Chapter 1: Moving Sucks
Summary:
“Here we go again. You’re always brushing our problems off like they’re nothing, always caused by some other thing! Have you ever stopped to think that maybe they’re because of you?”
Techno chokes on his water, and Tommy might’ve laughed if this was a different situation.
Phil sighs heavily. “This is about the move, isn’t it? We’ve been over this a thousand times and you always do this—“
“You always say the same bullshit!”
Notes:
I’m lowkey so exited for this bc I have so much planned
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Just when Tommy thought he’d get away from European weather, he finds that he can’t escape it.
Booming thunder and lightning mirrors his current mood as rain seeps through the thin hoodie settled on his shoulders. There’s a constant shake to his limbs, and a chattering to his teeth. As the sun sets, dipping below the horizon and marking the start of the evening, everything gets all the more darker, adding to the gloomy atmosphere and low visibility. A large U-Haul truck is parked on the curb ominously, Tommy’s own suitcases on the ground next to him.
The house he stands before is a quaint two story, on a block with carbon-copies of that exact same building squishing it on either side. Moss weaves across the front, digging into the bricks and roof. Weeds protrude from the cracks of the sidewalk, taking over in large droves which then bleed onto the lawn. The bricks are a faded maroon, the once vibrant colors washed away by time and the elements.
Tommy thinks it looks like shit.
It’s not pretty. It’s old, and ugly, and Tommy fucking hates it and everything it stands for.
He pulls his suitcase along, careful not to get the wheels caught on the slippery steps, water quickly squirming its way into his shoes. The door might've been a forest green at some point, but the color is so faded it’s hard to tell. It probably looked nice when it was freshly painted. Now, the chipped paint scratches Tommy’s palm as he pushes the door open.
Indoors is not any better. There are stairs to his left, rickety, and a safety hazard to whoever wishes to go to the second floor. A short hallway stretches out into the kitchen and living room to his right, both covered in a fair amount of dust and misery.
Tommy’s starting to understand why it was so cheap.
“Place looks like ass,” Tommy mutters to his brother, Techno, as he walks through the door, shaking the water from his pink hair.
“Eh. . . It’s not that bad. I mean, it could be worse,” Techno responds, shouldering some luggage of his own. On Techno’s back is a fencing bag, with a pair of boxing gloves the size of Tommy’s head tied onto the straps. He’s not surprised the first things Techno brings in are weapons.
“It could be better,” he mutters to himself. He decides that exploring the first floor is for future Tommy to do. Hopefully by then, he won’t be dead on his feet.
He stomps up the stairs, suitcase thumping every time it hits the steps. The sheer volume of the creaking floorboards makes him double back. Tommy goes up slower, a smaller chance of falling through now that he’s calmed down. Either someone slacked off when building the supports of this house, or it’s just really fucking old.
Probably both.
Tommy’s inclined to believe that option.
The room at the end of the hallways is where he eventually wanders over to, claiming it as his own. It’s empty—what a surprise—with a window across from him, and a sad looking bed pressed up to the right of the door. The window shows the absolutely captivating, beautiful, enlightening view of his neighbor’s brick wall.
How wonderful.
Tommy kicks off his mud ridden shoes and tosses them into a random corner, scrunching his nose as dust billows up and swirls in the air. His suitcase—the contents two seconds away from pouring all over the floor—joins the shoes. He doesn’t have the energy or motivation to unpack all of his stuff.
He doesn’t have energy or motivation to do anything, really.
Instead, he flops onto the hard mattress, running a hand down his face.
It’s a bit surreal.
The past two days have taken their toll on Tommy, draining his body to an unbearable exhaustion. He was ready to tear out both his hair and his family’s. Maybe jump off a roof or two.
Most of the time during the travel, his earbuds were blasting the Hamilton soundtrack in hopes of blocking out the reality he’s facing. Time didn’t exist in the daze he created for himself, passing by in a blur, or stretching for eons. One second he’s watching Phil pull out of their driveway and the next, he’s going through TSA in America. He’s pretty sure that’s called disassociation, but it’s whatever. All he gained was a constant ringing in his ears.
He’s not entirely sure why his body decided to give up on him like this. Time zones will mess with anyone’s head, but this was more than that. It’s not like it was from one day to the next either, ‘throw all your shit in a suitcase we gotta go.’ No, he’d been warned at least two months prior. In theory, that should’ve made everything easier on him mentally and physically.
Theoretically.
It would’ve made it better if Tommy was included in the decision making. However, that was not the case, and he wasn’t consulted on the matter at all, even if it affected him just as much as his brothers.
There had been no conversation leading up to it, just Phil sitting at the dinner table when Tommy came home from school.
Tommy remembers very clearly that Phil had been looking at a paper in his hand like it had personally wronged him. He’d assumed it was probably a bill or some taxes.
This was quickly disproven, as the smile Tommy received when his father noticed his presence wasn’t one of a taxpayer. Phil had rounded the table and thrown an arm around him cheerily, leading him back to his spot on the table.
“You will not believe what I just got in the mail!” He had said excitedly as Tommy was corralled over to his laptop. On the screen was an email he didn’t bother to read, but it was signed off as Pandora Dynamics. A research company overseas, in the U.S.
Tommy started to put the pieces together before Phil began to explain.
Phil had been in contact with his Uncle Sam—Kristin’s brother—for over the last year or so. Tommy isn’t sure what Sam works as over there, but he’s someone important in the world of engineering. The past few weeks had been spent discussing possible job openings for Phil. Tommy didn’t think it would actually happen.
It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in his father. They were both stubborn in that way, determined to a fault and persistent in getting their way. It just didn’t seem realistic in their current situation.
“Your uncle finally got me a job there as a computer programmer. I talked it over with your mother and brothers, and they both think it’s a good idea as well. I'll make double what I make now, and we’ll be able to send you to a better school!” Phil was elated, but Tommy furrowed his brows, brushing off the last parts as he focused on what this meant for their living arrangements.
“Pandora Dynamics. . . Dad, that’s in New York.” Tommy stated as he read the email over again.
Phil faltered. He hesitantly reached out and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Well, yes, but it will be good for all of us. You’ll love it—“
“Wait, you’ve already decided? Why wasn’t I told?” Tommy asked with a bit of hurt. Looking back maybe he jumped on the accusation train a bit quicker than he should’ve.
“It wasn't exactly put in writing yet, but it is now! We leave in a few months,” Phil grinned.
“Few months? This is insane, Phil! Wha—I don’t want to go! I want to stay!”
“I-I can’t do that Tommy. This is our only option. Surely you can understand that.“
“I can understand you didn’t think about me when you signed out life away. Dad I have everything here, you don’t understand!” His voice was getting louder. “What the fuck is wrong with you?“
Tommy screws his eyes shut. Phil didn't show it, but that comment very clearly bothered him. He wasn’t proud of a lot of things he said during that argument, neither was he of the hundreds more that came after that. In Phil’s attempt to better their lives, he drove a wedge between their relationship, building a wall up high and sturdy. Unintentionally—of course—he didn’t mean to, Tommy certainly didn’t, but there was no going back now that the connection has been severed.
Even if Tommy sounds incredibly melodramatic.
With a loud sigh, he sits up and props open the suitcase with his foot. All of the various t-shirts and jumpers are taken out and dumped into a messy heap in his dresser. This way, Kristin won’t yell at him for leaving his suitcase packed. He’ll get to folding it later, when he’s in the mood. Which probably won’t happen, but lying to himself is better than admitting he’s being lazy. Tommy fits the bed sheets onto his mattress, and plugs in a little lamp into an outlet.
There’s not much else he can do without needing to bring up more furniture, and even if he does, he’ll probably end up slipping going up the death trap stairs. Techno is here for a reason after all, and what better reason than to transport Tommy’s things?
Stepping out of his room to explore the rest of the house was the only thing left to do. The doorways were discolored, the paint on the hinges chipping away. The same could be said about the windowsills and floorboards, all of them in varying conditions of decay.
He looks out the window at the end of the hall, seeing the small backyard with patches of yellow grass in random spots. A garden—if one could even call it that—was growing in a small corner, overrun with weeds and dead flowers getting pounded into the dirt by the rain. At least Kristin and Phil had something to keep themselves busy with in the warmer months. They had a passion for gardening, one that kept them up late into the hours of the night researching the best methods for their plants to thrive.
Tommy used to help them at their old garden. Specifically his mother, who spent the most time out there. It was calming, even if the dirt would pile up under his nails and leave him smelling of fertilizer for days. His fondest memories come from when he was really little, a toddler with raging fists and a harbinger of chaos.
Kristin would gently guide his hands, digging out flowers and repotting them in a comforting routine. Even if some of the stems got ripped in half, or the petals were crushed in his palm, there was never a fuss; nor was he ever kicked out. Sometimes, she would sing—serenading their daisies and carnations—those which Tommy swore bloomed fuller the longer she sang. It was a simple melody, a series of notes almost as enchanting as she is.
A lullaby that left a younger Tommy curled up into her side, eyes drooping as the wind tickles his skin.
Time and time again he wishes he could snuggle close to his mother once more. Get tucked safely under her chin, snoring as her painted nails scratch at his scalp and slowly untangle golden knots. A time where his main worries weren’t whether they would have heating that month or not.
The stairs creak as Tommy wanders down the short hall and into the living room. A small arch opens into the kitchen, as well as in the hallway. There was a TV hung up on the wall across the couch, a window across from the doorway. The squat coffee table in between them held boxes of kitchenware and decorations, a permanent marker labeling the contents of the boxes in Phil’s loopy handwriting.
The kitchen wasn’t too different. There was nothing grand about the faded paint of the walls, or the wilting daffodil on the countertops. Tommy’s finger ran across the dining table, coming back covered in a thick layer of dust. Unsurprisingly, the fridge was missing of any food, all of the cabinets ready to be filled with plates and cups. There was a consistent buzz that came from the light overhead, filling the silence with the white noise. A door by the fridge led outside into the yard, thick raindrops pattering against the glass, converting all dirt into mud.
The footsteps upstairs were loud and heavy, probably Techno’s if he had to guess. Kristin’s are softer, and both Wilbur and Phil are out anyway. They were buying food, and getting a rental car.
It was a fairly boring house, and Tommy quickly got tired of counting doors. With nothing else to keep himself entertained, he re-entered the living room, reaching for the remote, and flicking to the documentary channel.
***
The incredibly interesting show about spiders Tommy was watching was rudely interrupted by Phil and Wilbur bursting through the front door, carrying two bags each. One of them was takeout from a Chinese place nearby.
Tommy didn’t have much of an appetite. The airport food was shitty, so the only thing filling his stomach was one of Techno’s protein bars. Said bars tasted like play-dough and gave Tommy a pounding headache simply by smelling it. Techno had gotten his protein bar returned with only two bites taken out of it.
Kristin came downstairs and took the food, walking to the kitchen to heat it up. Judging by the smell of precipitation coming from Phil’s coat, it was still raining outside.
Tommy took a seat at the dinner table, and everyone else joined soon after.
He stabbed at his noodles after the plate was placed in front of him. Even if there was a persistent growling clawing from his stomach, the tension in the room had him by the throat, squeezing tightly and reframing him of any ability to stomach food. Things were still rough between Tommy and Phil. The disdain he felt towards his father spread and destroyed any attempts of small talk, leaving the only sound to be the metal cutlery scraping against the paper plates.
“Tommy? Your food’s going to get cold,” Phil said tentatively, breaking the silence with his achingly concerned tone.
“I’m not hungry,” Tommy pushed his plate away, dropping his utensils obnoxiously on the table. He was in no way a picky eater—even if he was acting a bit like a toddler—but the noodles were bland, and the rice was undercooked. He was annoyed and the shite food didn’t help.
“That’s a first. You’re always hungry,” Wilbur quipped in his usual manner, probably looking to banter with Tommy like usual, but that just pissed him off.
“Well I’m not fucking hungry. Get off my ass, bitch,” Tommy snapped, angrier than he intended.
Wilbur recoiled as if struck, looking at Tommy bewilderedly. “Pardon?”
“Don’t fucking ‘pardon’ me with that stupid look on your face. You act all high and mighty, you prick—“
“Tommy!” Phil snaps him out of his small rant. “What the hell was that? If you’re angry there’s no need to take it out on your brother.”
“Would you rather we talk it out and then go take a stroll in a park with sunshine and daisies? Maybe throw a few unicorns in there too?”
“Really, Tommy? I’m being serious here—“
“So am I! Wil’s properly pissed me off going all ‘oh you’re always hungry, I’m better than you because you’re a little bitch,’” Tommy mocks, high pitched.
“What the fuck?” Wilbur screeches, offense taking form on his face.
“Wil, shush, let me handle this. Your brother didn’t do anything Tommy, and dinner is not the time to be discussing these issues,” Phil is irritatingly calm.
“Here we go again. You’re always brushing our problems off like they’re nothing, always caused by some other thing! Have you ever stopped to think that maybe they’re because of you?”
Techno chokes on his water, and Tommy might’ve laughed if this was a different situation.
Phil sighs heavily. “This is about the move, isn’t it? We’ve been over this a thousand times and you always do this—“
“You always say the same bullshit!”
“—Tommy, I know you’re mad, mate, which is understandable. We were in a bad spot and it was the best course of action. You’re probably very angry with me, but in time you’ll know I did this for you and your brothers.”
“That and a paycheck, right?” Tommy hisses.
“Toms, that's not fair,” Kristin speaks up softly.
“It's not fair that I didn’t get a say in anything! Not even a decent discussion! I was brought here against my fucking will!”
“We all agreed to this, you did as well. You weren’t dragged here by the scruff of your neck—“
“It sure seemed like it!” Tommy shouted, slamming his fists on the table and standing up. The chair screeched behind him, almost toppling over. He doesn’t know where this sudden burst of anger came from, but he’s relishing in it. “I wanted to stay home! Not forced across the Atlantic! I was happy there, and you ruined that! I fucking hate New York, I hate this stupid house and it’s hazardous stairs, and I hate you!”
Tommy breathes heavily, angry tears burning at the edges of his eyes as he pointed an accusatory finger directly at Phil. Tommy’s words were incredibly cliche, but there weren’t many others that got his point across.
A multitude of emotions flashed across his father’s face, but the one that stayed the longest was hurt.
And Tommy wanted to stay mad.
Deep inside him, a voice yells that he’s been wronged, but at the same time, this is his father. The person who’s only ever looked out for him and his best interests. Tommy looked away from Phil’s eyes. He was afraid of what else he would find hidden beneath the blue irises so much like his own.
Guilt. Anger. Hurt.
Everyone at the table had their eyes trained on his face. Tommy let this dinner escalate to the point of no return and where had that gotten him? Kristin looked appalled at the way he yelled at her husband. Wilbur and Techno shared the same confusion and startled look. Despite a different voice in the back of his head begging him to say he didn’t mean any of it, his pride shot that voice five times over, and that stopped him from apologizing to his father. It stopped him from admitting he was being an asshole, and from admitting he didn’t mean any of it.
Instead, like a coward, he left his plate discarded on the table, and fled upstairs.
No apologies.
No other harmful words spilled.
The door was shut loudly behind him. Tommy’s fingers yanked at his hair, hitting the heel of his palm against his head.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered to himself. Because that was what he was being. There was no reason to ruin their first dinner here like that. It was just some petty grudge he was holding over his father that impulsively made him shout things he wished he didn't.
Tommy let himself get angry for no reason but to antagonize the man that only held his best interests in mind. Tommy had been an overly dramatic dickhead. Not to mention the fact he didn’t eat anything. His stomach was starting to rumble more than he’d admit to.
So much for that protein bar.
He tugged his small cow plush—Henry—into his arms and off the bed. Henry provided him comfort. He still smelled like his old bedsheets. Tommy sat down on the floor, leaning against the bed and hugging his knees.
Tommy was exhausted.
He should probably be using this time to be productive, especially after that shitfest of a dinner. But his eyelids are heavy, and unwanted tears make their appearance again.
He doesn’t want to sleep on the new sheets, nor does he want to go back downstairs, so he drifts away on the floor.
***
Falling asleep on the floor was not Tommy’s brightest idea.
Sitting up and hearing his joints pop like an old man definitely didn’t make him feel any better. Ignoring the soreness in his limbs, he placed Henry back onto the bed, patting his soft head. There were sounds of muffled talking coming from downstairs, and from what he could tell, it was almost noon. The sun that blinded his crusted eyes was enough to prove this theory.
The hallway was—thankfully—empty when he walked out. He made his way to the bathroom, a plastic bag full of disposable toothbrushes sitting on the sink ready to be used.
Tommy goes through the motions of his morning routine, ignoring the reflection staring back from the mirror. Red probably adorns his eyes and cheeks from crying.
Now that he thinks about it, it was a really pathetic thing to start bawling over. All that and for what? A worse relationship with his father? A shitty headache? He could really do with a can of soda right now. Preferably anything with caffeine. He might even try coffee out of desperation.
Tommy spits his toothpaste into the sink basin and walks over to the stairs, faltering at the top. There’s no way in hell he’s ready to face whatever awaits him below.
Especially facing Phil.
But the smell of Kristin’s pancakes drifted up to his nose, reminding him of the empty pit threatening to take over his stomach. Fuck, he’s hungry, and who can resist her spectacular cooking?
He’s downstairs before he can chicken out, his socked feet patter into the kitchen, finding Techno asleep in his cereal, and Wilbur sipping a coffee that probably has some form of alcoholic substance spiking it. There’s no sign of Phil, and instead of finding his father at the table, there’s a stranger in his place.
The man has dyed green hair, and very light amber eyes, almost gold, which is slightly off-putting. There’s a striking resemblance to Tommy’s mother, smile lines and gentle grins both etched identically into their complexion.
There’s an intentional ignorance towards the fact the guy looks like he could tear Tommy in half.
“Who’s this bitch?” Tommy asks as he steps into the kitchen. Green Hair gives him a strange look, a mix of confusion and amusement.
“Tommy, this is my brother, your Uncle Sam, you met him before,” Kristin says, rolling her eyes fondly at her son. She sets down a plate of pancakes before Tommy. “Your father is at orientation, and Sam decided to stop by since he had a day off.”
She leaned down closer and whispered so only Tommy could hear, “We’re going to have a discussion regarding yesterday’s events as soon as he gets home, though,” a scolding tone slipping past her fondness.
Tommy knew this is what was waiting for him but he groaned anyway, deciding not to acknowledge the pit of guilt in his stomach. He reaches for a fork and tears into his food, humming contently as the sugar melts on his tongue.
The faint snoring coming from Techno is ignored as Sam decides to talk with Tommy.
“You probably don’t remember me. I moved away when you were very little. You were two, I believe,” Sam explains as he takes the coffee Wilbur offers him.
“I figured as much,” Tommy chews, pouring himself a glass of water. His brothers probably remember Sam, Wilbur having been nine and Techno seven. Now they were old ass men, twenty two and twenty. Practically ancient. “So, you work with my dad?”
“Yes and no. Not with your dad, but we’re both at the same company.”
“It was Pandora Incorporated or something right?” Tommy doesn’t ignore the disdain he says the company name with.
“Pandora Dynamics.”
“Same difference,” Tommy huffed. He wasn’t about to keep tabs on the company that ruined his life.
Sam laughed. It was reminiscent of his mother’s, but more reserved than the boisterous laugh that passed down to him.
“What do you do then?” Tommy asks, “Mum’s always on about how great you are, but she never specifies on what you actually work as.”
“I’m an engineer. I work alongside genetic scientists.”
“Ah, so you’re a big nerd.”
“Oh, uh, sure. . .?”
“Toms, be nice,” Wilbur taunted as he took a seat, joining into the conversation after watching from the sidelines. “You’re being a hypocrite anyways.” Wilbur didn’t address yesterday's events. Tommy was grateful for that.
“I’m not!” Tommy squawked. He probably also had to get to apologizing to Wilbur, but he’ll set that aside for later.
“You’re a fan of engineering?” Sam asks, thoroughly entertained and amused at Tommy’s humiliation.
“Oh, totally. He’s our little mechanic,” Wilbur coos, reaching out to pinch Tommy’s face, to which he responds with a slap to his hand. Wilbur quickly retracts his fingers. “Always used to tinker around back home with random devices, he’d paint on them and get red everywhere. Quite the artist.”
Tommy’s ears reddened. “That is simply not true. I just dabble a bit,” he shrugged.
“You’re being humble for once? Kristin, has the world ended?”
“Fuck off, Wil.”
“I’ve got a workshop not too far. I wouldn’t mind letting you ‘dabble’ if you wanted to drop by some day,” Sam offers, a small grin playing on his lips at the interaction.
“That’d be lovely,” Tommy said. “You’d have to be prepared for a few explosions, though, hope you don’t mind.”
“Nothing that I probably haven’t already done before,” Sam grinned. Tommy decided he was okay in his book. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here if he got to build shit. Tommy might’ve overreacted.
“Speaking of, your Uncle Sam is making a guest appearance at your school,” Kristin grins as she places more food on the table.
“When?” Tommy asks, which is news to him.
His new school is some elitist academy that Tommy definitely won’t belong in. No matter how many times he asked to be enrolled into the nearby public school, both Kristin and Phil shut down the idea. They said it was a good opportunity for him that he can only get here. It is a good opportunity, he just didn’t want it.
He’ll just make a fool of himself.
“Wednesday. It’s probably just a promotion for the company, but I will get to bring the latest public experiment along.”
Tommy starts on Wednesday, which just so happens to be tomorrow. He’s not sure how to feel about that.
“Care to leak the deets?” Tommy raises an eyebrow expectantly.
“That’ll ruin the fun,” Sam replies smugly.
“Oh well. It was worth a shot,” Tommy shrugs, slumping down in his chair.
Wilbur collects the plates after they’re all done and drops them in the sink. The clinking noise makes Techno snort, and he jolts up, Cheerios sticking to his face.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Wilbur smacks his brother on the back of the head.
Techno swats at the hand, blinking the sleep from his eyes and shaking the bits of cereal off his face. “Take me back. I can’t stand the sight of you,” He deadpans.
Sam huffs a laugh, taking another sip of his coffee, “What’s got you falling asleep at the table?”
“I finished all my unpacking yesterday. I wouldn’t be able to stand another day with a mess of boxes.”
“Understandable.”
Safe to say, Tommy almost forgot about last night’s fiasco. The rest of the morning was spent chatting about various topics, bringing up how much Tommy despises New York more than once. At about ten past one, Sam announced his departure, and sent Tommy the directions to his workshop. He made a mental note to go sometime next week.
He wouldn’t admit it, but he was a bit sad to see his Uncle leave. It was fun meeting him.
The rest of the day was spent hauling up boxes and furniture with the help of Techno—whom he managed to bribe with a twenty dollar bill—and organizing all of his shit. By the time evening rolled around, he pretty much had a full on room.
His limbs ached from carrying so many boxes and his back hurt from being hunched over. He’s fifteen, damnit, he doesn’t need back pain.
Soon, most if not all things had been moved to his room and all that was left were some decorations. Tommy precariously stood on a chair as he hung up the last of his LEDs. He’d found them while at fucking Walmart. American Tescos or whatever. Why was everything triple the size, anyway? No one needs that much shit. Tommy stands by that.
With the tape roll in his mouth, he sticks the last of the LED strip to the wall, and just as he goes to step off, there’s a knock, and his door opens gently. Tommy hops off the chair, tossing the tape onto his bed. Phil stands at the door frame, fiddling with his cap as he watches his son.
There’s a moment of awkward silence as neither of them speak, simply staring at each other.
Tommy shoves down his pride.
“Hey, Phil, er, how was work?” Tommy swallows as he tries to defuse the tension. He knew this is probably the talking to Kristin was on about, so he braces himself for a lecture.
“Orientation went great, thanks for asking,” Phil nodded, and plopped down on the bed, gesturing to the spot next to him.
“No problemo,” Tommy sits down, wincing at the way the springs squeak.
Phil takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “That’s probably what I should’ve done to you, mate. Ask. It was wrong of me to announce to you that we were leaving. I-I should’ve given you some prior notice or, I don’t know, a talk? The point is, I fucked up,” Phil says, running a hand through his hair.
Tommy was not expecting that. He stays frozen for a moment before he processes the words. “Yeah, a warning woulda been nice.”
Phil shakes his head. “I truly am sorry. I hope you know I did do this for you and your brothers, right? We were just—how do I put this— we had a lot of issues concerning our bank accounts,” Phil grimaced, “That’s no excuse, but I want you to know that.”
Tommy glances at his father’s face. His eyes looked tired, and the lines in his face ran deeper.
“Oh, dad, I didn’t mean anything I said yesterday. I’ll only say this once, so cherish it, but I fucked up too. I was a bit bummed out on leaving the U.K, and I’m still a bit mad, but I understand,” Tommy says a bit awkwardly. He knows Phil did it with everyone’s best interest in mind. But a fucking warning would’ve been nice, damn.
“Thank you, Toms, really,” Phil ruffles the blond’s hair, standing up and putting his cap back on.
Tommy halfheartedly swats at the hands. “You’re being a sap, old man,” He pauses, "I’m actually sorry, though. It was stupid. If I could take it all back, I would.”
“I know you would,” Phil grins slightly. “And I don’t want to see any more of that attitude, alright?” He added, almost as an afterthought.
Tommy groaned. He was this close to getting away without a scolding. He flops backwards onto his bed. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”
“You little shit,” Phil says fondly, rolling his eyes at his son. “Your mum left your uniform under your bed. Don’t be late to school tomorrow.”
“Don’t remind me. Do I have to go? It’s been two days!”
“Ah! I don’t want to hear it. Night,” He grabs the doorknob, gently rapping his knuckles twice on the wood, before pulling the door shut with a small click.
“Night,” Tommy calls out, sitting up and pulling the box out from under the bed.
His uniform is the definition of pretentious. The white button up, the jumper, the blazer, the tie. That’s going to be a pain. Tommy tosses the uniform onto his chair, hoping it doesn’t get wrinkled, and crawls under the covers.
He’ll worry about that later.
Notes:
Yippie
Chapter 2: The Bite
Summary:
Tommy goes to tap Sam on the shoulder when he feels a sharp pain on the back of his fist.
He yelps, dropping the spider again and hissing in pain. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes as he glares down at the two bites pulsing on his skin. “Fuck,” he groans, cradling his hand.
Notes:
This took way too long to edit but whatever
Yay, power time
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tommy wakes up to his ears getting assaulted by the blaring sound of his alarm, grating against his brain like nails on a chalkboard. Dirty, grimy, uncut nails. He slams his hand down on his phone, yanking it off his nightstand and shutting it off. He’s already in a bad mood before eight in the morning, and the pounding headache forming behind his eyes really doesn’t help.
After sitting up and tossing his sheets into a lump under his pillows, he spots his uniform on the chair. Tommy groans internally, knowing what those clothes meant.
His family isn't rich by any means, far from it, actually. Phil rarely admits it, but they had been struggling back at their old place. Tommy will agree they were lucky enough that Sam offered Phil a job, or else who knows what would’ve happened.
Both of his parents worked hard, but at times they just couldn't find work, or after paying for one of his brother’s extracurriculars, they miscalculated and didn’t have any money left for the bills. He’d gone some days without electricity, back when it was really bad.
Tommy is grateful for the change, don’t get him wrong.
There’s just something scarily unfamiliar that comes with leaving everything he’s ever known. It’s like he’s a stain on a satin cloth, standing out against the pristine fabric and doing nothing but ruining the appearance.
He grabs the clothes off of the chair, and quickly throws them on. The grey trousers are wrinkled by the ankles, and the jumper is creased down the middle. It’s nothing that would earn him some reprimanding from Kristin, but he smooths it down nonetheless, that way he doesn't look too much like a charity case.
The tie hangs loose around his neck because there is absolutely no way he’ll even attempt to knot it together. Last time he tried, it ended up in a jumble of fabric that needed to be cut off, or else he might’ve strangled himself.
Tommy exits to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and trying to tame the nest he has on his head. His curls end up puffing up and giving him the appearance of a sickly lion. He just pours water over it and hopes for the best. Tommy eventually gets his hair to look somewhat presentable–ignoring the few stray hairs ruining the look–and grabs his shoes. He shoves them onto his feet, and goes into the kitchen.
The absence of curtains makes the living room an easy target for the sun’s bright rays. The gold light bleeds onto the counters, setting the room aflame. Wilbur is sitting on the couch with his computer propped up on his lap, probably looking through job listings, if he had to guess. Kristin dons green and white pajamas–Phil has a matching pair–and places a sandwich in front of Tommy, along with a ten dollar bill. Eugh, Dollars. The inferior form of currency.
“Here’s some money to buy yourself lunch. We don’t have anything in the fridge yet, unless you want day-old Chinese?” Kristin asks.
“Nah, I’m good, I’ll just steal from Will. Prime knows if he’ll even notice, he lives off caffeine.”
“You’re not wrong,” Kristin sighs, glancing at her watch. “They’re going to give you your schedule at the front office when you get there. I’ll go with you on the subway since we don’t have a car yet,” She says as she walks around and grabs the ends of his tie.
“Thanks,” Tommy mutters.
“How’re you feeling?” She asks as she absentmindedly crosses the fabric over like she’s done a thousand times.
“Absolutely ecstatic. I have nothing to fear, nope, nothing at all. I am the biggest man ever, and I have no reason to be scared of school. None at all,” He says as his knee starts to bounce.
“You’re terrified, got it.”
“No. Maybe I'm a bit nervous.” Kristin pauses and raises an eyebrow. “Alright, maybe I’m a lot nervous, damn. Can you blame me?”
“No, I can’t. You’ve always been good with making friends, though, so I’m not too worried,” Kristin tightened the tie and tucked it under his jumper. “Let’s go, you don't want to get lost in this city.”
Tommy reached for his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, waiting a few minutes as Kristin changes out of pajamas upstairs. When she returns, he follows her outside, GPS opened on both of their phones. The November air blows against Tommy’s curls, angrily undoing his hard work.
***
He was overwhelmed immediately. Kristin left after dropping him at the front door where other students were standing, all in the same uniform as him. They all had that pretentious look in their eyes, and they reeked of superiority complexes. The stares he feels on the side of his head are nothing less than judgmental.
