sad sound. Bloods coats his light brown hair. Tommy lowers his metal baton and ties him up with zip ties.

 

The guy hadn’t even seen him coming. He was busy breaking the window to a grocery shop, with his back towards Tommy. He’s not dead, he’s just going to wake up with a killer headache. By then Tommy will be long gone.

 

He finishes the job by tying the criminal to a street lamp before disappearing up on the rooftops again. He takes a second to admire the moon. It’s a full moon. The white is a stark contrast from the deep blue sky. There’s not many stars. L’manburg has too much light pollution to be able to see them. But they’re still up there, somewhere. Visible or not.

 

He told himself to cut today’s patrol short because he would have to be up for school in the morning. School wasn’t as unbearable as Tommy had thought it would. At least, the classes he shares with Tubbo aren’t boring. Tubbo had talked on and on about his friend who apparently also go to their school. The friend was sick though, so he hadn’t been to school for a while. Tubbo had seemed excited for the two of them to meet. Tommy wasn’t as happy.

 

The usual rout he takes during his patrols always experiences at least two crimes per night. Sometimes it’s just a car getting nicked. Sometimes it’s a robbery or a mugging. Those are always the riskiest ones to intervene because there’s always a lot more nerves and emotion in the crime. Sometimes Tommy finds dead bodies.

 

He still has nightmares about the first time he found a corpse. He remembers how loud his heart beat as he stared at the cold and stiff human in front of him. He remembers how their hair stuck to the concrete floor in a puddle of blood in the uncaring alley. Their eyes were still open, so was the mouth. Slightly agape, in a look of shock.

 

He didn’t report the body. It could make him a suspect. Instead he waited for someone else to inevitably find them later. Tommy just left them in the cold. He could imagine the blood going cold and the body turning an unnatural shade of blue. He took a deep breath and turned around. The next day the body was briefly mentioned in the local newspaper. No name, no family members to orchestrate a funeral and no investigation opened.

 

The person, once a living and breathing human, was completely defenceless to the world. Someone else had stolen their life and the only thing left of them was that short notice in the morning paper. And Tommy had turned his back to them.

 

Guilt isn’t an estranged emotion to Tommy. It never quite leaves him. It waits patiently deep inside you until it makes itself known by its own terms. It pops up like a sudden storm. Unexpected, but bound to happen at some point.

 

The night brings colder temperatures with it. Tommy hums a melody. It’s one he heard on the radio a couple of weeks ago, one that won’t seem to get out of his head. The patrols were only getting colder and colder for each night. Clouds of fog escapes his mouth as he breaths and his thin hoodie leaves him shivering whenever he’s not in action.

 

It’s been almost a year since he started the vigilantism. He managed through the cold spring, but this winter will be his first as Riot. He’s not ready for that challenge and he knows it. He’ll need warmer clothes and a better grip on his shoes to not slip on the ice. It would be quite pathetic if an ice patch was his demise.

 

School will bring exams. Winter will bring frozen limbs. He sighs and makes his way back to his third problem, the Soot’s.

 

He doesn’t mind the Soot’s. Well, he doesn’t mind Phil and Wilbur. Techno is still unpredictable. They hadn’t spared each other as much as a glare since their last encounter. Foster families will always be a problem despite how nice they are. The risk of getting caught is bigger when living under someone else’s roof.

 

It takes almost half an hour to get back to the townhouse from the outer districts. Then it takes an additional five minutes to climb the building before he can sneak back inside through the bedroom window. Tommy carefully gets out of his vigilante suit and changes into his pyjamas. His muscles protest at the movement.

 

He throws himself on the bed and just breaths for a moment. He closes his eyes and lets his body relax. The pain slowly fades away, even if just for now. He knows it will come back the second he moves again. Tommy knows he’s not properly taking care of himself. Patrolling as often as he does isn’t good for his body.

 

An angry growl from Tommy’s stomach is the only thing keeping him from falling asleep instantly. Patrols are always draining, and Tommy didn’t eat much during dinner. He could sneak down to the kitchen and get himself something. No one would notice. His stomach decides for him.

 

The old stairs creak and the quiet night amplifies the noises. Tommy bites his lip as he tries to focus on keeping quiet. His thighs hurts as he walks. Usually, his thighs are the most exhausted since he runs a lot during his patrols.

 

The kitchen is deadly quiet. There’s no one there. He glances at the wall mounted clock. A bit past midnight. The kitchen would often be buzzing with action. Phil or Techno would be preparing dinner while Wilbur kept them company from the kitchen island, not allowed anywhere near the stove. Tommy would hear them from his room, too scared to join them. A lot of conversations took place in the kitchen as well. It seemed like a hang out spot for the Soot’s.

 

But now the kitchen stood lifeless and quiet in the cold autumn night.

 

“Hello.”

 

Tommy jumps in surprise. Techno stands behind him, coffee mug in hand and hair tied up in a bun. A chill runs down Tommy’s spine, their latest interaction still fresh in his mind. Being alone in the kitchen with the man is not something Tommy would like to be.

 

“Sorry. Did I scare ya’?”

 

He crosses his arms and his shoulders  tense up until they’re on the same level as his ears.

 

“No.”

 

Techno doesn’t seem to believe him. His eyes flicker across the room in a stressed manner. They search for a way out of the situation Techno has cornered him in. But his foster brother has him trapped in the kitchen. His muscular body blocks the doorway. Maybe it’s intentional, maybe it’s not. Tommy is still a cornered animal at this moment, and he will act like one.

 

“Listen kid,” Techno takes a deep breath, as if preparing for whatever he’s about to say next, “I wanted to apologise.”

 

A beat passes without anyone saying anything. Tommy glares at Techno angrily.

 

”Okay.” he says without any hint of emotion in his voice. Techno looks a bit lost, like he’s not sure how to continue.

 

“I was unfair to you, and I’m sorry that I scared you like that.”

 

Tommy huffs. “Did your dad tell you to tell me this?”

 

Techno looks away guiltily. “No, Wilbur did.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

The awkward conversation makes Tommy want to run back and hide up in his room. But Techno’s in the way.

 

“What are you even doing up this late?”

 

Tommy froze, at loss of an explanation. What is he doing in Techno’s kitchen in the middle of the night? A look of realisation flashes across Techno’s face.

 

“Did you want food?”

 

“No.” Tommy retorts defensively.

 

“Tommy, it’s fine if you want to eat. You don’t have to ask.” Techno says with something close to sympathy in his voice.

 

“Well, I wasn’t gonna eat anything. I just wanted water anyways.”

 

Water is less expensive than food. Maybe it’s more okay if he just wanted water. Techno’s words might be a trap. Logically, Tommy knows it’s very far fetched. But he cannot physically admit to being hungry. The survival instincts in his brain are all telling him to not give out trust that easily. He should not give away his weaknesses like that, it would make him far more of a potential victim than he already is. He’s already been up close and personal with that man. It’s easy for anyone to see his muscles, Techno isn’t someone you mess with. Tommy would rather go one night hungry than wake up with one more bruise tomorrow.

 

“Actually,” Techno speaks up after having been quiet for a while, “I was gonna make myself a toast. I could make you one as well?”

 

“I’m not hungry.” Tommy says, just wanting to get out of the situation.

 

“I know, but I’m asking if you want one?”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

Techno goes quiet again. He stares at Tommy, who shrinks under his gaze. Techno is both taller and more built than Tommy. He wonders if Techno knows just how intimidating he can look with pink hair and glasses.

 

“I’m making you one anyways.”

 

Even though he tried, Tommy would find that arguing with Techno about that sandwich was pointless.

 

He finds himself eating a toast at the kitchen island with his foster brother at 1AM. Sure, they keep two barstools between them. But still. It’s so domestic it makes Tommy nauseous. His nostrils are blessed with the delicious smell of the toast and it tastes perfect.

 

Tommy’s plate is empty within minutes.

 

Techno doesn’t comment on it, which Tommy is very grateful for. He’s almost ashamed for how greedily he practically inhales the food. Techno must’ve been able to tell that he was in fact searching for food. If he doesn’t use it against him it’s still embarrassing that he couldn’t just ask for it.

 

“I can take your plate.” Techno offers.

 

Hesitantly, Tommy gives him the plate. There’s just some crumbs left. He watches as his foster brother rinses the plates before putting them in the dishwasher. The sound of the clock on the wall fills the otherwise quiet room.  

 

“Techno?”

 

He looks up from the sink. A piece of pink hair falls out of his bun to frame his face. The light from the street lights outside the window illuminates the kitchen in a blue, dim light.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Both of them know Tommy’s gratefulness doesn’t only stem from Techno putting  away his plate.

 

“You’re welcome, kid.”

Notes:

Shorter chapter today. This one took way longer than anticipated because someone (cough cough, Wilbur) decided to be a horrible person and make the worst apology known to man! Not that a good apology would’ve made it any better but yk. It must’ve been really hard for Shelby to gain the confidence to speak up, especially against such a big and powerful cc. Really proud of her <3

On another note, chapters might be shorter and fewer for a while bc I have a lot of important exams coming up the next few weeks. Idk why but my country decided it was a great idea to make everyone in the entire country take the exact same exams, make them super important and then squeeze them all in during the same month :D (save me)

Chapter 10: Nothing new

Summary:

Tommy meets Phantom.

Notes:

Hi..?

“Tommy!”

 

Tommy’s cheeks redden as the crowd on the schoolyard turn their attention towards him because of Tubbo’s loud shout. Tubbo doesn’t care though. He grins from ear to ear and ploughs through the tired teenagers in the opposite direction, almost as if to raise more attention. Most let go of their temporarily piqued interest within a few seconds but some let their eyes linger. When Tubbo gets closer, Tommy sees another boy behind him. He’s hard to miss as he towers over the crowd with black and white died hair. Despite his clothes and hair receiving attention the boy doesn’t seem to enjoy it. While Tubbo practically jumps up and down and doesn’t care about how loud he is, his friend tries to hide away in the large crowd to get out of the centre of attention. That would be impossible though, as Tubbo seems to have a tight grip around his wrist.

 

“Bossman!”

 

Tommy isn’t nearly as loud as Tubbo. The duo slides up between him without disrupting the flow of students. Their feet move naturally and fit the crowd like a puzzle piece. The pressure from behind and the barrier of well dressed students in the front keeps Tommy in place. It’s not natural nor by his own will. At least it hinders him from being a disruptive element.

 

“So yesterday I was working on making my own like smartwatch, you know, one of those watches that you can call from and stuff?” Tubbo immediately starts. No break, just straight into the next topic. Tommy is a bit thrown off by the sudden conversation. The new guy beside Tubbo remains a mystery. The hair is definitely something Tommy hasn’t seen before. Tubbo’s friend wears a tight fitting T-shirt and very baggy jeans. He sticks out, just like Tommy. Hopefully he isn’t as boring or prejudicial as other people have proven to be.

 

“I know what a smartwatch is, Tubbo.”

 

“Great, so I was trying to make the call work, but then-“ he cuts himself off.

 

Tommy looks at him weirdly.

 

“But then what?”

 

“I haven’t introduced you two have I?”

 

He spares the split haired guy a quick glance. He looks uncomfortable, like he’d rather not be introduced. Then he looks  back at Tubbo.

 

“Nope,” he says, popping the p.

 

“Tommy, this is Ranboo. Ranboo, this is Tommy.”

 

“Ranboo?” Tommy repeats and stares at the guy. “Who the fuck names their child ‘Ranboo’?”

 

Ranboo rubs his neck sheepishly and Tubbo rolls his eyes. Tommy is instantly filled with regret. That was the wrong thing to say. He wants to make friends and he doesn’t want to act bratty towards Tubbo or his friend, neither of them had treated him poorly. Sometimes his mouth runs quicker than his brain. The words cannot be suppressed.

 

“Don’t be mean. It’s a dumb name for a dumb person.”

 

Laughter lightens up Tommy’s regret. Something he had noticed was Tubbo’s lightheartedness. He didn’t seem to take a lot of things very seriously. Sometimes Tommy gets the impression that Tubbo’s mind and body are disconnected. His eyes would become greyer, like the sky on a rainy day, and he’d struggle with answering a question. Like he’d gotten lost in the labyrinth of his own mind. At other times, like the first time he saw him, his eyes were two eager pits of fire.

 

School was always easier with friends. When he and Purpled went to the same school, they could occupy themselves during lunch and breaks with setting off the fire alarm or skipping class together, trying to avoid the teachers in the hall. Tubbo and Ranboo seem calmer. Even if he has only known Ranboo for a couple of minutes, he seemed like a cool guy. He could handle Tommy’s harsh humour and he wasn’t a prick either. He hopes they would remain friends until it was time for Tommy to move to a different family. Whenever that may happen.

 

When the last bell of the day finally rang, Tommy and Ranboo had gotten better acquainted. The tall boy had come off as timid at first but showed off a much more confident persona in private. He talks with his body language a lot. His arms are constantly flailing around, dramatically enhancing the many stories he likes to tell. Ranboo matches Tommy’s energy perfectly, just in a different font. Whereas Tommy and Tubbo have a hyperactive cloud of chaos surrounding them, Ranboo has a calmer nature but the same quick mind and mean jokes.

 

Phil’s sleek car waits for him in the parking lot. It’s extremely convenient to always get picked up. He doesn’t have to wait for a crowded bus or walk home in the rain. He just hops into the heated car and feels a little bit of the tension from school disappearing. Phil starts up the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

 

“Had a good day?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” Tommy says and almost continues going on about this Ranboo guy and how fun the day had actually been. He closes his mouth quickly and pushes down the warmth in his gut that sprouts at the recollection.

 

“What about you?” Tommy asks instead. Phil scrunches his nose and gestures with the hand that’s not on the wheel in a so-and-so motion. He takes a left onto the highway and leaves the beautiful forest behind.

 

”I had a pretty stressful day at work,” he explains. Tommy hums sympathetically and keeps his eyes locked on the changing nature outside the window.

 

“What do you work with again?”

 

“I’m a lawyer at the hero tower.”

 

Oh, right. Tommy remembers picking up on the uncertainty last time Phil explained. It does seem like a well paid job though, which would explain his fancy house and car. It also sounds like a time consuming job, which doesn’t make sense as Phil isn’t working that much. Sure, he works odd hours sometimes, but it’s not like he’s never home. Maybe he’s able to work a lot from home. Maybe he’s lying. Tommy’s suspicion might be farfetched as a result of his vigilantism. He tends to always think the worst about people. It’s safer that way, to always assume danger. He would rather be prepared than get fucked by someone he thought to be a low level criminal, or in this case, a harmless foster father.

 

”Would you mind taking a quick stop at the grocery store? I just need a few things for dinner,” Phil says and Tommy shrugs in response. Phil turns on the blinkers and drives off the highway at the next exit.