Suddenly, he felt incredibly out of place with his wrinkled pants and messy hair. Maybe he shouldn’t have tossed his clothes around carelessly, seeing as everyone else had neatly pressed shirts and trousers free of creases.
Sighing heavily, he approached the stairs and stood there, idly waiting for the doors to open. The school—L’Manberg Academy—was huge. Multiple floors, with two buildings each taking up a street, a road dividing them and a bridge closing the distance. The name was plastered above the entrance, alerting anyone and everyone who drives by that this school was a big deal. The glass doors at the top of the steps looked like they led to a front office, and past that was an open space with a few chairs, and a flight of stairs down the middle stretching out into other hallways.
Holy shit.
Tommy fiddled with his sleeve, shifting from foot to foot. He just had to get through today, he’ll get used to it eventually. All he had to do was repeat that to himself and try to believe it. That’s all he had to do. Convince himself that this is a good idea and he won’t fuck it up.
RING
The loud bell shakes the inside of his skull, and Tommy quickly joins the crowd of students walking inside. Tommy approaches the front desk, where a woman with brown hair and a name tag that reads ‘Alyssa’ is sitting.
He waves awkwardly as she looks expectantly at him. “Uh, hey, I’m new, just moved in two days ago, crazy, innit?” He cleared his throat. Primes, this is embarrassing, “I was told I would get my schedule here. . ?”
Alyssa typed quickly on her computer, and turned back to Tommy. “Name?”
“Thomas Craft,” he replied, rocking back and forth on his heels. She nods, typing some more before reaching into a shiny cabinet and handing him a paper. The first thing that stood out to him was the use of Grade 10. Fucking Americans. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, and when Alyssa looked at him weird he just smiled awkwardly.
Alyssa slid another piece of paper over. “This is your locker number, and this is the code. You can go and put your stuff away before the first bell rings for Homeroom.”
Tommy nods, and thanks her. He goes past another set of doors into the open space. He ends up asking multiple people for directions, who all give him weird glances, but he stuffs all his shit into his locker just as the first bell goes off.
The map on the back of the schedule is a struggle to decipher, winding hallways leading to nowhere and empty classrooms. Eventually, he stops in front of the designated room. Horrifically, everyone else has already taken their seats.
Tommy sits in the first open space he spots, drumming his fingers on the desk. The teacher takes attendance, and announces Tommy’s arrival. He’s glad he doesn’t have to say anything himself. He would’ve died right then and there. He uses the few minutes in Homeroom to study the map, and when the second bell rings for his maths class, he’s the first to leave to try and prevent getting lost again.
The classroom for math is on the third floor all the way in the other building, so Tommy rushes across the bridge hurriedly. He almost bumps into a group of boys loitering in the middle of the hallway, all of which decide to curse him out.
He’s panting by the time he finds the right room.
Somehow, everyone else has already taken their seat here as well, save for the professor, who hasn’t yet arrived. Tommy ignores the way his face burns with embarrassment when everyone’s attention diverts to him. The tables are all set into groups of three, and to Tommy’s utter disappointment, they’re all filled except for one in the back, so he heads over.
One of the seats at the table is occupied by a short boy with brown hair, and the other by a freakishly tall one with a mask and glasses covering his face. Tommy hurriedly makes his way into the open seat, promptly ignoring all the stares he’s getting. He glances to the side, watching the short guy scribble sketches into his notebook. Tommy catches a glimpse of—is that a nuke? He decides not to question it.
Short Boy finally takes notice of Tommy, and narrows his eyes at him. “Who the hell are you?”
Tommy bristles at the bluntness of the question. He spits the first thing that comes to mind, “Excuse me? I’ll have you know, you should be delighted to even be in my presence.”
Short Boy paused, “I wasn’t aware of your existence until two seconds ago.”
This kid has some audacity, “Clearly you’ve been living under a rock.”
“I will bite off your kneecaps—“
“Tubbo!” The masked one hits Short Boy’s arm. “What did I say about threatening random people?” They say this as if it’s an everyday occurrence.
“Shank ‘em,” Short Boy said with a wide grin. He got a flat glare in return. “It’s not moral and I shouldn’t do it,” He said dejectedly.
“I’m sorry about him. I’m Ranboo, that’s Tubbo,” He waves awkwardly.
“I’m Tommy,” he eyed them both warily.
“What he was trying to ask, is we haven’t seen you before. You new?” Ranboo asked, clearly giving Tubbo a strained look. Even from behind the mask Tommy could tell.
“Just got in from the U.K two days ago,” Tommy shrugged. Neither of them looked like the type to judge him based on how much his dad made, so he got straight to the point. “Are you two pretentious pricks like everyone else in this damned school? Do I have to worry about that?” He would have to find another place to sit if that’s the case. He’d rather the floor than spoiled rich kids.
Tommy probably shouldn’t have phrased the question like that though, but what can he do now?
“Ew, no,” Tubbo scrunched up his nose. “I thought we were gonna have to worry about you. I’m fantastic, that's how I got in. Passed all the tests with flying colors,” he bragged easily, grinning at Tommy. “Ranboo is a different story, I don’t really know.”
“I’m just along for the ride,” Ranboo gave two thumbs up.
These guys are weird.
“Whatever you say, Ranboob,” Tommy gave him a side glance, twirling his pencil.
“That’s not my name—“
The door to the classroom squeaked open and the professor walked in. She had pink hair like Techno’s, though it differed in length and shade. It was tied back in a small bun, and was faded at the roots, like it hadn’t been redyed in a long time.
“I would like to make a quick announcement before we begin with today’s class,” her voice was gentle, but it carried authority in the way the classroom quieted down and diverted their eyes to her. “Let’s all welcome Thomas Craft, it’s his first day at L’Manberg Academy.”
See, that’s the last thing he wanted. All the attention in the room was pointed towards him, like a stage light illuminating him in a dark auditorium. Tommy swallowed, and raised a hand in greeting.
“My name is Ms. Nihachu, don’t ever be afraid to ask questions if you struggle with any of the material. Now, let’s continue with today’s topics,” She clasped her hands together, reaching for an Expo marker.
Tommy wasn’t that far behind in assignments, considering it was November, but after skimming over the content, he knew he was screwed.
Just being a nepo baby and having a spot bought into the Academy usually wasn’t enough to actually get a spot. Sure, at least half of the students had their parents pay the school to be here, but there were always some that got a full scholarship, or at least some money knocked off their fees. For the scholarship, you had to take entry tests, your past grades were looked into, extracurriculars, everything.
Phil and Kristin made him take the entry test before moving. Reluctantly, Tommy agreed. What more did he have to lose? He had been corralled into Phil’s office, one of the workers from the Academy watching over his shoulder as he did the test.
As if he would try to cheat. He’s not that stupid.
Some of the questions on there had his head spinning. He was stuck on a Shakespeare quote for over half an hour, analyzing the supposed hidden meanings. Fuck hidden meanings, his eyes have those words imprinted on his retina.
The only reason his parents could even afford to get him into this school was because there were a few sections on art and engineering. Tommy knew he got all those correct. He might not be the best when it comes to engineering, but he knew enough to not get worried about the formulas. Art was second nature to him, so there was no problem there.
Easily, seeing three different assignments on calculus didn’t excite him. Didn’t they teach that to Year 12s? (Grade 11 here apparently). Why is he being taught—oh, right. He almost forgot this was a school for geniuses, in which Tommy somehow slipped through the cracks.
A glance around the classroom showed no one else was bothered by the equations on the board. He had his work cut out for him.
For most of the class, he stole answers off Tubbo and bothered Ranboo more. Tommy figured he would latch onto both of them.
They were pretty chill anyways.
Although, Tubbo had a scary amount of knowledge on nuclear bombs. Ranboo would just show Tommy pictures of their cat on their phone. They were simply unbothered.
When Tommy switched classes, he trailed behind Ranboo, letting him lead the way to art class. They were supposed to do a project with clay and the pottery wheel. Tommy’s first attempt at making a vase ended up looking like a melting volcano. Ranboo laughed, and helped him out with the basics.
When Tommy said art was second nature to him, he meant everything but pottery.
Lunch break came by faster than he would have liked.
His money was used to buy a greasy looking pizza, and some fruit from the school lunches. There was nothing grandiose about it, but it was better than the mush they served at his old school. Food was food, and Tommy was hungry.
He was ready to walk off to an empty table, maybe watch a video on his phone, when Tubbo tapped his shoulder.
“You’re Tommy from maths, right?”
“Yeah. You’re Tubbo. You threatened to bite my kneecaps off.”
“I’ll still do it.”
“I’d rather keep my knees, thanks.”
“You wanna sit with us? It’s just me and Ran, and you seem alright.”
He wants to say no. He barely knows these guys, and there’s nothing more embarrassing than sitting there like an idiot while they chat about inside jokes or past shit they’ve done together. There’s a good chance he’s being irrational though. In the short time he’s talked to the pair, they seemed opposed to that kind of stuff.
There’s nothing he’ll lose from saying yes, anyway. At the very least, he won’t look like a loser sitting alone and eating lunch by himself. Tommy shrugs, “Sure.”
“Awesome, c’mon bossman.”
Tommy followed the two over to a table near the corner, and sat across from them. Tommy patted down his pizza with a napkin, deciding to ignore the fact it was drenched in oil.
“You just moved here, right?” Ranboo asks, opening a bag of crisps from their lunch box.
“Mhm, straight from Britain.”
“Why’d you leave?” Tubbo asks, digging his hand into Ranboo’s crisps and tossing them into his mouth. He earns a glare from the other.
“My dad got a job offer over here from a company called Pandora Dynamics, I think,” Tommy replies, taking a bite out of his pizza.
Tubbo gasps, “You’re joking. Your dad works there?” He lights up, crisps forgotten.
“Yeah. What’s so special about it?”
“Y’know, it’s only the most progressive company in the field of genetics. The amount of research and experiments that have been done is life changing! The fuck you mean ‘what’s so special about it,’” Tubbo mocks him in a horribly high-pitched imitation of his voice.
“I take it you’re a fan,” Tommy states after listening to his rant. It’s a bit endearing, honestly. Tubbo would freak out if Tommy told him his uncle works there as well.
“Not really, actually I think he despises it,” Ranboo says dryly.
Tommy snorts, setting his half eaten pizza down on his tray. “My dad just does some paperwork and stuff. My uncle is an engineer there, though. He’s doing the presentation today in science,” He says smugly.
Tubbo gasps, and starts to shake Ranboo’s shoulder excitedly. “Holy shit. You’re officially my best friend now.”
Tommy laughs, doubling over at Ranboo’s look of betrayal sent Tubbo’s way. The other two eventually join in his fit of laughter.
When the giggling dies down—Tommy is the last to stop—they finish with their lunch, chatting aimlessly and comparing schedules. They only have one or two classes alone, which isn’t so bad. Tommy leaves the two to go to his next class. He zones out for most of English, sitting in the back and tuning everyone out. He repeats this with his next class, scribbling down aimless notes on some guy from two hundred years ago while Tubbo—who he thankfully has this class with—tells him the best way to defuse a landmine.
He’s freed when the bell rings, and he returns to the stampede and chaos of the hallways. Tommy makes his way back to the first building and to the third floor. He steps into a pretty large room lined with sinks and tall tables with a black resin material covering the top. He spots his friends at one of the tables, and Tubbo motions him over. Tommy gladly takes a seat next to the brunet, waving to Ranboo as he passes by them.
“Hello, gentlemen!” Tommy greets, setting his school bag on the ground next to them. “We’ve finally reached the class in which I get to brag about having an uncle working at Pandora.”
“You’re incredibly unfunny,” Tubbo pouts.
“That is simply not true.”
“I mean, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“Excuse you I am so fuckin’ funny, you can’t even comprehend my level of comed -”
Ranboo shushes them both as the professor walks in. They give a short speech on what the presentation is on, Tubbo explaining to him they had been on a unit about insect biology, specifically spiders.
Tommy watches Sam walk through the door as the teacher finishes their speech, carrying a large box that looks straight out of a sci-fi movie. When his uncle spots him, he gives Tommy a wide smile, one that he returns happily. Tubbo gapes beside him, looking at Tommy and then at Sam.
“Come on, you didn’t tell me your uncle was the Warden! I’ve read all his works, he’s a genius.”
“The fuc—Warden?”
“That’s what he’s called, dunno why. It’s so badass though.”
“Oh no, you’re fangirling again, Tubs.”
“Fuck you.”
The biology teacher takes a step back, giving the floor to Sam. He clears his throat as the students grow quiet, and the chatter cuts off.
“Hello everyone,” Sam starts, setting down the box thing on the table in the middle. “My name is Sam, and I’m an engineer from Pandora Dynamics. I’m going to guess most of you know what we do, but for those of you that don’t,” Sam flicks the lights off, and the projector opens up to a presentation, “Pandora specializes in genetic research, engineering, and testing.”
Sam clicks the remote, and the presentation switches to the next slide, showing pictures of some colorful spiders and their genetics. “You all probably know why I’m here, so I won’t bore you with the specifics,” small pockets of laughter fill the room. “Pandora has recently started a project on spider experimentations. More specifically, on their genes, which is why I am here today.”
Sam goes on to talk about the effects of various experiments, results on silk and venom enhancements, how different substances affect their web-spinning, and other things involving words Tommy won’t even try to pronounce.
Tommy doodles on the margins of his notebook as Sam goes on about the last bit of the presentation.
“I hope I haven’t lost too many of you to boredom, but I promise, this is the fun part,” Sam stands in front of the white box, and Tommy actually looks at it this time. It’s big, about the size of a small cabinet, a bit larger, stark white, with a heavy handle on the top. There are a few small vents on the sides, as well as a screen and a couple glowing buttons. Sam clicks one of them, and the front of the box retracts with a hiss, revealing the inside, hidden by a glass screen. “These are the results. Feel free to walk up and take a look at them, and at the internship flyers,” Sam cheekily promotes, waving a paper.
In small columns are spiders. Brightly colored spiders the size of Tommy’s palm. Sam motions the students over, and Tubbo is the first one there, nearly tipping over his seat from the haste to see the little arachnids.
“Ah great, now he’s never going to leave,” Ranboo sighs dramatically, walking over as well.
“This is so cool, holy shit!” Tubbo practically has his nose pressed up against the glass. “Look at them!”
Tommy huffs a laugh and joins in on the gawking. His attention is drawn to one of the spiders in the top corner, a pretty red and white one, vaguely reminiscent of a candy cane. It’s a bit larger than a tarantula, with skinny legs and sharp fangs.
Despite how beautiful the spider is, there was something off about it, something that made the hairs on the back of Tommy’s neck stand up.
“Huh, that one’s not supposed to be there,” Sam says from the side. His eyebrows are furrowed.
“What do you mean? It’s a stowaway?”
“Pretty much. Just between you and me, that one wasn’t supposed to leave the lab yet, it’s one of a kind. I’ll probably get told off when I get back, but just as long as nothing happens to it,” Sam huffs a bitter laugh.
“It’s a wrong’un, that’s what. For sneaking away and shit,” Tommy says, leaning close to the glass.
Sam laughs, and he turns to Tubbo who comes up and bombards him with various questions.
Tommy turns back to the other spiders and takes a few notes for the homework. As Biology starts to wrap up, Tommy glances back at the spider in the corner.
It’s gone.
Tommy takes a look around the box, but it just disappeared. There’s a moment where he starts to panic, before spotting it on the floor. His racing heart slows down.
“Bitch,” he mutters, crouching down. “Nearly scared the shit out of me, you could’ve got my uncle fired, prick.” Tommy stretches out a hand as the spider scampers away. It crawls into his palm, and he stands back up. Tommy goes to tap Sam on the shoulder when he feels a sharp pain on the back of his fist.
He yelps, dropping the spider again and hissing in pain. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes as he glares down at the two bites pulsing on his skin. “Fuck,” he groans, cradling his hand.
The spider that fell to the ground proceeds to fucking keel over and die. So much for keeping Sam’s job. Tommy picks it up by one of the skinny legs, and wanders back over to the box, ignoring the nauseous pit in his stomach. The air vent on the side of the case was broken, leaving a hole where Tommy guessed the spider escaped through.
He shoves the bastard back into its little cage before stumbling back to his table and collapsing into his chair.
There’s a weird buzzing in the back of his head, slowing down all of his actions and thoughts. He can barely think, and his wrists start to burn. Now he’s starting to panic. What if the spider is venomous? It could’ve been lethal.
Aw man, Tommy doesn’t want to die.
He thinks he might’ve heard Ranboo call out his name, but he’s pretty sure someone shoved cotton in his ears by how fuzzy everything sounds. Tommy could be underwater for all he knows. Sam waves goodbye, and Tommy just barely processes it enough to wave back, watching his uncle leave.
Class gets dismissed, and he gets ready to go to his next one.
“Tommy?” He can’t quite remember who that is.
“Hello? Are you good, bossman?” There’s a hand waving in front of his face.
“I’m fine, just a bit tired,” Where was he going again?
“I can tell, you look like shit, man.”
“Your face looks like shit,” Right, he has, what was it—Foreign Languages? That’s it.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be A-okay, I’m the biggest man out there, there’s no need to worry, big dubs.”
Tommy leaves the both of them again for his last class. At least that’s what he thinks. He’s not sure. He can’t focus on the board at all because all of the letters mush together and then rearrange. There’s a pounding headache forming behind his eyes, and the bite on his palm is getting really painful. He doesn’t risk a glance, afraid of what he’ll find.
Just as he thinks he might pass out, the bell rings. Everyone else heads for their lockers, so Tommy does the same, following the crowd. His fingers are stiff as he puts the code into the lock, struggling to spin the dial. Tommy shoulders his backpack and closes the locker door. His ears feel delicate, every little noise making him jolt in pain.
“Tommy!” Oh look, it’s Tubbo. He likes Tubbo, he’s nice. Maybe they’ll be friends. “You don’t look too good, you need any help getting home?”
“Nah, my dad is picking me up.”
Tubbo grabs Tommy’s phone and types something on it. His head hurts too much to care.
“Call me and Boo if you need anything, alright? Nice meeting you, Tommy!”
Tommy drags himself out of the prison, making a bee line for his dad’s rental car. He practically wrenches the door open and dives in.
“—ommy?”
“ ‘Ello, Philza,” Tommy drapes an arm over his eyes.
“How was school?”
“Shite.”
There’s a muffled laugh. “That bad?”
“Yeah, maths blows.”
For the rest of the conversation, Tommy answers with one word responses.
He almost cries in relief when they slow down in front of their house, immediately stumbling out, stepping up the stairs which were slick from previous rain, and yanking the door open.
“Hey, Tom—woah. You look half dead.”
“Fuck off, Wimblur.”
“You’re really pale, are you sick?”
“Everyone keeps asking me that. I’m fine.”
Tommy drops his bag next to the door, using the wall as support to get to the stairs. Phil walks through not long after.
“You don’t want lunch, love?”
“I’m alright, Mumza. Not too hungry,” Tommy mutters. He doesn’t take note of the four bewildered stares he gets.
His brain vaguely registers Techno muttering something to Phil.
The stairs are torture. Someone clearly shoved rocks down his shoes from the amount of energy it takes to lift them enough to avoid falling. The doorknob to his room never felt farther.
He collapses into his bed when he manages to practically shove the door open, stripping off his uniform and tossing it onto the chair. It feels like there’s an axe trying to crack his skull open, and he’s sweating profusely despite the thin shirt and shorts he’s changed into. Every little creak in the floorboards or door being opened reaches his ears. He can hear Wilbur cough, the sizzling of Kristin’s pan, a bird hopping around outside, everything. There’s an uncomfortable soreness in his muscles that he only ever got after working out with Techno that one time. He’s pretty sure that’s not a good sign.
Tommy risks a glance at his hand, and almost passes out again at the sight of the swelled bite. It’s the size of a tennis ball, oozing pus and pain.
He could throw up right about now. That wouldn’t be fun, but everything’s spinning. He shoves his other fist into his mouth to avoid losing his lunch.
A loud creak pulls him out of his thoughts, and he shoves his bitten hand under his pillow. Phil walks in, holding a glass of water.
“What the hell—“
“Phil, my man, stop yelling,” Tommy mumbles, a cold palm creeping onto his forehead.
“Yelling? Holy shit, Tommy, you’re burning up,” Phil sets the water down and hastily leaves the room. He returns seconds later with a thermometer in hand, and he places it in Tommy’s mouth.
Tommy makes a face at the cold metal, and Phil winces when he looks at the temperature.
“Nothing life threatening, but you won’t go to school tomorrow if it doesn’t die down.”
“Is there a chance you could whisper, big man? I’m nursing a shit headache right now.”
“Tommy, I—I am whispering.”
“Sure don’t feel like it.”
Phil leaves once again, this time returning with a bottle of Tylenol and a wet rag. The rag is draped across Tommy’s forehead, giving his scorching face a cool moment of relief.
Phil pops open the Tylenol and shakes them into his hand. The rattling of the bottle could have been played through a pair of speakers and Tommy wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
He’s being sat up before he can comprehend what’s happening.
Shit, shit.
Fast as lighting, he snatches the pills out of Phil’s hands and shoves them into his mouth, downing the water, all the while keeping his hand under the pillow.
“Thanks, Dad! I’m really tired, can I go to bed now?” Tommy can hear the pumping of his heart in his ears.
“It’s not even 4:30, mate, are you sure? Is this something worse? Do I have to take you to the ER, because if so I’m going to get your mum before I start panicki-“
“No, no, no, there’s no need for that. It's jet lag. Mhm. Time zones and whatnot.”
“Tommy, we’ve been here for almost three days already. Are you sure? I’m getting Kristin.”
“You’re such a mother hen, Phil. I’m fine, don’t worry.”
That seems to calm down Phil minutely, and apparently enough to back down. “If you say so.”
Tommy lays back down, and Phil runs his hands through his hair a few times. The lights get flicked off, and the door gets closed.
Tommy sighs in relief, promptly passing out
Notes:
Ranboo and Tubbo >>
Still miss my fav duo but life goes on ig
Chapter 3: Does spider venom usually make you buff?
Summary:
The bite should’ve killed Tommy.
But no, here he stands alive and breathing, albeit a little shaken.
A little below his hand was a patch of skin resting on both wrists. Slightly discolored and elevated, a closer look revealed two little holes, one on either side.
Holes in his fucking wrists.
Notes:
I can finally get a decent schedule for updates since my two busiest weeks are over
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The explosion is far away, but the way it rocks the floor, leaving hairline cracks in the streets and bursting anyone’s eardrums that were too close to the site, leaves Tommy feeling as if it were dropped on him.
There’s panic everywhere as sirens start to sound in the distance, men and women dressed in police uniforms guiding terrified civilians towards safety.
Tommy isn’t one of them.
It’s impossible to will his legs into any movement other than slumping against the floor. The world is rapidly collapsing around him, dirt making its way down his nose and into his lungs. It fills them up, ashes burning the tender flesh, turning every gasp into an agonizing ordeal.
I’m too far away, Tommy thinks, as he watches a massive building collapse before him, screams from the dead echoing in his ears. All he can do is watch with desperation as bits of people go flying, indistinguishable from the debris.
An eternity passes before the dust settles, and when it does, the faces amongst the fallen bricks are enough to grant movement back into his limbs. There, in between the bricks is Wilbur.
People run through him, phasing past his torso as if it weren’t really there. None of it bothers him, since all he can care about is his brother’s mangled body. The gravel and dirt scrape Tommy’s knees as he falls at Wilbur’s side, staring into lifeless eyes that should be full of joy and whimsy, blue lips that should be stretched into a smirk as he teases his younger brothers. There’s blood running down the sides of his forehead, and a metal pipe impaled his stomach, keeping Wilbur stuck to the floor.
“No, no, no, wake up, you idiot,” Tommy mutters, hitting the side of Wilbur’s face. He shakes his shoulders, gets running rampant. “Don’t do this to me, Wil!”
The dead eyes of his brother turn to look at Tommy, the joints in his neck cracking as he comes alive. “Why did you leave me here, Toms?” Blood sprays with every word, drenching Tommy’s shirt.
“What?”
“You could’ve saved me, but instead you chose to watch as I die.”
“How was I supposed to know you were here?” Tommy exclaims, his voice trembling. “I tried to help everyone else! I really did, please!” This is his fault, if Tommy had been a bit faster, if he hadn’t frozen up, he might’ve gotten here quick enough.
“You can act like you know everything, like you’re not scared, but I know the truth. You’re a coward, Tommy. You will never be the hero you aspire to be, you’ll just end up hurting everyone else, like you always do,” Wilbur’s eyes come back into focus but they’re not the chocolate Tommy loves, rather a blood red, eviler than Techno’s. His skin stitches itself closed, patches of green weave itself over the charred flesh.
To say Tommy was confused was an understatement. “Wilbur, what are you on about? I’m no hero. I don’t know how to help,” he cried.
“All you are, is a burden. Phil just wants to help you treat him like shit. When I need help you run. You’re a disgrace.”
Wilbur’s face distorts, and now Tommy’s alone in a dark void. Fear courses through his veins, watching as string weaves itself into an intricate web, complicated designs running off into eternity.
First he sees Phil, and then Techno, and then Kristin. All of them are equally lifeless, with different amounts of blood painting their skin. The spider from Sam’s box crawls onto the web behind the alternating faces, it’s the size of a house, red and white flashing with every step it takes.
The faces open their mouths, a chorus of their voices echoing through the dark expanse, overtaking Tommy’s ears until he’s curled up with his hands over them.
“You will never be enough to save everyone.”
***
Tommy wakes with a start, sweat glistening on every part of his body. His breaths come in quick puffs, the faint whispering in his ears stopping as he rubs the sleep and crust from his eyes. Paranoia creeps into his mind, all of his senses dialed up to ten. It takes a few minutes of staring at the ceiling to get rid of the disorienting feeling weighing him down. Even then, Tommy can still see Wilbur’s sneer imprinted on his eyelids.
The thirteen hours of sleep he’d gotten were seemingly enough to bring down his temperature from yesterday—ignoring the nightmare that plagued his dreams. Tommy feels strangely energized, springing up and out of his bed after getting his bearings. Quickly checking his clock shows that it’s a quarter to seven, almost a half hour before his usual wake.
The uniform from the previous day was still clean, so he throws them on, ignoring how he feels the walls watching him.
Tommy doesn’t remember the last time he’d had a nightmare. Usually, they’d spring up after Techno would tell seven year old Tommy a weird Greek myth about ladies with chicken feet and monsters with hundreds of eyes. He’d run to Phil and Kristin’s room, jumping into the bed with them, recounting the scary images with wide eyes and a racing heart, begging for comfort.
As much as the stories got Techno reprimanded, Tommy never stopped listening to them despite how bad they’d affect him. Eventually, he grew out of it, the trips to his parent’s room becoming less and less frequent, until they stopped altogether.
The cause of his most recent night terror was unknown to Tommy, though. If anything, the most relevant thing was the spider, everything else makes him shiver at the thought. Tommy brushed all of that away for another time. He wasn’t ready to dissect exactly what it meant.
It’s at that point he notices the cuffs on his pants are at his shins. They had fit perfectly fine the day before, and the same could be said with his sleeves. This revelation meant either Tommy got taller, or his clothes magically shrunk. It’s not much of an issue since he’ll gladly believe the former if it means he finally surpasses his brothers in height.
A quick glance to the skin on the back of his right hand nearly makes him jump out of his skin. Save for a small scar, any signs of the pus leaking bite was long gone. There were no signs of infection, venom, or life-threatening symptoms.
The bite should’ve killed Tommy.
But no, here he stands alive and breathing, albeit a little shaken.
A little below his hand was a patch of skin resting on both wrists. Slightly discolored and elevated, a closer look revealed two little holes, one on either side.
Holes in his fucking wrists. There was no way Tommy wasn’t still dreaming. Bringing his wrists to be eye-level with him is what suddenly causes a thwip noise, and a white string-like thing shoots out of his arm. Tommy is very tempted to pass out there again. There is a web on his ceiling. Something that came out of Tommy’s wrists, and he’s very sure he couldn’t do that yesterday.
The web is what you’d find woven between two trees, silky and translucent. Tommy goes to bat it away with his pillow, but the string wouldn’t budge, so he decides to use a broom. After some struggling, the web comes apart, and Tommy drops the broom. He runs to the bathroom, clicking the lock in place before staring into the mirror.
As soon as he gets a glimpse of his eyes, he shrieks. It’s nothing drastic, really, just the fact his eyes glow. Honestly, it’s only noticeable if someone decided to stare into his eyes for too long, but it’s there. His canines—still the same size as every other tooth—had been sharpened into knives, with edges that could probably tear through flesh.
Tommy can’t help but think he looks more spider than human. That fucking arachnid probably altered his genes.
As quick as that thought had popped up in his head, his shirt quickly discarded to the floor, looking to see if his guess really is true.
Tommy’s never been the muscular type, that spot was always reserved for Techno. Noodles were more comparable to his arms, thin and flimsy, awkward after quickly being thrown out of proportion. He’d sprouted up like a tree, passing his parents quickly as a twelve year old, and clearly still growing if his uniform had anything to say about that. These quick bursts left him looking more like a twig than a boy, but now, without having done any exercise whatsoever, his arms take on a more defined shape.
It’s nothing close to his brother—who’s built like a fucking tank—but it’s a change that would clearly be seen by anyone who even bothers to notice him.
None of it made sense to Tommy, all he knows is he can shoot webs, has glowy eyes paired with fangs, and somehow developed muscles overnight. It was as if the characters from one of his comics had come alive and taken his place.
Well, if he really thought about it—
Tommy is technically a superhero now. There’s no way to confirm the extent of what his ‘powers’ can do, but who knows, maybe he has, like, super-strength or something. It’s totally plausible considering the speed at which Tommy’s arms grew.
More importantly, how was he supposed to explain this to his parents?
Was he even going to tell them?