 

The grocery store is bright and loud with background music mixing with crying babies and chitchat. It’s even overwhelming visually with bright colours everywhere. Tommy follows right behind Phil as he makes his way around the aisles. He feels like a small child worrying he’ll loose his parent in the whirlwind of customers who are eager to get home. It’s something he imagines to be a common experience, but Tommy has rarely been in any store with an adult. He can’t remember sitting in the cart while his parents ponder whether they should have meatballs or lasagna for dinner. He can’t remember bugging his dad about buying that cereal he loved until he broke and put it in the cart. He can’t recollect a memory of getting lost and crying over not finding his mum. Even a memory like that is something Tommy wishes he’d had. A common experience to laugh about a couple of years later. To remember that feeling of childlike relief and unconditional joy of finally finding his mother again. There was never unconditional love in Tommy’s life.

 

“Do you want mozzarella on your pizza or no?” Phil says and interrupts his thoughts. Tommy is left with his mouth slightly ajar as his brain short circuits. His brain doesn’t register the question, only the movements of Phil’s lips.

 

“Sorry, what did you say?”

 

“I asked if you wanted mozzarella on your pizza? We’re making homemade pizza tonight.” Tommy stares at him and thinks he blushes a bit.

 

“Oh. Sorry I didn’t hear you.”

 

Phil’s brows furrows and he checks Tommy over with pity.

 

“Are you alright? I noticed you looked a bit off earlier.”

 

“Yeah, just got lost in thought,” Tommy says and forces a smile. Phil doesn’t look convinced but thankfully doesn’t press. Instead he starts explaining.

 

“Well, I think Will and Techno both want mozzarella anyways. Do you want something in particular?”

 

Tommy looks down at the cart and notices how it’s already carrying multiple ingredients, none of which Tommy can recall seeing when they ended up there. Pizza dough, tomato sauce, ham, the mozzarella and pineapple.

 

“Who the fuck likes pineapple on pizza?” comes out of his mouth before he can think better of it. He can feel his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach when he realises what he said out loud. To his surprise Phil just starts laughing. A shy smile breaks out on Tommy’s face when Phil keeps on laughing for a while.

 

“You’re funny. Anyone ever told that?”

 

He feels his confidence build up again. He was starting to like Phil, he could feel it. While it was always nicer to get a long with foster parents, it also made moving again a whole lot harder. Tommy already had such a close bond with Clementine that it was hard to move around. While he does treasure that relationship, it’s not easy to maintain since he lives the type of life that he does. He doesn’t need a new Clementine to mourn every couple of months.

 

“Oh, the ladies love me and my humour,” he says and grins harder when Phil shakes his head with laughter.

 

“Come on, let’s get this thing over with so we can get home already.”

 

The rest of the grocery trip went smoothly, without Tommy zoning out another time. He helped Phil put the groceries in the trunk before they finally drove to, what Phil called, home. Tommy is aware it’s not his home. He’s almost painfully aware he doesn’t really belong there. It’s painful because he can see himself there, if only he’d been born into their family. Or maybe adopted as a young child. It’s too late now. But in an alternate reality, maybe Tommy has found his peace in that beautiful townhouse, house number 19. Maybe in some universe he’s in front of the fireplace in house number 12. Or with his foster parents in house number 5, eating cookies and watching TV together. But he’s not. Why would this one be any different? There’s a kindness amongst this family that he’s seen before. A kindness that makes something shift within Tommy. It attracts him, but he can never tell if it’s love or bait. It’s a desire to belong to a family like the Soot’s, but feeling eternally estranged from the concept of family at the same time. Nothing new.

 

“Do you zone out often?” Phil’s voice is suddenly asking him. Tommy blinks and realises that they’re back already. They’re both still in the car, engine off and parked in front of the house. Tommy shrugs. The confidence from before is gone and replaced by an internal trembling.

 

“Don’t know. Can we go inside, please?”

 

There it is again. Phil opens his mouth as if to say something but cuts himself off with a small, almost inaudible, sigh. He’s the one who has to force a smile this time.

 

“Yeah. Let’s get inside.”

 

The chilly air immediately encapsules Tommy when he steps out of the car. They walk the short distance from the car to the front door across the street. Townhouses similar to the Soot’s are scattered around the area. He catches a glimpse of that park where they all had a picnic a week ago or so. As soon as they enter there are steps coming down the stairs. It’s Wilbur.

 

“Finally, I’m starving!” he exclaims. His curly hair bounces with the quick movements. His eyes meet Tommy’s and he shoots him a gentle smile which Tommy returns.

 

“Sure, Will. You had lunch not that long ago,” his father jokingly points out as he starts to unpack the groceries. Wilbur goes to help him while Tommy takes off his jacket and sneakers. Phil has his hands full and decides to balance the last item in the bag on top of the other items. It looks as if it could fall over anytime.

 

“I can take that,” Tommy offers.

 

“Thanks mate, but I’ve got it,” Phil says and turns to Wilbur, “could you go get Techno?”

 

Wilbur nods and disappears up the stairs. Tommy follows Phil into the kitchen where he opens the fridge and starts taking out ingredients. After standing behind his foster father awkwardly, Tommy hesitantly sits down at one of the bar stools. He sways his legs and taps his fingers to the rhythmic thumps of his feet hitting the kitchen island. Phil seems to want everyone together in the kitchen to make dinner. Tommy feels his assigned room tugging at him to get up and hide away there instead.

 

“Do you want to make the pizzas with us?” As if sensing Tommy’s hesitation he ads; “or you could just hang out here, you don’t have to help if you don’t want to.”

 

“That sounds fun,” Tommy smiles politely but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He continues the thumping absentmindedly as Wilbur returns with Techno. Everyone got a piece of pre-made dough and Phil had put out a buffet of toppings on the kitchen island for everyone to choose from. Ham, grated cheese, tomato, shrimps, olives, mozzarella and other toppings. The many choices are a bit overwhelming. Tommy doesn’t know what he would be allowed to pick. It feels as if he were to reach out towards the wrong ingredient a hand would slap away his arm. There’s always that phantom feeling for the things that haven’t even happened yet. It’s his body’s way of protecting him.

 

”How was school, Tommy?” Wilbur asks as he sprinkles cheese on his pizza. Tommy watches how his careless fingers sweep over the toppings and dive down to pick one. He wishes he could see how he was acting when he first arrived at Phil’s. Had he always been this comfortable? Or did he gradually become more and more confident?

 

“It was fine,” he offers, trying to steer the topic away from himself by giving the same meaningless answer he gives everyone who ask that question.

 

“What classes did you have?” Wilbur continues. Tommy sighs internally.

 

“Like… Math, science and English I think?” when he lifts his gaze from his own plate he meets Wilbur’s eyes. He has been looking at him as he was talking and Tommy immediately feels bratty for not trying to look more engaged in the conversation.

 

“English was always my favourite subject,” Wilbur starts, “and history. Me and Techno went to your school, although we of course graduated a couple of years ago.”

 

“We had Ms. Banks in history, she was amazing,” Techno chimes in while he’s making sure his pieces of ham are all evenly spaced. Tommy recognises that name on his time table. He stores the information away to utilise later. Maybe having a connection to two old, good students would be a benefit in that class.

 

“Where did you go to school before?”

 

“I’ve probably seen the inside of every school in the lower districts, since I move around so much.”

 

Wilbur winces a bit, probably reminding himself of the number of placement Tommy has been through.

 

“That can’t have been easy.”

 

“Eh, it was fine I guess,” he says and shrugs.

 

“It must’ve been hard to make friends though?” Phil chimes in.

 

“Well, yes, but I have never really had a lot of them in general. I have one who I met many years ago and that’s enough to me.”

 

“You’re like Techno,” Wilbur concludes and Techno’s attention immediately shifts from his plate to his brother.

 

“Hey!”

 

“It’s true! You prefer to be alone.”

 

“I have friends,” Wilbur laughs out loud at that, a warm and contagious sound.

 

“You’ve literally met all of your friends through me .”

 

Tommy glances warily at Phil but he’s just watching his sons bickering with a fond smile. There’s no indication of irritation boiling underneath the surface. Only pure enjoyment. Still, the fear of a sudden outburst is keeping Tommy on his toes. Techno plainly ignores his brother. Wilbur turns to Tommy.

 

“That’s a fact. I swear to god every single individual Techno knows knew me first.”

 

“I don’t find that hard to believe actually,” he comments, making Techno scoff. The words out of his mouth leave a bad aftertaste. His leg bounces nervously and he glances back and forth from Wilbur to Phil.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah, you don’t come across as the friendliest guy. Wilbur though, you’re like everywhere at every time. You never shut up, it must be pretty hard not to make friends,” he continues, wishing he would’ve stopped speaking five sentences ago. His mouth is a waterfall of words.

 

“You gremlin!” Wilbur fake gasps, dramatically placing a hand on his chest to exaggerate his hurt whilst simultaneously beaming with a large smile. Just like with the words, laughter escapes his tightly pressed together lips. Everyone’s smiling, even Techno. Tommy allows himself to relax. They seem to be fond of humour at least. Tommy could work with that.

 

Whilst the pizzas were in the oven Wilbur and Tommy kept on bickering. Tommy shot Phil wary looks after each quip and bite that was probably trailing the line of being unacceptable. Phil just smiled. The shaking of his leg grew quicker and quicker as their play-fighting stretched on. The longer it went on meant more chances of him crossing that line. When the little timer on the fridge rung, signalling the pizzas were ready, Tommy felt his heart slow down a bit.

 

His breathing is quick as if he’s calming down from a marathon, not a conversation. Wilbur’s focus shifts onto helping his dad clean up the counters and Tommy is left alone with Techno at the table.

 

“So, umm,” Techno says from across the table. His dad and brother are in the kitchen, their light chatter bouncing between the tastefully wallpapered walls. Tommy figures Techno isn’t the most talkative in the family. That would be Wilbur, obviously. Tommy isn’t fully comfortable being alone with the weirdly muscular, pink-haired guy. He has proved he can be calm, even kind. But he has also definitely proved he can be scary, growling and cornering Tommy during his first week in the house. He hums in response in lack of anything to say. Tommy laughs internally at the pained expression that flashes through Techno’s face for a split second when his attempt at a conversation falls flat.

 

“I uhm, I heard you know Tubbo?”

 

“Yeah,” Tommy nods and absentmindedly plays with his cutlery. He has every intention to make Techno suffer through whatever it is he’s trying to do.

 

“Cool.”

 

Where is he going with this?

 

“Do you hang out with other people?”

 

It’s a bit of a blunt question. Tommy doesn’t mind.

 

“Tubbo introduced me to a guy named Ranboo, he’s pretty cool.”

 

Techno hums. It looks like he’s trying to remember whether or not he’s heard that name before by the way his eyebrows furrow.

 

“What about your other friend, the one Will gave you a ride to?” he asks and Tommy is surprised he even remembers that.

 

“Oh, that’s Grayson. We’ve known each other since forever.”

 

“Cool.”

 

Tommy wants to laugh. If not for the fact that Techno still intimidates him to some degree, he would have. Wilbur and Phil join the two and the awkward conversation is finally over. The dinner continues with friendly bickering and chitchat. Tommy can’t help but smile and join in occasionally.

 

———

 

The cold air nips at Tommy’s cheeks. The previous warmth from dinner is gone. A hooded older guy gives a suspicious looking bag to two teenage girls. Tommy watches from a rooftop but doesn’t intervene. A drug trade most definitively. Not exactly the same magnitude as the Blue-trade that ended in an inferno. The streets are calm despite it being a Friday. He had passed a lot of apartments with loud music though, so he suppose most people are keeping the parties inside. Probably to evade the cold weather pushing closer every day.

 

He slides down from the rooftops and down into an alley by creating a water slide. He dries up by using his power to collect each and every drop of water off of him. There’s no other sounds in the empty alley except for the echo of Tommy’s feet. Faint music mixes with the sound of distant sirens, so it’s not deadly quiet. He walks out of the alley and onto a slightly bigger shopping street. It’s nothing compared to the ones in the upper districts, but it’s nice. The street is mostly lined with family businesses. There’s a McDonald’s at the end of the street which sticks out like a sore thumb with glowing led signs and TV displays amongst the traditional store fonts. As Tommy approaches the McDonald’s he notices something odd about the bookshop next door.

 

A lonely streetlight makes the pavement in front of the window shimmer. It’s thousands of pieces of smashed glass. As Tommy looks up, he immediately notices a big hole in the window to the bookshop. The lights inside are off and Tommy can’t pick up a single sound. No one walking around on the creaky wooden floor or clumsily tearing down a couple of books from the shelves. Maybe the thieves have already left? He sighs and enters the shop through the smashed window.

 

Colourful books neatly line the bookshelves. A faint smell of soap indicates the place was cleaned not too long ago. Tommy takes a hesitant step forwards only to freeze up as a loud creak echos through the, hopefully, empty bookshop. When there’s no response he continues looking around for anything that would catch his interest. The air carries a nostalgic scent of old paper. After navigating through the bookshelves, Tommy finds the register is tucked away in the corner of the big room that makes up the entire shop. Behind the small counter is a door. He tries the handle but it’s locked. There’s windows on the door but they are all covered from the other side by closed blinds.

 

A clattering sound makes him whirl around swiftly. He presses his back against the door and scans the room. Nothing. Probably just something outside or a mouse or a bird. When facing the store from the cashier’s perspective, Tommy’s eyes quickly lock onto the cash register at the counter. It’s unopened. He moves closer and inspects the metallic drawer and its lock. It looks completely undisturbed. He shakes the machine slightly and it makes a rattling sound, indicating it’s stuffed with cash. Whoever broke in was not looking for money.

 

A new sound disturbs Tommy’s thinking. This time it’s not something that could be explained as an animal or distant sounds from the apartments above. It’s footsteps. His stomach sinks when he looks up and locks eyes with a dark clad man, who’s staring right at him.

 

“Riot,” the hero acknowledges him with a nod. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

 

He leans against one of the bookshelves and Tommy can sense the annoyance coming through the masquerade inspired mask that covers his face.

 

“Phantom,” Tommy mocks, ignoring the comment. “The fuck are you doing in district 12?”

 

“It’s district 11, actually,” Phantom corrects smugly. “And I should ask the same thing,” he looks Tommy up and down, looking rather unimpressed.

 

“Fuck off,” he scoffs but doesn’t move a muscle. He observes the hero’s stance while his head is running warm by calculating possible escape routes.

 

“I didn’t expect to encounter you in a burgled bookshop,” he says and gestures lazily to how Tommy stands hunched over the register, “or, actually, I kind of did.”

 

“Fuck off,” Tommy bites back through gritted teeth. He understands what it looks like. He rarely bumps into Phantom, the hero prefers the upper districts. Tommy is surprised he made his way all the way down here for, what must’ve been, a report on a bookshop burglary. Phantom laughs, a barking sound without emotion or melody.

 

“I don’t think I will. Now, put your hands where I can see them and walk slowly towards me.”

 

“Where’s your warrant, officer?” Tommy mocks.

 

“You’ve been under arrest in absentia for a while now, kid.”

 

Phantom takes two lengthy strides towards him before Tommy’s pounding heart doesn’t have time to wait anymore. A wave of the magnitude Tommy was unaware he was capable of pushes Phantom out on the street through the broken window. Tommy bolts before Phantom has time to recover. It doesn’t take long until he hears quick footsteps behind his own. They’re soon over shadowed by his intense breathing. Every time his feet touch the ground it’s as if he forcefully brings them up into the air again. Every step on concrete is a chain keeping him closer to Phantom, closer to capture.

 

“Phantom, go left,” a new voice suddenly shouts. Of course. He averts his gaze upwards. Tommy hadn’t noticed the other hero’s dark but majestic silhouette against the black night sky. Two big onyx coloured wings sprout from his back. A black plague mask shields his identity. It’s a terrifying sight when that  is attacking you.

 

“On it!”

 

If Phantom is going left, that must mean the left is the better escape. They want to force him right, meaning the right would be easier to be trapped in. Zephyrus, the flying hero, surely benefits from his bird’s-eye view. He realises he’s most likely running towards a dead end. There’s no time to waste on deliberation. He shoots a wave at Phantom, but the hero simply phases through it by using his power to become intangible.

 

On the wall of an apartment building hangs a ladder leading to the fire escape stairs. Tommy considers it before quickly dismissing it. Zephyrus would dive straight down if he got close. With the dead end rapidly approaching and with Phantom blocking any escape to the left Tommy was left with no other choice than to turn right. He swiftly veered off the bigger road into one of the many smaller alleys. Tommy recognises the area as one of L’mambergs many labyrinths without an exit. Most of them lead straight into tall brick walls or fences. However, this could be to Tommy’s advantage.

 

Looking at the street signs Tommy manages to navigate to one of these brick fences. It’s a good couple of metres high, completely separating two narrow alleys. Tommy speeds up. He jumps from one of the walls on his sides to the other before reaching for the top of the middle wall. He heaves himself up and wastes no time jumping down and landing on the other side. Phantom fails to go through with the parkour move. Now there’s only Zephyrus left.

 

Since he doesn’t have to worry about Phantom for a while, he would be stuck getting out of those alleys, Tommy makes a beeline for the street where their chase started. He crosses that road and continues into one of the exits to the left. The sound of Zephyrus’s heavy wings is close behind him.

 

There was one place where he would be out of sight for the avian hybrid. His ability to fly would be useless underground.

 

Tommy throws himself into the metro station and jumps the turnstiles. He rushes down the stairs to the level with the train tracks and almost trips. Zephyrus couldn’t be far behind but the closed off space levelled the playing field. The few people still at the platform this late stare at him with big eyes. None of them try to fight him or block his way as he crosses the platform in seconds. Most of them probably prefer the vigilante Riot to the heroes.

 

A quick glance at the display tells him the next train would arrive in three minutes. He takes a deep breath and just about catches a glimpse of Zephyrus at the other end of the platform, wings spread and running towards Tommy.

 

He dives down to the tracks.

 

Upset shouts and gasps follow him as he sprints down the train tracks. Below him he feels the quiet rumbling of the iron rails, indicating the train is close. It grows louder and louder.

 

“Riot! Stop!” Zephyrus commands from the platform but Tommy keeps on running. Finally he sees what he’s searching for. Further along is a big vault that opens up the bedrock of the tunnel and creates a new track. Tommy has vast knowledge of the underground metro system of L’manburg. He knows the side track leads to an old part of the subway, where trains no longer pass. Just as the headlights show up at the end of the tunnel, Tommy averts from the track and onto the side track. The train passes him seconds after with a deafening screech. The gush of wind tugs at his hair and clothes as he stops to catch his breath.

 

He starts to cough. Every cough tears through his body, ripping through it like fabric, leaving what feels like bloody cuts in his throat. The taste of iron fills his mouth. He can barely see anything in the deep darkness that surrounds him. He follows the track until he finally reaches an abandoned station. Tommy climbs up on the platform with heavy feet. The adrenaline dies down and the last hour starts to catch up with his body. Every muscle is throbbing, as if they’re stabbing themselves. His head hurts from all the running. His left elbow stings. He looks down and realises he has managed to scratch it, probably when he escaped Phantom and heaved himself on top of that brick wall.

 

Rats scurry around him, squeaking and warning their friends of the intruder. His stomach growls and his mouth waters at the sight of the vending machines. They’re empty, of course. It reminds him that he desperately needs something to eat. He staggers across the platform, somehow manages to climb the stairs, and exits the station close to the harbour.

 

An unsettling feeling spreads through him. Poisonous branches of fear sprout up from his stomach and wrap themselves around his heart and throat. Tommy doesn’t like the harbour. It’s all gloomy buildings, warehouses and abandoned factories. People constantly leaving and arriving with the massive container ships. They stay for only a couple of days before leaving in the whirlwind of people and colourful containers which is the harbour during the day. There’s a tiny bit of action still. Powerful stadium lights light up the area in front of him in an unnatural white light. Exhausted but wary none the less,  Tommy scans the area for the safest way back to the Soot’s. He finds a drop-down ladder leading to the fire escape stairs of a warehouse. Using the last of his strength, Tommy manages to grasp it and continues upwards.

Notes:

LISTEN!

I know it’s been almost a year (!) but now I’m back again. Since my last chapter I have: 1. Gotten into my dream school 2. Started said school 3. Met a bunch of new people 4. Been busy in said school

No but seriously, I haven’t had a lot of time for this project and my motivation kind of disappeared after my last chapter and I’ve been on and off writing other things. Oddly enough I regained motivation for this project somehow so here is 5.2 k words. Is anyone even still interested in reading haha?

Chapter 11: The deadly 97

Summary:

Wilbur investigates.

Notes:

Yayyyy I’m finally backkk!! This chapter is from Wilbur’s perspective because I wanted to elaborate his character a bit more. Also, this is a very happy chapter in the beginning with bonding but it turns sadder towards the end. It’s maybe a bit too dialogue-heavy

Wilbur tiredly gawks down at the coffee slowly dripping down into his mug. If he focuses on the whirring of the coffee maker, all the other noises disappear into the background.

 

There’s full commotion on the 78th floor of the Hero Tower. People dashing from room to room with papers in hand or on the phone or chatting away with a colleague. Everyone is dressed in civilian attire but it’s not hard for Wilbur to spot the other heroes amongst the secretaries, strategists and assistants. The coffee machine is in the middle of the stale, clinically white office floor. It’s like a solar system, with the coffee machine being the sun in the center and everything else happening around it. People rushing to a meeting, others carrying towers of paper while simultaneously answering their phones, someone else typing away a report in the calmness of their office. Everything occurs orbitally, they keep to themselves and stay in their lane. All with the promise of that cup of coffee afterwards, keeping them all alive like the sun. It usually dizzies him. That’s why he fixes his eyes on the slow pouring of his coffee. He contemplates adding a splash of milk to the pitch black liquid but decides against it.

 

“Jesus mate,” his dad exclaims as he walks in to the conference room. Not everyone has arrived yet and the ones that have are engaging in small talk while waiting for the meeting to start.

 

“Thanks,” he responds sarcastically, with a bit more bite than intended. His father doesn’t care though.

 

“You look like you haven’t slept all night!”

 

“Oh. I haven’t,” he says and can practically feel the heavy bags below his eyes as if they are weighing down his whole head.

 

“I was chasing that vigilante kid again,” he elaborates before Phil has the opportunity to ask him to. Ever since he encountered Riot at that bookstore their paths had crossed more often than not. It always ended with Riot slipping away into the darkness of an alley. Wilbur would be lying if he said the constant cat-and-mouse chase wasn’t bothering him. He shouldn’t be outsmarted by a simple vigilante.

 

“I see.”

 

Wilbur lets out a deep sigh and sinks down at one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs around the table. He takes a sip of the burning hot liquid and instantly regrets it as it burns his tongue. He hisses a few curses and gives his dad an annoyed look when he laughs.

 

“How long do I even have to patrol district 11 for?” Wilbur groans while using a napkin to clean up where he spilt some coffee.

 

“Well, it depends on how soon we find some interesting leads. Besides, it’s not like you have to chase Riot every time you see him,” Phil points out. Wilbur is about to retaliate when Mr. X, a short man dressed in a suit, walks into the room. He’s a retired hero, apparently mentored Phil back in the days. After retirement he became one of the operative directors of the Hero Department. He doesn’t wish them good morning, doesn’t greet them in any way actually, before connecting his laptop to the TV. The chatter dies down as a picture of vials filled with an electric blue liquid pops up on the screen.

 

The Hero Department had gotten word of it a while ago. Rumours had it a new drug was about to hit the streets, but it wasn’t anything extraordinary. Wilbur hadn’t even paid it any mind until a couple of weeks ago, when it set two whole blocks on fire. Since the fire, ‘Blue’ had been their top priority.

 

“Lab results got back today. It’s a synthetic drug and doesn’t have any resemblance of already known drugs. Side effects are unknown, although we of course know what happened to our fire guy,” he says. The stale lightning highlights his purple eye bags. He switches slide and a large photo of a badly burnt man shows up. His eyes are closed and his face holds a peaceful expression, as if he’s sleeping. The massive y-shaped autopsy scar across his chest says otherwise.

 

“This is Andrew Woods,” Mr. X continues and Wilbur can’t stop looking at the pink and slightly raised skin around the scar that is held together by thick, black thread. “Because of his severely burnt fingers and lack of dental records it was a hell to identify him. However, he had a tattoo on his left arm which his mother mentioned in a missing persons report just yesterday.”

 

“So ‘fire guy’ has now been officially identified as Andrew Woods?” Techno asks from the other side of the table.

 

“Correct. The coroner determined the cause of death to be heart failure due to the overdose.”

 

On the other side of the big windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling, the people of L’manburg walk around blissfully unaware of Blue. They appear no bigger than ants. The distance removes every sense of individuality. It turns them into little, black dots. The potential colours and characteristics of them fade as they turn into a collective. The People of L’manburg; Wilbur’s object of protection.

 

It had been decided by the higher ups of the Hero Department that Blue and its effects were to remain secret. They did not want to cause panic by broadcasting the fact that anyone, including villains, could enhance their powers to the level of a hero’s.

 

Sometimes Wilbur wishes he didn’t always have to be in the centre of action. He wishes he could be one of those civilians again, but he knows his innocence is forever lost. The thin wall of glass shields them from the darker side of their city, while corrupting Wilbur with the ugly truth.

 

He can’t help but feel as if he’s cowering in the shadow of the problem that is looming over them. He’s just waiting for it to come crashing down on top of him, on top of L’manburg.

———

 

“The coroner’s report said he didn’t have that much ‘Blue’ in his system.”

 

The ceiling fan emits a low humming. It’s a pleasing sound, one that can be heard thanks to the noice-proofed walls of Wilbur’s office. It’s one of the only places in the Hero Tower where Wilbur can feel some kind of peace.

 

“Obviously enough to kill him, so I guess the that’s subjective,” Techno comments while twirling a pencil around in his hand.

 

“Yeah, well apparently a way smaller dosage of Blue can be fatal than for most other drugs. The suitcase contained 302 pills, 97 of them were different from the rest, according to the lab results. Those 97 pills contained more of an unidentified substance than the rest,” he flicks through the files with a floating gaze, searching for any details that might stick out. “This unknown substance is most likely the power enhancer. Too much of it has proven deadly.” The image of Andrew Woods pops up in Wilbur’s head.

 

“They obviously have some sort of power enhancing effects, but what I don’t get is why whoever is making this powerful of a weapon would make fatal ones. Wouldn’t they want them to sell and not create uncertainty?”

 

Techno stops fiddling with his pen. The two brothers are alone in Wilbur’s office, tasked with the tedious job of going through the Blue files. Despite every word in them being fresh out of the printer and the information no older than two weeks, they seem endless of information. Sadly only information which doesn’t get them anywhere. An informant had maybe heard about Blue in the harbour area a month before the fire, the drug contains unknown substances, someone somewhere might know about the production. Constantly these uncertainties. The case is a massive puzzle they’re trying to solve. But there is no image and it’s missing its corner pieces, so there’s really no way of knowing where to start.

 

“Maybe they were faulty. It might have been just a simple error in the production that created the deadly 97.”

 

Techno hums thinkingly and when he doesn’t speak up Wilbur continues.

 

“We don’t even know if Andrew Woods was buying or selling the suitcase. Hell, for all we know he might have been in charge of the production. In that case, why would he confidently pop one on his own if he knew a third of them were deadly?”

 

“But if he was buying them, he probably didn’t know,” Techno adds, calm as ever. He contrasts his brother’s riled up words. Techno is calm where Wilbur boils over with ideas. A pink rose next to Wilbur’s autumn leaves of a palette.

 

“Exactly! If he was a dealer unconnected to the production and took one because he didn’t know, it means someone had contacted him to resell them on the street. That someone wanted to sell their product, Blue, and that’s why it makes no sense for them to intentionally spike a couple of them,” Wilbur theorises, making Techno nod slowly.

 

“You’re right. That would scare off the market.”

 

“That leads us to our next problem, which is the fact that the suitcase was meant to reach the market and make power enhancing drugs available for everyone. This one failed, but the next one won’t.”

 

They both fall quiet trying to comprehend the implications of the inevitable. Andrew Woods might be dead, but he’s replaceable. It is nothing short of a ticking bomb. It’s going to go off soon and the dust and destruction of its explosion will create the perfect environment for L’manburgs unlawful citizens.

 

A light knock on the slightly ajar door interrupts their brain storming. Wilbur’s face brightens at seeing Phil standing at the doorframe dressed in a jacket and portfolio in hand.

 

“Hi boys, I’ll be heading home now to grab some documents before me and Techno go out on a patrol.”

 

“Hey, what about me?” Wilbur asks with fake disappointment. His eyes glint with the hope of some rest instead of involuntarily participating in yet another one of Riot’s games. Phil smiles kindly.

 

“Go home Will, rest for a bit.”

 

He rarely sees the lower districts but Mr. X and Phil had wanted more eyes and ears in the area after the Blue incident. It seemed exciting at first, finally something to break up his routinely patrols. He loves his job, sure, but he’s a bit too easily bored. His newly created routine of chasing Riot was starting to wear his patience down.

 

“Okay, can you tell Tommy I’ll be home at around 4 P.M?”

 

“Will do. See you soon.”

 

As Phil leaves, Techno and Wilbur go back to discussing unlikely explanations and pointless theories.

———

 

“Tommy! I’m home!”

 

To his surprise, Wilbur spots Tommy instantly. He’s sitting on the sofa watching some movie. He slips out of his shoes, takes off his jacket and walks over to him.

 

“What are you watching?” he asks with the kindest voice he can muster. The attention is making Tommy nervous, he can sense it.

 

“Just some nature documentary.”

 

Majestic whales swim around in the incredibly blue ocean on the screen. The familiar voiceover of David Attenborough fills the room and Wilbur is captivated by the beautiful creatures for a moment. It’s a stark contrast to the grey sky and rain-heavy clouds outside the window.