Would they still see Tommy and not some monster wearing his skin? He doesn’t look monstrous. The fangs would probably throw some people off though. His family was one problem, but what of the general public? Tommy doesn’t know enough about the American government to make a solid enough case on what they'd do to him if they found out. But if he had to guess, any other power hungry individuals would love to poke and prod Tommy to figure out what was happening to him.
The logical part of Tommy's brain was screaming and yelling that his family would never call him a monster, but he can’t see anything other than Wilbur’s red eyes and his family’s dead bodies. That part is slowly consuming him, and the shrieks die down until they’re nothing but a faint sound muffled by various metaphorical walls.
Would Tommy have to look into his real family’s dead eyes if he told them? The main reason why superheros keep their identities secret is to protect the people they love. Tommy will have to do the same to ensure those events stay in his head. And what better way to protect his family than becoming a vigilante? Maybe now that Tommy is starting to warm up to the city, he might consider saving it too.
It’s settled then.
Seeing as he was already in the bathroom, Tommy throws his shirt back on, quickly going through the monotonous routine, and stepping back into his room. No one else was awake, so he locked the door, and pointed his hand at the wall this time.
Tommy quickly recreated the motion he did earlier, and watched as a web latched itself onto the window. He marveled at the sight, and then pointed it at Henry. The cow came flying towards his arms after the web stuck to his soft fur.
Tommy kept playing around, getting used to the feeling of using his powers, when a loud knock suddenly resounded from the door. The noise caused Tommy to jump, rushing to throw a large hoodie over his uniform as another knock sounded.
“Are you okay, Toms? I came to check up on you,” Phil’s voice carried past the wood.
“I’m just fine!” He wrenched the door open, throwing up jazz hands. “Ta-da, see, all healthy.”
Phil was dressed nicely in his work clothes, a fancy dress shirt and slacks, his hair perfectly groomed and well done. He looked up at his son with furrowed brows. “How did your flu come down so fast? Wha—did you get taller?” His eyes flit between Tommy’s legs, pausing at the pant cuffs that rested at his shins, and the top of his head.
“It seems so, Phil,” Tommy leans on the doorway, a smug grin on his face. “I’m probably taller than Wilbur too.”
Phil shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Are you sure that’s part of your uniform?” He gestured vaguely towards the teal hoodie that was haphazardly thrown on.
Tommy unconsciously tugged at the fabric. “Psh, it’s fine, I’ll take it off at school. I’m just cold,” and as if to further prove this point, he hugs his arms close.
“So, you’re still sick,” Phil states, pressing his hand to Tommy’s forehead, a hand that he quickly bats away.
“I’m fine. Stop fussing, I could literally run to the end of this block and back like ten times, I kid you not. I’m sharp as ever, big man,” which wasn’t an entire lie. All his senses were still working on overdrive, supplying his brain with every bit of information they could reach.
Phil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, but the annoyance fails to hide the fond grin sneaking past the exhaustion. “Let’s make breakfast since your brothers are still asleep,” he says as he walks over to the stairs and goes down. If they were asleep, they probably aren’t anymore from the amount of noise the steps made.
Well, maybe not, since they could literally sleep through a typhoon and a category ten earthquake. And Tommy’s aware those don’t exist.
“Where’s Kristin?”
“She’s checking out the garden outside. It’s like—“
“—the one back home?” Tommy finishes, looking out a window to the back.
Phil nodded. “She’s going to have the time of her life with those plants,” he smiles lovingly at the sight of his wife gently caressing the petals of the flowers previously planted here. Phil opens the fridge and takes out a carton of eggs from when they went to the store the first day, setting them onto the table. “You should help her out, y’know, like you used too.”
Tommy turned the stove on, listening to the sound of the gas igniting, and watching the flame come to life. “I suppose I could. What would we plant, anyway?”
“I think lilies bloom beautifully this time of year, especially the white ones,” Phil passes him a bowl and a few eggs while he takes out a packet of bacon.
“Those are nice. I know Kristin likes those, as well as chrysanthemums,” Tommy said wistfully, recalling when his mother would go on about their meanings and symbolism, while whisking the eggs to scramble them.
“Well then, there you have it.”
“I’ll probably fuck it up though. It’s been a while since I helped out in the garden,” Tommy never truly stopped, per say, but as time went on, he spent less and less of his day outside, neglecting the flowers he swore to grow with his mother.
“You know Kristin doesn’t care. She’ll value your company, even if you uproot her orchids,” Phil said reassuringly, ruffling his hair.
Tommy snorts, passing the eggs over to his dad and watching the pan on the stove sizzle with oil. “Yeah right, I’d be out of there faster than you can even say orchid.”
The crinkling of a package catches Tommy’s attention, and he immediately gets a whiff of the bacon. All his senses go haywire as soon as it reaches his nose, sending alerts to every part of his brain that there is food, imagining the taste and feel of it melting on his tongue. Never before has he ever salivated so much over bacon. It’s a very high chance he eats the entire package himself, so Tommy supposes it’s a side effect from the bite.
Since spiders are like, carnivorous or whatever.
“Throw some extra pieces onto the pan for me, yeah?” Without taking his eyes off the package, Tommy watches as Phil complies, and he might as well be going a bit feral. Phil doesn’t question his son’s strange behavior, rather moving on to make some toast and OJ.
It’s nice.
Tommy sits at the table, resting his head on it and watching his dad walk around doing menial tasks. Neither of them had mentioned or talked about their previous argument, and it seemed like it was going to stay that way. There was a mutual agreement, an understanding that he’s been forgiven.
Arguments weren’t uncommon. Whether it be over the TV controller or moving across the Atlantic, it was usually between the other two, or them and Phil. It was rare for Tommy to argue with his parents, but not impossible. He’s glad he’s been forgiven, he likes little moments like these.
Moments where the sun is barely starting to peek through the blinds and everything is bathed in golds and reds, set aflame and burning in a dance of fall winds and plummeting leaves.
It’s suddenly ruined when Tommy feels a foreign buzz at the back of his head. It’s low, but enough to straighten him up as the hair on his arms stands on its ends. If his senses were going crazy before, now they were devoid of any sanity. He was hyper aware of every movement, and everything seemed to slow down.
Tommy watched everything at half the speed, so he could tell there was a pencil currently flying at him. Without any command, his arm jerks up, closing around the pencil and yanking it right out of the air, seconds before it hits him.
That’s when he turns around, and everything returns to its normal speed. Wilbur is standing at the bottom of the stares, gaping, and in fish themed pajamas.
“What the hell, how’d you catch that without even looking?” He whines, walking over.
“I’m just that good, hate to break it to you, king.”
Tommy receives a flick to the forehead in response. Wilbur plops down at the table next to Tommy, eagerly awaiting his plate of food. “Morning, Philza. Where’s mum?”
“Kristin’s outside. I don’t believe Techno will be joining us till later, will he?” Phil replies, setting coffee down in front of him.
“Nope. He’s as good as gone.”
Phil sighs, shaking his head. “Hurry, Toms. I’ve got to drop you off before I get to work now that my schedule is starting.”
Tommy groans, banging his head softly on the wood for dramatic effect. Yippie, more school. At least he’ll have Tubbo and Ranboo, they’re his only saving grace. Despite how. . .strange they may be, he feels like they could be good friends.
A loud buzz comes from Tommy’s pocket. Two more follow, and he reaches into the pocket of his pants, pulling out his phone. There were four messages from an unknown number. Tommy thought he told all those scammers to fuck off already. He clicks on the banner, opening the first message, and he’s greeted with a little bubble.
Unknown:
Hey Tommy! It’s Tubbo, yes I took ur phone to type me and Ran’s nubmers on it while you were dying I have no regrets
On that thiught, r u feeling better? We were worried man. You looked like shit and u were super pale
We totally understand if ur not coming in today, but a heads up would be nice bossman
Tommy laughs, shooting back a quick reply that he was, in fact, going to school. The plate of food was gone not a minute after it was placed before him, sneaking a few pieces of bacon off of Wilbur’s plate. Even after almost ten pieces and three eggs he was still hungry.
Ignoring the persistence coming from his stomach, Tommy stands up, shouldering his bag.
“What the fuck?” Wilbur sputters, immediately jumping up from his spot at the table. He walks over to Tommy, looking him up and down. “You’re…tall now.”
“It’s called growing, Wil.”
“No, you’re not supposed to get taller than me,” Wilbur puffs his chest up.
“I’m not even taller than you, man!” Tommy’s barely at his chin.
“Yeah, it better stay that way.”
Tommy rolls his eyes, and waves to Kristin as she walks in from the backyard. Phil is quick to follow, igniting the rental and driving off as soon as Tommy’s sat and buckled in.
New York zips past, passing through neighborhoods mixed in with large buildings, the heart of the city looming barely a short drive away. The trees sway back and forth, buildings growing taller as they reach L’Manberg Academy, a sea of blue and grey chattering in front of both sides of the academy, separated only by the road, just like they did the day before.
Tommy stares at the doors, knowing he has to act like nothing happened, subconsciously tugging at the hoodie he was still wearing to hide the unnatural muscles below the fabric. The short cuffs on his pants almost burn his skin, a constant reminder that he’s never going to be the same person he was yesterday.
It’s almost funny how quickly he changed his opinions on his current predicament. All it took was a bite and suddenly he wants to be a vigilante. One could say that’s incredibly self-indulgent, and yeah, Tommy wants the experience of being called a hero, but now as he says goodbye to Phil and steps out the car, he wants to be a hero to help people. People like the two that are approaching him.
“Tommy!” Tubbo lightly slaps his shoulder in greeting, and Tommy responds with a playful punch to the arm.
“You’re not dead!” Ranboo clasps their hands together, nodding solemnly.
“I—uh, no I guess not,” Tommy chuckles. “A little sickness isn’t enough to hurt me, c’mon.”
They walk inside, the loud bell announcing the start of the day. Everything goes well in the first half. Tommy is increasingly paranoid that someone will stare at him for too long and notice something is off, whether it be his eyes or teeth.
While he did manage to survive through most of his classes, he’s been using Tubbo’s pencil for something in science, and when he tried to give it back, it just wouldn’t come off his fingers. Tommy could tug and tug yet it was still futile. He’d gotten weird stares from everyone around him, Tubbo and Ranboo immersed in their own conversation. After he’d managed to calm down was when it finally came loose.
Safe to say, Tommy nearly had a heart attack, but now he knows he’s sticky. Which probably has no usefulness whatsoever so he’s not too excited about it.
During lunch, some prick with a purple hoodie sat at the edge of their table, quietly engrossed in whatever video played on his phone. Despite Tommy’s insistence on kicking the guy out, Ranboo and Tubbo offered him a spot with them.
The guy shrugged, “Fine with me. Are you going to eat that?” He slid into the open seat next to Tommy, pointing at the watery mashed potatoes currently splat across the styrofoam plate.
Skeptically, Tommy pushed his entire plate towards the weirdo. “This shit? Take it all.”
“You seem like the type to have a stick shoved up their ass,” the guy hummed after quickly accepting the tray.
“W-what?” Tommy exclaimed, dumbfounded.
“Y’know what I mean? Pretentiousness and all that crap. I’m Purpled, by the way,” he introduced suddenly, aiming it at the other two at the bench as well.
“How fitting,” Tommy eyed the bright purple hoodie, very clearly not in uniform. Purpled tugged the fabric of the hoodie Tommy wore over his uniform to hide his new developments, getting reprimanded by the staff in the process . He clicked his tongue, “Touchè. I’m Tommy.”
When their break time ended, the three didn’t mind Purpled as much as they did in the beginning.
The pants started to become bothersome when they kept sliding up, forcing Tommy to constantly have to pull them back down, and hold his sleeves like an e-girl so they wouldn’t roll up to his forearms. Tubbo made fun of him for that one.
The day came to an end, and Tommy felt exhausted, the stress of having to constantly be on the lookout for anyone’s peering eyes was starting to get to him, and the pile of homework in his bag didn’t help in the slightest. He was in no mood to sit and finish math equations until his hand cramped and his eyes stopped glowing.
Tommy could feel a routine developing as he sat back down in the rental car.
There’s nothing he hates more than a routine and the boredom that comes with it.
“Hey, mate,” Phil greeted happily.
“Philza, my man, you wouldn’t happen to know where this is? It’s Uncle Sam’s workshop,” Tommy coughed, unsure as he showed Phil the directions sent by Sam previously. He could use a distraction. And a tutor. His uncle would probably be up to it.
“I’ve got no clue, although your mum probably knows,” he replies, dialing Kristin at a red light.
“Hello?” Her voice comes through the muffled speakers.
“Kristin! Tommy was wondering where your brother’s workshop is.”
“Hmm, I’m pretty sure it’s by that produce store, the one with the lemons. Sam’s very fond of it for some reason.”
“Well, where’s the produce store..?”
“Oh! Right!” Kristin read some directions out, and Phil nodded along before bidding his wife goodbye and canceling the call.
The car cruised over to a little building squeezed in between some other stores, in front of a grocery store that read ‘Ponk’s Lemons.’ The workshop itself didn’t stand out much, a garage door was stained with paint, and faint music was playing.
“Is this it?” Tommy asked, fidgeting.
“Seems so,” Phil shrugged, squinting at the directions on his phone.
Tommy huffed, stepping out and walking over to the less conspicuous door, knocking a few times. The door creaks open, and a head of green hair pops out.
“Tommy!” Sam smiles, opening the door all the way, his stance inviting. “I see you took me up on my offer.”
The blond grins, “That’s right, big man, you are stuck with my company for the foreseeable future.”
“Will I need to call for emotional support?”
“Hopefully not.”
Tommy gives Phil a thumbs up after Sam motions him inside, freezing two steps after the threshold. Off to the left is the garage, walls lined with workbenches and various tools are strewn around, placed in a specific order and pattern. To Tommy’s front is a foyer, and beyond that he can see a room that stretches into the main workshop, unfinished projects waiting for the next screw or bolt.
“What’d you think? Took me forever to build it, but it’s better than sharing at Pandora,” Sam chuckles, walking past the foyer and into the next room.
“You built this?” Tommy trails behind, watching as more things come into view. The table in the middle is large and rectangular, not a single open space available. Everything is covered with blueprints and Post-It’s, and if not, pieces of metal or an assortment of miscellaneous tools. A closet opens up into various amounts of fabrics and string, another is closed, a lock placed on the handles.
“Don’t believe I did?”
“No, no, I do. It’s just, wow.”
“That’s a lot of people’s reaction when they see Fran.”
“Who’s that, your girlfriend?”
Sam smirks, flicking a switch on the wall, and a blue hologram displays what looks like a video game menu on the table. Tommy yelps in surprise as a voice speaks up, the monotonous tone filling the room.
“Welcome back, Sam, how may I be of assistance?”
And Tommy thought he couldn’t get cooler.
“Fran, open the latest project’s blueprints,” The hologram quickly opens up to a series of sketches, all showing the same (Terrarium? Tank?) from various angles. “And to answer your question, Fran is named after my dog.”
“Dude, this is sick!” The blond runs over to the table, sticking his nose close to the screen. “What is it?”
“I’m building another enclosure for the enhanced spiders. The one I brought to your school broke, and the spider numbered 1NN1T died because of a faulty vent,” Sam explained, walking over and looking intently at his designs.
Tommy could feel his face burn, instinctually shoving his hands into the pockets of his red hoodie. He suddenly felt so much more aware of all the little things changed about him. “How intriguing,” Tommy laughed nervously. If Sam noticed his shaky tones, he didn’t comment on it. “Why are you telling me this anyway? Isn’t information about Pandora’s experiments kept secret and shit?”
“Most of this project is kept under wraps, I’m just telling you the same crumbs they give the public.”
Tommy nodded along, still paranoid that his uncle will decide to keep eye contact too long and notice the strange glow of his eyes, or think that his teeth look a little off that day. “Can I see it?”
Sam grinned, walking over to the locked closet and pulling out a key from a chain around his neck. The lock clicks and quickly gets tossed aside. The man takes from the shelves a tank that looks very similar to the one from his presentation. It’s clearly still a work in progress, a panel opened to a wiring that’s half-done and most bolts are screwed in halfway. “This one is gonna be reinforced, but I’m just not sure what caused the other to break yet, so be gentle.”
The blond walks over as his uncle sets the thing on the table next to the hologram, asking Fran to pull up another blueprint of the first enclosure next to the new one.“What was the vent system like?” Tommy asked, poking around the new features.
“It was designed to filter the air and control the humidity, pretty much what a normal vent does. I took it apart, no debris or damage to the thermostat, it should’ve been perfect.”
Tommy walked up to Sam’s side, looking up at the hologram with furrowed brows as a million possible scenarios raced through his mind. “D’you think someone tampered with it? Loosened a screw, used a rusty bolt, I dunno.”
“It’s a possibility,” his uncle ran a hand through his green hair, crossing his arms and sighing in frustration. “That would be annoying since I took every precaution to ensure it was safe.”
“You’re thinking of someone, aren’t you, big man?”
Sam winced, “That, my friend, is classified information, but I have a few ideas.”
Tommy sighed, disappointed, but he understood his uncle couldn’t say anything. Pandora is a big company, it would suck if Sam lost his job because of some random teen. “Well shit. How can I help?”
Maybe an hour passed, Tommy’s not sure, but he felt happier in those sixty minutes than any other time the past week. Sam gave him instructions on how to finish the wiring as he worked on the ventilation, absorbing any and all tips he was given.
The blond chattered endlessly about anything and everything, never letting the silence stretch for too long. For a moment he worried that his rambling was annoying his uncle, but he would chime in every now and then, asking random questions or making jokes.
Tommy was enjoying himself.
Which was why when the wires he was soldering started sticking to his fingers did he start to panic.
Of course this has to happen to him now.
He struggled to gently tug it off without alerting Sam—who had moved to the closet to retrieve a few items—but it was simply attached to him. Tommy reached for the pliers at the edge of the table, the enclosure scraping against the wood as he dragged it slightly.
“Tommy? What’s that noise?”
“Nothing's wrong, Sam! I’m fine,” he quickly replied, securing the wire cutters in his left hand.
Shakily, Tommy aimed for the wire that stuck to the pad of his index finger, and he snipped the top of it off. The wire returned to the position it should’ve been in before it glued itself to his hand. A trembling breath he didn’t know he was holding released itself as he successfully navigated another obstacle that came with his superpowers.
That was, until the panel started smoking, coughing up black fumes that quickly stunk up the surrounding air.
What the fuck?
Did he start a fire somehow?
Tommy wildly blew on the smoke, waving a random sheet of metal at it, hoping and praying the smog would eventually come to an end, and it just be a result of a small error.
He just cut one wire for Prime’s sake! Why did it activate the self-destruct response? Tommy quickly shoots a web in the little leak, groaning as little wisps still made their way through the gaps in the strings.
Frantically, he tugged at his golden curls, the sounds of Sam rummaging through his things started to quiet.
Now his uncle will never let him back into the workshop, especially if Tommy destroys the one thing he specifically said to be careful with.
The blond’s hands reached for the panel again, desperately trying to find the cause of the smoke, but as fast as he reached the metal, he quickly retracted his fingers. The metal had grown excruciatingly hot, instantly burning Tommy’s skin.
The smoke had broken against the webbing, and was now releasing more of it.
Tommy swallowed. He had to face the inevitable. With a heavy heart, knowing after this he’d be banned from ever setting foot near the threshold, he yells worriedly, “Sam? I’ve found myself in a bit of a sticky situation here!”
Said man quickly pokes his head out of the closet, and Tommy watches with barely concealed nerves as his eyes widen, and he pushes Tommy towards the door, just as the thing explodes.
Notes:
Purpled!
Chapter 4: Pizza and Puberty
Summary:
“There’s this nice little restaurant nearby we want to check out, and you look like you could do with the extra nutrients,” Wilbur reaches out to pinch his cheeks, quickly retracting his hand as Tommy snaps his jaw at the man’s fingers.
“What’s the catch? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Nothing at all! We just want to have some brotherly bonding over pepperoni.”
Notes:
Andddd chapter four yayy
A bit of a shorter one today but writers block hit hard
Also I’m not sure if I should warn the fact there’s gonna be like jokes abt puberty I think the title itself says enough
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Before Tommy could process what was happening in front of him, a rough hand pushed the blond away, sending him into the previous room. The loud bang that followed filled the workshop with dark smoke, swirling inside and leaking over to where Tommy was lying.
There was a persistent ringing in his ears as Tommy stared up at the roof, holding his vomit down and waiting for everything to stop spinning. He groaned, blinking away the dust that clung to his eyelashes, and sitting up after getting his bearings back. All Tommy’s clothes were covered in various amounts of dirt, including his face and hands. When there was no longer a threat of his lunch resurfacing, he sat up, looking at the workshop still filled with smoke.
It was taking his brain far too long to process what happened, working at half its usual speed. It probably had something to do with the fact he’d been thrown a few meters out, whether by his uncle or the explosion.
Tommy bit his lip nervously, standing with the help of the wall and staring into the dark abyss. Sam hadn’t come out of the room yet, and the blond was starting to get worried. The biggest question was if he had gotten hurt, knowing if he had, it would be on Tommy. If he knew how to control his powers this wouldn’t have happened. The enclosure wouldn’t have blown up, and Sam would probably get to keep his job, knowing how important this project was.
Then he came and fucked it all up.
There was no way he would stand out here like a coward and wait as his uncle suffocated or something after what he caused. Just as Tommy grew the courage to run into the workshop, he spotted a head of green hair stumbling out, waving a sheet of paper around and coughing heavily.
Tommy laughed in relief, seeing that there was only soot staining his face and clothes, embedding itself into the strands of green hair. “Holy shit, you’re okay!” He walks over, unsure of what to do, “I’m so fucking sorry, I shouldn’t have touched it in the first place. I ruined your project that probably took you months to get done, this is all my fau-“
Sam raised a finger, and Tommy immediately clamped his mouth shut, staring at his dirtied sneakers in shame and embarrassment. He braced himself, quickly skimming over his long list of varying lectures and reprimands, but nothing ever came.
“Tommy, stop. I’m not mad, a bit surprised honestly, but never mad. If anything, that just showed the enclosure was unstable and would’ve blown up eventually,” Sam shrugged, ruffling Tommy’s hair.
The blond gaped up at his uncle. “You’re fucking with me.”
No way his uncle was completely fine with the destruction of his enclosure.
Sam laughed, letting his hand fall back to his side, “Nope, in fact I’d be glad if you came by again, I could do with your advice. You’re a bright kid, Tom.”
“What about your workshop?” He gestured over to the doorway.
“Fran, could you turn on the fans and clear out the room?”
“Of course, Sam. Activating fans,”
In no time, the smoke was gone, leaving the air crisp, and making the pieces of the enclosure and the dust on them the only remainder of Tommy’s failure. “I’m not getting banned from here then?”
“No, Tommy,” Sam laughed, “You’re always welcome here.”
Something sparkled in his gold eyes, something Tommy couldn’t place. It had to do with the fact the blond isn’t getting permanently thrown out, but he didn’t want to delve deeper than that. He was scared of what he would find.
Scared of finding someone who actually believes in Tommy, very much unlike everyone else who’s shot him in the head and shouted to stay down.
Despite Sam’s insistence on Tommy going home, his guilty conscience parks his feet right where they are, and he helps clean up as his own little ‘thank you’. With the small amount of time they have left afterwards, Tommy reluctantly asked his uncle for help on his homework, sitting back at the table while getting calculus explained by the man.
Far too soon, Phil called and said he was coming to pick up Tommy, the time already reading 8:30 PM. All his papers were shoved into his school bag before he stood by the door with Sam, waiting for the familiar rental car.
“What’s going to happen with the enclosure now?” Tommy asked, bringing their conversation back to the topic after largely talking around it.
“Well,” Sam started, crossing his arms, “I’ll have to inform the company, which won’t be great, but I’ll get sent new equipment and parts to start on the next one.”
The blond nodded, glancing at his uncle. “You’re sure I’m not gonna end up getting you fired?”
Despite the mountain of reassurances given by Sam, Tommy is still worried. It wouldn’t be the first time he fuck things up with someone—cough, Phil, cough—and he doesn’t want a repeat if he can avoid it. His uncle doesn’t seem like the type to find himself in those arguments or situations, but even so, Tommy will take his precautions.
“I’m too valuable to fire,” Sam grinned, not elaborating on the subject.
Tommy wanted to keep pressing the issue, but then a grey car rolled into park in front of the workshop. After exchanging their goodbyes, Tommy made his way into the passenger seat, greeting Phil.
“Did you roll around in ashes? What happened to your clothes?” Phil asked, bewildered.
“Long story. It was nothing bad, don’t get all worried and shit, I just accidentally blew something up,” Tommy gave his father the most innocent look, one which quickly fell apart, giving way to his barely concealed mischief.
“Dear Prime, you’re a fucking gremlin,” Phil pinched the bridge of his nose, barely giving a second glance before driving off.
***
It usually gets to a point where overexposure to blue light damages your eyes, leading to disruption of the sleep cycle and overall bad health in the long run.
Tommy knows this because he spent the last five days trapped in the cage that was once his room, nose pressed up against his computer screen while endlessly scrolling through multiple articles about spiders and everything he needs to know about the species. He would consider himself an expert, almost. A master, in the terms of the arachnid.
While this prison was self-inflicted, that doesn’t stop him from endlessly complaining about the headaches and eye strain.
After filtering through all his findings, Tommy has come to the conclusion that he is pretty much a spider. He has sticky hands—those which he guesses could probably stick to walls, although he hasn’t tried it yet—webs that fly out of his wrists, some form of super-strength, slight night vision, and a stronger need for protein. Which explains the bacon.
Not only that, Tommy had begun to design his vigilante suit. The blond can’t help but feel a little bit giddy at the thought that, yes, Tommy is a superhero now.
Well, in the making.
All the discarded designs overflowing his trash can and spilling onto the floor are enough evidence to display how far along his progress is. It would be a bit stupid to just have one of those suits with his name plastered on the chest, or use one of those silly domino masks that very clearly display what the person looks like, just minus the eyes.
That always confused Tommy. Simply because the eyes were covered meant the identity of said person was protected? Maybe he just doesn’t grasp how the process of identifying a person works, or maybe plot armor was simply the backbone of every comic he’s ever read.
Eventually, the blond settled on the theme of spiders. Shocking. Since he pretty much is one, why not design his suit after it? The idea of the suit itself was something that covered all of Tommy, probably one of those full body suits with a mask that slipped over his face, two eye holes that moved along with his expression, and any design and color scheme he could come up with.
That’s where he’s stuck.
Nothing stood out to him, despite everything he tried.
The circles under Tommy’s eyes have sunken into his face, sleepless nights from his never ending frustration talking a toll on his overall appearance. Energy drink cans have begun to form their own collection, piling up into a corner until the blond gets up from his desk and throws them out.
It wasn’t that bad. It’s not like he’s obsessed, he simply wants to have more information.
Clearly his family don’t feel the same way.
Both his brothers had hovered over him any time Tommy leaves his room, asking why he’s been holed up there so much, and why. Tommy just curses at them in hopes to get them to back off, but they’re a pair of nosy bastards that don’t know what’s good for them.
He found Wilbur snooping in his room once, the sketchbook open just three feet away, before he had shoved his brother out of the room, surprisingly easily. Tommy thanks his new muscles for that.
Wilbur just gives him a knowing look, strutting off before Tommy can throw any more swears at the man.
Techno was just as bad, accusing Tommy of being a vampire at breakfast and following him around with a cross in hand after lunch.
The cross got chucked against the wall.
Not a day later did Techno walk into his room unannounced, and opened the blinds with much more force than necessary, grabbing hold of Tommy like a kitten by the back of his collar, and then held him in front of the sun’s rays. Tommy struggled against his grip, but eventually went limp. There was no use fighting Techno, his strength didn’t get him that far.
When nothing happened, Tommy gave him an unimpressed look. “Are you satisfied, prick?”
“I’ll be watchin’ you,” was all his brother said, setting down the blond before walking out backwards.
Safe to say, his family was going insane.
Now he sat at his desk, feet propped up onto the corner as he scribbled more ideas into his sketchbook. The blond eventually sighed heavily, throwing his pen at the cup he used to store his pencils—and missing terribly—before yawning. The endless scrapping of ideas and cycle of coming up with something already thrown into the pile was getting annoying. Tommy was tired of this dilemma, and decided to just put a pin in it. He shuts his sketchbook and leaves it for tomorrow.
He leaves his room, snatching up a towel and making his way over to the bathroom, before a head of brown hair popped into his vision.
“Tommy! Toms, my little brother, what’s up?” Wilbur grinned, an underlying intention clearly present.
Tommy narrowed his eyes at his brother, suspicion immediately taking root in his conscience. “What do you want?” he asks apprehensively, taking a step back, but colliding with a wall. He turns around, and doesn’t find a wall, but rather Techno.
“Pshh, I can’t greet my favorite brother anymore?” Wilbur pouts. Techno opened his mouth in silent indignation, probably about to utter a dry comment from his large repertoire before Tommy cuts him off.
“So now I’m your favorite, uh huh, totally. Not like you only say that when you need my money.”
“You’re broke, there’s nothin’ to take,” Techno raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve got plenty of cash, fuck off,” he was tempted to reach into his wallet and flaunt the large amount of dollar bills he acquired from Phil, but held back, since he is just so humble it’s insane. “Anyways, this feels like a trap.”
“What? No way, what could’ve possibly given you that idea?” Techno remarks, sarcasm dripping from his words.
“Y’know, I’m not an idiot,” Tommy scoffs.
Wilbur sighed, drawing Tommy’s attention back to him. “Point taken, anyway, we just wanted to see if you were up for some pizza!” Wilbur exclaimed.
“…Pizza? You wanna buy me food?” Tommy was still doubtful, remembering the last time Wilbur offered to buy him anything, which ended up with Tommy owing him at least twelve favors after he got accused of stealing Techno’s lunch and then getting defended by the same man who pinned the theft on him.
“Yup,” Techno nodded.
“There’s this nice little restaurant nearby we want to check out, and you look like you could do with the extra nutrients,” Wilbur reaches out to pinch his cheeks, quickly retracting his hand as Tommy snaps his jaw at the man’s fingers.