 

“It’ll just be me and you tonight since Phil and Tech are working,” he says after a while. Tommy’s face morphs into one of suspicion and confusion.

 

“What does Techno work with?”

 

Wilbur panics a bit internally at the question but keeps his face from moving a single muscle. He keeps his eyes trained on the TV as he answers.

 

“He’s a bouncer at a place in town, but he takes some odd security jobs as well.”

 

“Cool,” Tommy searches Wilbur’s face for any sign of the lie. He hasn’t completely bought it, based on his judging expression.

 

“And what do you do?”

 

“I work for the DA actually.”

 

“What the hell is a DA?”

 

Wilbur smiles a bit at the unfiltered question. It reminds him again of how young Tommy is.

 

“It stands for district attorney, it’s a prosecutor,” Wilbur explains easily, thankful for already having prepared the lie.

 

“You’re a prosecutor?” Tommy asks incredulously and averts his eyes from the screen for the first time during their conversation to look at Wilbur.

 

“No, no, I’m just an assistant,” he raises his hand placatingly from where they rest on the back of the sofa. “Anyway, I‘ve got some paperwork to catch up to.”

 

Looking unbothered, Tommy nods. Wilbur leaves Tommy in the living room and heads up the stairs to the home office. The pile of paper is smaller than usual but intimidating no less. He knows it’ll be done in half an hour or so, not too exhausting. The fact that he got to do it from home would also speed up the process. The stress from simply just being at the Hero Department tires him out.

 

The first ones are the easiest since hey’re pre-written. All Wilbur has to do is scribble his signature at the corner of them. Others take more time, like the patrol reports. Those requieres basic descriptions of incidents during his patrols. Ever since he started seeing Riot every night, his workload had increased. Every encounter had to be documented.

 

A pounding headache starts to form behind his eyes. He always gets those when he’s reading without glasses. Wilbur sighs and curses himself for doing it anyway. He looks around but they’re not in the office. He pushes through the last five reports before standing up to search for them.

 

They’re probably in the bathroom, left on the counter before his morning shower. Tapping a rhythm against his thigh, Wilbur opens the bathroom door only to find Tommy standing there.

 

“What are you doing?” Wilbur laughs lightly at seeing him almost drenching his hair in the bathroom sink. It looks like he’s trying to calm the frizz of it with water. The teenager freezes a bit before sighing.

 

“My hair is a fucking bird’s nest.”

 

Tommy turns around to stare at Wilbur with water dripping onto his face and the floor. The image isn’t all too different from a puppy who dipped his whole head in the water bowl.

 

“Stop laughing you twat!” he hisses but his own laughter hiding just beneath the surface is unmistakable.

 

Confidence seems to disappear and reappear in Tommy like the tide. One second he’s stiff and barely speaks a word. At other times he’s joking and smiling. Little fragments of his personality slipping through the facade of politeness and bland expressions. Wilbur is desperate to see more of that Tommy. He hates the fact that Tommy doesn’t feel comfortable enough to do so. It will take time, he knows that. But Wilbur is impatient. He’s balancing between being too much and wanting to be closer to his foster brother. Every time Tommy looks up at him through the curtain of his hair, all Wilbur can see is a blonde version of himself. Eerie similarities between them awakens every emotion he thought he’d buried in his past. It fills him with a need to protect Tommy.

 

Tommy is powerless, that’s probably the one big difference between them. When Wilbur read that word on his file he couldn’t help but be relieved. Tommy will not be forced into hero duty. Instead, he will have the freedom of choosing his own path in life, instead of being controlled by the government. Tommy will never have to see dead bodies cut up to the extent that they were mistaken for pork chop. Tommy will never have to take away the children of a heartbroken mother fighting a losing battle with methamphetamine. At the same time, Tommy was practically defenceless.

 

Being powerless isn’t all too unusual. Civilians with powers don’t have powers of a significant magnitude anyway, so it’s not that big of a difference. Yet, if Tommy gets mugged or annoy the wrong person, he has no way of protecting himself. The only citizens of L’manburg with enhancements worth noting are well documented by the government and can be found in the Hero Tower. That plus some small number of powerful individuals running crime organisations. It’s either be chased or be the chaser. Somehow, Wilbur had fallen into the second category.

 

“I could show you how I do my hair,” he offers. Tommy doesn’t answer immediately. He’s sceptical, but it’s not a no. It seems more like something he wants to do but is too afraid to accept. Wilbur decides Tommy needs some light pushing to take the step.

 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!”

 

Another sceptical look is directed at Wilbur.

 

“Please?”

 

Tommy sighs.

 

“Fine.”

———

 

Tommy’s hair looks similar to his own, albeit way lighter. It’s unkept and frizzy with no real definition to the curls. The kid’s eye bags grow more pronounced in the bright bathroom lightning. It seems he’s always in some state of tiredness.

 

Tommy sits on a stool against the bathtub looking a little bit nervous as he watches Wilbur bring out hair products. The bathroom is yet another Pinterest board of a room. The wall tiles are a forest green and the faucet shines golden. It’s sparsely decorated with the utensils neatly tucked away in wicker baskets.

 

“You might wanna take off your hoodie.”

 

A pained expression flashes across Tommy’s face for just a second.

 

“I’m good.”

 

Wilbur shrugs, careful not to seem too confused by the choice.

 

“It’s your choice, man. Don’t blame me when you get all drenched though.”

 

Tommy looks out of place where he sits in the unnaturally clean bathroom in his muted red hoodie. He covers his hands with his sleeves to hide how he picks at his cuticles.

 

“I’m gonna start with this shampoo,” he explains and shows Tommy the bottle. Tommy laughs a bit.

 

“Yeah so, I’ve actually washed my hair before?” he jokes about the unnecessary explanation. Wilbur rolls his eyes and smiles.

 

“Oh really? I couldn’t tell.”

 

He starts massaging the shampoo into Tommy’s scalp and his foster brother flinches lightly at the touch. Wilbur immediately starts apologising but Tommy waves his hand dismissively. He can tell by the tenseness of Tommy’s body that he’s uncomfortable.

 

“You said you know Tubbo, right?” he asks in an attempt to shift Tommy’s focus from the hands in his hair to something else. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he sighs barely audibly.

 

“You know, Techno asked me that exact question.”

 

Rain slowly starts to drop down onto the bathroom window in dainty droplets. The window gives a small peak at the changing landscape outside. The birches of the garden have started to shed their green summer dresses for red autumn coats. The fading grass is already full of water soaked up during previous rain and puddles quickly start accumulating. Wilbur is glad he isn’t out on patrol.

 

“I guess we have similar minds.”

 

People have always told the pair that they’re similar, so it’s no surprise to Wilbur that his brother had already asked that. It was more surprising to him that Techno had spoken that much to the kid.

 

“Yeah, we share a couple of classes. He’s nice,” he trails off but then continues, surprising both Wilbur and himself. “How do you two know him? Phil said he knows Tubbo’s dad.”

 

“I guess you could call him a family friend? His dad and our dad are friends so he’s been over for dinners and stuff.”

 

To let the shampoo sit, Wilbur stops applying it and instead sits down on the counter behind Tommy.

 

“He’s like weirdly smart.”

 

“I know,” he laughs. Tubbo is terribly smart but equally mischievous. He’s kind and rather innocent, considering what some fifteen-year-olds get up to, and wouldn’t hurt a fly. Wilbur likes Tubbo, except for the fact that he’s mildly pyromanic. The amount of times the kid has almost set the school on fire is astounding. If Tubbo’s father had been anyone else than J. Schlatt, he would be expelled by now.

 

“You should hang out sometime, outside of school,” Wilbur proposes. Tommy shifts around in his seat and nods painfully involuntarily.

 

“Seriously! Why don’t you invite him over sometime?” Wilbur suggests and fiddles with one of Techno’s stray hair ties.  He swears they keep spawning everywhere in the house.

 

“Am I allowed to do that?” Tommy hesitates.

 

“Of course! Anytime,” Wilbur says as genuinely as possible.

 

“Maybe I will then.”

 

“I think you should. I don’t wanna push or anything but…” he says, despite doing exactly that. He convinces himself it’s positive pushing, that Tommy needs it to break out of his shell.

 

“I’ll think about it,” Tommy concludes, signalling the fact that he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. Wilbur picks it up immediately and jumps into another topic.

 

“It’s time to rinse out the shampoo now so I’m going to move you closer to the tub,”

 

The stool scrapes against the tiled floor as Wilbur moves it from its previous position in front of the sink to one where Tommy’s back faces the tub. He turns on the water and waits a few seconds for it to turn warm. Then he moves the detachable shower head to Tommy’s hair. The damp and shapeless curls stick to his face like stickers.

 

“You don’t have any siblings, right?”

 

“Nope.”

 

It’s fairly common for biological siblings to get separated in the foster system. Not everyone wants to take on two troubled kids at the same time. Wilbur remembers that Tommy’s file listed no siblings, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked.

 

“I can’t imagine being an only child. Like, obviously I was before I met Techno, but that feels so long ago now,” he says while being careful only to wash Tommy’s hair and not his whole face.

 

“Well,” Tommy says and pauses. “There’s this girl I share a bunk with at the group home. She’s like my sister.”

 

“What’s her name?”

 

“Clementine. She’s eight.”

 

“Aww,” he coons. “How do you keep in contact?”

 

“We don’t. We just always know we’ll se each other at the group home again.”

 

Wilbur’s stomach twists at the implication. Tommy doesn’t think he’ll stay long. He tries not to think of the eight year-old as a threat, but finds it hard. They view each other as siblings and Tommy probably trusts her more than he’ll ever trust Wilbur. He has a childish want for Tommy to view him the same way. He wants to be a brother to Tommy but he knows it’s not something he can just decide. He shouldn’t feel as protective as he does.

 

“It can’t be that often then?”

 

Tommy shrugs.

 

“I find ways to see her.”

 

“Controlling much?” Wilbur jokes and catches a glint in Tommy’s eyes reflected in the mirror.

 

“I’m not only controlling, but manipulative, Wilbur.”

 

The smile that breaks out on Tommy’s face at the sound of Wilbur bursting out laughing is priceless. It’s a toothy grin with a hint of maliciousness in his pure, blue eyes. The only thing missing is the sound of him laughing as well.

 

“Wilbur,” he mocks through giggles, repeating Tommy’s choice of word. “Call me Will, ‘Wilbur’ makes me sound old.”

 

“You are old though?” Tommy says without missing a beat.

 

“Hey! I’m 23 you dickhead!”

 

“No, no, no. You’re practically a raisin, Wilbur,” Tommy snickers and drags out the last syllable, clearly spurred on by the comforting sound of Wilbur’s laughter.

 

“You’re such a gremlin.”

 

“At least I’m not going bald.”

 

“Oh, you talk a lot of shit for someone who’s this close to get an involuntary shower fully clothed,” Wilbur warns playfully and moves the shower head slightly so that water trickles down Tommy’s face and down his chest. Tommy shrieks and shoots up from the stool, smile still unmistakably bright.

 

“You twat!”

 

It makes Wilbur laugh, the way the drenched teenager spits insults at him. He guesses it’s a sign of comfortability.

 

“You’re such a brat,” he scolds playfully while gesturing with the shower head in his hand. “C’mon, I’m not done yet. Plus, you’re getting the whole floor wet.”

 

“ You’re the brat,” he huffs but sits back down.

 

He laughs at that, because it’s partially true. “Oh, I was a brat at your age,”

 

“Really?” Tommy’s interest is piqued again.

 

“Yeah,” Wilbur says, his voice tinted with embarrassment. “I did everything possible to make Phil mad at me.”

 

Tommy snickers and searches for eye contact with Wilbur through the mirror. He looks like he doesn’t believe it.

 

“It’s true! I would twist every single word the poor man said to me, simply to find something to fight about.”

 

“Why?” Giddiness still paints his face.

 

“I don’t even know. I guess I wanted him to snap at me, send me back or something. That didn’t happen though, obviously.”

 

Wilbur cards conditioner through Tommy’s hair. He doesn’t look up at him. He just stares at the door with a frown forming on his face.

 

“I think I’m the same way.”

 

Furrowing his eyebrows, Wilbur rinses off the product on his hands and stands back to lean against the wall. He studies Tommy’s face through the mirror. For a moment the rain is the only sound, providing a calming background noise. Once again his mind jumps to his dad and brother out in the gloomy autumn weather. He shakes his head and pushes images of the awaiting dinner and a cozy night at the sofa to the forefront of his mind.

 

“No, you’re quiet. Polite.”

 

“Yes, but after a while, if I last long somewhere, I do that too.”

 

“Why do you think that is?”

 

A strand of hair pokes at Tommy’s eye. He removes it and shrugs, keeping his tone level and neutral. Wilbur doesn’t see it. Sure, he read the kids file and there wasn’t exactly a small number of incidents on it. They must’ve been provoked, contrary to Wilbur’s, who probably instigated the majority of his fights. Tommy is different. He’s all innocent eyes and rosy cheeks. A better version of young Wilbur.

 

“Don’t know. I just do it when they’re too nice to me. I can’t really stop it.”

 

As Wilbur continues scrunching Tommy’s hair with the towel, he quietly hopes he can skip that phase.

 

Eventually the last bits of conditioner and curl cream have been washed out. Tommy’s hair looks a lot better. It has volume and the curls are actually behaving like curls and not just hanging exhaustedly. Even the colour seems to have improved. It shines golden.

 

“No way I’m doing this every day,” Tommy says, voice thick with fake disinterest but a smile that betrays him. He ruffles around in his pouffy, golden hair in front of the mirror. Wilbur watches with a wide smile, happy to have been the one to instil that confidence.

 

“Lazy.”

 

“Fuck you!”

———

 

Wilbur throws a pinch of salt into the boiling casserole. He has almost forgot how much he enjoys cooking. There had been a change in their daily meals ever since Tommy arrived. Take-out noodles had been swapped for home cooked dinners, filled with essential nutrients. Work usually stole too much time to put energy into dinners. Now that they had a growing teenager in the house, Phil had thought it important to fix proper meals. Even if not all of them could make it home in time for dinner, there was always someone home to eat with the kid.

 

Tommy sits at the kitchen island, idly drawing in a notebook. The TV is on in the background, displaying the news. Being occupied with chatting with Wilbur, Tommy hadn’t been paying too much attention to it. He thinks it’s strange, how quickly the man had won fragments of his trust. Tommy engages in Wilbur’s small talk without feeling forced. They can simply exist in each other’s atmosphere peacefully.

 

Then, from nowhere, the TV changes news story to one with familiar buildings and red flames. Tommy attention suddenly becomes very focused on the way the reporter’s mouth moves to form the words.

 

“36 year old Andrew Woods of western L’manburg has been confirmed dead today after a fire almost two weeks ago.”

 

Wilbur doesn’t notice the way Tommy goes still behind his back, how the rhythmic thumping of his feet stop. He doesn’t notice how intensely he’s watching the TV and starts to shake. The tremble starts at Tommy’s right hand, it fucks up his drawing, but spreads like wildfire through his whole body until even his heart feels like it’s shaking. Wilbur is too busy at the stove to catch how Tommy’s face reddens and how the odd sweat drop finds its way down his cheek.