“What’s the catch? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Nothing at all! We just want to have some brotherly bonding over pepperoni.”
The mention of pepperoni made Tommy immediately straighten up. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to accept the other’s offer. Free food was very tempting, especially with his newfound preferences.
“Alright then,” Tommy shrugged.
“Wonderful! We’ll leave in about ten minutes,” Wilbur grinned, before walking off.
The blond returned to his original goal, showering quickly before going back to his room and shutting the door with a towel around his waist. Before anything else, he logged out of his computer and stuffed his sketchbook deep into his cabinet under various other papers and notebooks. Then, he locked it, not risking anything when it came to his alter-ego. Even though the chances of Phil or Kristin snooping through his stuff while he was gone was literally zero, Tommy was fairly paranoid, so it gave him some semblance of comfort.
After that, he rummaged through his room for clothes, and closest to him were some jeans and a grey hoodie that he quickly changed into. With a thwip, he shot a web over to his favorite pair of worn down red sneakers and pulled them into his lap, slipping them on and tying the shoelaces, grinning at the simple use of his powers.
When he was already halfway out the room, he was still nervous, so he went back inside and double checked that the cabinet was locked, while at that moment Techno passed by, giving him a strange look. Tommy cleared his throat, bouncing up to his feet, and following the other man out.
He noticed with satisfaction they were now eye-level. Yeah, Tommy’s been knowing this since his spontaneous growth spurt but it just feels so great to not have to crane his neck at Wilbur or Techno.
At the doorway the other was already there, scrolling on his phone. As the two approached, he pocketed the device, opening the door.
“We’re walking?” Tommy asked, surprised.
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little exercise,” Techno teased.
Tommy scoffed, “No, I’m scared you two dumbasses will get us lost,” he gestured to the unknown streets that surrounded them.
“I’m a human GPS, that’s physically impossible,” Techno said as the three began walking down the sidewalk.
“What he means is I have Google Maps open and ready,” Wilbur tapped on the stupid off-brand digital watch he bought at Walmart for five dollars and his soul from one of those shady vendors. It blinded Tommy’s eyes with the disgustingly bright cyan and teal color palette.
“Whatever, I still have the way memorized.”
“That is so unnecessary."
Surprisingly, they don’t end up lost, instead after an indefinite amount of time they end up on this nice block with cool shops and whatnot. It takes another ten minutes to actually find the restaurant, but before Tommy knows it, they’re standing in front of one of those old fashioned diners, color-schemed in a cherry red with a loopy sign flashing ‘Puffy’s Pizzeria’ over the door.
The three walk inside, taking in the nice atmosphere and waiting to be taken to a table. As they sit on one of the benches, Tommy spots a familiar face.
“Tubbo?” He exclaims suddenly, ignoring as both his brothers jump in surprise.
The one addressed looks up for whoever shouted his name, and Tommy waves his arm up in the air. “Tommy!” The other smiles and he makes his way to where he is. “What’re you doing here?”
“I think I might get food, although that's impossible since this place clearly isn’t a restaurant.”
Tubbo rolls his eyes, “Hilarious.”
“No but seriously, what’re you doing here?”
“Oh, my aunt is Puffy, the owner,” Tubbo says casually as if he isn’t related to the woman who made this place.
“So you just hang out here?”
“I guess so, it’s a pretty chill place, unless you get seated near the bar, then it’s just old men yelling at whatever game is playing on the screens.”
“Uh, thanks for the warning I guess. Oh! Also, these two are my brothers, I might’ve mentioned them, not sure. Wilbur, and Techno,” he pointed at them respectively.
“Hello, Tommy’s brothers,” Tubbo greeted, getting two ‘hi’s’ in response. “Anyway, I’m gonna go back to doing my homework before Puffy gets back. It was nice seeing you!”
And just like that, he returned to the table overflowing with papers, leaving Tommy to wait for a seat.
“He seems nice,” Techno said after a moment of silence.
“Well, he threatened to bite my kneecaps off when we first met but he’s okay,” Tommy didn’t mention how Tubbo was very quickly becoming a good friend of his.
Soon, they were sat at a nice booth near the window by their waiter, the menus placed in a neat pile before them. Tommy sat across the other two, relishing in the extra space he used as a foot rest.
He quickly decided on the one with the most toppings that featured any form of pork or beef, and a soda, giving his order to the waiter. After setting down the menu, he jumped up in surprise to see his brothers staring at him intently.
He gulped, “Uh, is there somethin’ on my face?”
“What? Oh, no,” Will quickly waved it away, “How are you, Tom? You’ve been locked in your room a lot more than usual, and well, I hate to say it, but we’re worried.”
There it is. That’s the catch. The whole point of this little outing was to interrogate Tommy—quite bluntly if he had anything to say about it—because they were a pair of nosy assholes.
“Nothin’ just doing schoolwork, the usual,” Was all Tommy said, shrugging.
“So that means you’re pulling all-nighters a week into your new school? Either they're overworking their students or it’s something else,” Techno said.
Tommy was starting to panic, and he could feel his hands sticking to the surface of the table. This was not the time. He forced himself to breathe, closing his eyes for a second to calm his racing heart, and he felt his hands unlatch from their spot. “Well, I just wanted to catch up,” he laughed nervously. “It's early November anyways, and school started a few months ago.”
They both eyed him with suspicion, but the conversation was dropped momentarily. Silence stretched on, and Tommy didn’t know what subject to bring up or talk about. He didn’t really feel like asking Wilbur how job hunting was going, or if Techno got into the college he enrolled in, but he did so anyway, because he’s so kind and considerate.
“So, are you employed yet?” Tommy asked as the waiter set down their drinks, immediately taking a sip of the fizzy soda.
Wilbur shrugged, “I’ve got a few interviews lined up. There’s not many jobs I can find with a bachelor’s in computer science for some reason.”
Tommy nodded along as if he understood. “That sounds like a skill issue.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m just stating the obvious.”
“He’s got a bit of a point—“ Techno started, hiding a small smile.
“Don’t say a single thing, Technoblade,” Wilbur raised his finger and shoved it in the other’s face, closing his eyes. “You’re still in college, you youngin.”
“Oh come on, don’t be sayin’ you’re so much better than me because you graduated in June.”
The table got quiet again and Tommy groaned inwardly. All his attempts at conversation quickly fizzled out, so he just opted to look around, and zone out while waiting for their food.
It wasn’t the first time he had spent alone in his room. A few years back he had a pretty big project in his old school that kept him up for two consecutive days before he fell asleep on the floor. That time he didn’t get taken out for pizza so why is today any different?
Eventually, their food did arrive. Wilbur and Techno had gotten a pizza to share amongst themselves, but Tommy had gotten one for himself. As soon as the tray was set in front of him, he didn’t bother to wait for the steam to stop coming from the slice, before taking a large bite, eating two slices before his brothers even took a bite of their first.
“I-Is that all for you?” Wilbur’s flabbergasted face expression met Tommy’s, who still had a large amount of food in his mouth and opted to nod instead of spraying pepperoni chunks across the table.
“You were right about one thing, Will, he definitely needed the food,” Techno mumbled, giving Tommy a slightly disgusted look before digging into his piece.
After a moment of chewing, Tommy finally swallowed the food in his mouth and slowed down his pace. He gladly won’t throw up from overeating, even if he feels perfectly fine and completely able to finish the rest of the pie. “What can I say, I’m a growing boy.”
“Right. Hormones and shit,” Wilbur laughed.
“Exactly.”
“Little puberty boy,” He coos,“ That explains your growth spurts,” his brother teased, making Techno snort at his side.
“Ew, do not fucking call me that,” Tommy said disgustingly.
“Aww, little Tommy’s experiencing his first mood swings, get a load of this Tech,” Will hit the other man’s shoulder.
“I’d rather not. . .I’m good,” Techno grimaces.
Wilbur rolled his eyes, turning back to Tommy and asking, “Is that why you’ve been in your room for so long?”
“What?” Tommy took a second to process, and then immediately shook his head, “No! Definitely not because of that!” Tommy covers his face, digging the palm of his hand into his eyes and going red. “No, no, no, none of that, please let’s drive this conversation into another fucking direction.”
They both laughed at him, and Tommy groaned in annoyance. Pricks.
They do end up talking about other things, and Tommy hates to admit it, but he had fun. The pizza was delicious, and it was the first time in a few months he simply hung out with his brothers.
Most of the time they were busy with university, or their part-time job—in Techno’s case it was fencing nationals—and they usually didn’t go out as the three of them often. Tommy understood, they were adults now and shouldn’t be obliged to hang out with a fifteen year old because he was lonely. Still, he was glad they were doing this again.
It’s still a lot better than dealing with Wilbur in his rebellious phase. Tommy was barely nine but he remembers the screaming matches he had with Phil. They were quite funny, considering they were over the stupidest things, even if he struggled to sleep some of the time.
Their plates were cleared, Techno raising a hand to ask for the check.
After putting together a few dollar bills, the two paid, and Tommy smiled to himself as he knew he had at least a ten he could’ve offered. Tommy waved to his friend as they walked out, Tubbo returning the gesture with just as much fervor.
Outside, the sun was starting to set, casting long shadows behind them, and bathing the sky in hues of orange and pink. The weather was starting to dip lower, and the blond was glad he brought his hoodie, fall was in full swing and showing itself in the evening temperatures.
They pass by a street near Ponk’s Lemons, and Tommy starts wondering if Sam is in his workshop. He could use his input with the designs, as well as the fabric that was laying around in the corner of the room. Sam probably wouldn’t mind if Tommy used it, especially since it was for the greater good and all that jazz.
“Hey Will, do you think you could get me to this grocery store nearby?”
***
There was a room to the side of the main workshop Tommy was in right now, and that room contained everything someone could need to make a surplus of clothes, complete with a sewing machine, and various other little pieces Tommy had no idea what they were used for.
It was surprising Sam had all this in the first place, considering his line of work, but maybe he just liked fashion. Tommy shouldn’t put it past him, although the room looked like it hadn't been used in a long time.
A rainbow of fabrics were stored in neat rolls on one of the walls, ranging from different textures and material to that metal-esque stuff you use for things like armor.
Tommy didn’t think he should’ve touched it, considering there was barely any left, but he remembered it was an option in a dire situation.
Wilbur and Techno had dropped Tommy off, not without taking a quick look around first. They said they’d be back in maybe an hour, and set off in the other direction, already heading into another conversation.
Sam was, in fact, not at the workshop, so the blond had no way of getting in. He only realized after jingling the doorknob and knocking ten times, he probably should’ve called to see if he was there.
“Fuck,” he had muttered, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his contacts. His uncle had sent him directions to the workshop somehow, and lo and behold, near the bottom was the name that read Sam. Why didn’t he call before? Because Tommy’s an idiot.
After a short call, Sam had been more than okay with letting Tommy into the workshop, guiding him to a small crevice in the wall where he had hidden a set of keys. The blond gratefully told his uncle goodbye, and walked into the building, ending the call and pocketing the device.
Now, he has a piece of paper in front of him he found from a printer, covered in designs and drawings. Tommy finally settled on something he was happy with, taking a lot of what was around him as inspiration. That’s what he was probably missing, something that reminded him how his powers came to be.
The spider that bit him was red, he very well remembers that, with accents of white on its legs and abdomen. He’s modeled the suit after it, making the primary color a fiery red, and on the chest a white spiderweb branching out. The calves and forearms are just white, the pads of his finger though a thinner red fabric, hopefully making it easier to stick. The mask will have the same red and white pattern, the eyes being a white lens with a mechanism that will help it follow along with Tommy’s expressions.
Of course, this is still all on paper.
It sort of looks like a candy cane, which is why Tommy decided that he’ll probably layer some clothes over the bodysuit, not wanting to look like he belongs on a shelf in Michael’s or like one of those peppermints they offer you after a movie.
Even if his suit look really fucking good.
With a rough sketch at the ready, Tommy started with the weirdly difficult process of measuring himself. In a drawer there was a sea of measuring tapes, all of which the blond had no idea how to use. He never sewed, Phil occasionally did, but never had he made anyone a full shirt, so measuring anyone was unnecessary.
Tommy groaned in annoyance, playing a video on his phone to understand what he needed to measure.
It probably would’ve been easier if he had someone to help him, but that was simply out of the question.
When he finished struggling more than the average person did, he wrote down the last measurement for his foot, and started looking through fabrics. It would probably be best to get something like what they used for wrestling, and from what Tommy could tell, they worked perfectly fine.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy spotted a red fabric in a small section labeled Carbon Fibre. The blond happily skipped over and tested the material, stretching it in his hands and testing the durability.
It was perfect.
Not only that, but it was far from empty, meaning Sam probably wouldn’t even notice it was gone. Tommy took what he needed from the roll, setting it on the floor and grabbing a pencil. He breathed in, drawing the first line and started on the suit, clenching his teeth with a hope that it didn’t come out wrong or too small.
More than once did he need to redraw a line, or throw out a small piece he messed up. But it would be worth it when he wore the finished product for the first time.
Far too soon, Wilbur calls, forcing Tommy to quickly put away everything he used, frantically looking around for a place to stash the fabric as the phone rang.
The one time he doesn’t bring his backpack.
Eventually, he decides to go into the bathroom and shove it into the cabinet beneath the sink, praying Sam won’t need to take a shit anytime he’s at the workshop.
“Hello?” Tommy clears his throat, answering the incoming call.
“Hey Toms, I’m outside, Phil said it was getting late, so here I am,” his brother says, unimpressed.
Tommy snorts, “You don’t sound too happy to be here.”
“Well, yeah, he interrupted my show.”
“Boo hoo, bitch,” Tommy grins, making his way over to the door.
“Has anyone ever called you insufferable? I feel like you need more people to tell you that.”
“You’re just a hater, Will, I’m gonna dab on the haters.”
“Please never say that again.”
Tommy wheezes, stepping outside the workshop and locking the door behind him, hiding the keys back in their little crevice, before walking to the car Wilbur was in.
Notes:
I’m lowkey craving pizza now
Some nice brotherly bonding moments love to see it
Chapter 5: Patrolling is a lot harder than it seems
Summary:
“Wonderful night out today, isn’t it fellas?” The blond pitched his voice down a few octaves, grinning under his mask as the attackers jump, whirling around to stare at Tommy.
“Who the fuck are you?” The guy holding the knife scoffs, bringing up his blade to point it at the vigilante.
“I’m the guy that’s about to beat your ass,” Tommy raised both his hands up in mock surrender.
Notes:
Early update whoop whoop
Not really that early but you get the gist :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There aren’t many things that can prepare a person to be a ‘superhero,’ and Tommy’s realizing this now, sitting in his room with the pieces of his suit on the floor. During the entire process of getting his powers and drawing up designs, he was almost excited. Seeing the red and white spread across his room, it’s almost like he’s finally processing this reality.
A pit in his stomach starts to form, a deep void reminding him of all the danger he’ll face.
Tommy could die.
That revelation doesn’t help his nerves whatsoever. Instead it makes his hands shake as they manually sew the pieces together, puncturing holes in his already heavily bandaged fingers. He had swiftly gone through a box of Phil’s bandaids, making a mental note to restock the next time he goes to the store.
The previous day, Tommy managed to go back to the workshop with his backpack, locking himself in the bathroom while Sam hummed to himself and organized some new parts that came in. The intense feeling of relief Tommy felt when he opened the cabinet and found the suit right where he shoved it was impossible to explain, laughing from the joy.
Not a second was wasted storing it in his backpack and inconspicuously walking back out, a huge weight coming off his shoulders after finally getting it back. After getting back to his room it got hidden in his little cabinet along with the sketchbook. It was quickly becoming a sort of safe for the blond, being the only thing on his desk he could lock.
So, instead of spending days researching, Tommy used the last twelve hours to work on his suit, struggling with his half-assed skills and the thin needle that managed to poke Tommy more than the fabric. The string he was using was that kevlar shit he found stored on the wall across the rolls. Apparently the stuff was super strong, so it was thrown into the bag as well when Sam’s back was turned.
He was starting to feel bad about blatantly stealing from his uncle, using the man’s trust to take what he needed made Tommy’s guilt worse.
Eventually, he’ll confess all of this to his family, so when that happens he’ll scrape a few dollars together to restock what he took, and profoundly apologize to his uncle.
Drawing his attention back to the task at hand, he holds up the finished arm, and slides the sleeve on to test its durability. The carbon fiber hugged his arm in a way that wasn’t suffocating, but Tommy knew it would mostly keep him protected from scrapes and hits. It wasn’t that hard to move in it, but he did worry about chaffing, writing down a little note to figure out a solution to that later.
Tommy places the sleeve back on the floor, moving on the right arm. He sighed deeply, not entirely looking forward to the next twelve hours, knowing he’d gain even more injuries to his poor, battered hands. Maybe if he begged Kristin enough she’d buy him one of those starter machines that parents buy their seven year olds, especially because those looked easier to figure out. Although Sam does have one, it’s old and looks like it was never touched by him.
The main problem would be figuring out how to use it. All the little knobs and levers that changed the pattern or the speed confused the blond terribly. At this point the only thing that kept him functioning were tutorial videos, and thank Prime for those.
Then came the mask.
It was the first thing Tommy worked on, getting it done before any other part of the suit. He added support on the inside so it didn’t just look like a glorified ski mask, and made the lenses with some spare parts that were lying around. He was very proud of his handiwork, and maybe he stared at himself in the mirror while practicing snarky comments to give criminals, but nobody needed to know that.
The issue of the eyes moving along with his expression was still a work in progress, but he had some ideas on how to start it, which meant more trips to Sam and more questions asked. He really hoped his uncle wouldn’t ask why Tommy needed to know that specific information, but that would be a miracle, considering that one of the biggest traits needed for his job was a natural curiosity. More importantly, Tommy hoped Sam won’t eventually get tired of his nephew using all his resources and just hanging around.
Again, it was irrational, especially after the plethora of reassurances he received. Tommy had half a mind to believe his paranoia was a side effect from the bite, consuming him even if Sam was so sure he wouldn’t suddenly kick him out.
All Tommy wanted was to test out his powers in the city. He hadn’t really gotten a chance yet, especially with all he had going on, getting used to the new school, making up with Phil, going to Sam, researching. Outside of some educated guesses and what he saw the day after he got bit, Tommy barely knew what he could do.
Just because his suit wasn’t finished didn’t mean he couldn't swing around and find out.It would be a bit risky, but if he found some old red and white clothes, he could easily slip on the mask and go for a spin. No one would be none the wiser, and when he eventually makes his debut with the finished suit, it would match the color scheme, and wouldn’t seem like some brash rebranding.
He eyed his dresser, and decided after dinner he would ‘turn in early,’ and sneak out to the roof. From there, well, he didn’t have much of a plan for anything farther ahead. All he needed was to test out his powers, and that could be done quickly.
Hopefully.
Tommy stood up from the floor, stretching and hearing his bones pop as his legs recovered from the pins and needles that rendered them numb. He hid the fabric back inside the cabinet, tossing all his sketches and string in there as well before locking it.
True to his word, the blond headed downstairs and into the kitchen, watching Kristin and Wilbur in the process of making lunch. By making lunch, he means Kristin doing all the work and occasionally asking the man for the salt or a knife. Wilbur can’t cook for shit, and Tommy won’t even remotely trust any dish made predominantly by him.
Only will he eat from a plate handed to him by Techno, Phil, or his mother. Wilbur is banned from being in the kitchen. Techno can only cook potatoes, anything else is off the table, but he’d rather eat hash browns every day than the symbiote Wilbur would hand him and call a cheese toastie.
The chair at the dining table screeched as he sat down, announcing his arrival to the other two.
“There you are! I was starting to wonder if you got kidnapped by how long you’ve been in your room,” Kristin smiled.
“I haven’t been abducted yet, don’t get too excited,” Tommy laid his head on his arms, the cold wood hard under his chin.
“That day can’t come any slower,” Will butted in, leaning against the counter, narrowing his eyes at Tommy’s heavily bandaged hands, but didn’t comment on it.
“Fuck you, bitch.”
“Maybe it’ll get you out of the house more.”
“Sod off, I go outside plenty.” That was a blatant lie, and the blond knew very well he’d spent all day in his room the past week.
“Name two places you’ve been to in the past week. Puffy’s and school don’t count,” Wilbur challenged, grinning evilly.
Tommy sat up, ticking places off on his fingers. “Well, I went to Sam’s workshop last Thursday, and then again on Tuesday…” he trailed off, gulping as he realized he'd only been to his uncle’s place during his time in New York.
“See what I mean?” Wilbur walked over, sitting down next to his brother and ruffling his hair.
“At least I’m being productive, Mr. Unemployed,” the blond raised his eyebrows.
“I told you I had interviews!” Wilbur sputtered indignantly. It was true, his brother did have possible jobs on the line, but while he didn’t have any source of income, Tommy was glad to tease him.
“Uh huh, and how did those interviews go? Where’s the paycheck?”
“That’s not how it—you know what. I’m not even going to indulge you,” the man leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
“You know I’m right,” Tommy snickered, flicking his brother’s forehead, who quickly reached for him in return.
Tommy yelped, ducking out of the way and standing up. Wilbur lunged for the blond, who then ran into the kitchen and hid behind Kristin, sticking out his tongue at the other.
“Are you five or fifteen?” The man asked.
“I’m financially stable, unlike you.”
“You don’t even have a job! Phil and Kristin provide for your ass!”
“Exactly. I’m a child, you're a full blown adult, be ashamed of yourself.”
“You’re only a child when it suits you! What happened to ‘I’m a big man, don’t call me a child!’” He pitched his voice up horribly to try and mimic the blond.
“That’s incredibly offensive to me, I do not sound like that.”
“Boys,” they both got a pointed look from their mother, and Tommy raised his hands in defense, smiling innocently.
“Tommy started it,” Wilbur pointed at his brother.
“That is simply not true. I’m an angel,” Tommy looked up at Kristin with wide eyes, and batted his eyelashes.
She rolled her eyes. “Get out of my kitchen before you make a mess,” she said fondly, shooing her sons away.
Not much time passed before Techno came home after touring the university he applied to, quickly going to help out Kristin. He was actually given a task, unlike the brunette that sits next to Tommy on the couch, scrolling through the channels on the tv. They watch a few episodes of a random show he picks, it was very dramatic and a bit pretentious, but Wilbur looked enthralled at the screaming matches going on between the characters.
When the blond smelt the food being placed on the table, he stood up and made a bee-line for his seat. He stared at the potatoes in front of him. Of course, he thought, glancing at Techno as he took his seat, very clearly having given himself a larger portion.
Phil joined them, and Tommy made quick work of his food, shoveling it all into his mouth in record times, before putting it in the sink and turning to his family. “I’m going to bed early, m’really tired,” he threw a yawn in there for good measure. “Don’t bother checking up on me.”
A few bewildered looks were shared at the table, those that Tommy ignored.
With that settled, he bolted to his room, locking the door just in case, and taking his mask out of its hiding spot. Inside his dresser he found a really old hoodie that was red with white at the forearms, and some shorts of the same light shade. It was going to be cold, considering it was almost mid-November, but he didn’t want to risk getting his clothes recognized.
Afterwards he dug up an old pair of shoes, ones that fit him a little tight—why did he bring them during the move? They’re like four years old—but he was sure everyone had forgotten about them.
Lastly, he set up pillows under his duvet, which wouldn’t fool anyone that got too close, but his door was locked anyway, so it was simply to comfort his paranoia. Pocketing the mask, Tommy walked over to his window.
It was now or never.
He took a deep breath, clicking the hatch to unlock the window, and heaved up the glass, feeling a rush of cool air instantly hit his face. Tommy stuck his head out, turning around to look up at the roof and maneuvering his hand over to the bricks. Some of his fingers stuck to the wall, and that seemed enough to hold him up. His other hand joined its pair, and Tommy pushed his foot up to the sill, half dangling out of the window.
Using that foot to balance himself, his other one stepped onto the outside. Shaking the last of his nerves out of his system, Tommy pushed off the frame, and began to climb up. He laughed, a mix of fear and incredulity.
He did it!
Carefully, he crawls up the side, nearly getting a heart attack when he loses his footing and slides down a few feet. He takes a minute to compose himself, and then continues, grabbing onto the ledge of the roof, and pulling himself up, falling onto it safely. Tommy’s chest heaved, barely having done anything but already winded. It was mostly the adrenaline coursing through his veins making him breathe so deeply, but he still grinned to himself.
The sky was cloudy that night, the last remnants of the sun leaving over the horizon as the moon began to hang above the stars, casting its light onto the roads and buildings, bathing everything in silver.
After standing up, he pulls his mask over his head, tugging the hood up as well. The house isn’t too far from the towering skyscrapers in the distance, many buildings from which he could swing, but when he peered over the edge, the fall seemed, weirdly enough, too small. Tommy felt like his feet would hit the ground before his webs would stick, so he decided to find a taller building.
Saying goodbye to his house, Tommy jumped from one rooftop to the next, needing to pull himself up as the jumps got wider and taller. Slowly but surely, he was starting to get into the height he felt comfortable swinging from.
There was a decently tall building in front of him, and Tommy decided that was the one. He jumped, soaring through the air before violently hitting the bricks, his hands immediately sticking to it and giving the blond time to pull himself up.
Cars raced passed in the streets below, honking loudly and reminding Tommy he wasn’t alone, there were eyes everywhere. His legs had turned to jello, especially as he took shaky steps towards the edge, half of his feet hanging over into the air. Taking a deep breath, Tommy prepared himself best he could, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to imagine what he’d look like if he missed.
Despite how excited he’d acted, Tommy was terrified.
But he shoved down the fear that threatened to consume him, refusing to back down. He wasn’t a coward, so instead of rethinking all of his decisions up to that point, he tipped forward and shot off of the ledge with his feet.
The wind rushed past his ears, blowing his gold hair in every direction and biting his skin. It was as if the world had stopped spinning, just for Tommy to relish in the moments he spent in the sky. But that moment was short-lived, especially when he felt himself start to fall again, spinning and tumbling down towards the street.
“Ah, shit. Please work, please work,” Tommy whispered quietly, aiming his wrist towards the next building that towered over him menacingly. Both his middle and ring finger bent, and Tommy heard the familiar thwip!
The web shot out, flying at full speed towards the skyscraper, and just when Tommy thought he was going to go splat on the ground, the silk stuck to a window, and Tommy was forcefully yanked back up.
Again and again, Tommy repeated the process, weaving through the sea of concrete and metal, whooping out of pure relief. People below were pointing and staring, taking pictures with their phones as the blond zipped past, taking a few moments to point at some of the cameras and wink.
Not like they could see it yet, but it made him feel cool.
With one final swing, Tommy lands on top of another skyscraper, heaving, but smiling nonetheless. He pulled his hood tighter over his head, and decided to take a look around.
He might as well solve some crime while looking really fucking cool.
Thwip!
Tommy swings through the alleys, scoping out the streets and being on a sharp lookout for anything out of the ordinary. His ears jerked to the side—something that never happened to him before—and he hears some shouting coming from a distance a normal person wouldn’t have picked up. Following the sounds of the scuffle, he finds himself perched atop an alley.
Down below, a guy that looked bald was being cornered by two other men, both shrouded in dark clothing, one of them holding a blade that glinted in the streetlight, hidden from their victim’s view. The bald guy was clutching an expensive looking camera to his chest, an angry expression distorting his features.
“Back the hell up, dude, I will smack you across the face,” his loud voice booms, but the volume doesn’t hide the obvious shakiness that betrays his strong facade.
Tommy decides that’s his moment to intervene, and drops down quietly behind the two muggers. He holds up a finger to his mouth, signaling for the man to stay quiet. “Wonderful night out today, isn’t it fellas?” The blond pitched his voice down a few octaves, grinning under his mask as the attackers jump, whirling around to stare at Tommy.
“Who the fuck are you?” The guy holding the knife scoffs, bringing up his blade to point it at the vigilante.
“I’m the guy that’s about to beat your ass,” Tommy raised both his hands up in mock surrender.
The guy on the left glances at the knife holder, and bursts out laughing. “Get a load of this cosplayer,” he jabs a finger towards the blond, “Comic-con is down the street, asshole.”
Well that was rude.
Maybe Tommy could’ve used a more intimidating line, but he’s new to the whole thing, cut him some slack, damn.
“Looks like you lot also got lost on the way there, seeing as you’re both dressed up as much more intimidating men,” Tommy spat, raising both his fists in a defensive stance, mimicking what Techno would do in spars.
“Just stab the other guy, I’ve got this wannabe-hero,” Lefty growls.
Lefty lunges for Tommy, who ducks the incoming punch, and feels his fist just inches from his mask. He shoots a web at the other guy, yanking him back just as he raised the knife towards the photographer.
The mugger shrieks in surprise, “What the fuck?” He tugs at the webbing, but Tommy kicks the knife man away. It takes all his attention, so he can’t block Lefty, who comes in from behind, barreling into the blond and shoving him onto the floor.
“Freak!” He yells as he elbows Tommy’s face.
Tommy yelps, feeling the floor assault his back, and rolling out of the way so as to not get trampled by Lefty, who was aiming to give him another blow to the face. Just as he thought he crawled out of his vicinity, he gets his ribs cracked by the sheer force of which his accomplice kicks his chest, sending him back down onto his back.
“Ooh, that’s gonna bruise,” he groans, springing up in time to dodge another stomp. Lefty throws a punch at Tommy’s face, not giving him a second to regain his bearings.
The blond feels his nose crack, head snapping to the side with the force of the hit. He shouts in pain, shooting a web at the guy's feet while holding his ribs as he stumbles a few feet back. There’s definitely blood soaking his mask now. Not a second later he’s ducking to avoid a kick from Lefty, who’s coming at him full force.
One time when he had watched one of Techno’s tournaments, during a little break they had, his brother was having a friendly spar with an opponent, exchanging friendly blows while ignoring most of the rules that came with boxing to just have a little fun. A kick that should’ve knocked Techno out was quickly dodged by him, who then proceeded to grab onto his opponent's foot, pulling them forward to then punch their chest, leaving them in a heap on the floor.
Tommy reacted before he could think, grabbing Lefty’s leg, and elbowing his chest with much more force than he remembered he had. Lefty was staring up at the sky, clearly dazed and hurt. Tommy turned to the other, who was still struggling in his webs, and Tommy proceeded to shoot more, pretty much cocooning him, and doing the same with Lefty.
His muscles twitched, and they involuntarily clenched up when Tommy noticed the dent left behind in the ground by the mugger’s body. The blond pretended not to notice the blood left behind by the two, instead focusing on the photographer, who was still cowering in a corner.
After catching his breath, Tommy walked over to him. “Are you good, man?”
“Fucking hell, I just saw my life flash before my eyes,” the bald guy laughed nervously. He looked like he could be early twenties, reminding him of Professor Nihachu or Techno, a unique pair of glasses sitting on his nose, one lense red and the other blue. Upon further inspection, he had turned out to not be bald, rather having a really short buzz. A lanyard hung around his neck, the tag reading some company’s name in loopy handwriting. “Why did you help me? You had no reason to. Who even are you?”
That was a good question. Tommy hadn’t gotten around to making an alias for himself, so he froze, his eyes darting around. He was a spider, good place to start, he supposed, but just naming himself ‘The Spider’ sounded stupid.
Spider…Spider something.
That’s when his eyes lit up.
“I didn’t want to leave you to get shanked by those guys.”
“What, you want money or something?” He looked at Tommy skeptically, worry clearly instilled on his face.
“Nah, I’m not doing this for money, I’m just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” Tommy grinned, feeling satisfied with how the name rolled off his tongue. He gave the guy a two finger salute, shooting a web up to the buildings, and swinging away.
But not without hearing the shutter of a camera, and the guy’s gasp of bewilderment.
***
Tommy was a little too proud of the line he came up with, happy with the name Spider-Man and what it meant for his alter ego.
Swinging away, the blond felt his nose shift, and nearly fell out of the sky in surprise. He made a stop at a building, lifting up his mask a bit to feel around the damage. He had stopped bleeding, and it seemed his body was moving the bones back into their normal positions. The same could not be said for his ribs, however, which Tommy could feel his body struggling with, apparently prioritizing his nose over his bruised chest.
This seemed like another affect from the bite, because in no way did he have the ability to heal that quick in the past. It didn’t seem like it could get rid of his bruising for some reason, so he’d have to hide that from his family.
Shaking his head, he decided to take one last look around before calling it a night.
A few more times he had to warn a few civilians about some creep that was following them, or stop a group of criminals from breaking into random shops, webbing them up and leaving them all with a note from ‘Spider-Man.’
Most of the time he left them in a pile by the curb, not bothering to call the police himself, unsure of what they think of vigilantes, and simply leaving them there for someone else to dial dispatch.
As he scouted atop a building, he came across Professor Nihachu, who was apparently walking home, and had a suspicious car tailing her. He dropped down, careful not to scare his math teacher, and offered to walk her the rest of the way, pointing out the weird car. She looked a bit wary at first, but eventually let Tommy walk with her.
Just like the man from before, she asked, “Why are you doing this?”
“Well, I want to help,” was what Tommy answered with, shrugging and swinging his arms.
“You’re very brave,” Nihachu said. She looked at him with a mixture of worry and concern.
“No, I’m…” Tommy wasn’t brave. From the start of his time here, he wanted nothing to do with this city. He wanted to hate it for as long as he lived here, but that was simply Tommy being close-minded. The mask he wears is a way to give, because despite how ass the streets smell and the many underlying problems that come with any city, he’s for the people.
Tommy is for the people that are simply trying to live in a safer place, because he knows what it’s like to live in fear. To count every bill with Kristin out of worry they wouldn’t have enough that week. Helping out Phil for some extra cash for better food.
He doesn’t deserve these powers, so using them to help is a way to repay his own guilt for being so judgmental.
“I’m just doing what I think is right,” Tommy muttered, looking at his hands as if they held the secret to his moral dilemma.
“Not many people would go out and risk their lives like you’re doing, though. I’d say that counts as bravery,” Nihachu raises an eyebrow.
“I—well, you got me there.”
She looked at him, furrowing her brows. “You sound…young. You’re not an adult, are you?”
Tommy’s eyes widened. How did she come to that conclusion? “What? No, no, no, I’m of age, believe me, I’m a man,” Tommy pitches down his voice, trying to frantically salvage his situation.
Nihachu laughs, “Don’t overwork yourself, kid,” she ignores his attempts to change her mind. “Be careful, Spider-Man,” she pats Tommy’s shoulder, walking into her apartment building.
“Fuck,” Tommy whispered, kicking a nearby rock. How could he have been so stupid as to not try and change his voice? Professor Nihachu probably won’t go around speculating what his age is, but that’s one more person with a clue to his identity than there should be.
With a lot on his mind, Tommy decides to call his patrol there, the moon that hangs above his head telling him it’s time to turn in. Sighing, he aims his wrist to the side of a building.
Thwip!
Tommy zones out on the way home, replaying the day’s events in his mind. The fight with the two muggers had left him with more than one injury, despite how easy the blond thought it would be. He clearly needs better technique if he wants to hold his own against criminals.
Techno could probably teach him, but it would be a bit suspicious if the second Spider-Man debuts Tommy is asking his brother to teach him how to fight. Techno isn’t an idiot, he’ll figure it out the second Tommy lets something
“Wonderful night out today, isn’t it fellas?” The blond pitched his voice down a few octaves, grinning under his mask as the attackers jump, whirling around to stare at Tommy.
“Who the fuck are you?” The guy holding the knife scoffs, bringing up his blade to point it at the vigilante.
“I’m the guy that’s about to beat your ass,” Tommy raised both his hands up in mock surrender.
slip, and that’s too risky.
The next best thing is to, once again, look up tutorials online. Tommy is starting to grow a bit dependent on them. Eventually, he would need to get someone to teach him, theory only does so much, so he’ll wait until a few months have passed so until he could ask Tech.
Thinking back to the fight, he remembers the camera the guy was carrying. It looked like a good model, the ones people bought when they were serious about taking pictures, but didn’t want to spend too much money on a professional one. The guy didn’t seem like his hobby was photography, so Tommy took his next best guess.
A journalist, perhaps? Maybe he was a vlogger looking to find good content.
Either way, he had a picture of Tommy, one which was probably going to be circling the media the next day if he knew anything about society.
It could be a good thing, that people were finding out they had someone on their side, or it could totally backfire and Tommy could get hunted like a witch from the sixteen hundreds. He would gladly not have to run from crazed civilians carrying pitchforks and torches. Guns would be a more fitting weapon, but he doesn’t want to think about the damage they’d cause him.
The regenerative abilities he recently found out he possessed might not be all that powerful. How would they hold against a bullet? More importantly, how much could they take before Tommy succumbed to death?
That wasn’t something he wanted to test out, however. He was more than happy to stay far from the brink of death for as long as his career lasted.
The streets start to grow familiar, and Tommy could see his house in the distance. Navigating through the concrete maze, he landed a few roofs away, slipping his blood-stained mask off and tucking it into his pocket, hopping over the gaps in between houses.
The neighborhood is desolate, quiet as it reaches midnight and curtains are drawn, only faint lights giving clues to life. Closer to the city, it’s probably still bustling with life, the neon colors and stark white street lamps alerting visitors it would stay awake all night long.
Carefully, Tommy lowered himself down the wall and into his room, shutting the window behind him, and collapsing onto his bed.
Despite how he’d gladly knock out right there, Tommy could feel the dried crimson flaking on his face, his raw knuckles pulsing uncomfortably after taking so many hits. He also wanted to take a look at his ribs, so with a groan, he snuck into the bathroom, having little trouble traversing the dark hallways.
Everyone else was already asleep.
Notes:
If you didn’t catch it the guy Tommy saved was Jack Manifold the token journalist here at Pandora
Chapter 6: Great Expectations
Summary:
“Oh yeah? What are your thoughts on this Spider-Man guy?”
Techno shrugged, humming in response. “I don’t know yet, honestly. We don’t know his intentions.”
“Exactly why he should be investigated!” Wilbur makes his presence known as he makes his way down the stairs, milling over to the living room and standing behind the couch. “He could be dangerous, especially if he’s just running around in the streets at night playing cops and robbers.”
Notes:
New word count record woo hoo!
I was so locked in for this chapter I’m pretty happy with how it turned out
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Tommy went downstairs for breakfast the next morning, he immediately saw that the TV was on and switched to the news channel. It was displaying the blurry photo of Spider-Man, with the anchor apparently interviewing the journalist he saved.
Tommy was right to guess that…Jack Manifold was an intern photographer for some random news outlet. The man’s familiar blue and red glasses were perched on his nose as he animatedly talked about his encounter.
However, the interview was short lived, and not a minute passed after Tommy had walked down until the reporter bid Jack goodbye, and started talking about the public opinions of Spider-Man.
“Tech, could you turn that up?” Tommy rushed over to the living room, hopping over the couch and settling down next to his brother, who had already reached for the remote and raised the volume.
On the left of the screen there was what looked like a poll, numbers currently divided down the middle in terms of approval.
“Almost every channel is covering this,” Techno grumbled, leaning back onto the couch.
The blond raised an eyebrow, tuning out the TV for a moment. “Oh yeah? What are your thoughts on this Spider-Man guy?”
Techno shrugged, humming in response. “I don’t know yet, honestly. We don’t know his intentions.”
“Exactly why he should be investigated!” Wilbur makes his presence known as he makes his way down the stairs, milling over to the living room and standing behind the couch. “He could be dangerous, especially if he’s just running around in the streets at night playing cops and robbers.”
Tommy felt his face burn. He should’ve known this was coming. Despite Techno being the logical of the two, he always had a more understanding view of things. Wilbur, on the other hand, will not change his opinion on anything once it’s stuck in his head.
“You don’t like him?” The blond asks.
“Tommy, he either has really advanced technology that lets him swing around like that, or fucking superpowers. We don’t know what it is. He could level the whole city for all we know!” Wilbur scoffed, crossing his arms and looking at Tommy incredulously.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“‘Spider-Man,’” Wilbur makes air quotes around the name, “could be some criminal—which he is if he labels himself as a vigilante.”
“But he saved the journalist,” Tommy sputters angrily, gesturing to the TV.
“Don’t be so gullible. Why are you defending the guy anyway?”
“Because you don’t consider the fact that maybe he has good intentions!” Tommy snaps.
Techno clicks off the TV. “You both gotta chill the fuck out, it’s just some person wearing a mask. Probably some publicity stunt.”
“You’re taking Tommy’s side? Seriously Techno? Of all people—“
“I did not say I was taking sides.“
“—you’d be the last person I would expect.”
“Dude, why are you so mad? Did Spider-Man spit in your coffee or something?” Techno turns around to face his brother, Tommy nodding along with his statement.
“No, I just think he’s dangerous!”
Honestly, Tommy can see why Wilbur would think that his alter-ego has nefarious motives, but he doesn’t see why his brother would get so worked up about it. He’s starting to think he blacked out and did in fact shit in his food last night.
“Who’s dangerous?” Phil, having heard the arguing, walks in from the kitchen, an apron tied around his waist, and his sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
“The vigilante—“ Techno starts.
“Criminal!” Wilbur butts in.
“—that popped up last night.”
“I think he’s cool,” Phil shrugged, leaning against the doorway. Tommy immediately forgets any past disagreements and decides Phil is his favorite parent because of that.
“No!” Wilbur groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “You won’t be saying that when we get blown up or something!”
“Just shush and come eat, no more Spider-Man talk for now,” Phil shakes his head, presumably walking back into the kitchen.
Tommy happily follows, glad to leave the tense atmosphere brought on by his brother. It’s off-putting hearing his family unknowingly talk and criticize him, and even if it does some good, he’s not in the best mood to hear about Wilbur’s conspiracies at seven in the morning.
The brunette still grumbles under his breath as they eat, muttering something about getting ready for an interview before getting up and leaving. Tommy rolls his eyes, eating the last bit of his egg before placing the dish in the sink, and following Phil outside into the car.
Phil tries to turn on the radio station, but instead he’s just met with a repeat of the living room with most of them talking about Tommy’s alter-ego. He settles on a station that’s playing shitty pop music. Tommy stared out the window, resting his forehead against the cool glass and watching as the city zipped past, every second getting closer to the academy.
That begged the question, how would it be at school? Tommy’s sure that the photo Jack took was already circulating through media, and anyone with access to a phone will know about it. It's sure to be a topic of discussion, and Tommy isn’t sure how he’s going to process that.
The car rolls up to L’Manberg far too soon, and the blond wants nothing more than to sink into his seat and pass away. Hearing Wilbur indirectly accuse him of being a terrorist was bad enough, a whole school however?
With shaky hands, he says goodbye to Phil, and opens the car door, stepping out and shutting it behind him.
Immediately he feels like the chatter is too much for his ears, the buzz of the various voices louder than they should be. A wave has crashed over Tommy, pulling his head underwater and grabbing at his ankles that are frantically trying to swim towards the surface. Tommy is drowning, he can’t breathe, he can’t see anything past the middle navy and gray that clouds his vision and
It reminds Tommy of when he got bit, and when he was suddenly able to hear everything in a ten mile radius.
The blond fights his way through the crowd, itching to cover his ears and curl up in a ball. Tommy can’t think, his thoughts small compared to the conversations roaring in his ears. They all share the same navy jumper from the uniform, which makes it all the more harder to find his friends, shoving past random people who give him dirty looks.
Tommy needs to get out.
He can already start to feel his chest constricting and his breaths becoming shallower in the struggle to get air in his lungs. Suddenly he feels the metallic taste of blood fill his mouth, and he realizes he’s been chewing on the inside of his cheek, spinning in frantic circles.
Before Tommy feels like he’s going to pass out, he spots Ranboo and Purpled sitting on the stairs in front of the school doors, and practically sprints to them.
“Hey, Tomm—whoa dude are you okay?” Ranboo looks at Tommy in worry, standing up as the blond struggles to breath, leaning slightly on their shoulder.
“No, I-” Tommy holds his chest, clenching his eyes closed.
The blond felt a hand grab his wrist, gently pulling it down from where it had wandered up into his hair and was tugging harshly on the strands. Opening an eye he sees Purpled looking at him with furrowed brows. “Look at me, Thomas, you gotta breathe, dude.”
“I-I can’t,” Tommy pries his eyes open, staring into Purpled’s magenta. He feels Ranboo’s arm steady him, and he slowly lets his clenched fist relax, and lets it fall back down to his side.
Eventually, he feels his breaths start to mimic Purpled’s, slowly feeling his mind clear and his chest rise in its normal pattern.
“Drink some water, here,” he hands Tommy a closed bottle, one which he gratefully accepts and downs it in one go. He sits down on the steps, Ranboo and Purpled on either side of him.
He's safe now.
“Sorry,” he mutters after a while, fidgeting with the cap of the bottle. “It’s a tad bit loud, isn’t it?” He laughs weakly.
“Don’t apologize, we understand,” Ranboo gives the other a pointed look, and Purpled jumps.
“Yeah, totally,” Purpled nods along.
Tommy smiles, “Prick.” The blond shakes his head, "Where's Tubster, anyway?” He quickly changes the subject, clearing his throat awkwardly.
If his friends notice the sudden change in topic, they don’t comment on it. “He’s probably going to be late,” Ranboo shrugged, at which Tommy snickered.
“Again?”
“Yup,” Ranboo confirmed, a smile tugging at their lips.
The blond rolled his eyes, and he started talking about whatever that came to his mind, temporarily forgetting his worries that came with Spider-Man.
It seemed like an eternity would pass before the doors opened, and everyone started to filter in. Tommy and the other two hung back, waiting for most of the crowd to leave, something that he was very grateful for. However, there was still no sign of Tubbo, and Tommy was getting worried.
There was no buzz coming from his phone, so he hadn’t texted anything about being absent. Tommy chooses to ignore this, and instead follows his friends through the door, walking over to his locker and shoving his school bag into it.
It’s nothing to worry about.
So Tommy shoves this worry down, and walks to his Homeroom. If anything was wrong, he’d probably feel The Sense in the back of his head, the one that apparently warns him of imminent danger.
Although it was weirdly absent on his patrol last night.
Again, Tommy ignores that concern and simply tells his friends he’ll see them soon, and then shoves his fists into his pockets. The hallways are easier to traverse than the struggle outside, and Tommy isn’t on the verge of a fucking panic attack this time, which is a huge win. The Homeroom professor isn’t there yet when Tommy arrives, so the blond takes a seat in his usual place, pulling out his phone like everyone else in the class.
Attendance is taken when the teacher finally arrives, and then they’re off to the next class at the sound of the bell. He finds Ranboo on the way to maths, and they walk together. It’s much easier to tag along with them than to test his luck again with the shitty map.
The first thing Tommy notices when he opens the classroom door, is Tubbo’s messy mop of brown hair. Almost instantly, it’s as if a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulder, seeing his friend alive and well in front of them. Everything’s fine.
“Tubbo?” Tommy calls out, and they walk over, each taking a seat next to him.
“Hey, bossman,” Tubbo gives the blond a grin, leaning back in his chair.
“Uh huh, where have you been?” Ranboo asks, looking incredulously at the other.
Tubbo sucks in a breath through his teeth, "Yeah…so like I slept through all my alarms, I am guaranteed death when Puffy gets home from work. It was nice knowing you guys, I’ll see you on the other side.”
Tommy rolls his eyes, “What were you doing that made you that tired?”
Tubbo shrugged, “The usual.”
“That’s really insightful, man, thanks.”
“It’s a secret!” Tubbo grins.
“Should I remind you of your last ‘secret,’ Tubbo?” Ranboo raises an eyebrow.
“That was a one time thing!”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
Tubbo huffs, crossing his arms and sinking further into his chair. Tommy snickers, and flicks his forehead.
“Dude I’ll cut your finger off—oh!” The brunette sits up, ignoring the way Tommy had quickly taken his finger out of the danger zone. “How’d I forget? Did you guys see the news this morning?” He was practically buzzing with energy.
Yeah Tommy watched the news, he was the news. But Tubbo didn’t need to know that, so he just nodded.
Tubbo continued, “So you saw the Spider-Man guy then, right? A whole superhero in New York! Isn’t that so awesome?”
“Slow your roll, Tubs, we don’t know anything about him,” Ranboo said apprehensively, reminding Tommy of Wilbur’s paranoia from that morning.
He groaned internally, mentally preparing himself for any accusations of the sort. Ranboo doesn’t seem like the type to immediately call Spider-Man a criminal, but then again, he’s only known them for a little more than a week.
“Yeah, but he literally saved that reporter and a bunch of other people, and he walked Professor Nihachu to her house!” Tubbo gestured to the empty desk at the front of the classroom.
“I don’t know…What are the odds this rando shows up overnight and starts fighting crime?”
“Clearly high, since he’s doing it,” Tubbo scoffs.
“Ranboo makes good points, but all he’s done so far is good, so I don’t see why you should worry yet,” Tommy butts in. It’s a very strange experience talking about himself in the third person.
“But what if-“
“Shh. No more negativity, Boo,” Tubbo pats their shoulder, giving them a sympathetic look. Ranboo sputters, but doesn’t get a chance to retort before Professor Nihachu walks in.
Tommy tunes out most of the lesson, because a lot of it was spent with his classmates bombarding poor Nihachu with questions about last night. The blond started to feel bad when he noticed the way she clearly wasn’t a fan of the attention, but at least she isn’t kidnapped or something.
In hushed tones, the two to his right are still discussing whether or not Spider-Man will descend chaos upon the city, and the only thing Tommy is glad about is that Ranboo at least has the decency to not flat out call him a criminal.
Unlike some.
Some which the blond will not name.
Needless to say, the time moved at an alarmingly slow pace, so Tommy was glad to be free from the clutches of calculus.
There was a pattern starting to form. Well, not a pattern, but a common theme among the conversation to Tommy’s peers. Almost all—if not all—chatter was surrounding the recent news headlines, and the blond can’t help but feel a bit smug. He wasn’t even working at his full power with the suit and what not, so knowing he’s already had this much of an impact is empowering, to say the least.
Obviously, this stuff isn’t getting to his head or whatever, but he can’t help but feel his ego inflate just a little more than it was.
That’ll simply do wonders for his confidence.
Art is a bore. Ranboo doesn’t bother bringing up the subject of Tommy’s alter-ego again, and simply focuses on his project, mixing paints together and throwing them onto his canvas. Tommy does the same, feeling rather calm as he paints brushstroke after brushstroke.
Despite wanting to die the entire time from hearing his teacher's droning voice, Tommy won’t forget how close he holds art to his chest. It has its own little spot near his heart.
Tubbo invited Purpled into their science group at lunch break. Tommy can’t decide whether he’s glad they have another pair of hands, or just about ready to throw Purpled out the window himself. So what the guy helped him not pass out earlier that day?
Tommy’s moved on, he’s made peace with it.
Instead, he just glares at the back of Tubbo’s head, imagining how his canned peaches would stick and knot into his brown curls if he threw them at him.
English and History? A breeze, Tommy tunes out whatever is happening in favor of just mindlessly copying the notes from the board. He’ll look through them later.
When he walks into science and sees they have a lab to do that day, Tommy was glad to have something to pull him from his boredom. There were some vials and beakers set up on the desk at the front of the classroom filled with various chemicals. From the sound of it, their professor was in the closet, rummaging for something.
The blond takes a seat in between Tubbo and Purpled at their desk, Ranboo in the corner fiddling with a sticky-note.
“Hey, fellas,” Tommy greets, setting his notebook and pencils on the table.
“What’s up,” Tubbo responds, leaning his head on his hand and doodling on his paper. His eyes are downcast, and there’s a slight furrow to his brow. If Tommy had to guess, he would say the teen looked…sad?
“Uh, is he okay?” Tommy asks Purpled.
“We’re doing something that involves chemicals, Tubbo is permanently banned from ever participating in these labs again since freshman year science,” Purpled replies.
“I didn’t even hurt anyone!” Tubbo whines, banging his forehead softly on the table.
“You almost melted a girl’s arm off,” Ranboo said incredulously.
“She was in the way of my genius,” Tubbo persisted, gesturing wildly with his hands.
“Wonderful, let’s make sure you stay far, far away from anything explosive, yeah?” Purpled looked at the other warily.
Tubbo groaned, “Once! I do something once and now I’m banished to the corner,” he mutters.
Every group gets handed their respective vials, and given very explicit instructions on how to go about using the chemicals. It was a titration lab, with an unknown substance and all that jazz. Ranboo was pulling on their goggles, as well as checking the paper they were given to fill out as they went through the process. After the lab was over, they needed to fill out a report and write down how everything worked.
The standard things.
“Alright, bitches, what do I pour first?” Tommy held the beaker in one hand and the thin vial in the other.
“You put that,” Ranboo quickly points at the flask with the clear liquid in it, holding a hand out under it cautiously, “onto the little platform there.”
Tommy hums, doing as instructed while Purpled fidgets with the clamp. “Uh, huh, what next?”
“The titrant!” Tubbo calls from the corner of the table. Tommy jumps at Tubbo’s sudden outburst as he grabs the pipette and holds it over the flask.
“Yeah…the little vial, just don’t pour it too quickly,” Ranboo rolls their eyes at Tubbo.
The blond can feel his fingers stick to the vial, and his eyes widen.
No, no, no, not now! He thinks frantically, I had this under control!
“Y’know, you’re supposed to let go after you put it there, Thomas,” Purled raises an eyebrow, looking at Tommy skeptically.
“That’s what I'm doing, Violet,” Tommy spits, shaking his fingers frantically.
“Let go then!”
There’s a twitch in Tommy’s shoulder, faint enough he almost doesn’t notice, but then his muscles spasm, and suddenly there’s glass everywhere. The contents of the vial spill over Tommy’s hands and into the flask, turning it an alarming shade of pink. Ranboo and Purpled jump away, and Tommy groans, reaching for the flask. Instead, he knocks it over and lets it spill all over the desk.
“Aw, fuck, I’m sorry,” Tommy mutters, walking over to the counter at the back wall to grab a roll of paper, when a web startles him, shooting towards the ceiling. Tommy’s eyes widened, and he feels his chest constrict again with barely concealed panic, because if anyone in the fucking room turned around, they would see the blond using the exact same powers as Spider-Man. And that would not be good at all.
Nope, they would immediately know Tommy is the new vigilante, and his whole plan gets ruined.
Quietly as possible, he climbs onto the counter, and tries to tug the web from where it’s glued itself to the tile above. For a moment, he thinks he did it because it loosens, but instead, Tommy hears a crack, and dust flutters onto his face.
Surely, that doesn’t mean anything bad, right?
One more tug wouldn’t hurt, especially because he can see Purpled getting tired of sweeping up the glass. With all his might, Tommy yanks on the web, feet on the wall for support, and it comes off!
But so does the ceiling.
The cracks spread, and they spread, until the pieces of debris that had sprinkled from the crevices start to turn into harsh showers. Tommy thought he was in the clear for a brief moment, when everything paused, but that’s when the concrete comes crashing down, taking half of the room with it.
The Sense screams at him to get cover, and Tommy yelps, bringing his arms up to shield his head as he curls up, feeling the tile hit his back and roll off. Other people yell and scream in surprise, and when Tommy opens an eye again, he can see that the room has been filled with dust, the sky above almost taunting him with its visibility. When it clears, and Tommy stands back up on the counter, he sees the science teacher stride over and look at the blond as if he grew another head.
Maybe standing on the counter again after taking half their classroom down was a bad idea.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spots both Purpled and Tubbo doubled over and wheezing quietly, Ranboo just standing there with a sympathetic look on their face. Tommy flips the three off inconspicuously, and turns to face his teacher after hopping off the counter and stepping over some chunks of concrete. He’s met with a fuming face, the professor clearly baffled at how Tommy even managed to do this. Immediately, he gets sent to the principal’s office, and he winces.
At the very least, Tommy’s identity is still unknown.
However, this means his parents are most certainly getting called, and Tommy is going to meet the same fate as Tubbo the second he gets home.
Everything always happens to Tommy during science, he just has the worst luck ever.
Outside of the classroom, most of the students are already standing against the hallway walls, waving away some remaining dust. Tommy can hear the whispers, the way they point and spit venomous words. It’s so low, it barely reaches him because of his enhanced senses, but it’s still there. Shoving his fists into his pockets, he hurriedly walks past them, racing down the hallway once he’s out of their line of sight.
Alone with his thoughts, Tommy starts to wonder exactly what happened to him.
Not since he first got his powers did they just…go haywire like that. The whole point of his patrol was to get a grasp on what he can do, but for some reason everything just switched up on him. Tommy humiliated himself and probably cost his parents a shit ton of money to get the ceiling fixed.
Fuck, that was another problem.
This whole day has just caused Tommy immeasurable amounts of stress, as well as ruined the rest of his week. Maybe becoming a Robin Hood is a better idea than this whole Spider-Man thing. It meant more money for him.
No, he can’t.
That moral dilemma is another problem to solve for another day. Not when he’s coming up on the main office, the big room near the entrance on the first building, which Tommy had managed to reach in less time with the empty hallways. Taking one last deep breath, he rubbed his eyes to free them of any threatening tears. Before he can back out, his hand is on the doorknob, and he opens the door with a loud creak!
“Hello?” He called out, walking into the little lobby, where a receptionist asks for his name. After answering, the lady winces, and points him in the direction of the principal’s office.
Tommy simply enters without a second thought, eager to get the main event out of the way. The office itself was a normal-sized room, with windows to the left showing the sight of the streets outside. Ahead of the blond was a desk cluttered with some papers, a bookshelf pressed up against the wall to the right.
Behind the desk, sat a tall person dressed in what could only be described as regal clothing. A flow white button up was paired with some dark shades, and a skirt flowing down to the floor. The plaque on their desk read Prin. Eret.
It was strange to see anyone outside of the standard blue and gray—considering the school’s strict dress code—but Tommy guessed being principal came with its perks.
“Thomas I. Craft,” she said, gesturing to the chair in front of them, “Take a seat.”
Tommy gulped, and did the following, pulling out the chair and fidgeting with his hands in his lap. “It’s Tommy,” he muttered quietly.
The principal nodded, “Care to explain to me why your science teacher just called me saying they sent down a student that destroyed half of their classroom?”
“It was an accident…?” Tommy winced, not entirely lying.
“I’m still trying to process how you managed to take down the ceiling, so please, explain yourself.”
Tommy knew that tone. He knew he was utterly fucked and was probably getting expelled. “Listen, one second I was near the back counter, and the next,” the blond made a gesture with his hands to imitate an explosion. No point in saying the truth, he’d get called insane and admitted to a mental asylum. “That’s all I know.”
Eret sighed, “Tommy, we don’t tolerate any form of vandalism here at L’Manberg, and we don’t take bomb threat lightly eit—“
“What?” Tommy yelped, “No, you have this all wrong, I wasn’t trying to blow it up, I-I don’t even know how it happened! The room probably just had shitty structures and I so happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time!”
Eret furrows their brows, and then clicks her tongue, “We can’t have potential threats amongst our students, especially not when we take their safety seriously.”
“You can’t expel me!” Tommy yells almost desperately. “Please, please don’t expel me. I don’t know why the fuck the ceiling collapsed but I swear I had nothing to do with it! I haven’t even been here a month. I can't waste this.”
Not after everything Tommy’s parents have put down for him. Not after all the hours Phil spent trying to rack together enough to send him here, or when Kristin pretty much cried after getting the results of Tommy’s test and seeing he got a scholarship. Yeah, he hated New York at first, but he can’t just give up. Not after they’ve sacrificed so much.
This is their wish as much as it is Tommy's.
“Please calm down, Mr. Craft, I am not suggesting we expel you, especially after seeing your insistence on studying here, but we will take disciplinary actions,” Eret explained calmly.
Relief. That’s the first thing that processed through his head when he heard those words, and wow he was close to tears. That’s when the second part was processed. “Disciplinary actions?”
Solemnly, they continued, “Your parents have been informed, and they have been asked to come here for a conference in the next week or so. The rest of your punishment I still haven’t decided, considering this is the first time I’ve had this happen to me.”