 

“The fire that completely destroyed multiple buildings in district 11 has now resulted in one confirmed death and two still in hospital,” the familiar voice of the reporter continues as short clips of the fire engulfing the old apartments play on repeat. As if they haven’t done that already in Tommy’s mind all week. As if he needs a reminder of where he left them to die.

 

Wilbur does however notice a significant switch in Tommy’s behaviour. Later, when they’re sitting at the dining table, all the energy that was practically radiating from Tommy before is gone. It’s buried somewhere deep. Contemplation clouds the boys eyes. He sits unnaturally stiff and hasn’t picked up his cutlery yet. Wilbur lowers his fork.

 

“You good?”

 

“Yeah,” he whispers but trails off. His eyes are foggy and seem to stare off into the flowery wallpaper. “Yeah, I’m fine it’s just…”

 

Wilbur keeps quiet, he doesn’t want to interrupt whatever is going on inside of Tommy’s head. He gets the impulse to grab his arm and keep him at the dining table instead of allowing him to float out into wherever his mind is taking him. He doesn’t act on it of course, he doesn’t want to scare Tommy.

 

“You were a foster kid, right?”

 

“Yupp. A couple of years until Phil took me in. Same with Techno. Why do you ask?”

 

Tommy keeps his gaze on the table and licks his lips nervously.

 

“Did you… Did you ever feel like you didn’t belong here? Like there was no point in even trying?” The honest question makes Wilbur halt in surprise.

 

“Asking for a friend or..?” he tries to joke but schools his expression when it falls flat. “Well, of course I did. I still do sometimes, but Phil is always there to remind me that I do deserve this. That I belong here.”

 

“How did you do it?”

 

“How did I do what?”

 

“This. Live a normal life here. After every family you’ve been through, how did you know this was the right one?”

 

Tommy’s words are hesitant, it’s hard to pinpoint the emotion behind them. Frankly, Wilbur can’t really answer the question. He doesn’t think he even has an answer. His life with Phil is far from normal.

 

“I guess it took a while to understand that I wasn’t going anywhere else. When I finally came to that conclusion, I kind of started processing my life and everything that happened around it. I’ve still got wounds that I don’t think will ever heal. But that’s okay. Nothings gonna change the fact, so the best thing I can do is accept it and move on. It still hurts from time to time, but I guess I’ve learnt to live with it.”

 

Tommy doesn’t say anything else for a couple of minutes.

 

“Do you ever wish you weren’t here?”

 

Wilbur furrows his brows, not quite understanding what Tommy is asking him.

 

“No, I’m really happy here. I genuinely don’t think I could’ve ended up in a better home.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.”

 

Every heartbeat feels like an earthquake to Tommy. Almost like he’s slowly being strangled, a light pressure on his throat threatening to push down harder at any moment. He can’t believe he’s saying it. Every fibre in his body wants to shut up and curl up in a corner. Yet, his mouth keeps running. And somewhere deep within him, the tiniest piece of that stone he has carried all his life breaks off and falls away.

 

“Oh, sorry. What did you mean then?” Wilbur asks and his question comes from a genuine place of confusion. Tommy bites his lower lip as if to keep himself from saying anything else and shakes his head softly. He pokes around in his food.

 

“Just forget it.”

 

“Tommy, what did you mean?” he prods. Tommy looks as if he’s debating whether or not to jump from one shaky cliff to another.

 

“It’s not important,” he whispers and refuses eye contact. Just an empty stare at his plate.

 

“I’m sure it is.”

 

Tommy sighs, a sound that carries so much emotion in one single breath.

 

“I mean, do you ever wish it would all just end?”

 

Wilbur freezes. His whole body pauses for a second before he collects himself, straightens up a bit and puts his fork down.

 

“What do you mean by that Tommy?” he repeats the question, this time whit a whole other type of context. He already knows the answer, asks anyway just because he doesn’t really know what else to say.

 

“I-“ Wilbur starts before the ringing of his phone interrupts him. “Shit, sorry.”

 

Wilbur reaches for his phone which is lying face down at the end of the table. His movements are hurried and uncontrolled. He drops his phone. Tommy sees the opportunity and stands up as Wilbur does the same. He abandons his untouched food at the table before scurrying up the stairs.

 

“Tommy! Wait!” Wilbur shouts after him but he knows it will have no effect. “Fuck.” He fumbles with his phone to dismiss the call, turn off the sound or anything to get it to shut up. The stress makes every single attempt at it fail. With a deep sigh Wilbur collapses onto his chair again.

Notes:

2 months later and here I am! This chapter was actually so painful to write? This chapter took this long because I was never content with it because I don’t know how to write bonding.

Also, a bit of a deeper introduction to CH!Wilbur? I imagine he has some sort of a saviour complex, as does Tommy. I guess it is unavoidable in their line of work. Wilbur sees a lot of himself in Tommy. He has trauma from his time in the foster system and regrets a lot of things he did at Tommy’s age. Therefore, he kind of fixates on Tommy being “perfect” and pure. He sees a better version of himself. In one way, his aforementioned saviour complex makes him want to “save” Tommy from turning into who Wilbur was. This is obviously a twisted image of Tommy, who is far from perfect or pure, but Wilbur will realise that a bit later. I don’t want to write Tommy as this perfect main character who cannot do anything wrong. He hasn’t exactly had the best upbringing and realistically, shouldn’t that result in him not acting perfect? So he’s going to do some objectively wrong things but nothing that you can’t recover from.

Chapter 12: Unstable Alliance

Summary:

Tommy goes back to the bookshop.

Techno makes a decision.

Notes:

I swear this chapter felt like it just didn’t want to be written. I feel like you can absolutely tell that I lost motivation writing some scenes. Terribly sorry that it took me so long, hope the 6.5 k words make up for it!

Tommy has never been good at conforming. Clementine is different. 

Her hazel eyes always scan every room she enters. She analyses the people she meets; foster parents, teachers, classmates, cashiers. Her personality bends, melts and reforms for them. Sometimes, Tommy doubts whether the Clementine he knows is the real one, or just another persona. 

It bothers him. Who is Clementine, really? Play-doh that’s been remoulded so many times that it’s falling apart? He knows she’s smart, that it’s a survival instinct. But at the same time he feels like he’s looking at a new person every time he sees her. It doesn’t annoy him, he just doesn’t understand. He has never been one to change himself for others. 
 
Once, in house 6, he got physically tied down to a chair. His foster father had enough of nine-year-old Tommy running around, never sitting still. So he tied his wrists and ankles to the chair. Tommy had bucked like a wild horse, with all the force a little kid could muster. Somehow he managed to break the wooden chair, kick and bite his foster father. The rope still clung tight around his wrists since he didn’t manage to break free from it, only break the chair in pieces. He fought his foster father while a broken off piece of chair held his hands together. He was sent back the same day. His social worker at the time never asked about the red marks on his body. 

After that, he has never been physically restrained in the same way again. But foster parents still try to force him into being someone else, someone they prefer. Every locked door, curfew, grounding, routine and beating feels just like that plastic rope, tying him down to a metaphorical chair. And Tommy still reacts the same way every time. He’s volatile, kicks and bites. Goes full force into every attack because it still feels like there’s that piece of chair tying his hands together.

Usually, foster families don’t want problematic children. So, he assumed his slip-up with Wilbur would result in consequences. But it didn’t. Days passed without anyone storming into his room to demand answers, without being sent back and without being sent to a mental hospital. All he got from his nervous glances at Wilbur was sealed lips. 

“I’m not gonna say anything,” he had told him two days afterwards when they were alone. They were in the kitchen, helping each other to do the dishes. Techno wasn’t home and Phil was out of earshot. 

“Why?”

“You deserve to figure out what you want to do yourself,” he replied, sounding as if he had calculated precisely how to react. Tommy still picked up the hesitating movement of his eyes. 

The interaction caused him anxiety terrible enough that his nails are bitten short and his arms covered in bandaids again. But just like that it passed him by, falling to the bottom of his worries. It’s still there, at the back of his mind, serving as a quiet memory for him to worry about should he run out of other things. What turned out to be a small inconvenience left permanent marks on his body, just like many times before. When they fade they won’t be distinguishable from the older scars and Tommy will probably not remember the event that created them. 

“I ran into Phantom the other day.”

It’s Friday. He’s sitting next to Grayson on the his sofa. Punz isn’t home which means they have his apartment to themselves, a luxury Tommy rarely has. One of the Soot’s is almost always home, just like in many other houses Tommy has stayed at. Phil was already home when he got out of school. He drove him home and then later to Grayson’s when Tommy politely asked if he could spend the afternoon with his friend. At this point he knows his foster dad will say yes if he asks, which is nice. Far from every foster parent is fine with their foster kids having lives of their own. 

“Really?” Grayson looks unbothered. Run-ins with the heroes are common, after all. 

“Yeah.” He pushes a hand through his hair. “And then Zephyrus showed up as well”.

“What?” His previous expressions is wiped from his face. 

“Well, I escaped. Obviously,” Tommy tries to calm his friend down. “Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to tell you.” 

“What do you mean?“

“Hey Grayson!” Punz interrupts and closes the door behind him. Both boys go quiet immediately. “Oh, what’s up Tommy?” he adds once he spots his brother’s best friend on the sofa. 

“Hi,” Tommy greets. The words feel awkward as they leave his mouth to cover the stiff quietness of the room. 

Punz must’ve sensed the uneasy atmosphere because he looks from Tommy to Grayson with suspicion. 

“What’s going on here?” he asks as he puts down his grocery bag. 

“Nothing,” Grayson says and makes a point to look his older brother straight in the eyes. Punz gives him a look of distrust and turns his eyes to Tommy. He knows he will break more easily because that’s what he usually does. Grayson is used to his brother’s scrutiny. Tommy is not and more easily succumbs to Punz’s serious look. 

“Tommy?” he asks expectingly with his arms crossed. 

It makes Tommy burst out in giggles, just as it usually does. A groaning sound escapes from Grayson and Punz understands that there’s definitely something going on. 

“Okay,” he sighs and rubs his temples, “I will not pick you two up from the police station in the middle of the night again.”

Grayson plasters on an innocent smile and says; “We would never.”

“I’m serious,” Punz warns, stern look not leaving the boys. 

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “C’mon Tommy.”

They disappear into Grayson’s room and shut the door tightly while Punz’s eyes linger. Tommy plops down onto a desk chair while Grayson sits on the edge of his bed. 

“What were you gonna say?”

The chair makes squeaking noises as he spins it back and forth in a crescent motion. He fiddles with a string on his hoodie. 

“So, I was out on a patrol when I noticed a bookstore with smashed windows.”

Grayson looks at Tommy confusedly. 

“Where was this?”

“Shopping street in 11th. Anyway, I go inside to see if the burglars are still there but it’s empty.”

“Okay?”

A groan escapes Tommy’s lips at Graysons confused and uninterested attitude. 

“This is the thing, nothing had been stolen. The registry was full. That’s when Phantom showed up.” 

“I still don’t get it,” Grayson interrupts before he can continue. Tommy rolls his eyes dramatically and his friend flips him off. 

“Since when does Phantom patrol 11th?” he deadpans, as if his point is obvious. 

“Since never.”

“Exactly.”

With a huff, Grayson sprawls himself out on his bed. 

“I don’t know, Tommy. What’s so special about that?”

“There was this locked room inside the shop. I wanna go back and check it out.” 

Grayson sighs and doesn’t look convinced. 

“I just have a feeling.” 

He yawns and throws his pillow at Tommy, who catches it with an ease that says he’s used to it. “Alright. It’s not like we have anything better to do.”

Minutes later they have slipped out of Grayson’s room and into the entryway. They gather their clothes. A quick glance outside the window reveals that a thick jacket might be necessary. 

“Me and Tommy are heading out!” Grayson informs his brother with a shout. 

“Don’t do anything stupid!” Punz calls back, far too used to the boys antics to even try and convince them to stay home. 

“Let’s be quick, it’s fucking freezing outside,” Grayson mutters as he slips on his shoes and a coat. Tommy throws his backpack over his shoulder. It’s heavier than usual with two vigilante suits joining his textbooks. 

“Did you hear me?” Punz shouts again, voice laced with annoyance. 

“We’ll stay out of trouble!” Purpled assures him before slamming the door shut. The two of them rush up the stairs instead of going down. They keep their steps light, to not attract attention from the apartments they pass. Tommy picks the lock to the door that leads out onto the flat, concrete roof. The lock makes clicking noises as Tommy fiddles with the hair pin inside it. The door pops open after just a couple of seconds. 

Harsh gusts of wind greet them as they step out onto the roof. The clock is only 4 PM, but it’s already dusk. Tommy pauses for a moment to look at the view of lit up windows. They remind him of stars on a clear night sky. The yellow splotches of warmth against the dark, urban landscape of straight lines and concrete makes the cold air a tiny bit more bearable. 

Grayson is already changing into his vigilante outfit and Tommy scurries to do the same. The cold practically bites his skin when he takes off his hoodie to change into his vigilante one. He pulls on a pair of windbreakers on top of the sweatpants he’s already wearing. It’ll hinder his agility but at least he’ll keep some warmth. Finally, he pulls his blue knitted balaclava over his blonde hair. Grayson grabs Tommy’s backpack and places it behind one of the rooftop ACs. 

“You ready?” Grayson asks, voice modulator tinging the voice with metal. 

“Always.” 

Jumping from rooftop to rooftop feels like flying. It’s not a new feeling, but it never fails to make Tommy feel truly alive. Gray apartments quickly turn into more characteristic, albeit rundown, ones as they cross an intersection. It’s the downtown area of the 11th district. The houses here are almost pretty in the way their age shine through the facade. They have individual traits, contrasting the neighbouring brutalist buildings. Somehow, they survived the wave of demolitions during the 60’s. 

The bookshop is impossible to miss as the pavement in front is still sprinkled with glass shards. Tommy finds it weird, shouldn’t someone have cleaned it up by now? 

He leads the way through the shattered window and immediately feels that something is off. The register is still in an off position from when he checked it over a week ago. Instead of facing where the cashier would stand, it faces the customers. Tommy stops abruptly when he sees it. 

“That’s weird,” he points out. “Everything is exactly as it was when I was here. It’s almost like it’s abandoned.”

“Maybe there never was a legitimate bookshop here. You said this place gave you shady vibes. Maybe it was just a front for money laundering or something,” Grayson theorises. 

With a couple more steps they’re in front of the door behind the registry. The lock is quite elaborate with a digital keypad. It looks to be the newest thing in the shop, making Tommy’s lock picking skills worthless. However, the door has two window panes, one upper and one lower. They’re still covered up by blinds, not allowing any peek at what’s behind it. Tommy grips his metal baton steadily. He swings it against the lower pane and lets out a string of curse words when he realises it’s made of reinforced glass. His deliberate attempt only results in a dent. 

“Let me try, you’re just weak,” Grayson grins and rips the baton out of Tommy’s hands. Nothing happens after his attack either. “Yeah no, it’s definitely just really strong glass.”

“Of course you say that after you failed!” Tommy protests. 

He steals his baton back and starts hitting the glass pane repeatedly. Every blow contributes to the build up of a pathetically small crack. 

“You’re too loud!” Grayson shouts over the sound of metal hitting the thick glass. Tommy gives him an unimpressed glare. 

“Do you have any better idea?”

“No, but-“

“Exactly. So shut up.” He keeps up his efforts until the sound of glass shattering finally spreads through the office. Grayson gets down on his knees to crawl through the window. Tommy follows suit. His arms shake as they help his knees support his weight. The blinds still cover his view of the room, but once he has crawled past them he’s met with a chaotic mess. Paper covers the floor and a plant in the corner has been turned over, creating a pile of dirt. A desk that looks ransacked stands in an off position half a metre from the wall and its chair is flipped over. Someone else has definitely been there, based on the way the contents of the desk are anywhere but the drawers. 

“Jesus,” Grayson mumbles as he walks around in the mess. “Where do we start?”

“Anywhere.” Tommy squats down to start sorting through the papers. They turn out to be insurances, tax declarations and financing of the bookshop since 1962. It’s not until Grayson comments on the name that signed off the most recent ones that Tommy makes the chilling realisation. It’s the name they both heard on the news three days ago: Andrew Woods. The guy with the enhanced fire powers, who they left to die in a burning alleyway. You don’t seem like the type to own a bookshop, Tommy thinks to himself while pushing away the guilt of the man’s death that eats him up. 

Only the most recent ones are signed by him, the other ones carry the name Kathryn Woods. He assumes it’s the previous owner, probably a family member of the guy. Tommy runs his gloved fingers over the inked signature. Knowing that the hand that wrote it is now dead is unsettling. 

“Look!” Grayson laughs and holds up a baggie with green, herb-like content. 

“Is that weed?”

“Yeah dude.”

Tommy rolls his eyes as Grayson pockets it with a grin. 

They were 13 the first time they got high. An older student sold weed in an alley behind the school. Maybe it was a way to rebel, maybe they just wanted to have fun. He does stupid things when he’s not sober. The lack of control scares him, but he does it anyway. 

He supposes it’s like a relieving breath of fresh air. When he’s sober his mind is constantly working to protecting himself from every possible threat. He has to analyse facial movement, take every possible consequence into account and keep on high alert. The alcohol and the weed is a gust of wind clearing his mind. 

Morally speaking, he’s not entirely sure where he stands. Considering he is a vigilante, he should probably not engage in illegal activities. On the other side, his entire being is illegal. The law doesn’t see any difference between him and the criminals he’s arresting. Besides, Tommy tells himself, it’s only weed. 

“What?” he says innocently when Tommy gives him a disapproving look. “It’s Friday.”

“Whatever, keep looking.”

They briefly go back to sorting through the paperwork before the never ending pile of worthless tax declarations becomes too much. 

“This is pointless!” Grayson throws a folder full of paper into the air in defeat. “Someone else has obviously been here and probably took anything of interest.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Grayson stands up and walks towards the desk. The drawers look like they have been ripped out of their frames. He starts to look through each drawer, despite their displayed emptiness. One of them seems to catch his attention. He feels around the inside of it and examines the outside. It makes a hollow sound as Grayson taps its bottom. Tommy notices how his posture immediately straightens. 

“Check this out.” Tommy makes his way across the floor. He watches curiously as he first tries to bend the false bottom open before resorting to violence. The wooden pane breaks open and reveals a hidden stash of folders. 

“Oh,” is the only thing Tommy can say. He grabs the first one and starts flicking through it with Grayson reading over his shoulder. It becomes evident quite quickly that it’s a payment contract. There’s not much words on it, mostly numbers. Big numbers.  

Andrew Woods must’ve run a drug trade from the bookshop. It’s easy to understand by reading the damning hidden documents. One of the simple papers describes how Woods bought narcotics, and a matching one shows how he resold it. There are a lot of pairs like that, but one sticks out. It contains more words describing the trade and carries the largest price of them all. One word seems to be the centre of that affair; cobalt.

“A bookseller who trades cobalt as a side hustle?” Grayson asks skeptically. 

Who also just happens to partake in a Blue trade, Tommy adds in his head. He studies the contract again. Cobalt, it sounds so familiar. Suddenly it all falls into place. Tommy remembers the acrylics set that his foster mum in house 9 bought him.

“Cobalt is a shade of blue,” he breathes. “He’s not buying Cobalt, he’s buying Blue.” 

A pink sticky note is attached to the back of the paper, Tommy discovers. Grayson has already gone back to searching the rest of the desk for false bottoms. A combination of letters and numbers are scribbled in black ink and underneath them it says Manburg Bank. It must be a bank account. He pockets it. 

“That’s why he was there that day,” Grayson concludes. 

Tommy doesn’t like to think about that day, it leaves a bitter feeling. The day Andrew Woods died and the day Tommy didn’t save him. 
———

”Techno!” Wilbur shouts, loud enough for the whole floor to hear. “Come look at this.”

It takes a couple of minutes before Techno has made his way to his brother, peeking over his shoulder to look at the computer. 

“You didn’t bring some for me!” Wilbur protests when he notices the singular cup of coffee in Techno’s hand. 

“Bruh. How was I supposed to know?” 

“Whatever,” he huffs. “Look at this though.”

Wilbur tilts the screen towards Techno, who scans the text thoroughly. It’s a digital document of property ownership for an address in district 11. He doesn’t find anything unusual in it. It’s filled with information about square meters and plumbing. 

“It’s that bookshop where me and Phil found Riot, remember?”

Techno hums as he reads “Lot type: Business” next to “Owner: Kathryn Woods”.  

“That,” Wilbur points at the name, “is the grandma of Andrew Woods. The thing is, Kathryn has been living in a retirement home for the past year.”

The screen is covered in his brother’s greasy finger prints. Techno squints as he reads the same information again.

“And your point is?”

“Well, who has actually been running the shop? She only has one employee. Her grandson, Andrew.”

The bits finally fall into place. This might be their best lead yet to attain more information about Andrew Woods and Blue. Techno looks at Wilbur through pink hair. 

“How did you find this?”

His brother smirks proudly and leans back in his chair, hands behind his head. 

“I was looking through anything with connections to Andrew Woods, including properties. Found this amongst many others and recognised it because of the suspicious burglary.”

“We should check it out.”

Wilbur nods as he tilts the screen back towards himself. 

“It gets better though. I’ve looked through the bookshop’s finances and-” he makes a dramatic pause to switch document- “their income is sketchy at best.”

“A money laundering front then?” Techno proposes while looking through numbers that make no sense to him. Numbers aren’t his thing, but his brother really understands how to ‘follow the money’. Wilbur shrugs. 

“Maybe. All I know is that the money is coming from somewhere, and it’s not the customers.” 

Techno takes a sip of his coffee before putting it down on the desk, only for Wilbur to immediately steal it. He refrains from commenting on it, his mind occupied with the case. Wilbur takes big gulps from the mug in a way that can’t be healthy. 

“You want to go check it out?” Techno asks, despite already knowing the answer.

“What are the odds that Riot, or someone else, burgled the bookshop Andrew Woods was in control of so shortly after his passing? I think it means something,” he insists.

Techno grabs his pearly white mask off the table and Wilbur follows suit. Without having to communicate they head into the elevator that brings them down to the Hero Department’s garage. 

The garage is located at the very bottom of the skyscraper that serves as the Department’s headquarters. It’s a dimly lit concrete bunker of a garage. Most of the cars are shiny, expensive pieces, but there’s also other alternatives, such as inconspicuous vans. The Soot brothers are mostly familiar with their own cars, which belong to the first category. Wilbur takes the lead, jumping into the driver’s seat of his Audi A6 and starting the engine in one fluid motion. 

With their destination typed into a GPS, neither of them are very familiar with district 11, they head out into the city. The unwelcoming dark sky greets them as they leave the Hero Tower behind. There’s still some time before rush hour, which Wilbur utilises. He’s not a reckless driver, but not a careful one either. The car accelerates and Wilbur relishes in the familiar feeling of being lightly pushed back against his seat. His hands firmly grip the wheel as he zigzags the vehicle around the other cars. They’re in no particular rush since all they expect to find in the bookshop is paperwork. Wilbur keeps his foot on the pedal anyway. 

The pair makes it to the bookshop in district 11 without getting stuck in traffic. They park across the street and only just about make it out of the car before Techno spots movement inside the building. They both pause. 

“Do you see that?” he whispers as his hand instinctively hovers above his sword.  

Wilbur squints behind his mask, trying to make out the silhouettes on the other side of the broken windows, when two masked figures rush out of the store. He recognises them immediately. Wilbur could recognise Riot anywhere at this point, considering he spends a lot of patrols involuntarily entertaining his games. He likes to joke that soon enough he would be able to recognise him out of costume as well. The other vigilante is unmistakably Purpled, based on his purple hoodie and the fact that the two are often seen together. The two disappear quickly, completely missing the two heroes in the shadows across the street. He briefly considers running after them, but decides against it. They have another goal in mind.  

“That can’t be good,” Wilbur says through gritted teeth. Techno agrees. He assumes the vigilantes are after the same type of information as him and his brother. 

Techno takes the lead and quickly finds the broken down office door. Wilbur lingers in the main area of the shop, vividly remembering how Riot flushed him through the window. Once he reaches his brother he’s surprised by the distressed state of the room. Glass shards and documents mix together in a shimmering  pile on the floor. One of the desk drawers is left open, showing its exposed false bottom. 

“I’m afraid we’re too late,” Techno sarcastically points out. A plan is forming in his head. He looks at his brother spitting vulgar insults at the vigilantes and decides to keep his lips sealed. 
———

His limbs protest underneath his vigilante outfit with every jump. He’s tired, but the weed keeps his mind warm and focused. It gives him a sense of lightness, despite the way he has to force his body to jump from house to house. 

Grayson persuaded him to smoke a joint with him after they were done in the bookshop. Tommy is starting to regret that decision. He would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the high. They had a great time, until Grayson had to go home before Punz got mad. Tommy stayed alone on that rooftop alone for a while, finishing his joint, before making himself head back to Phil’s house. Now he just feels emptier than before he smoked. 

“Riot!” 

Tommy recognises the voice immediately. As he speeds up he looks over his shoulder briefly to confirm the threat. To his surprise, Bloodgod doesn’t move a muscle. He stays on a nearby rooftop, the wind aggressively pulling at his cape. Confused, Tommy keeps running away from him. 

“I’m not here to arrest you,” his metallic voice booms. The wind carries the words in Tommy’s direction. 

Tommy doesn’t know why he stops at that. He watches from a safe distance as Bloodgod takes out his sword from its holster and gently lays it down on the ground with a clattering sound. The hero then slowly starts walking towards him. His mind tells him to run while he still has momentum, but seeing a disarmed Bloodgod move towards him with his hands in the air makes him pause. Tommy doesn’t think he’s ever seen the man walk before. 

“What do you want then?” 

“I have a proposal,” he explains as he gets closer and closer. Tommy warily observes the distance between them shrink. “I need your help.”

The balaclava hides Tommy’s confused expression. What help could the heroes possibly need from him?

When Bloodgod reaches the rooftop next to Tommy’s he instinctively takes a few steps back. Bloodgod notices and halts. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not coming any closer. I’ll stay right here,” Bloodgod assures calmly, as if speaking to a small child. The tone annoys Tommy. He feels his power like an invisible shimmer right beneath is fingertips, ready to be used should things go south. 

“What’s this ‘proposal’ of yours?” Tommy inquires, purposefully letting disinterest coat his voice. 

“I saw you and your friend in a certain bookshop earlier,” he comments dryly. Tommy’s heart rate immediately picks up. “A bookshop with connections to the deceased Andrew Woods, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” 

Tommy stands quiet, letting Bloodgod continue his monologue while the words from the documents flash across his mind. 

“My point is that you two seem to have your own investigation going.”

It’s a chilling realisation, that Bloodgod has observed him. He must’ve been near the bookshop earlier to spot him and Grayson. Hopefully that is the only time he’s been able to spy on them. 

“I guess you could say that.” Tommy shrugs, shifting in his position. His body has grown colder from standing still. 

“I have the resources of the Hero Department, while you have more…” he trails off, “unconventional resources. And I believe you’re sitting on important information.”

Tommy drags out the quietness that follows just because he can. 

“Maybe.” 

“Therefore, I want us to work together on the Blue case,” he finally says. 

Everything around Tommy pauses. The Bloodgod is asking for his help. He’s confused, never before has the hero showed interest in any vigilante. But here he stands; amidst unwelcoming crowds and a sour stench, with the wind spitting in his face. 

Just how dire does the situation have to be for a hero to beg Riot for help? Sure, Tommy has first-hand experience of what Blue is capable of, but the implications of Bloodgod’s proposition casts it in another light. 

Tommy grew up experiencing the consequences of the Hero Departments inability to handle crime rates in his districts. The existence of Riot is a result of that. He has never really trusted the Hero Department. However, the authority that the Heroes carry makes even Tommy view them as reinforcers of safety. Even if they fail catastrophically at serving their more marginalised communities, they step up whenever a bigger threat looms in the horizon. They’re supposed to handle anything. 

Dread spreads across his body. What do you do if the very embodiment of protection turns to their enemies, an illegal vigilante and civilian, for help? What does that say about their capability to win this battle?

“I know we’re not exactly friendly with each other. But my objective is to protect this city. If I have to work with a vigilante to take down a common enemy, then so be it,” he continues when he doesn’t get a response. 

Tommy hums lowly as his brain tries to process everything. Bloodgod stands in front of him, his sword discarded a few rooftops away, asking Tommy for help. He glances at the scenery around him to look anywhere but the hero. 

The city lays naked and bare for Tommy. The skyscrapers could be his runway and the horizon his destination. He could get out of here. The cape flutters in the wind as the hero remains still, not moving a muscle. He could go chase the sunset and feel the freedom pulse through his veins like a drug. But curiosity anchors him. The horizon disappears and the golden sunset turns into night. They all fall from Tommy’s focus. The Bloodgod is in front of him and his mind locks onto the crowned hero. The tension never leaves his body despite the fact that he can run whenever he wants to. Even with the whole world underneath him, Tommy is a cornered animal. Bloodgod has realised that. 

“What do you say?” 

The Bloodgod doesn’t move a muscle as he awaits an answer. The boy in front of him is a living minefield. A cold and tired minefield of a person who cannot control the explosions. A child who believes he must claw at everyone who gets too close, to protect himself and to protect others from him. An unlucky step, or an arm being perceived as coming the vigilante’s way, would set the explosives off. 

“Okay.” 

The wind picks up. It blows sand and gravel straight at Tommy’s face. Bloodgod’s shoulders drop. He looks surprised that Riot accepted his offer. 