Tommy felt like that was supposed to be a joke. He didn’t laugh.
Eret cleared their throat awkwardly, “I will notify you after the weekend how it’s going to go about, and we’ll work off from there.”
“Great. Just great,” he murmured, feeling his leg bounce up and down anxiously. It could’ve been worse, but it’s still pretty bad.
“Don’t take any of this personally, I’m sure you’re a great kid, but this isn’t acceptable, and I need you to understand that.”
“I don’t have a problem with understanding what you’re telling me,” Tommy replied.
“Wonderful. I will slack off a bit on you ‘cause you’re new, but know this can’t happen again. This is your first and final warning. You’re dismissed.”
Nodding, Tommy stood, quickly making his way out of the office. There were only about thirty minutes left of Foreign Languages, so the blond simply hid out in the bathroom, not exactly jumping to go back just yet.
The stall he sits in has graffiti on the walls—so much for no vandalism—and there’s chewing gum stuck to the door, but Tommy curls up on the floor either way, making a mental note to burn his uniform when he gets home. Or thoroughly cleanse it.
Everything was just starting to come together. Tommy was so close to having his suit done, people are talking about Spider-Man, but now the one thing that made him so excited is causing the discourse in him right now.
Phil’s disappointed face was all Tommy could see when he closed his eyes, and the thought of facing that when he got home haunts him. No way can he do that.
They’ve just built back their relationship from its fragile state a few weeks ago, and it’s back on the glass bridge. Tommy is on a tight rope, and he’s lost his balance for the thousandth time, except now, he’s actually falling.
That’s how it feels, anyway.
Going home is out of the question, calling either of his brothers was probably going to give him the same outcomes. They probably already got informed on the matter, and are waiting with Phil and Kristin for when he gets home.
The blond clicks open his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he lands on the one named Sam. The workshop has become Tommy’s escape, his little world where he’s free of all the pressure that’s hunched his back and cracked his bones. Sam will probably wheeze at Tommy’s story, not after making sure he wasn’t in the wrong, before calmly stopping him from descending into panic and giving a gentle lecture.
Never would he replace Phil with Sam, but the man is a good escape from reality.
With shaky hands, he clicks on the button to call him. Tommy feels something wet land on his phone, and realizes it’s a tear. He’s…crying. There’s a steady stream of tears running down his cheeks now that he’s processed he was crying in the first place.
It’s silly, the thing Tommy is sobbing over, but he’s exhausted from all the expectations and visions his family keeps throwing on him. Having to compare to someone like Techno, who’s come out top of his class in everything and always excelled in his sports. Measuring up to Wilbur, who speaks music like it’s a language and who’s managed to make somewhat of a name for himself from sheer stubbornness, growing his connections by the day with a silver tongue Tommy could only wish to possess.
Just when Tommy was ready to snap his phone in half and throw it onto the bathroom floor, Sam answers, “U-Uncle Sam?” He says wetly, trying and failing to hide the shake to his voice and the way he’s clearly crying.
“Tommy? Are you okay? What’s happening, are you safe?” His uncle opens with a frantic voice, a loud noise of clinking coming from the other end.
“I’m okay, I was just wondering if you were at the workshop,” The blond mumbles quietly.
“Thank fuck,” Sam whispers over the line, “yeah, I’m here.”
“Do you think I could go after school?”
“Of course you can,” Sam replied softly, “that’s never a question, you already know the answer.”
Tommy breathes shakily, smiling despite the salty tears that are still rapidly flowing. “Thank you, Sam, I just had a shit day and really need a break. Or ten.”
“Don’t even worry. I’ve got time. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
Notes:
So like…them chemicals did something to Tommy. He’s going through it
Did I project in this chapter? Maybe. Anyways please tell me if Sam is OOC I can’t find any of his vids for reference I’m crying.
Chapter 7: With great power…
Summary:
They approach slowly, almost like animals would as they take in their prey. Tommy certainly is starting to feel that way, their eyes boring into his head.
Tommy gulps as one of them goes to speak, “What’re you doing here, kid?”
With a guitar riff playing loudly in his ear, Tommy answers with a nervous laugh, “Just taking a stroll. Nothing to see here, gentlemen.”
Notes:
Dude writers block hit me fucking HARD with this chapter
I pulled this from the depths of my ass
It turned out okay, but prepare bc things are going to start to go downhill from here
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sam tried to convince Tommy that he would drive the teen to the workshop himself, but Tommy insisted he needed time alone, and that he would walk instead. Unhappily, Sam agreed, and threatened to go search if he took too long.
The rest of the time Tommy spent it on the bathroom floor, a million times calmer than he was at the start of his breakdown, but the stray hiccup or sob still made itself known.
Breathing deeply, Tommy finally stood after a while, stepping out of the stall and walking over to the sink. His eyes were red and puffy, alerting everyone that yes, he had cried. The sink hissed as the blond twisted the knob on the side, splashing his face with cold water and gripping the sides of the basin.
Running his hands through his hair does somewhat return it back to its original form, and when Tommy glances up, he’s glad to see some of the red has died down. After glancing at the time on his phone, he realizes there’s a little less than ten minutes left of school. Fuck, he missed all of his Foreign Languages class. Hopefully Purpled took notes because he was stealing those from him.
Waiting for the bell to ring was like waiting for water to boil, the seconds stretched on for far longer than their usual duration, and the minutes seemed like years. When he was finally freed, he immediately beelined to his locker, struggling to get the lock off.
While Tommy walked out with his bag shouldered, he shot Phil a text, telling him that he’s going to the workshop, and not to bother picking him up. The phone buzzed in his pocket, presumably from his family questioning or demanding he come home. Tommy turned off the ringer and dropped it right back into the pocket.
“You didn’t get expelled?” A voice cheerily announces behind him.
Tommy whipped around and saw Tubbo walk up to him, Purpled and Ranboo flanking a little bit behind. “Nope, they know I’m too good to get rid of.”
“Dude, what the fuck happened? We had to finish the class in the library,” Purpled asks, gesturing wildly.
Shrugging, Tommy does his best not to meet his friends’ eyes, knowing his lie would immediately fall apart. “I dunno man, I was back there and next thing I know the fuckin’ ceiling drops on me.”
“At least you’re okay, although we have to redo the lab next week,” Ranboo says.
“Is that a good or bad thing…?”
“Bad,” Ranboo and Purpled say simultaneously.
“Good,” Tubbo stares at the other two with a fierce glare. Which was a strange answer from him considering he can’t participate either way.
“Yeah well, have fun with that I’ll probably be suspended or some shit,” Tommy kicks a rock dejectedly.
Purpled sucks air through his teeth, “That sucks.”
“Y’know I still need the notes for Foreign Languages,” the blond crosses his arms as he remembers.
“Oh yeah, I’ll give it to you next week, I don’t feel like pulling out my notebook right now.”
“It takes like two seconds to grab.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“But I need it, Indigo.”
They stare each other down, Tommy’s eyes narrowing as he feels them burn. Purpled raises an eyebrow, unrelenting.
“Right, well, we’ll be going, see ya!” Tubbo tugs Ranboo along, both of them apparently living on the same block.
Purpled breaks eye contact first, and waves, then turns to Tommy, who’s celebrating his win. “I’m gonna wait here for my mom.”
After that confirmation, the blond flips off Purpled, and starts walking towards Sam’s. He faintly hears the other teen curse at him, snickering to himself as he runs across the street.
Weaving through the crowd or people quickly becomes a dance of avoiding knocking into some random person or stepping on chewed gum. Tommy plugs in his headphones and starts blasting music, the loud drums and bass quickly fill his ears.
Sauntering down the sidewalk, he matches the pace of his steps to the rhythm of his songs. He shuffles with his eyes closed at every red light, mouthing the words to himself.
Hopefully he doesn’t get stopped too much, it would suck to make Sam worry.
It’s fairly bright out, a few stray clouds casting large shadows onto the streets, and the wind blowing through in cold gusts. Tommy is glad for his jumper, and for once, grateful that the uniform came with it. Other times the material was just too much, and would get shoved into his locker, but the temperature is changing rapidly.
As Tommy follows the directions shown on his phone, he looks up ahead and sees the street is blocked off by police cars and an ambulance. From the looks of it, two cars got in a crash at the upcoming intersection. Groaning lowly, he realizes the other route would have to take him around, and would add another fifteen minutes to his walk.
To the side, he notices an alley coming up, and by looking at the map, he knows it will cut to the other side in half the time. Tommy starts making his way over and pocketing his phone, still humming slowly.
The alley is eerie. Graffiti lines the walls, and puddles of murky water are scattered across the dents in the concrete. A rat skittered across the ground in front of him, dragging along a random piece of food it probably found. Tommy continued on, deciding to take one earbud out and let it hang on his chest. Some of the trash cans were spilling over, the stench coming up to Tommy’s nostrils and reminding him of rotting meat.
Despite being a bit wary, Tommy trudged on, too far in to back out now. That was, until he felt The Sense in the back of his head, yelling at him about something approaching from behind. The blond whips around, and finds three people dressed in dark clothes, hoods up to hide their features with the shadows.
They approach slowly, almost like animals would as they take in their prey. Tommy certainly is starting to feel that way, their eyes boring into his head.
Tommy gulps as one of them goes to speak, “What’re you doing here, kid?”
With a guitar riff playing loudly in his ear, Tommy answers with a nervous laugh, “Just taking a stroll. Nothing to see here, gentlemen.”
The guy to his left takes measured steps towards him, a hand in his pocket. He lifts his head up, and Tommy gets a glance at his eyes, clearly staring at his headphones. They’re not even good headphones to steal, he snatched these from Wilbur, they’re old as hell. “Hand over your shit,” he says slowly.
“No, no I’m good…” clearly that wasn’t the right answer, because they walk up closer, one of them clenching their fists in a warning.
“Did you hear me? I said give me your fucking things,” the same guy repeats, and one of them slams Tommy into a wall, pulling out a gun, and aiming it at his head.
The blond shrieks, cursing as his head bangs against the concrete. “Get off me!”
Someone takes his phone off him, as well as the money he had accumulated over the last week. The gun presses harder into his skull as he thrashes, and Tommy goes limp from the fear coursing through his veins.
Tommy inches his face as far away as he can from the firearm. The four of these guys don’t know what Tommy can do. All they see is a lanky teen to steal from, so raises his free fist, their underestimation working in his favor.
The blond feels his muscles spasm again, just as they did during science. His fingers curl into a fish, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Just as the guy even tries to glance back at his accomplice, Tommy punches the guy’s face, and he soars back with much more force than a normal punch elicits. The gun clatters away, getting lost somewhere in the alley. Tommy sits there, stunned for a moment, before the other three walk over.
That was surprisingly easy.
One of them reaches for Tommy’s backpack, and then manages to get a right hook on him. Blood spills out of his nose as the blond stumbles back. Tommy tugs harshly on the bag, trying to get the upper hand, and spins it around, sending the mugger towards a wall after he loses his grip. The man crumbles as the bricks crack loudly behind him.
Same as yesterday, Tommy felt the bones in his nose move to fit where they were originally. He can feel the cartilage twisting and snapping back together as if they were Lego pieces, his body slowly regenerating from the blow.
It doesn’t feel like Tommy is doing much, but the way they immediately go unconscious from one punch is starting to scare him. Maybe they’re just really weak.
Looking to his left, Tommy sees the mugger carrying his things, and then lunges for them, grabbing their arm and yanking his phone from their grasp. They cry out in pain, surprisingly, and Tommy quickly pockets his belongings.
They give one last effort to try and tackle him to the ground, but Tommy’s Sense shrikes out, and he stumbles back. Kicking their stomach, Tommy then slams them onto the floor. With a sickening squelch, a pool of red starts to form beneath the person’s head.
Tommy frantically drops to his knees next to them.
This isn’t what he intended to do!
“Fuck, fuck, please don’t be dead,” his finger shakily feel their neck for a pulse, the sticky blood already coating his fingers and the fabric of his pants. Faintly, Tommy feels a rhythm, and nearly sobs in relief. He couldn’t imagine carrying the weight of someone’s death in his conscience, even if they tried to mug him.
Turning them over and pulling the hood off, Tommy spots the damage. Through their hair, Tommy can see a large gash spilling blood from a rock they fell on top of. It knots the surrounding hair, matting it with grime gluing the ends together, making a jumbled mess on their skull.
Realizing what he’s done, Tommy drops them and looks around, seeing he’s painted the alley in crimson, the other two in similar states of bleeding and unconsciousness.
Tommy wants to throw up.
All this, Tommy did it. Yeah, they weren’t good people, but that doesn’t mean they deserve to get fucking killed. Especially not after he said he wanted to be a ‘hero.’ It’s all spiraling far too quickly out of control and Tommy doesn’t know what to do.
Instead, he stands and takes off running, leaving the alley and going in the vague direction of the workshop. His own blood is crusting under his nose after getting thrown into the wall, and tears start to form in the corner of his eyes again. But he can’t cry, not now.
His loud footsteps echo as Tommy sprints, leaving behind the mess as he runs across a street, not caring whether or not he could cross, or if the lights were red. A few cars honk or swerve, but he’s too distraught to care. The evidence is on his hands, on his clothes, and he desperately just needs to get to Sam.
Finally, he sees it in the distance, the building, and bangs on the door when he gets to the steps.
Sam opens the door, and the shock is written on his face after seeing the teen. “Tommy, I was about to start panicki—what the hell?”
“Sam,” Tommy chokes, begging with his eyes for his uncle not to ask. He seems to notice, and opens the door, letting Tommy stumble in, and collapse on the ground, curling up next to the wall.
“Woah, I’ll repeat, what happened? You’re covered in dirt and… a lot of blood.” Sam kneels down at Tommy’s side.
“I got mugged,” Tommy whispers. “But this blood, it isn’t mine. Well, this one is,” he points to his nose.
“Not yours?”
Silence answers his question. Tommy shakes his head frantically, desperately trying to stop his brain from replaying the way the mugger’s skull cracks under the force of his blows. Or the way the gun was digging into his head, the bricks scratching Tommy’s face painfully, all while the barrel was aimed at his eyes.
One thing he failed to notice, however, was the finger on the trigger. Tommy was one slip away from being dead. Had the mugger decided the teen wasn’t worth his time, Tommy would’ve found out if he can regenerate quickly enough to survive a bullet.
“I’m scared,” through incoming tears he manages to get those words out. “Suddenly I can do so much! Things I only dreamed of doing, but I don’t know how to control it. It terrifies me.”
For barely a second, a flash of recognition crosses Sam’s face, and he nods, giving Tommy a knowing look. He’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean.
“Well, I’m gonna go ahead and guess you’re not going to tell me what’s going on,” Sam huffs playfully as a poor attempt at humor. Tommy rolls his eyes, but cracks a grin. Sam sits next to his nephew, patting the wrist closest to him, “but I will tell you this. Whatever it is you’re going through, this power you have, it will come with great responsibility.”
Tommy is silent for a moment, hugging his knees. “And what if it can hurt people?”
“You can’t avoid mistakes, Tommy. I know, I’ve made one too many,” Sam huffs, “this is where you decide the type of man you want to be.”
The words, in that moment, don’t feel like words, and Tommy can’t help but cower at what it means for him. It may not be today, but eventually, he’ll have a moral obligation with his powers, an obligation to do good.
It’s nothing he didn’t already plan to do, but hearing it from someone else truly made the bomb drop, and Tommy truly realizes what he’s gotten into. The suit means something, and he isn’t sure if he’s to find out what that is.
Sam hesitantly opens his arms in an offer, and Tommy can see the man feels a bit awkward in the situation, but he’s doing his best. “Yes? No? Maybe so?”
Tommy laughs quietly, and leans into his uncle’s arms, letting them incase him just as his mother’s did so long ago. He’s tucked under Sam’s chin, a gentle hand running through his curls. A simple action, so similar to the one his brother’s would do. It makes sense, considering they’re all related, but Tommy could close his eyes, and from the way Sam holds him to the scent he gives off, he could be a toddler in his mum’s arms again.
It almost feels nostalgic in a way, especially with how vastly different things are now. There isn’t a melody singing in the background, or flowers to be repotted, but rather the hum of the machines in the process of being built. And the sound of the vents Sam installed after Tommy blew up the enclosure.
Similar, but still incredibly different.
Maybe he should tell his uncle why he’s here in the first place, all the damage he caused the school and the money he cost Phil and Kristin. But right now, he’s at peace, even if his clothes are drenched in red. It’s whatever, the school gave him two uniforms to use.
Tommy finally pulls away, wiping his eyes of unshed tears. “I’ve had a really bad day,” he laughs.
Sam shakes his head with an earnest smile, “Yeah, I can tell,” he stands, walking over to the bathroom and bringing a wet towel, “here, I can’t imagine all that blood is comfortable on your face.”
Gratefully, Tommy accepts it, dabbing at his nose. After handing it back—completely covered in red—he locks himself in the bathroom, harshly scrubbing at the skin of his hands until it turns pink, any traces quickly washed away by the rushing water.
Stepping back out, Sam is standing at the table, Fran’s hologram in the middle displaying some blueprints, but all Tommy’s attention gets drawn to the large fluffy dog curled up in a corner. At the sound of his footsteps walking in, her head perks up, and she practically knocks Tommy over from the force she collides into him.
“That’s the original Fran,” Sam explains as Tommy gets attacked by the dog.
“Hey there,” Tommy grins, sprawled on the floor and scratching behind her ear, “aw fuck, you’re so sweet.”
Fran barks softly, almost as if she’s in agreement. Her fur is silky and pretty white, identical to the color of snow. Tommy wraps his arms around Fran’s neck, burying his face in her smooth coat, at which she doesn’t protest, and instead sits with a wagging tail.
Sam explains what he’s doing, and helps distract the blond by instructing him on different tasks to help with. It works well, eventually clearing his mind and temporarily helping him forget the afternoon. Fran weaves between their legs, nudging at their knees and huffing occasionally.
Usually, keeping his hands occupied is more than enough to distract Tommy. He goes into autopilot, following motions he’s long since memorized and grown used to. Little things like making some blueprints, or building a few of the smaller components, is just fine.
The new parts came in yesterday, and Sam had started planning out the next enclosure. He’d worked out a few of the issues, but the main problem with the ventilation had stumped them both. Tommy guessed it was just an error with the quality, or simple mistake, but Sam usually implies someone tampered with it.
Why someone would try doing that is beyond him. How would that affect the company anyway?
It’s not like Pandora Dynamics has many threats in genetic research. Despite being mostly a science based company, they’re still a business. If Tubbo’s rants have told him anything, it’s that that’s the reason they’re so big and have so much reach across the country. The executives are shady.
But based on what his uncle told him, it wasn’t one of the big guys up top, rather a coworker. The worst that could’ve happened was that Sam lost his job because they lost the prototype—technically, they still had it, the spider’s venom was in Tommy’s veins, but it's not like he was going to say anything—or that they were set back a few weeks.
Wait…now that he thinks about it, that could’ve been the goal. Someone from inside the company doesn’t want them to succeed in whatever project they were doing with the spiders, so they sabotaged the presentation by sneaking the prototype in and breaking the enclosure. Tommy might just be fucking insane and reaching at straws, but if Sam thinks it was an inside job then it’s plausible.
Tommy decides to look into it later, and focus on the task at hand, finishing the wiring for the enclosure. Tommy clears his throat, “Uh, what happened with the red spider in the end?”
Sam looks up, his eyebrows furrowed, “Well, we got a bit…pushed back with our progress, but nothing to worry about.”
The blond nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes. He could sense the lie, but didn’t comment on it.
Without even realizing it, the sun outside had begun to dip below the horizon, hours passing far quicker than they felt. It wasn’t until Tommy checked on his phone—he’d left it on one of the tables pushed onto the wall—and realized he had a bunch of missed calls. Most of them were from his parents, a few messages from his brothers, asking where he was.
Tommy winced, and walked back over with his phone in hand. “Sam, what time is it?”
His uncle paused, glancing at the watch on his wrist as his eyes widened, “Uh, almost eight.”
“What the fuck?” Tommy sputtered. That was way past the time he usually spent at the workshop. No wonder his family was so worked up. He was in for it when he got home. “Shit, I’m so dead, I’ve got to go. Could you maybe not mention the fact I got my face beat in if Kristin asks?”
“That’s something they should know, Tommy, you got hur-“
“I’d rather not have to explain what happened twice.”
“…okay.”
Tommy quickly types out a message to Phil, saying he was heading home soon. Quickly putting the half-finished wiring away, he set aside the tools dedicated to him, storing them in their drawer at the table. Fran whined and she nudged Tommy’s legs as he headed over to the door, backpack shouldered and still slightly stained. The blond patted her head, and proceeded to waved to his uncle, racing out the workshop.
The air was strangely quiet, gone were the usual chatters and people, instead, the atmosphere was eerie and desolate. It was rare, considering he was in such a big city. There weren’t any large crowds to dance around, or any closed streets, making the route a lot faster.
His headphones were shoved deep into his bag, hidden away from any prying eyes and probably going to get thrown out the second he gets home. This time, he was being fully alert and aware of his surroundings. His lack of awareness was probably part of the reason why he was such an easy target.
Primes, what was he thinking? Walking through a sketchy alley with his headphones blasting music? Tommy was just asking to get jumped, it was pure luck that he didn’t get hurt any worse.
In the back of his mind, however, there was still a nagging feeling that he was going to get hurt again, chased down the street and shot between his eyes.
No, It’s happened to him once, Tommy has no reason to be this paranoid.
But at every little creak from the fire escapes, or the scuttle of a rat, he flinches violently, speeding his pace up to a near run. Tommy was jumpy, so to ease his mind, he shot up a web to a nearby building, deciding that traveling on the rooftops would give him some semblance of peace, and a view from above. He pulled his hoodie out from inside his backpack, and threw it on for good measure, hiding his features with the hood.
It was almost perfect, the lack of people. No one was around to watch, Tommy made sure of it, glancing at every open window and keeping an eye out for stragglers. It was dark, anyway, so it would be even harder to spot the teen.
Jumping across the gaps in between buildings slowed Tommy’s racing heart, giving his thoughts some space to breathe. The air blowing through his curls is something he grew to love after this first patrol, and it’s comforting. Tommy’s in control here, hopping across rooftops. If someone did see him, all they’d spot was his sweater, so he didn’t worry much.
The streets became familiar far too soon, and a block away Tommy dropped down onto the streets, walking towards his house with bated breath. The lights were on inside the windows, and he could faintly hear arguing the closer he got.
Through the panes, he could make out Techno talking to Kristin on the couch, while Phil and Wilbur were both standing, clearly yelling at each other. Has Tommy caused this? He hadn’t been gone that long.
That…was not good.
Not good at all.
Clenching his fist, Tommy rapped apprehensively on the chipped door, and all the sound stopped on the other side of the wall. Someone’s footsteps approached the front, their hands fumbling with the lock before throwing open the door.
Tommy stared into practically his own blue eyes, a storm of concern and anger brewing behind their irises. He stared down at Phil, just now realizing how tired his father looked, something Tommy had grown used to seeing. The man’s face seemed as if it aged another ten years, worry etched deep into features.
“Tommy,” he breathed, both in relief and exasperation.
The blond winced, raising a hand in a feeble attempt at a greeting. “Hey, dad.”
Notes:
So, another chapter of Tommy just getting his ass beat and traumatized :D
Don’t walk into random alleys just to take a shortcut it, usually doesn’t end well (speaking from experience) 😼
Chapter 8: ...comes great responsibility
Summary:
Not even a second passes to process when Tommy hears a loud explosion go off in the distance, knocking him off his feet and onto the floor.
CRASH!
The blond looks up to see the daffodils’ pot shattered into pieces on the floor, dirt staining the ground and crushed petals fluttering away.
Notes:
Sorry for the late chapter, I’m trying to post every week on the weekend, but i had a lot on my plate including a sports camp and the absolute soreness in my poor limbs
Anywho, i like how this turned out, so enjoy!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tommy winced, looking up at Phil, “Hey, dad.”
The shorter man opened the door all the way, and with pressed lips, gestured for him to enter. Tommy did so without a second of hesitation, not wanting to get off worse than he already is.
Wilbur was standing with his arms crossed, weight shifted to one leg and staring at Tommy with furrowed brows and worry. His expression was shared with Techno, who leaned back on the couch and gave Tommy a look that screamed good luck man, you’re on your own here.
Kristin stood up with a relieved sigh, and walked over to embrace Tommy. Suddenly, the bright lights felt like they were purposefully pointing out the rust-colored stains on the knees of his trousers, and purple blotches that were starting to form on the teen’s face. Tommy wrapped his arms around his mother, but when she pulled away, she was furious.
Tommy hides in the shadows, shielding his battered face away from his family. He can’t let them be involved, not when he’s so volatile. All he’ll do is put them at risk with his uncontrollable strength and power. Tommy can’t risk it.
He won’t.
The sound of the lock clicking was followed by Phil’s footsteps returning to the living room, who was pinching his nose and muttering something underneath his breath. As soon as he stopped, standing next to his wife, he looked up with tired eyes and spoke, “Tommy, mate, what the fuck happened today?”
“You blew up the school!” Wilbur bursts, gesturing wildly with a mad look on his face. “How the hell do you manage to do that?”
Techno—who had also stood and made his way to Wilbur—places a hand on his brother’s shoulder, shaking his head softly. The brunette opens his mouth to protest, but they die on his tongue after seeing the look Techno gives him.
“I didn’t fuckin’ mean for it to happen!” Tommy shouts, hurt at being accused without a single chance for his own explanation.
“Well that’s what it looks like,” Phil scoffs, “I get a call from the academy saying you injured your classmates and took down the entire science room, and then skipped all of your Foreign Languages class. They were going to call the police on you, Tommy!”
“Not only that, you tell your father not to pick you up after all this happened, something about the workshop, and give us no warning on how long you’ll be out. We were worried sick!” Kristin bores her eyes into Tommy’s head, which was staring at his shoes in shame. Wilbur grumbles something under his breath, annoyed it seemed.
“I’m sorry,” the blond muttered, so quietly he was sure they didn’t hear him.
“Are you going to tell us what happened?” His father looks at him expectantly, tapping his foot on the wooden floors.
There’s blood splattered on Tommy’s shoes. It’s probably also soaking his socks, turning the white fabric into a crimson red that won’t ever come out. “I don’t know what happened.”
“You don’t know? He doesn’t know!” Wilbur barks out a laugh, which almost sounds maniacal. “Was this on purpose then? Are you actually a terrorist?”
“Wilbur!” Kristin snaps, but the brunette doesn’t falter.
“No, of course not! Fuck you for even thinking that, Will!” Tommy spat, glaring at the other.
The man he trusts with his life, his partner in crime, his brother is accusing him of being a criminal. Tommy’s always been closer with Wilbur, Techno was more of a solitary guy, keeping to himself and focusing on school and his sports, which meant they didn’t talk as much. The blond still loved him, of course, but their connection was never as strong.
Wilbur, since the moment Tommy was born, had always cared for him, and always wanted to be the favorite. Always listening to the blond ramble or joining in on whatever stupid game Tommy’s seven year old self wanted to play.
So hearing that someone he thought would always be in his corner accuse him of such things? Well, it hurts. More than the gun pushing into his head, or getting his nose broken for the second time. Maybe he didn’t mean it, maybe he was just trying to grasp the situation, but it felt like Tommy’s argument with Phil all over again.
The string that held them together was gold, and should’ve been impossible to snap, but Wilbur was sharpening his knife, and hacking away at the cord, laughing as it began to unravel and grow weaker.
“You can’t actually believe I would do something like that on purpose!” Tommy pleaded.
“Well you’re not giving us an explanation! What else am I to think?”
Snip!
“Fine! You want to know what has happened? I messed up. I used the wrong chemicals together too close to one of the supports, and it blew up!”
Tommy was just bullshiting, because what was he supposed to say? Sorry I destroyed my science room, my superpowers that I’m still struggling to understand suddenly went haywire, and I nearly killed some people!
“Chemical warfare, another thing to add to the list,” Wilbur scoffs.
Snip!
Techno coughs, muttering something about that not technically being chemical warfare and gets a glare from the other in return.
“Wilbur, that's enough!” Phil shouts. “This isn’t helping us figure out what happened.”
Wilbur scoffed, plopping back down onto the couch. “And the reason you were gone so long was because you were running from the cops, right?”
Snip!
Suddenly, Tommy is back at the alley, pressed up against the bricks with the nozzle of the gun digging into his skull. The blood trickling down his nose, swift fingers taking all his belongings. It hits him like a bullet, ironically, and the blond just stares at Wilbur with pain in his eyes.
Angrily, Tommy turns to his brother, “Fuck’s your problem? Why am I suddenly a criminal in your eyes because of one little accident I made?”
It wasn’t a smart idea at all to continue their argument after both his parents had told off Wilbur, but the teen needed to know why the man was suddenly against him.
And it seems like Tommy finally asked the right question, because Wilbur’s face cracks, and he sees both the worry and disappointment on his face. But it isn’t the disappointment he saw in Phil, one laced with concern and willingness to listen, no his is almost filled with some sort of acceptance. Like something Wilbur had been dreading came true.
“It was just going to happen sooner or later Tommy! They way you always argue with Phil and Kristin, your constant negligence of school, sneaking out in the middle of the night to go who knows where. Let’s face it, you’re bound to go down that road.”
And Tommy felt the string fall apart in his hands. Just like that.
The very people Tommy was so bent on fighting, the ones that harassed him and the very civilians he swore to protect, was who Wilbur was accusing him of being. It just felt like all his efforts so far were in vain if his own family thought of him this way.
The blond stood there, feeling his vision get blurry, and quickly averted his gaze from Wilbur. Let him be that way, Tommy doesn’t give a shit. It’s not like that bothers him at all.
“You don’t mean that,” Tommy said shakily.
Before he could get an answer, Techno stepped in. “Wilbur, shut the hell up. Stop being a pretentious asshole and let the kid explain himself.”
“No, no I think I’ve heard enough,” Tommy muttered, backing up slowly.