“There’s another thing I want you to know.” There is the slightest shift of tone in his voice that Tommy barely notices. Bloodgod always does his best to mask any emotion and minimise everyone else’s ability to read him. Now, doubt had snuck into the otherwise stoic voice. It piques Tommy’s interest. “I’m doing this off the books. The Hero Department never gave me clearance to do this.”

Tommy’s eyebrows furrow. He didn’t take Bloodgod for the risky type. 

“What?”

“No one can know about this, except for that vigilante friend of yours. Sounds good?” Bloodgod continues, ignoring Tommy. 

That wouldn’t be a problem. Tommy had no one else to tell anyway, but he knows he might not tell Grayson anyways. What would he think about the perilous game he just threw himself into? Tommy knows exactly what he would say. He would criticise the credibility of Bloodgod’s initiative and then criticise Tommy for even listening to him. He grits his teeth and pushes the hesitation out of his mind. Tommy does whatever he wants, regardless of what Grayson thinks. 

“Sure.”

“Great.” Techno digs around in a pocket and picks up a burner phone. He holds it up to show Tommy. “Can I come closer to give you this?”

Tommy shrugs, the careless gesture greatly contrasts the anxiety within him. It feels unnatural to watch the caped hero climb up right next to him without even trying to get away. He read somewhere that weed is calming, but also makes the user more prone to risk taking. He supposes that’s why he hasn’t run away yet, and why he even agreed to the partnership in the first place. 

“You can contact me-“ he begins but interrupts himself. “You smell like weed.”

“No I don’t,” Tommy states, getting defensive right away. The tone isn’t too different from that of a toddler denying the obvious. Bloodgod tilts his head. 

“Are you high?”

“No,” he scoffs. “Are you?”

“I‘m not high while on the clock, no,” 

“Well, neither am I,” Tommy retorts, sounding offended. The smell is undoubtedly sticking to his clothes and probably hair as well. It’s a pointless argument, but Tommy engages it anyway. It’s almost a habit; to defend himself in every situation, even when he knows his case is lost. He makes a mental note to shower as soon as he returns to the Soot’s house. 

“You’re a vigilante. You can’t be high ‘on the clock’ because vigilantism isn’t a job,” Bloodgod argues. 

“Fuck you,” Tommy snarls without any real bite and reaches out his hand for the burner phone. 

Bloodgod stands still in disbelief for a second before handing it over. He looks Tommy up and down. There’s no visible tell he’s been smoking weed. Only the sweetish smell gives it away. 

“Well, that concludes this meeting. I need to return to my patrol before Phantom gets suspicious,” he says simply and turns around, about to disappear as quickly as he showed up. That’s when Tommy remembers the piece of paper in his pocket. He quickly digs it up. 

“Hey, Bloodgod!” he shouts after him and watches nervously as the hero comes to a halt before turning back around without saying a word. “One last thing.” 

The hero doesn’t acknowledge the question. It makes Tommy fidget with the hem of his hoodie. 

“This is the name of a bank account on Manburg Bank. I’d like to know the owner of that account,” he manages to say with feigned confidence. 

Bloodgod accepts the crumpled up note from between Tommy’s index and pointer. Tommy can’t tell, but he assumes his eyes skimmer through the text behind the skeletal mask. 

“What’s it for?” he asks after having read the combination of random letters and numbers. 

“Not your business.” 

He looks up from the paper. Tommy sees his frown turn into a smirk as his mask only covers the upper half of his face. 

“You’re a cocky one.”

Tommy can’t help but take that as a compliment. Based on Bloodgods expression, he assumes it is. 

“Can you do it?”

“On one condition. You have to tell me what it’s for.”

They stare at each other through their masks, uncomfortably still while L’manburg continues its never ending rumbling beneath them. Of course, he understands that Bloodgod wouldn’t want any secrets in their shared investigation. But Tommy feels weirdly protective of the evidence that he himself and Grayson found. They didn’t have the resources of the Hero Department, or even the police. They hadn’t gotten any tips or advice. That important piece of paper is the result of their own hard work, nothing else. He wouldn’t admit it if asked, but Tommy is proud of it. He doesn’t want the hero to take the credit for the breakthrough, not yet. 

Moreover, the secrecy is a form of power move. Like a sign of Tommy’s independence. Keeping the information to himself whilst dangling it in front of Bloodgod fills him with a sense of importance. That he’s not just some kid that the hero can boss around. 

“Alright. You give me the account, I give you the info. Sounds like a deal?”

“We’re on the same side here kid,” he sighs exhaustedly. Tommy stands quiet. Bloodgod shakes his head, the minimal expression being as far as he allows others to interpret him. Bloodgod sighs again as the vigilante in front of him stubbornly keeps his mouth shut. “Okay then.”

“Great! Guess I’ll see you around,” Tommy smiles. The hero only grunts in response. 

“And please don’t show up high again,” he reprimands as Tommy disappears between the skyscrapers. 

Once he’s created a good distance between himself and the rooftop where he met Bloodgod, he slows down. He looks down at the burner phone. The small device feels heavy in his hand and he can read “NOKIA” in capital letters above the tiny digital screen. He doesn’t even know how to use it, it doesn’t resemble a smartphone in the slightest. 

He looks up to orient himself before heading left, towards Grayson’s apartment complex. His civilian clothes are still at his rooftop. 

The walk doesn’t take long at all and it certainly helps to have the advantage of being above everyone else. Tommy spots his maroon-coloured backpack behind the vent where he left it an hour earlier. He changes quickly, already longing for his bed. In his civilian clothes he blends right into the people around him. The eyes that randomly glances at Tommy could never guess that he is Riot. 

The distinct smell of cigarette smoke breaks up the crisp evening air as Tommy reaches the Soot’s street. The nicotine sends signals to his brain. Soon enough, Tommy feels the familiar urge to light one up for himself. He doesn’t pay it much mind though, but as he approaches Phil’s townhouse he spots two figures sitting in front of the door. He immediately identifies one of them as Wilbur. He’s wearing a beige and blue patterned wool jumper and grey dress pants. The other one is a girl with pink hair. Tommy doesn’t recall seeing her before. He’s mildly surprised when he sees the cigarettes in their hands. 

Wilbur notices him first, as the unknown woman has her back towards him. The cigarette is pressed between his lips and his eyes go wide. Tommy awkwardly raises his hand in an attempt at a wave. 

“Shit, sorry Tommy, I thought you were sleeping,” he apologises and rushes to stub it out. 

The girl next to him finally turns around. Tommy is chocked to realise that he does in fact recognise her. It’s the girl in the sparkly dress who stabbed a guy. Tommy felt his heart beat on his throat. Could she recognise him as Riot? And how does the fidgety and generally nervous Wilbur know the girl who didn’t hesitate to stab someone?

“I’m so sorry, I usually never smoke around the house!” he explains himself, not that he needs to for Tommy’s sake. 

The girl still holds her cigarette and confusedly looks between Tommy and Wilbur before putting hers out as well. 

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” Tommy reassures. He obviously doesn’t mind Wilbur’s habit since he’s no better himself, but the fact that it’s Wilbur who does it adds a sense of unease. Foster parents or siblings with smoking habits have mostly bad connotations in Tommy’s head. 

“This is Niki, by the way.” Wilbur motions towards his pink-haired friend. 

“Hi!” She smiles brightly at him.

“Hi,” Tommy responds with an awkward smile. 

He listens as Wilbur explains that they’ve been friends since high school and now work together for the DA. Tommy makes sure to keep some distance from them, so that they won’t catch onto his unusual smell. He really needs to shower. The two cigarette stumps lay discarded and trampled on the pavement, but the smell lingers. 

“I think I’m gonna go to bed now.” He glances at Niki one last time before scooting past the two friends to reach the door. 

“Goodnight then!” 

He mumbles the same back and closes the door behind him. The warmth of the townhouse engulfs him. The sudden feeling of safety makes him realise just how tired he is. When he’s Riot, confidence comes naturally. When he’s Tommy, he can barely speak to strangers. 

Notes:

I’m currently reading Patriot Games by Tom Clancy and surprisingly enough it’s motivating me to write this story? I really recommend it! (As usual feel free to give some constructive criticism, this has barely been proof read)

Chapter 13: Endlessly Grey

Summary:

Tommy goes to school.

Notes:

4.3k words

The bruise around his left eye still hurts. Tommy winces as he prods at it in front of the bathroom mirror. The discolouration is unmistakable against his pale skin. He got it from a masked mugger two hours earlier during patrol. The man got a good blow at his nose as well, which is why Tommy now has tissue paper in his nostrils. He removes and flushes them down the toilet to avoid anyone else seeing the blood.

 

The hallway is dark as he walks back to his assigned bedroom. Photos of younger looking Techno and Wilbur decorate the walls. Tommy avoids looking at the one where both boys show toothy grins and hold up their adoption papers. The bed is coated in notes and the laptop Phil had given him for schoolwork. The expensive piece displays a Wikipedia article on enzymes. The exam is tomorrow.

 

Instead of getting back to his studies he plops down on the floor. He doesn’t have the energy to clear the bed. The rug is soft against his back, but the ceiling is endlessly grey. As he turns his head his eyes happen to land on his backpack. Tommy reaches for it and pulls out the Nokia. He holds it up and just looks at it. It feels heavy. The phone has bothered him ever since he got it just two days ago. What if Bloodgod planted a tracker inside it? What if he calls? What if Tommy needs to call him? All the consequences his drugged mind didn’t think of return.

 

Maybe I should just destroy it, he thinks, but doesn’t have time to act on the idea before someone’s walking past his door. It’s Wilbur, Tommy can tell by the sound of the steps. He scurries to put the Nokia back into his backpack and waits for a knock. But no one knocks and the steps fade away. Another false alarm.

 

Looking at the black computer screen makes him feel guilty. Tommy knows he should focus on tomorrow’s exam, he really hasn’t studied, but he can’t bring himself to care. With great resistance, Tommy pushes himself up from the floor. He cleans his bed of notes and closes the laptop. Fuck enzymes.

 

The next morning starts with a headache. It wishes him good morning with pain that cuts through his skull like a knife. Tommy interprets it as the universe telling him to just not get out of bed. He would gladly accept that, but he has a suspicion that Phil won’t. Nor would his social worker and school. He throws a glance at his alarm clock and notes that he’s woken up six minutes before it’ll go off.

 

With one hand rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Tommy stumbles to the bathroom. He winces in pain when he turns on the light and it hurts just like a fist to his head. He washes his face with ice cold water and avoids looking at his reflection in the mirror. He knows what it’ll look like anyway; a bruise that looks like an extension of his eye bags and hair tiredly sticking to his head. Without Wilbur’s hair advice, which he has actually started following, his blonde waves are back to their usual look.

 

Halfway down the stairs he’s greeted by the sound of three familiar voices. He ends up at the entrance to the kitchen, just like every morning. He doesn’t enter without permission, nor does he announce his presence. It would feel wrong to barge in and slouch down on one of the bar chairs, like Wilbur and Techno. They do it without thinking because it’s normal for them. But Tommy doesn’t have that same comfort.

 

Wilbur’s face visibly morphs into one of horror as he finally sees Tommy’s. “Oh my god!” he exclaims with wide eyes. His horrified tone brings the attention of the others straight to Tommy at the door frame.

 

Tommy’s gaze instantly drops to the floor as he shrinks in on himself. “What?”

 

“Your face!” Tommy’s hand instinctively travels up to his eye as he remembers the state of it. Right. Wilbur looks like he’s holding himself back from also reaching towards the black eye. Phil puts down the plate he’s holding. The quiet that coats the kitchen since Tommy entered is palpable compared to the previously chatty atmosphere.

 

“What happened?” Phil asks, tone far calmer than Wilbur’s.

 

“I fell,” he lies with a straight face. Wilbur scoffs like he doesn’t believe that at all.

 

“Yeah right, on somebody’s fist?”

 

Tommy’s face briefly breaks out into a smile before he schools his expression. “No, on a door handle,” he makes up on the spot. His foster brother’s initially scared expression turns more doubtful. Wilbur looks at Techno with a raised eyebrow, as if waiting for him to dismiss his explanation. Which he does.

 

“Sorry, kid. That was not a door knob.” He looks at Tommy with a slightly furrowed face before going back to his breakfast.

 

“Tommy, what happened?” Phil repeats, this time more demanding, just as Wilbur opens his mouth to add something else. He gives his older son a pointed look that Tommy doesn’t understand the meaning of.

 

“I told you, I fell on a door handle.”

 

“How does that even happen?” Wilbur protests.

 

Phil looks at him without saying anything for what must be a couple of seconds but feels impossibly longer. It’s like he’s waiting for Tommy to tell the truth but eventually realises that he won’t get it out of him. It seems his foster father is picking his fights, which saves Tommy this time.

 

“Wilbur,” he warns and turns to Tommy, “Do you want breakfast?”

 

He shrugs and finally steps into the room. Phil brings out strawberry flavoured yogurt, which he has learnt over the weeks is Tommy’s go-to breakfast. Usually Phil makes a point to asks him what he wants, but not today. The chair in front of Wilbur is the only empty one, so that’s where he sits down. His foster brother eyes him suspiciously from across the table during the entirety of breakfast.

 

It gets quiet for a while. Not a comfortable silence, which the Soot’s do well, albeit not often, but a tense one. Phil is the one to eventually break it, although Tommy can tell Wilbur would’ve if his dad hadn’t told him off.

 

“When did you fall, Tommy?”

 

He takes a moment to swirl around with his spoon in the yogurt. Then he answers, barely above a mumble. “Last night. I was going to the bathroom, but it was very dark.”

 

“Okay,” is all Phil says and leaves it at that, despite the obvious intrigue of his oldest sons.

———

 

Tommy hears his shaky breaths clearly over the light scraping of 28 pencils against paper; a silence that rarely occurs in a classroom. Everyone is hunched over their desks, looking like the exam is the only thing in existence. Tommy quickly puts his own head down and eyes the printed questions. The harder he stares, the less readable the text becomes. The sentences float around, mix together and melt into one. Tommy’s pencil strains under his suffocating grip. The pain around his eye is the only thing he can pay attention to, even though it doesn’t hurt that much. Tubbo and Ranboo didn’t say anything about the bruise, although they definitely wanted to based on the way they kept glancing at it. He presses the tip of the pen against the paper and forces himself to write down something, anything.

 

When the bell rings to indicate the end of class, Tommy has surprised himself by answering all of the questions. Leaving the classroom with everyone else feels like the anxiety finally starting to slowly drip out of his body. A feeling of adrenaline akin to the one he has after a patrol lingers even as he walks away.

 

By switching schools more often than what could possibly be good for anyone, Tommy has learnt one thing. School cafeterias will always be the exact same. A hierarchy which dictates who sits where, a chaotic whirlwind of students, harsh lighting and filthy food. It’s truly a blueprint strictly followed by every learning institution. It’s independent of age, because people seem to always behave the same in the cafeteria. Boys his own age acting the same as in fourth grade, throwing food around them. Girls savouring their place at a certain table in the same way they always have.