“If you go up those stairs you’re grounded. We’re not done with this conversation,” Phil scolded.
This entire interaction feels so familiar. The past days have been the same cycle of arguments and lies. Nothing Tommy says will convince Wilbur, and his mugging is too fresh in his mind to repeat. “I can’t, Phil. You clearly already have a witness here to tell you every fucking thing that happened,” glaring at his brother.
“Tommy, we want to hear yo—“
“I’m tired, mum,” he starts to climb the rickety stairs.
“Hey!” Phil stands at the base of the steps, “That’s a month right there of being grounded! The second that door slam its two!”
It’s not like that’s going to change anything.
Tommy slams his door anyways, yanking at his hair. He always seems to find himself in the same fucking place, in tears and ripping his scalp apart.
Tommy throws off his blood-stained clothes, shoes and socks, launching his uniform to his pile of dirty clothes. It’s probably going to sit there until the teen can stomach the thought of handling those clothes again, and bringing them outside so they fucking burn. Whatever he finds lying around that’s clean is what he replaces his clothes with. An old jumper and a hand-me-down pair of sweats from Techno. He’s itching to shower, to scrub his skin raw until every drop of blood is gone.
There’s a draft in his room, swirling inside from a window he left open in the morning. Tommy angrily walks over and yanks it down harshly, so much so it shakes the frame. In a fit of rage, he swipes his arm across the top of his desk, throwing all the objects off and onto the floor.
It feels good to release his anger this way, but Tommy doesn’t want to destroy his room because of a tantrum. He might just rent out one of those rage rooms where you can destroy everything they hand you. That would do wonders for his mental state.
The teen’s attention is brought over to his cabinet, that’s still locked and barricaded. Maybe his anger could be put to good use.
Quickly cleaning up the mess he made, Tommy wrenches open the cabinet, grabbing his suit and string, before pushing the dresser against the door. No one will probably try to go into his room, but just in case, Tommy uses this extra precaution anyway.
Just as he predicted, the energy he would’ve wasted in sobbing his eyes out he’s redirected, which means his suit is practically finished. Most of the sewing for the pattern on the chest and limbs is done, and it’s put together fully. Tommy decides to try it on, and slips into the suit, pulling on the gloves. He feels the material shield his body, however, there were still a few places to hem down and fix.
Tommy tugged the mask over his head, and held up a little mirror he kept just for this moment. The eyes followed whatever movement he did, mimicking his expressions just as he wanted. Red and white compliment each other, and he can only imagine how badass it will feel with layered clothes.
Tommy looks like the hero he envisioned.
***
It takes a lot of time for the blond to grow the courage to step outside the house again.
His Saturday morning had begun with Tommy sleeping nearly until noon, avoiding his family while trying to get breakfast—which was fairly difficult—and deciding to finish his suit that same day.
It was practically done, and Tommy was incredibly excited to have it ready for his next patrol. The way his alter-ego is steadily gaining more publicity and attention means the second he comes out dressed up, it will probably skyrocket.
Hopefully that means his approval ratings leave the fifty-fifty zone. It would be a bit hard to save people after being named public enemy number one.
The bag slung over Tommy’s shoulder was filled with the red material and the string, and it bounced against his back every time Tommy stepped out the door and backed up right into his house again. Every time his foot touched the ground outside, blood flashed in Tommy’s eyes.
Eventually, he decided to just fuck it, and run to the sidewalk before he could stop himself. Walking down the cracked pavement took a lot more willpower than Tommy would’ve liked to admit.
Sam wasn’t at the workshop that day. He had told the blond there was something he had to work on at Pandora with his team, which would keep him late. That worked perfectly fine for him, because it meant he could finish the suit without hiding anything from his uncle.
And he had everything to his disposal. Tommy wasn’t mad.
However, he was still jumpy. Five seconds couldn’t pass without Tommy checking over his shoulder for any looming threats to his safety. His paranoia meant hiding in the spots completely illuminated by the sun, and avoiding the entrances to alleyways completely.
If this was going to be his normal routine whenever going out, he might just drop everything and fucking swing to his places.
The door to the workshop was his safe place, all his nerves immediately flying off his shoulders after entering and hastily locking it behind him. Fran’s familiar automated voice greeted Tommy, and the blond walked to the main room, dumping the contents of his bag onto the table.
Sam keeps a few daffodils on one of the workshop tables, it’s something Tommy noticed after he moved it around so many times. It always looked pretty healthy, the yellow petals swaying gently from the fans. However, some of them had begun to droop towards the counter, almost like they were frowning.
Tommy shakes his head, filling his empty water bottle with the tap, and walking over to hydrate the poor flower. His uncle was probably busy and forgot to do it.
The water spilled slightly over the edge of the pot, and Tommy grumbled while he cleans it, and then goes back to his original plan.
He plays whatever random playlist he has saved on the speaker, and gets to work, putting the finishing touches on his suit while slowly immersing himself in his own bubble. It’s so easy to forget about his worries, and instead focus on whatever is in his hands, carefully threading a needle and finishing a line of stitches with the utmost precision.
The mask is finished, and he smiles at his handy-work. Putting it to the side, he goes back to the main suit, adjusting some things with the armor and padding.
It was a neat little piece he started designing to test out after a few patrols. Tommy had thought of it as a way to reinforce his suit, like the things bikers wear but less bulky for better agility. The early drafts of this idea were still in his sketchbook, but it was something Tommy planned to eventually use.
It would serve as a good way to protect his body from any injury.
The blond bopped his head to whatever rhythm played in the background, humming softly and mumbling the lyrics he remembered from listening to commercials or channels on the television. It was the usual mainstream radio that you got sick of after a week, but Tommy wasn’t going to pay for a membership on an app.
All his money would go to that, and then leave him broke. Tommy had an inconsistent allowance and while he was above the age of labor laws, he didn’t feel motivated to get a job, meaning he had no steady flow of income.
Suddenly, while Tommy was looking for materials to make his armor, a loud blaring noise filled the room, causing him to jump from the surprise. He turned to find it was his phone, buzzing aggressively on the table and bouncing with every wail. Quickly turning it on, he freezes, because on the screen he’s met with an alert, telling citizens to evacuate from the area around Pandora Dynamics.
They had received a warning of a bomb threat.
Not even a second passes to process when Tommy hears a loud explosion go off in the distance, knocking him off his feet and onto the floor.
CRASH!
The blond looks up to see the daffodils’ pot shattered into pieces on the floor, dirt staining the ground and crushed petals fluttering away.
That doesn’t matter though, because Sam is in there. Sam was working that day at the lab, and he was in the direct path of the danger. Tommy frantically gets up on shaky legs and pulls on his half-finished suit. It doesn’t matter, because he has to get there. This is what he’s been preparing for the last two weeks, and suit or not, he can’t just stand by.
The teen wrenches the mask over his head, and he’s out the window faster than he should’ve physically been able to.
The wind blows against him while he swings from building to building, all while he can feel some of the stitching coming undone. The spots where he hadn’t completely finished were weakened by the speed of his movements, but Tommy had tunnel vision, and had only one goal in mind.
His uncle was trapped in there, and countless other people who had families just like him.
Pandora is in the distance, and Tommy can see the structure falling apart as he gets closer, debris tumbling to the floor. With a harsh thud, Tommy lands onto the ground in front of it, and he gets a scope of the damage.
Lines and lines of first responders are standing outside, police barking orders to nearby residents to get back and out of the danger zone.
“Hey! Spider-Man!” One of them yells, and Tommy whips around to see a high ranking officer walking towards him. The man scowls down at Tommy, leaning forward in an almost condescending way. “I don’t know who you think you are, but we’ve all seen the little stunts you pulled. I want you to stay out of my policeman’s way, vigilante.”
“You’re actively refusing my help?” Tommy doesn’t know much about how cops work, but that sounds a bit stupid, especially if you can save more people.
“Simply being here I could have you arrested, so be grateful I’m not using those measures,” the man grits his teeth, ignoring the previous question.
Tommy looks at him incredulously, scoffing and pitching his voice down, “You really think your team can get everyone out? I could do twice the job in half the time.”
As they speak, people are rushing out and speeding past them, heavy smoke and dust swirling in the air. It blocks out the sun, casting an eerie red glow on everything it touches.
“Your self-proclaimed heroics aren’t going to work in a real world scenario, so leave the actual stuff to us, we’ve trained for situations like this.”
“And I know how to help, just let me do my thing and I’ll be on my way.”
“I’m afraid not. Until further notice, your presence is a threat to the safety of these people. Back off, Spider-Man,” the officer spits out the name like he wishes to curse Tommy’s entire family.
“I’m not letting innocent civilians die because of your uncooperativeness. With all due respect, fuck you officer.”
Just as the man starts reaching for his handcuffs, mouth open to order Tommy to get his hands out where he can see them, the blond swings away, running right into the cloud of dust surrounding them. Quickly getting to work with shooting webs at the weak joints, Tommy feels the air clog his throat, and reminds himself to install a filtering system into his mask.
There’s no way he can individually get everyone out, so he decides on a different plan. If he can just keep the building from falling for long enough, maybe they can escape. There isn’t even a moment where he can revise this, so it immediately goes into action, Tommy quickly continuing the process he had already started.
Each web is a new string added to the handful that’s threatening to slip out of his hands, each one a life that could be lost. Right in his palms. Tommy grunts from the weight of the concrete, barely dodging falling bricks, putting the Sense on overdrive. He finally anchors himself on a roof, but he can feel the heels of his feet get pulled into the concrete, yelling out in pain as he’s practically dragged to the edge by the teetering building.
Pulling with all his force, he manages to yank back the walls that threatened to tip over, webbing himself to the ground as an extra precaution. The suit is coming apart at the seams, already ripped after getting cut by the debris. Tommy’s arms start to tremble from overexertion, beads of sweat soaking his mask as his shoulders quake.
The strings are starting to snap, coming apart and falling to the ground, leaving the teen to frantically try and keep them from breaking. Glancing down to the police crowded down, people are being mounted onto stretchers and taken away in wailing ambulances, firefighters running in and out like ants, carrying unconscious scientists on their shoulders.
One of them looks up, darting their head around as if they’re looking for something, and when they spot Tommy, they give him a thumbs up.
Oh wow, he could’ve cried in relief when he finally let go of the webs and gave his sore limbs a break.
But then Tommy watched one last person run out of the collapsing entrance. A man with green hair, an arm thrown around a colleague in a desperate attempt at saving them, and familiar gold eyes he saw almost every day. Sam is trying—and failing—to move quickly enough with the person on his back, his shouts for help drowned out by the loud sirens and commotion.
Tommy’s arms scream in protest as he swings down, but through the rubble he can see a large chunk of the building start to grow cracks, and tumble towards their figures, the world around him slowing down like it did when Wilbur threw the pencil at him. He dives to the ground, rolling to avoid a pole that would’ve impaled him otherwise. Tommy’s not going to be able to throw himself at them as a shield or shove them out the way, so with tired wrists, he aims a web.
Thwip!
As soon as it lands, Tommy yanks it back, and someone lands in his arms. The blond throws himself onto the ground, shielding the person as bricks slam onto his back. Pain explodes all over him, and he grits his teeth while tears form at the edges of his eyes. The suit tears in places, and he mentally curses.
For fucks sake, he just finished it!
When the dust settles, Tommy gets up, but finds only one person curled up on the ground.
Ringing fills his ears as a few officers rush over with a stretcher, but Tommy pushes past the ones trying to thank him, frantically running around the rubble. All he needs is a sign, just something to confirm the other is alive.
“SAM!” His vocal chords rip from the very desperation filling his tone. The pads of his gloves are smeared with blood as Tommy tosses debris aside, going as far as lifting tons of metal and concrete out the way.
“PLEASE—“ his voice breaks, a sob tearing through Tommy’s chest like a knife.
Near what used to be the doorway, Tommy spots a hand resting on some of the rubble, and he immediately stumbles over, tossing aside whatever is in his way. Right there, battered and bruised, is his uncle's smiling face.
“Tommy,” the man whispers, reaching out to take his hand.
The blond doesn’t process the first word, looking him over for injuries and using his webs as bandages for the gushing wounds.
The swelling on the man’s face is bad, his eyebrow split open and showcasing the pink flesh and crusting edges. Shrapnel is digging into his arms and chest, ripping through his clothes and puncturing the skin. He doesn’t even want to describe his legs. The left is bent in a way it probably shouldn’t be, and the other is crushed under a beam.
How Sam hadn’t passed out yet was beyond Tommy’s knowledge.
“Don’t talk, sir. I’m going to get you out of here. Y-you’re going to be okay,” Tommy stammers, meeting his uncle’s eyes.
Sam shakes his head, reaching his hand over to grasp the edge of his mask. “I know it’s going to be okay, Tommy.”
“Wh—Tommy? Who’s that, I’m not…I’m not him,” the blond looks at his uncle in barely concealed shock, his eyes bowing wide.
“How convenient the same week you get but a spider-themed hero shows up. You really thought I wouldn’t notice the missing fabric?” Sam smiles, a trickle of blood making a path down the side of his face from the strain. The man’s fingers slip under the cloth of his mask, and weakly try to lift it.
Tommy tears the mask off, revealing his already known identity, and squeezes Sam’s hand with the other. “Stop this. You’re supposed to be at the workshop tomorrow. We need to finish the enclosure together,” he sobs, leaning forward with his hair touching Sam’s chest. It barely moves up and down.
A bloody hand drops his, and then cups his cheek. “That spider was never supposed to be there. You shouldn’t have to go through this, I’m sorry.”
“What? Why?”
Sam ignores his question, “The workshop and everything in it is yours now, Spider-Man,” he cracks a grin. Tommy manages a watery laugh. “You’re so brave, Toms,” Sam’s weak smile starts to grow into a wince.
“Shut the fuck up, do-don’t say that shit. This isn’t the time to give me your will, save your energy. I’m gonna get you to a hospital, and everything will be okay. Stay with me, Sam, don’t close your fucking eyes, you hear me? Sam? SAM!”
The man’s golden eyes, usually so full of joy and life, grow dim as his head slips back and onto the ground. His body relaxes, and Tommy can see his chest stop moving.
“NO! SAM, STOP,” Tommy holds his uncle close. The person who never judged him, who always had the most amount of patience and awkward jokes. Sam had comforted him, trusted him, and never once had he cast Tommy aside or sent him away from the shop.
Sam treated Tommy like an equal. Not like an immature child.
“Don’t leave me.”
A patch of tears grows on his uncle’s tattered clothes, Tommy gently cradling the corpse as he stares at the one person he had desperately tried to save. The whole reason he’s doing this is to help people, but more importantly to keep those close to him safe.
And Tommy failed.
The one task he’d given himself, he failed.
“FUCK,” he screams, “SOMEONE HELP!” He tries to shout over the commotion, over to where the officers were and starts waving a hand frantically when they finally spot him. “I’m sorry, Sam, I’m so fucking sorry. This is all my fault, this—“ his voice breaks.
The sound of the officers’ yells bounces around Tommy’s ears, paired with the pattering footsteps of medics rushing over and the cracks from the chest compressions, all muddle together to form a medley of his failure.
Tommy frantically grabs his discarded mask and pulls it on, swinging away when a few officers get too close. He can’t bear to watch.
The swinging continues on until he can’t smell the smoke anymore. Until his shoulder practically dislocates, because he’s practically crossed the entire city.
Faster than he could handle, the initial shock wears off, and Tommy’s body starts to stitch itself back together in an instant. That, mixed with his brain coming to the realization that Sam is dead, is enough for him to falter, and come crashing down on a nearby roof.
His next web had just…snapped.
The teen’s already battered body hits the floor with enough force to break his ribs. All his injuries would be millions of times worse if he didn’t have his regenerative properties, which is what he starts to realize after the blast of pain that covers his torso. It claws at the gashes on Tommy’s back, reopening the wounds that had just barely stopped bleeding and pouring salt into an already infected cut.
Stars burst behind his eyes, spinning and spinning as he stared into the sky. It had begun to move into the evening, the sunset far too gold for a day so devastating.
All Tommy had the energy to do is cry and lift his fuckass mask high enough so he doesn’t choke on tears. Sprawled in a silly costume, barely able to think properly, he realizes nothing could’ve prepared him for this.
And he said before that there’s nothing you can do to stop the anxiety that comes when putting on the mask, but it had been a good kind of anxiety. The type you feel when you’re going on a rollercoaster, waiting for the drop with a smile on your face and hands up in the air.
That was his naivety, the thought that nothing like this would happen so early.
So he screams.
Tommy absolutely shrieks and sobs, rolling onto his forearms and pulling himself into a sitting position.
Tommy begs whatever gods will listen to take his powers back in return for his uncle, he yells until his throat grows hoarse and shot. But even if he pleads with the cold shoulder the clouds give him, all the wounds were closed up after he tired himself out.
Everything is still there.
Fuck, what is Kristin going to have to deal with? His brothers? They hadn’t even been here a month and all this was already happening. Would they blame Spider-Man? Tommy would blame him as well, being the only one with powers and still letting someone die. Tommy would be livid in their places.
The same could go with any other family affected by his lack of ability. Everything they’d have to go through, it just pains him to think about.
If he couldn’t save Sam, then Tommy'll just have to save everybody else, and spare them the pain. All this responsibility is on his shoulders, and he’ll gladly take the worry of someone else’s.
Notes:
And that, folks, is the end of the first arc
I planned it to be like around four arcs, I’m still getting some of the pacing correct but that’s the estimate. This arc is very centered around Tommy, so there will be more interaction and sight into other characters
Props to whoever guessed Sam was gonna find out first! If you didn’t catch it, in the last chapter he hinted at understanding what Tommy was going through power-wise, but I’ll go more into detail in later chapters
Also guess who figured out how to make the summaries italics I’m a fucking idiot
Goodnight, I am falling asleep as I write this
Chapter 9: It’s Quiet Uptown
Summary:
When someone new ran into the hospital, asking to see a loved one injured by the bomb, Tommy couldn’t help but get forcefully thrown out of his fantasies. Tears would sting and threaten to fall from where he was desperately holding them, knowing there was yet another person with lilac circles under their eyes and worry etched into their face sat in the lobby.
He couldn’t help but think, what if he had been faster?
Notes:
This was kinda hard to write so late chapter woo hoo
This time I promise to stick to schedule I will no longer procrastinate! (That’s a lie)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Grief wasn’t something Tommy dealt with often. It wasn’t something he was used to dealing with at all.
Sure, his childhood goldfish drowning made him cry for a day or two, but that’s as far as his grief goes. Both sets of grandparents were long gone before Tommy was born, leaving him to wonder what it would’ve been like to meet them, and mourn their eventual passing. Would it have been anything like it was now?
Knowing someone for so long and just watching them slip through your fingers creates an impossible feeling to describe. Especially when Tommy was right there, literally holding the string that dictated whether or not Sam lived. He would never regret saving that other person’s life, but feeling the dread spread all throughout his body when he realized only one person was shielded by his arms, it wasn’t something he would jump to go repeat.
Old friends used to confide in him about their sorrows. A hole, they said, had plunged through their chest and left an endless space that could never be filled. Tommy always ended up struggling to comfort them, because he’d never been in those shoes. Simply imagining standing by one of his family members’ graves would send his mind spiraling.
Watching one of his brother’s cold dead eyes stare back at him in a nightmare was already bad enough. The panic that filled Tommy when he realized it was Wilbur in the wreckage, with bloodstained cheeks and matted hair, his brother despite everything.
No, that was too much, because death is so much more permanent than Tommy could’ve ever imagined.
They would truly be gone. Never would he see that person’s smile again, or hear their voice coming from anything other than an old recording, eventually straining to remember what their laugh was like. Their face would grow fuzzy, despite his best efforts, fading until he’s left with vague memories, and a painful feeling that doesn’t ever leave.
And to simply…disappear from existence is a terrifying thought. Everything a person ever accomplished in their life will be forgotten to time, their body merging with the ground until their name stops being whispered and their headstone becomes an assortment of wilted flowers.
Tommy never put much thought into that phenomena, despite the fact everyone eventually reaches that point in life where your eyes close and your breathing halts. It was scary, and he never liked to think about it. It left a deep sense of dread bubbling in his chest whenever his thoughts drifted too long. Suddenly, it was like a flip was switched, because now death is everywhere.
It consumes Tommy’s waking mind, as he’s constantly running in circles asking himself, what could have gone different?
Everything around him is now donning black drapes and playing the funeral march because Sam is dead.
The sky outside is dark and hidden with gray clouds, the tense atmosphere around his family growing worse—and this time—sadder. A melancholy blanket had been draped over them. Tommy still hadn’t even talked to them after their argument, and this sudden pile of sadness was threatening to make him collapse.
It had been confirmed a few hours after the incident.
Tommy managed to stumble his way back to the workshop, half drowning in tears while also heavily limping from his barely healed injuries. He got out of the torn suit, stuffing it back into his backpack and burying it deep below his things. It would stay there for a while, something he had poured himself into just becoming nothing but a bad memory.
There wasn’t any time to dress any of the cuts or scrapes left, so instead Tommy threw on his hoodie and fought through the pain his back pulsed with every time he stretched a muscle too far. The debris had sliced through his skin, leaving the wounds open and prone to infection, but Tommy had absolutely no fucks to give. Some of them had been healed by his regeneration, but a lot were still in the process of scabbing over.
He raced back home, finding Kristin in shambles with the news turned on, Phil on the phone, while his two brothers did their best to stay composed. They probably watched the whole thing, seeing the moment Sam became a part of the past.
No one acknowledged Tommy other than Phil telling him to get in the car. Those next ten minutes were the worst of his life. Realistically, it should’ve been at the very least a twenty minute drive, but at the speed his father was going it was a miracle they didn’t get pulled over. The police were probably still busy with the chaos the explosion caused.
Lots of other cars sped through the roads as well, despite the insane amount of traffic. Everyone else had the same plan. It was a cacophony of yells and honking, Tommy’s hands making their way to his hair and yanking at the strands.
The stay at the hospital wasn’t any better. At that point, Tommy had begun to disassociate, getting far too lost in the depths of his mind to process any words anyone uttered. So, he stood off to the side while Kristin frantically asked the overworked receptionist if her brother was alive. The man simply directed us to a group of chairs in the lobby and told us to wait while a doctor was with him.
Fuck, how they waited.
It was mostly a blur, Tommy existing in a different world he created for himself that kept his uncle healthy and alive. A world that drowned out the cries of his family around him, and the other people who had also been affected by the explosion.
When someone new ran into the hospital, asking to see a loved one injured by the bomb, Tommy couldn’t help but get forcefully thrown out of his fantasies. Tears would sting and threaten to fall from where he was desperately holding them, knowing there was yet another person with lilac circles under their eyes and worry etched into their face sat in the lobby.
He couldn’t help but think, what if he had been faster? If he had just ignored the cop instead of antagonizing him, maybe more would’ve gotten out without wounds. Maybe if he was smarter, Tommy could’ve come up with a more efficient plan than whatever stupid shit he used. Again and again, he found more things a better Tommy would’ve done. It pains him to know these people attached to heart monitors and IVs could be at home with their families instead of fighting to stay alive.
It wouldn’t be outrageous to blame Spider-Man.
Some part of Tommy blamed the bastard too. The part that started to view the vigilante as a separate person, rather than an alter-ego of himself. It whispered cruel poison, taunting the blond with a Cheshire grin and sharp words. What was Spider-Man if not another version of Tommy? That’s a question the teen would feel himself circle back to after his brain ran out of things to dissect. Tommy liked to think he wasn’t all that different from the hero, but even that fantasy was starting to unravel.
Everyone who supported Spider-Man saw him as this powerful person, someone courageous enough to risk his life for so many people. He was…well, a hero. Perfect in every way and a beacon of strength for others to follow, that’s what they said, anyway. Spider-Man was brave, strong, resilient. Things Tommy would get called jokingly as an April Fool’s prank.
The news would continuously recycle footage from the destruction until even the reporters grew bored, but it was not before they sang Spider-Man praise. They would bring up charts and gush about the survival rate doubling, the usual amount of casualties expected cut down to almost a fourth. His approval was through the roof!
However, that didn’t stop people’s complaints, all of which were completely understandable. Tommy was finally putting on the shoes, and they hurt. Everyone that was affected and calling for his arrest was in the right, because that was a mistake Tommy made, who had seeped through into Spider-Man. Because when Tommy puts on the mask that’s not him any longer, so it’s objectively his fault for letting himself stay attached.
Despite everything though, Spider-Man was becoming a household name. It started to reach bigger people, celebrities, politicians, and more specifically, one of the two candidates for the upcoming governor election.
His mutton chops and red tie created a rather menacing image when he stood atop the podium, giving a charming speech with an even more charismatic smile. It threatened to lure you in, as if he was a siren, enticing listeners to jump into the ocean that is his campaign. Tommy tuned out most of the man’s comments, instead, staring at the way the light’s reflection seemingly casted horns above him. They curled like a ram ready to buck its head and shove anyone who disagrees out of his way.
The glint in the man’s eyes was almost menacing, and so naturally did it fit his face that Tommy was convinced in another life those antlers were attached to his head. They would cast a dark shadow over the crowd he enchanted, carrying an intense cloud of imminent danger over their heads.
The receptionist decided to switch channels after someone waiting burst into tears after the sixteenth replay of the bomb showed up on screen.
That was the last point Tommy remembered because after that, there was a quiet darkness that pulled a heavy blanket atop his shoulders, singing soft melodies in attempts to coerce the teen to sleep. He eventually gave in to the hum of the bright lights, leaning heavily against Techno, who only grumbled softly, and then draped his jacket over his brother.
If Tommy strained his ears, he would’ve heard the soft murmur of the word “Theseus,” and then the tale that came afterwards. A story he already knew by heart from the amount of times he'd been told it, yet he never grew tired of listening to the heroes he drew inspirations from. The rumble from his brother’s voice gave Tommy a comfort he hadn’t felt since he was a little boy, running to his parent’s room out of fear the Algea would reach out of the pages and attack him.
Tommy isn’t sure how long he stayed under the clutches of his dreams, only that when he woke up, a doctor was standing before them with a grim expression on their face, repeating the same news for the tenth time that night.
“We did everything we could.”
It seemed like instead of the Algea, it was Thanatos who paid Tommy a visit.
From then on a consistent ringing filled his ears. He doesn’t remember the mountain of paperwork Kristin had to fill out, or the drive home. Suffocating silence that filled the vehicle only broken by the occasional sniffle. He doesn't remember sitting on his bed for hours and staring at the locked cabinet, nor does he remember his detentions getting dropped on the following Monday, wrapped in pity and topped off with a bow of strained compassion.
Most of all, Tommy blocks out the memory of pulling on his charcoal slacks on the Wednesday afternoon, and buttoning up his dress shirt, slipping his arms into a suit jacket. His fingers fumbled with the tie, choosing instead to bunch it up and throw it against a wall.
No, none of this Tommy can recall.
What he can remember is that it was raining.
Large droplets of water weighed down his hair and clothes, pattering onto the closed casket and caking his dress shoes with mud. The service was long and arduous, Tommy switching back and forth between him being there in the moment and hiding in his thoughts. They were kinder than the reality he faced.
He likes to think he was dumped into a cold bucket of water, and while trying to stay afloat his body grew numb. Tommy was drowning, but at the same time he didn’t feel anything, couldn’t feel anything. All his screams echoed back, no matter how hard he yelled, each one quieter than the last.
At one point Tommy wasn’t sure if the water on his face was the rain or tears.
Looking around, he figured everyone else had their weeps lost in the storm.
It looked like Sam was fairly popular amongst his co-workers, because aside from his family, important looking people were standing next to his grave. Tommy would assume they were from Pandora, seeing as a large majority were wearing a form of sling or had bandages hidden beneath their blazers. Some sported purple and yellow blotches on their faces, medical tape holding together pieces of skin.
Kristin had stepped up to the podium to give the eulogy, speech written out on a piece of tear-stained paper. One thing Tommy admired about his mother is her strength, because despite the fact it was clear she was in pain, she hid it behind her words and put on a brave face.
The second person to step up to the podium was one from Sam’s will. They wore a crisp suit, hiding a prosthetic under their left arm, metallic fingers peeking out past the cuffs. She wasn’t anyone Tommy’s uncle had told him about, but clearly she was important enough to be up there.
He introduced himself as Ponk.
The name rang a few bells, but Tommy wasn’t sure where he’d heard the name before. He shelved it for when his brain was up and running. Ponk gave their speech, apparently having known Sam for a long time.
A few in the crowd nodded along and wiped at their eyes, but that was when Tommy noticed someone off in the distance. What the fuck? The place they were in had a decent amount of trees and plants dotting the field, sprucing up the woe so clearly embedded into the flowers. Hidden amongst the wildlife, was a figure in one of those large cloaks that ghosted just above the ground.
They just stood there menacingly, the wind and rain swirling around them so Tommy sees flashes of green swallowed by the deep color of the flowing fabric. For a moment, Tommy feels as if the stranger is boring their eyes right into his, and a shiver makes his hair prickle up nervously. The stranger tilts their head, and Tommy can feel something tug at the back of his head ever so slightly, pulling forward.
When he feels it get yanked forward, Tommy almost stumbles as if someone had shoved him. The Sense starts to go crazy, announcing with harsh alarm bells that this is someone dangerous. The edges of his vision blur, fusing together and swirling into a mess of colors until the casket disappears. Suddenly, he’s thrown back into last Saturday, standing right back in the middle of the debris of Pandora.
Fire is smoldering. Why is there fire? There wasn’t an—and thick smog clogs his lungs. The wailing of the police sirens are far away, their footsteps pattering quietly. The setting was almost dream-like. If it hadn’t been for The Sense, Tommy would’ve absolutely fallen for whatever mind trick this is.
Because, this…this isn’t real, is it?
“Tommy!”
The blond snaps out of whatever stupor he was in, whirling his head away from the stranger, and turning to see Phil whispering at him. He looks slightly concerned. “Uh, yes?” Tommy hates how his voice cracks on the last word.
“You just looked a little far away there, mate.”
“Sorry, I was just lost in thought.”