 

Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo stand in line with their lunch trays in hand, patiently waiting for the lady behind the counter to serve them depressing looking hamburgers and milk cartons. The background noise is a mix of obnoxious laughter that almost mimics seagulls and the clattering sound of trays and cutlery. Certain tables are louder than others. Tommy hasn’t been here long, yet there’s a few people he now recognises solely because he gets the impression they’re high ranking in the high school hierarchy. The tables on the other side of the cafeteria are quiet, some people whispering or just sitting alone. They make themselves smaller, because they know they aren’t allowed to take the same space.

 

“That test was lowkey kinda hard,” Tubbo says while munching away on a French fry. Ranboo and Tommy exchange a look. They know if Tubbo of all people found it hard, the two of them should logistically have no chance. “What did you guys think?”

 

“I thought it went well, but now I know it probably didn’t.” Ranboo shoots Tubbo an aggressive smile, jokingly.

 

“Oh, c’mon! You probably did fantastic. What about you Tommy?”

 

Tommy puts down his hamburger. He recognises the chance to mask his very real anxiety with a dramatically exaggerated complaint.

 

“The fact that you thought it was hard means I failed.” He makes a point to mimic Ranboo’s expression. It receives laughter and objections from Tubbo. But the bad feeling still gnaws at his stomach.

 

“Fuck you,” Tubbo groans and takes a large bite of his burger. “Did you hear that ms. Anderson is sick today?” And just like that, Tubbo switches topic. Ranboo and Tommy shake their heads no. “And they didn’t find a sub, which means we get a free period after this!”

 

“Praise the lord,” Ranboo chimes with his hands clasped together like a prayer.

 

“I didn’t know you were religious.”

 

Ranboo rolls his eyes at Tubbo’s comment. “That’s not what I-“

 

“So, Tommy,” he interrupts unapologetically, “how do you like the food here?”

 

“It’s ok I guess. Not the worst I’ve seen.”

 

Tommy takes another bite of his burger. While it isn’t tasty, the memories the question brings up makes him realise that he’s had so much worse before.

 

“Really?”

 

“You’d be surprised how bad school food can be. One time it was literally just mouldy.”

 

Tubbo makes a face. “So this is some gourmet shit then?”

 

“Practically.”

 

In Tommy’s opinion, there’s truly nothing worse than eating lunch alone in school, which he has endured many times before. He hates feeling other people’s judging looks and being quiet in a room filled with chitchat. That just makes him feel extra lonely. He relishes in the lighthearted conversations he has with Tubbo and Ranboo, because he knows it could all disappear whenever and he’ll be back to sitting alone again.

 

Much to Tommy’s delight, they leave the cafeteria once they’re all finished. The noice level drops a decent amount as soon as they leave the room. It feels good to leave it behind, to get out of the overstimulating environment. The corridors are much calmer, at least the smaller ones. Blue lockers and the odd poster for the school football team line the walls. The three pairs of steps on the linoleum floor echo through the hallway as they meander around.

 

“What do we do now, boys?” Tommy ponders with his usual loud voice, the one foster families rarely hear. It doesn’t even cross his mind how fast he got comfortable around Tubbo and Ranboo.

 

“We have an hour to kill.”

 

“I know!” Ranboo brightens up. He runs his hand through his split-died hair to get it out of the way. His roots are coming through a little. ”I can do your nails!”

 

Tommy smiles at the idea, but Tubbo turns around with a horrified expression.

 

“Hell no.”

 

“C’mon Tubbo,“ he complains.

 

“You’re not going anywhere near my nails after last time!”

 

Tommy turns around eagerly, a grin painting his face. “What happened last time?”

 

Tubbo rolls his eyes. He looks at Ranboo who doesn’t even offer an explanation. “You don’t even wanna know.”

 

“Well now you have to tell me!” he prods. Finally, Ranboo caves.

 

“I messed up his nails, that’s all,” he explains nonchalantly which has Tubbo fuming.

 

“I lost a whole nail, you dickhead!”

“Details,” Ranboo hurries to say while smiling innocently at Tommy. Even as the mean words fly between the two like missiles, he doesn’t doubt for one second the joking nature of the jabbing. “Please let me do yours?”

 

Tommy grins, a warm feeling spreading inside him. “Why not?”

 

Ranboo squeals in happiness while Tubbo mutters under his breath. He stops by his locker and brings out a number of nail polishes and some tools Tommy cannot figure out the intention for. When asked, Tommy chooses a red and a blue nail polish. The trio hides away in the bathroom, which is surprisingly empty, where Ranboo starts preparing his nails. He goes over them multiple times with a nail file before meticulously applying the polishes. Tommy thought you only needed one product to paint your nails. Turns out, Ranboo disagrees. First there’s a base coat followed by the first layer of coloured polish and then another layer of the same polish. Finally it’s topped off with a finishing layer of clear polish, to make it last longer or something, Tommy wasn’t really listening.

 

“Choose some bedazzlement,” Ranboo offers while showing him the variety of small silver charms stored in a clear plastic box. Tommy laughs at the choice of word.

 

“I don’t know, I’m pretty happy with these.”

 

“Oh c’mon! If you’ve already put yourself through this much you might as well go all in,” Tubbo encourages half heartedly from the windowsill where he sits scrolling on his phone.

 

After some persuading, Tommy agrees to let Ranboo add a few shiny charms. He doesn’t quite know what they are, but they look like plastic diamonds.

 

“Why do you even have all of these things?”

 

“I like practising on my friends. But Tubbo won’t let me anymore.” Ranboo applies the charms, one on each nail, with meticulous precision. He’s hunched over with a tweezer while Tommy entertains himself by gazing out the window. It’s a cloudy and quite crispy day, but a few students are out playing basketball.

 

”I literally lost a nail because of you!” he protests, baffled.

 

“A tragedy, truly,” Ranboo teases with a deadpan voice, still focused on the nails. Tubbo puts away his phone and turns towards the other two.

 

“First of all; fuck you, second of all; that was in fact a tragedy, thank you very much. I had to wear a band aid for two weeks!”

 

“Oh, pity you! You had to wear a band aid for two whole weeks? How did you even survive?” Tommy joins in on Ranboo’s side just to see Tubbo get all the more passionate in his defence.

 

Tommy has always enjoyed banter. It’s comforting in a way. He experiences so many real fights, physical and verbal, in his everyday life that the friendly banter is refreshing. The friendship forming with Tubbo and Ranboo is different to any other friendships he has had through schools. Never before has he gotten so comfortable with new people this quick. And for the first time, he has friends who aren’t Grayson. He never realised before how much he needed the fresh air of new friendships, with people who don’t already know everything about him.

———

 

“This is getting out of hand.” Grayson limps across the rooftop with Tommy right behind.

 

“Really?” Tommy remarks, voice dripping with sarcasm. They are ending patrol early after an altercation with a bus hijacker hopped up on Blue. He almost got his head bashed in by the criminal, but had ducked and only ended up with yet another bloody nose. Grayson didn’t get away unharmed either. His left leg is clearly in a lot of pain, it looks like it might take a while to heal. Despite their bodies being proof of a good fight, the guy got away. Most of the Blue guys do, but the media has yet to report on the revolutionary drug. There had been a few short notices of an increase in significantly powdered criminals but no one had made the connection with the fire. The Hero Department are probably gatekeeping the information until they have more on their feet. Tommy is resentfully suspicious about the fact.

 

What bugs him the most about the new drug is how differently it affects different people. Andrew Woods died, but no one else with the drug in their veins has. Is the formula improving, or was that case just an accident?

 

What was suppose to be the walk home is interrupted by the sound of a car alarm going off right below them. They give each other an exhausted look before changing course.

 

Never has Tommy ever ignored a call for help in favour of returning home. Partly because he doesn’t feel like he has one, partly because the guilt would eat him alive. Of course, he could just ignore it and take care of himself instead. But free will is a foreign concept to Tommy. There’s no free will in the foster system and there’s no walking home when the city is screaming for help. So despite feeling like a gust of wind might snap his body in half, Tommy stops in his tracks and zeroes in on the noice. Grayson does the same, because they both know it’s them against the world.

 

The scene isn’t what neither of them expected. A woman dressed in all black fiddles with the handle of the car door, unbothered by the high pitched howling from the vehicle. But she isn’t the one to capture the two vigilantes attention. Before Riot or Purpled have the chance to asses and interfere, two other figures jump out from the shadows.

 

One is tall, the other one comically short next to him. A metallic gas mask with neon green details covers the shorter one’s face. Tommy thinks he can distinguish a yellow nuclear symbol on the chest of his military inspired suit. The taller is dressed in all black, except for the black and white plate that hides his facial features. Purple sparks leave a temporary trace after him, almost like discoloured snow flakes.

 

Tommy and Grayson watch from above as the woman shoots spiky icicles at them. The tall one disappears in a cloud of those purple particles before reappearing behind her. Riot and Purpled share a surprised glance. Teleportation is a rare and powerful enhancement. It’s not a new hero, he would’ve been broadcasted on every news channel in existence if that was the case. So his existence shouldn’t really be possible. On the other hand, if Tommy has managed to avoid detection, why wouldn’t it be possible for this guy?

 

The two unknown struggle against the one woman, despite her ice attacks being less than impressive. Whoever they are, they’re new to using their powers in combat. As one of the icicles strike the enderman hybrid, Grayson decides to dive into the fight. Tommy follows suit.

 

The presence of the two well-known vigilantes seems to surprise the three, as the fight freezes for just a second after their entrance. Of course it doesn’t last long, but it does provide a good start. Grayson tackles the woman to the ground. The shorter strikes out immediately by putting one hand on a lamp post and the other on Tommy. The electricity moves through his body with a tingling, ticklish feel. He instinctively pulls away from the threat and throws a wave in his direction. A sense of satisfaction grows within him as the guy falls over. He stands up, drenched, ready to fire another round of electric shock at Tommy. But the water clinging to his clothes traps the moving electrons to his own body.

 

“I would be a bit more careful in the future about mixing electricity and water!” he mocks with a grin.

 

”If you could let me explain-“

 

Tommy doesn’t let him explain. He goes straight back into the sparring that their fight has turned into. Grayson has a harder time dealing with the teleportation ability. Tommy remembers the power suppressing cuff he keeps in one of the many pockets in his cargo pants. He throws it to Grayson, who manages to slap it around the guy’s ankle. A warble comes out from behind the split-dyed mask of his as he has to resort to hand combat. Tommy goes back to his opponent and realises quickly that he’s a way easier match without his power. The gas mask-clad guy throws up defence after defence while Tommy moves him closer and closer towards the wall. Out the corner of his eye, he sees his best friend also forcing the other guy in the same direction. The enderman hybrid seems almost scared of hitting back, as he just keeps his arms in the same defensive position.

 

A snap rips through the air when they finally have them cornered, the sound of a mask breaking. The sound has a startling effect on him. Suddenly the short guy with electricity powers isn’t unknown anymore. Familiar brown eyes stare up at him, frightened. Time freezes as Tommy looks down at none other than Tubbo. Tubbo, the boy he was bantering with in the cafeteria just hours ago. Tubbo, who had become one of his closest friends.

 

The puzzle piece instantly fall into place. The white and black mask; Ranboo, with his split-dyed hair in the same colours. It’s so obvious now. One short, one tall.

 

“Who are you?” Grayson demands but doesn’t receive a response. Tommy stays intensely staring at Tubbo, unable to fully comprehend the situation.

 

Tubbo looks up, pale face exposed but with regained confidence. “I’m Voltage. That’s Enigma.” He points to who Tommy is certain must be Ranboo. “We’re vigilantes.”

 

He can see the mouth move but the fact that the too familiar voice is coming from the too familiar face in the completely unfamiliar suit doesn’t register in his head. It’s like a puzzle without matching pieces. Why would Tubbo and Ranboo be vigilantes? Aren’t they rich? Hell, with those powers they could be Heroes. They certainly have the money to. Tommy has a hard time imagining exactly what lead them into this road, considering they live in the very areas that actually reap the benefits of the Heroes.

 

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffs. He doesn’t believe them, why would he? Powerful, masked individuals involved with a car theft. They could just as well have been aspiring villains. But Tommy knows better. It’s Tubbo. Sure, he’s an unexpected vigilante, but he’s a good person.

 

“I believe them,” he finally speaks up.

 

Grayson’s head whips around. “What?”

 

“They’re vigilantes. I believe them.” Surprisingly, he finds himself feeling protective over his friends. Grayson moves to retort something, but Tommy stops him. “Trust me.”

 

His best friend looks at him weirdly, head cocked. His heart beats faster, because he isn’t sure Grayson will accept his call. Sometimes it feels like he thinks Tommy can’t make decisions for himself, that his own judgement is better than Tommy’s. After a moment of deliberation he finally sighs. “Fine.”

 

The two vigilantes, one enderman hybrid and one unmasked, look up at them expectingly.

 

“You can go, I guess. See you around.” Grayson turns his back towards them immediately and makes his way back onto the rooftops. Tommy can tell he’s mad. He rolls his eyes at his friend’s antics.

 

“Sorry about that,” he apologises meekly,  but the two just stare at him. Tubbo is the first to come to his senses.

 

“It’s alright, I guess,” he shrugs.

 

The car remains untouched at the curb, the woman is long gone. She must’ve escaped in the turmoil of the fight. The power suppressing cuff still hugs probably-Ranboo’s leg, it keeps on glowing a faint shade of red that captures their attention. Tommy feels around in his pocket for the key. He extends it towards the enderman hybrid who accepts it warily and mumbles a thank you. He steps back and looks at the two without saying a word. He doesn’t know what to feel. Now that Grayson is gone the protectiveness has disappeared and leaves him with an overwhelming emptiness.

 

“We should go,” Tubbo says after a while and motions for probably-Ranboo to follow. With one last awkward smile they leave, taking Tommy’s previous image of the two with them.

 

After having watched the two leave and climbed up on the rooftop himself, he’s met with Grayson standing armes crossed waiting for him. Tommy’s a bit surprised, he thought his friend had stormed off completely. He feels guilty for even thinking that. Grayson wouldn’t leave him alone, despite being mad.

 

“What was that about?”

 

“Listen-“

 

“Are you sure they’re vigilantes? We didn’t just let some villains off the hook?”

 

“If you would just listen for one fucking second!” Tommy bristles. His best friend glares at him, annoyed yet surprised at the outburst.

 

“Go on.”

 

“Thank you,” he says dryly. “No, they’re not villains. I saw Voltage’s face, bro. He’s my friend.”

 

Grayson pauses. ”He’s… Your friend?”

 

“Apparently.”

 

He keeps glaring at him, dumbfounded almost. He doesn’t say anything although his opinions are obvious, even through the purple mask. Then he mumbles something about heading home before walking away, leaving Tommy with a sour feeling.

Notes:

Ok be honest guys, was the scene where Tommy discovers Tubbo is Voltage really awkward? I’m afraid it was a bit quick, like maybe I should have pressed harder on how that affected Tommy?