Phil nodded, turning back to where Ponk was still speaking. The teen glances back around for any sign of the hooded figure, but it’s as if they vanished with the swaying petals, nothing left but Tommy’s simmering panic.
Whatever that was, it didn’t matter, because he left the cemetery with one less piece of himself. One he should’ve gotten to know longer, but now never will because it’s six feet below the earth.
And so Tommy did what he did best, and locked himself into his room, barely remembering to eat or drink and investing himself into his alter-ego. Sewing his suit back together, researching who held the detonator to the bomb, and looking into anything that could have caused his little episode, or triggered a hallucination. Ag the same time, anything he needed to know to fucking kill the person responsible.
Superheroes in the media all have the dumb rule about “no killing” and their moral high ground, but those are just panels in a comic book. Tommy won’t follow those same rules even if it destroys any form of approval he scrounges up, because he wants revenge.
***
Tubbo's first thoughts on Tommy were conflicting.
He was on edge the moment he spotted the blond sitting down at the free seat at their table. It brought back memories of when he and Ranboo were freshmans, getting in with a scholarship and the skin of their teeth. They had a few…issues with some of the other students, and Tommy gave off the impression that he had people to clean the scum off his shoes.
However, that view of the teen quickly changed when he realized he was just British—not much unlike Tubbo himself—and shares the same disdain towards pretentious bastards. Which was why Tubbo didn’t really regret inviting him to sit at their lunch table.
Tommy was pretty funny—a title Tubbo didn’t give out lightly—and seemed to genuinely care about their little group. Purpled was slowly getting pulled in as well, even if he tried to “stop” himself from talking to them. The two of them wormed their way into Tubbo’s life, and he was starting to consider Tommy as one of his best friends.
Even if they hadn’t known each other as long as he did with Ranboo, or even Purpled for example’s sake, it didn’t really seem to matter with him. Sure, he was annoying at first, but he was growing on Tubbo.
Yet there was still a nagging feeling pulling at the back of his head. A vigilante showed up not long after Tommy did, who somehow managed to destroy their entire science classroom. That day after the school day was over, Tubbo practically blew his phone up with texts that were never answered, but after watching the news the next evening, he guessed why.
The headline, blaring for everyone to see, displayed Sam’s full name as one of the few deaths that were caused by the bomb. Tubbo only really spoke to the guy during their science presentation, but he knew Tommy had a stronger relationship with him, considering that was his uncle. Tubbo admired the Warden, and always looked up to him, but he couldn’t imagine feeling the pain of losing someone like Puffy.
Three days after the explosion at Pandora, Tubbo woke up in the middle of the night to his ringtone. With bleary eyes, he had held up his phone to his ear and heard Tommy’s faint sobs, almost as if he was trying to muffle the sounds with a pillow or his hand. Tubbo had immediately sat up and asked the blond a barrage of questions, sleep long forgotten.
Tubbo had been practically ghosted. Tommy wasn’t at school and pretty much disappeared, but Tubbo understood he was grieving, and was just really worried for his friend considering the state he called in. It was worrying for him.
Most of Tommy’s words were unintelligible, but Tubbo could pick out things like “I just need to talk to a friend” and “this is all my fault.” At first he was overwhelmed, because in this situation, what can you do over the phone? But he was glad Tommy felt comfortable enough to come to him. The word “friend” made him smile.
Eventually, Tubbo had found an old harmonica in one of his drawers and played the same notes to “Piano Man” over and over again until the blond calmed down. Tommy had snorted at the sound of the instrument, so Tubbo clocked that as a win.
The blond was clearly not having the best time, it’s not even been a month after his move, and his uncle is dead. But, he had talked about the incident like it was his fault it happened which brought up suspicions. He talked like Tommy was the reason Sam is six feet under. Obviously, it wasn’t, so Tubbo assumed it was just the grief talking, but his skepticism stayed there, pulling at the back of his head.
It whispered, He’s lying to you. Tommy is hiding something and you know it.
To clear his head, Tubbo hung out with Ranboo after school the next day, just playing video games, but he felt this increasing tension between his shoulders that just didn’t let him relax.
It wouldn’t hurt to ask, or even snoop around a bit.
Tubbo had no business thinking any of this about Tommy.
You’re friends, after all. You deserve some explanation after that.
But he was gonna do it anyway.
It can’t be a coincidence this brand new Spider-Man pops up not long after the blond. Every news station is covering his story, blurry photographs and videos being displayed whilst two anchors argue over his intentions.
Personally, he doesn’t think this vigilante guy is a bad person. Ranboo would disagree, but there doesn’t seem to be any underlying reasons so far as to why he showed up. There was a cop’s interview being used a lot, however, in which he spouted some shit about getting insulted by Spidey and how he’s a “threat to our country.”
It just seems like the guy got his ego bruised or something.
Either way Tubbo sides with Spider-Man.
It was pretty late one day when Tubbo walked into the restaurant, and it had been exactly one week after the explosion. The day before, Tommy had finally gone to school, his eyes red while he just looked really fucking tired. It seemed like he had barely slept at all, barely focused during his classes and prodding at the lunch he usually devoured.
People whispered, which was to be expected, but it still made Tommy frustrated and feel worse than he already was. They talked about his uncle, someone so respected in the scientific community related to the boy who destroyed part of the school. Nasty things they’d call him behind his back, all of which Tommy somehow managed to catch no matter how low they whispered. Purpled gave him his notes, knowing the blond would be doomed without them.
At least he didn’t have any detentions to attend.
Puffy was at the bar cleaning glasses while serving drinks to whoever sat at the stools, her dual-colored hair tied back and a red apron thrown over her dark clothes. Considering it was a Saturday, a good amount of people were sitting at the tables and booths, waiters weaving through chairs with trays of food.
Usually after school the teen came here, hanging out with his aunt and helping out with the register at times. He enjoyed the retro look and dim lights that really set a nice ambiance for customers—and it was actually pleasant to do homework in. A pirate’s hat hung above Puffy’s office, and while it was a bit out of place, it tied the overall vibe together in a slightly chaotic way.
Throughout his childhood, Tubbo spent a lot of time at the restaurant. His parents both passed when he was a baby, and all he really had to remember them by was a photograph. Puffy had taken him in after filling out all the legal documents that came with adoption, even though she was still in shambles after her brother’s death. Maybe if Puffy didn’t have Foolish—her son—as practice for staying sane, she probably would’ve snapped.
His aunt is strong, a lot stronger than most people because she juggled paperwork, entrepreneurship, and grief while raising both Tubbo and Foolish. Which she did a pretty good job considering Tubbo thinks he came out pretty great.
Walking to the bar, he sits down on a bright red stool, and sees a cup set down in front of him, a straw falling into the liquid not long after with a plop! He takes a sip, feeling the taste of fresh orange juice explode across his tongue, before settling his head in his arms. “Hey, Puff.”
She immediately clicks her tongue, setting down the glass she’d been wiping and leaning her forearms on the counter. “What’s bothering you?” she taps her finger on his head and raises an eyebrow.
Damn. He was hoping she wouldn’t notice right away, but his aunt had a thing for reading people, and whenever she used her authoritative tone of voice, he knew there was no deflecting the question. Truly, there wasn’t anything big nagging at him. He was only concerned for his best friend. And suspicious of the new vigilante that could possibly have something to do with said best friend.
It would probably be better to just talk about the former considering the latter is tied to that problem, and he’s not sure how happy Puffy would be to hear that he’s theorizing again.
Tubbo sighs, choosing to stay alive after he got chewed out from being late to class week. He doesn’t need another lecture. “It’s Tommy.”
She nods, humming in understanding. Tubbo told everything that happened to Puffy, who instantly felt concern for his friend upon hearing the news. “How’s he doing? Yesterday he finally went back, right?”
“Yeah, but he’s obviously not doing well. He was zoning out a lot, ignoring Purpled’s attempts at conversation, snapping at Ranboo, arguing with me,” Tubbo listed everything on his fingers.
“I mean, can you blame him? Imagine if I died and you just had to go back to school and try to act like nothing happened.”
“Don’t even say that, but I guess you’re right. I just wish he would…I dunno, maybe just talk to me more.”
“You’re telling me you don’t talk loads during class like you said?”
“Not like that, I meant as in like his emotions and shit. The only time he called was when I was half-asleep and could barely give solid advice,” he takes another sip of his juice.
“Oh, I’m not sure the thing he needs right now is advice, Tubs,” Puffy turns to a new person that had sat at the bar, taking their order and adding it to a tab while reaching for their drink. “Tommy could probably use his friend rather than a consultant at the moment.”
“Well I think he shoves away his feelings too much,” Tubbo mutters, fiddling with the straw.
“I know you want to help, but waiting for Tommy to confide in you won’t happen. You’ve got to be the one to let him know you’re there, especially since he seems to shut off from what you tell me.”
“…Y’know maybe you should’ve studied psychology instead of business, Puffs,” Tubbo says, slightly concerned at how much she could gather just by what he’s said.
Puffy just laughs, tipping her head back and then turning to look at him again. “That was my backup plan.”
“I couldn’t tell,” he rolls his eyes sarcastically, swirling the straw.
While Tubbo is still slightly annoyed with his best friend over just getting sidelined so suddenly, he can’t really stay mad. Back when he and his brothers came here, Tubbo overheard them talking about getting Tommy out of his room and trying to stop him from isolating himself. If he had to guess, Tommy was probably alienating himself further from his family under these circumstances if he’s so prone to doing so outside of mourning.
That definitely wasn’t a healthy way to deal with grief, as Puffy had assumed he does, so the best next option is finding where Tommy lives and breaking in. Bossman needs to get cheered up, which is exactly what Tubbo can do. He’s done it to Ranboo multiple times over the course of their friendship, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to adapt his methods over to the blond. It would probably be better to just ask to hang out or some shit, but there’s no fun in that.
The excitement comes from hacking the school’s computers and printing out Tommy’s file, and then taping it to his window like a serial killer to jumpscare the guy. Waiting for him to notice his own face, before popping out from behind the paper and letting himself in.
Ranboo nearly tore Tubbo’s head off the first time he did that, wielding a lamp like an axe and swinging blindly. Hopefully Tommy doesn’t have any lamps handy, and won’t immediately call the police. It hasn’t happened yet, and Tubbo really wishes it never does.
After spending another hour with Puffy and finishing some leftover homework, he tells his aunt he’ll meet her at their home, swiping his keys off the table and leaving. Their apartment is relatively close by, so it’s a short walk, and then a few flights of stairs to their place.
It’s not huge, but it’s a nice two bedroom apartment. They have a decently large living area and kitchen, decorations lining the walls and plants cared for in the corners. He kicks off his shoes, setting them in the mat near the entrance, and tossing the keys into their bowl.
Tubbo greets Foolish, who’s on his computer in the kitchen and hastily typing. He reciprocates with a wide grin, and the teen disappears into his room. It’s been fashioned into two sections with a curtain in the middle, separating Tubbo from Foolish. The other man doesn’t have a bed, considering he stays at his dorm in college, but since he’s visiting there is a blow up mattress in its old place. Tubbo used the extra space for himself, pulling the curtain aside and decorating it like it’s his own. He doesn’t mind the other staying here. He’s like a brother.
Booting up his own tank of a computer, two monitors on the side light up, and the extra features he built in start to whir.
He starts going through the familiar process of bypassing his school’s security, fingers tapping away with practiced ease, before grinning as the files appear before Tubbo’s eyes.
Notes:
Tubbo POV! I love paralleling him and Puffy with Tommy and Sam
Except one is alive and the other isn’t
Chapter 10: Break ins and breakdowns
Summary:
He bolts up, walking over to his window to find his own photo pasted on it. He blindly reaches for the nearest thing around him, which was a heavy book from his maths class. Gripping it in one hand while the other lifting the window, he holds out his wrist like a gun, ready to web any potential stalker or creep.
Genuinely, who the fuck prints a picture of someone and has the nerve to just frame it on said person’s window like they’re in a horror movie? It scared the living daylights out of him, and based on how quick his heart is currently beating, Tommy’ll say he’s still quite spooked.
Notes:
I promise this is the last depressing chapter for now 🙏
I locked in so hard for this I’m so freaking happy :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tommy isn’t an early riser whatsoever, so when he sees the sun barely creeping over the surface, he has half a mind to fall back into bed. And he almost does, mind you, but the chill in his room causes him a discomfort too large to ignore.
With an annoyed groan, the blond stands, tugging on a hoodie he discarded on his chair to shield his arms from the cold. Everyone else in his household was definitely still sleeping, so Tommy decided with a growling stomach to go downstairs. He pulls on a pair of socks, padding softly on the creaking floorboards as he descends the rickety staircase.
The blond tries to stay quiet, avoiding any chance of waking up his family. They’ve all been distant, dealing with their grief in their separate ways. Techno threw himself into his college as a distraction, filling out papers as Wilbur’s loud guitar strums filled the house. Kristin stayed out in the garden a lot more, planting a bunch of daffodils and lilies. Phil has kept to himself, staying behind closed doors.
It’s not like Tommy was any better, as he constantly blamed himself, and he still does! Sam was right there, but he still fell short, and his uncle paid the price.
The kitchen was dark, filled with shades of blue that appeared just before the gold rays broke through the surface and filled it up. Tommy always liked the deep color, a calming effect washing over him every time he woke up early enough to witness it. Which was very rare.
He kept the lights off, choosing to bask in the shadows and bump into things every two seconds. Tommy swears as he nearly knocks over a pot while trying to reach for a pan. He clicks on the stove, grimacing at the cooking of the gas, and reaching for an egg from the nearly empty fridge.
As a replacement for the usual two extra eggs he would eat, Tommy practically dumps the entire package of bacon onto another pan, his mouth watering just from the smell. His senses enjoy the pork way more than the eggs.
Loading it all on a plate, he cleans up after himself, and finishes his breakfast while staring at the door. Tommy hadn’t left his house, and still struggled to look towards his duffel bag. Maybe it was time to actually face those emotions. He can’t sulk forever.
Setting his plate back into the sink, Tommy rushes up into his room to change, and throws on shoes. He’ll be back before his family knows he’s even gone! The pillow under the blanket method works well enough, so he’s not too worried if they walk in here for any reason. If they do pull back the covers, Tommy can just say he went out to cry or something.
He reaches for his bag, and pauses with his arm outstretched. Can he really do this? Is Tommy ready? The sun is starting to grow higher up in the sky, and if he doesn’t leave now he’ll have to tell his parents what he’s doing and see the blank expression on their faces.
Huffing, Tommy shoulders his bag, and leaves before he can back out, stepping past the threshold and feeling the cool air hit his face. He’s glad for the thick hoodie that’s shielding his skin, because the morning dew sprinkled across the grass seeps its chill into his arms. Tommy shoves his hands into his pockets, hunching over himself in a chase for warmth as he walks down the sidewalk.
The smell of the morning helped him focus on something that wasn’t objectively sorrowful. Not many people were out at this time, except for the usual rush of traffic and opening-shift workers, so he could walk at his own pace without fear of stepping on a shoe or bumping into someone.
It was almost like his feet were on autopilot, following an invisible trail they’ve grown accustomed to use. The road up ahead was back open, and Tommy had to keep his eyes trained forward forcefully so as to not glance to his left and be face-to-face with the dreaded alleyway. However, if he had, he would’ve found that there’s still cracks in the ground and blood staining the walls.
Tommy finally sees the workshop door up ahead. In Sam’s will, he gave it to him, along with everything in it. Fran was a bit tricky, but Phil managed to get ownership of her. Now she hangs with Techno a lot, having found herself comfortable in the corner of his room, stretching onto the bed he bought her. In the dead of night, Tommy will hear her whines and her paws pattering on the floorboard as she calls out for her deceased owner.
Waiting for someone to arrive, not knowing what happened. It sounded depressing.
The door was dusty, its handle waiting for someone to open it again. A few dents were scattered along the steel, the windows in a similar shape. The glass was foggy, a result of the many little machines Sam tinkered with, but without him to clean it, it was just there from the last time it was used. Weeds were sprouting up from cracks in the sidewalk, barely noticeable but a sign that there wasn’t anyone that frequented the workshop anymore.
With a deep breath, the blond sticks his hand into a nook above the frame, grasping for the spare keys Sam kept there. He shook away any cobwebs that stuck to his arm, and shoved the key into the lock, hitting his shoulder against the metal to heave it open. As soon as he steps in, dust billows up, causing him to cough and wave his hand around.
Tommy shut the door behind him, tossing the keys on the table next to the entrance. Everything was in pristine condition, almost eerily so. The little living area still had its pillows thrown to the ground from the explosion, and on the right, pinned papers had fallen off from their spots on the bulletin board, piling up on the ground. The window on his right was still open from when Tommy clambered to get out, and was surprised it wasn’t broken into. He made a mental note to shut it before he leaves.
What really took his attention was right in front of him, and the last thing he wanted to face.
The door to the main workshop was still thrown open, giving him a view of everything inside. He took measured steps forward, peeking his head through. Old inventions clouded in dust, and half drawn blueprints never to be finished cluttered the counters. Tools still hanging in their usual spots, the occasional wire cutter or wrench holding down a pile of papers. If he squints, he might make out faint hands that used to fiddle and build with Tommy. Thrown over the ground were shards of glass, mixed in with clumps of dirt all belonging to the daffodil pot that got smashed on the floor.
Tommy dropped his duffel bag onto his side, and fell to his knees, carefully scooping up the shards. He throws them into the trash bin, reaching for all the dirt scattered around, and doing his best to clean it up with his hands. By the time he finishes, there’s grime under his nails, and streaks of brown on the floor. Tommy checks for any stragglers, and finds a piece of glass forgotten under the main table.
He reaches for it, and his right palm closes around the sharp fragment. As soon as it makes contact he hisses in pain as one of the sides cuts his skin. Tommy quickly retracts his arm, banging his head on the table when he goes to stand up. Blood is dripping onto the floor, and the blond groans in frustration.
Not just frustration if he’s being honest. Anger and sadness all accumulate at the sight of his slashed palm, and it’s as if that was the last thing keeping him bottled up. Every emotion he buried below his skin was released as his injury sputtered crimson.
Gingerly holding his wound, Tommy stumbles back and slides down the wall behind him, not bothering to find the first aid kit he knows Sam has in his bathroom. His body will heal it soon enough anyway. For about the millionth time this week, tears flowed furiously down his face, barely even giving him a warning of the bursting dam.
It’s surprising his body still has water in it. Tommy hates how weak he feels, always crying, or numb, or just feeling less than what he should be.
Tommy screams, letting every hurt part of him seep into one single yell that nearly bursts his vocal chords.
He will admit, he does feel lighter afterwards, but it doesn’t stop the sob he wracks his chest with.
Just as Tommy predicted, when he finally clears his eyes and looks at his palm, it’s been stitched back together, slightly discolored skin taking over where it used to be bleeding. He leaves the last shard under the table, and stands back up, scanning everything around him.
“Fran, are you there?” His voice hoarsely calls out for the A.I.
“Welcome back, Tommy. What can I do for you?”
The blond doesn’t answer, instead sniffling and sitting on a stool at the main table. There’s someone clearly missing, and while Tommy greatly wishes that person could come back, all he can do is cling to his memories. It almost feels disrespectful not to acknowledge what Sam used to do, all the months he poured into his creations, delicately building everything with nimble precision and care.
He can’t just take the workshop without some tribute to his late uncle.
With a heavy heart, he scrounges around for some of Sam’s favorite gadgets, putting them in the corner of the counter, and setting up a picture he printed out after he fashioned a frame for. Tommy cut a few pieces of black cloth and set it under everything, carefully burning the frayed edges with a lighter.
He placed the dead daffodil onto the mantle, most of its petals having fallen off or gotten crushed. In Tommy’s opinion, it really ties the whole thing together. Then again, he wasn’t known for his decorating abilities.
In one of the closets he hadn’t looked through often, Tommy found a green field jacket. It was also collecting a large amount of dust, but it was the one he’d seen Sam wear in most of his photos. He must’ve liked this one.
The blond reached out to grab it, carefully taking the fabric in his hands, and bringing it up to his nose. He inhaled deeply, feeling his uncle’s scent still lingering. Among the other things in the closet, in a corner he saw what looked like an armor stand. It held military-grade gear, sprayed with a metallic gold color that shone with barely any light, scarily similar to the chest plates soldiers wore.
Tommy wondered why his uncle would need armor at all, considering his job, but it was something to think about in the future. Hanging on the neck was a gas mask, the ones that only covered the lower part of a person’s face, as well as goggles fashioned to look like a gold crown with a ruby in the middle.
This left the blond utterly stumped. The gas mask sort of made sense, however, the goggles were a mystery to him. Again, why did Sam need all this stuff. It looked like it was used, and upon further inspection, everything was clearly made by him with the intent of protection.
Well, it was his now, so Tommy could ponder all he wants another time. He takes one last glance, and goes to close the closet, but something catches his eye. On the shelf closest to the floor, is a tall bottle of whiskey. His uncle never mentioned anything about drinking, but Kristin would sometimes talk about her brother’s occasional indulgence in the substance.
Tommy never drank. Except for the few times Phil would give him a sip of whatever concoction they made during the holidays, or the small watered down cup of champagne for New Year’s. He never took a shot or tried anything other than what his parents provided. Despite all this, Tommy has heard of people blacking out and forgetting things when under the influence, and he can’t help but crave the feeling of bliss and forgetfulness.
He swipes the bottle out from the closet, shutting the closet and throwing the jacket onto the main table. After struggling to get the top off, he takes a small whiff, and nearly gags at the smell. It was foul, but it just increased his curiosity.
Lifting the bottle to his lips, for a moment he hesitated, before Tommy drank straight out of it, feeling the alcohol burn his insides. He coughs aggressively, slamming the bottle back down before doubling over. It’s like fire was spreading down his esophagus, setting his tongue and mouth aflame. It moved down to his chest, corroding him as if he drank straight battery acid.
It was so fucking awful, that he took another sip.
And then again, for the next thirty minutes.
It hurt like a bitch, but Tommy could feel his head grow foggier, detaching from his limbs and giving them a mind of their own. He downs the entire thing, setting the bottle back onto the table, grasping at his throat from the painful sensation.
The blond holds his head, sitting at the table with a pounding in his forehead, the lightheadedness quickly taking over. Tommy tried to stand, but his shoulders were growing heavy and his hands were shaking, pain shooting up from his wrists. He wasn’t sure how much he should’ve drunk, or the recommended amount, but he’s starting to regret taking the whole thing as if it was water.
Tommy’s knees buckle, and again he falls to the floor, rolling onto his back as stars fill his eyes. He can feel his body rejecting the alcohol, pushing it back up as bile fills his throat. Twice he has to stop himself from throwing up all over himself, lying on the ground and fighting his nausea.
It got so bad to the point he couldn’t push it back down, and made a break for the bathroom. Tommy nearly passed out in his efforts to get to the toilet, grasping the basing and retching into it.
Again and again and again.
The stomach acid that crawled up irritated his throat until the only thing he could spit out was just that, spit. Tommy was incredibly dizzy, flushing the toilet and wiping his mouth, collapsing next to it. Despite the fact he’s laying down, the world around him is still spinning, leading to him clenching his eyes closed and waiting out the after effects.
He’s not sure how long he lays there in a puddle of his own sweat and tears, before a searing pain pulls him. Looking down at his wrists, Tommy can see them red and inflamed. His drunken mind is confused, until he remembers reading up on an article about how alcohol affects spiders. Their webs produce quicker than usual, which he guessed was what was happening to him.
For the second time, Tommy holds the basin, emptying out his webs into it, half draped over the toilet seat. It really seemed like they were never ending, the flimsy strings that probably wouldn’t even stick to a wall and collapse the second Tommy swung. He nearly fell asleep in the process, switching hands before he dropped his head inside.
Hopefully this wouldn’t clog the pipes. It would be quite the explanation to Phil.
The webs swirled away after he clicked the button to flush, and he reached towards the sink, cupping his hands and drinking the water, before splashing his face in it. He gasped at the cold water, shaking his head and watching droplets fly everywhere. He could still feel some of the remnants of the whiskey in his system, so his body movements were cluttered and clumsy, barely standing with the help of the wall.
Leaving the mess of the bathroom, Tommy reached for his phone, eyes widening after seeing it was nearly mid-day. He shut off the lights, grabbing his duffel after shoving the field coat in it, and leaving the workshop.
The wall back Tommy barely remembered, stumbling over his own feet and tripping over invisible wires. This time, despite the larger crowd of people, he didn’t care if he bumped into one or pissed off another, he needed to get home.
Pulling the hood over his head, Tommy stumbled into his house, slamming the door behind him, and muttering a, “Hello,” to Techno before running to his room.
His brother was in the kitchen, dressed in pink pajamas, and paused mid bite of a potato to glance suspiciously towards Tommy. He called out for the blond but got not response, as he had locked his bedroom and fell onto his bed.
***
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
The tennis ball in Tommy’s hand knocks against the wall parallel to his bed. The blond doesn’t take much care in making sure it lands back in his palm, throwing carelessly and hoping it doesn’t go flying and break something in his room. He’s laying on his back, an arm behind his head and eyes trained towards the ceiling, a position where he found himself glued to the last few hours, dealing with the after effects of alcohol. Hiding his eyes and slurred speech from his family had been quite the challenge.
The sound of the ball bouncing back and forth helped calm his thoughts, something he could trust to stay the same in the midst of everything else while the sheets cradled Tommy and gave a familiar comfort. Sam’s funeral had been that Wednesday, and four days had gone by. Despite downing all of his uncle’s whiskey and getting a splitting headache, he still really needed the weekend break after Friday’s disaster.
Turns out, nearly getting expelled and being connected to the explosion causes a lot of stir. People would whisper, and Tommy would hear everything. His ears twitched with every word and they dissected the buzz of the crowds for any shit.
It was both a blessing and a curse, because at least he knows who is saying what, but the ignorance he would’ve had otherwise would simplify his life ten times over. That can be said for every part of his powers, but his mask is still at the bottom of his bag, and it’s too late now.
Tommy had managed to patch some of his suit up, barely able to do so more than thirty minutes at a time. It still smelled like blood despite how much he washed it. The stench wouldn’t be leaving any time soon, so Tommy guessed he’d have to spray it with some scented shit before going on his next patrol.
Whenever that is. His body is practically fully healed, a few bruises still yellow but only to that extent. The biggest wound was currently on his mind, because every time he tried to slip the mask over his face he couldn’t help but gag at the stench and memories of Sam’s hand on his cheek. That’s just another piece of Tommy slipping into Spider-Man. All he needs is to forget what happened when he’s in the suit.
It’s a different person. That’s what Tommy tells himself, anyway. It helps push away the blame, despite how selfish that sounds.
He hopes he can make another appearance soon, because the buzz about Spider-Man is still growing and more speculations are popping up. Scrolling through forums about who he is and what he’s planning for eight hours wasn’t fun, but at least he knows the majority believe he’s a grown man.
Tommy should seriously get to making a voice changer or something to mask the voice cracks. If he doesn’t constantly remember then he’ll eventually slip and it’ll be obvious he’s a minor. He’s not sure how the public would react to that, which is why it’s probably best that he's perceived as an adult.
BANG!
The tennis ball nearly hits the window, landing just above it before falling back into his palm. It probably won’t break it but Tommy isn’t taking his chances. Phil doesn’t need the added stress of replacing his son’s window because he was being careless.
BANG!
BANG!
He holds it in his palm after it comes back a second time, squeezing. As he nearly starts to delve into another world of his thoughts, he’s suddenly startled.
BANG!
Tommy hadn’t thrown the ball that time because it clattered to the floor in his surprise. He bolts up, walking over to his window to find his own photo pasted on it. He blindly reaches for the nearest thing around him, which was a heavy book from his maths class. Gripping it in one hand while the other lifting the window, he holds out his wrist like a gun, ready to web any potential stalker or creep.
Genuinely, who the fuck prints a picture of someone and has the nerve to just frame it on said person’s window like they’re in a horror movie? It scared the living daylights out of him, and based on how quick his heart is currently beating, Tommy’ll say he’s still quite spooked.
It looks like he’s in the clear after waiting a minute, no one’s pointed a gun between his eyes or anything! Tommy tosses the book back onto his desk, and it shakes the whole thing, sending pencils rolling onto the floor. He grabs the latch, ready to heave the sill down, when someone jumps out from the side. The Sense barely has time to warn him to lean back, narrowly dodging a forehead that would’ve given him a worse headache.
“Tommy!”
The blond shrieks, falling back onto the floor and nearly shooting a web out of shock. “Tubbo?” He exclaims incredulously, watching as his friend steps into his room like he owns the place. He looks back and forth between him and his open window. “Where the fuck were you holding on to?” His speech still slightly slurred.
Tubbo makes himself comfortable, kicking off his shoes and having a look around. “Your house has some nice window frames. Also it’s old as hell, there were like three missing bricks that made perfect handholds—are you drunk?” The teen freezes, raising an eyebrow.
“No! I’m not, what gave you that idea?” He yelled, clearing his throat and seating his eyes for an excuse. “I’m just tired.”
The other still gives him a weird look, but shrugs it off. “Your house looks different in person.“
Tommy sputters—glad for the change of subjects—getting up and gaping at him. How did he even get his address? Did Tommy seriously just get his room broken into by this guy of all people? “Dude, how are you here? I never even showed you my place, are you insane?”
“Same way I found Ranboo’s address. The school’s security isn’t that hard to get past with the right mindset!” Tubbo plops down on his bed, where across from him is Tommy’s duffel, that has both his suit and his mask peeking out from one of the pockets.
He rushes over to stand in front of it, casually leaning on his desk and nodding to Tubbo. “That’s certainly one way to put it…Y’know, you could’ve just asked to hang out, you didn’t have to give me heart palpitations, man.”
Tubbo laughs, like the maniac he is, and shrugs, “That’s no fun.”
Tommy’s room was still quite bare. He’s gotten to unpack pretty much everything, but there was still a stray box near his closet or spots that looked like he just threw everything down and was halfway through organizing. It lacked his old posters and paint stains, the stuff that gave it personality. Tubbo took note of this, and raised an eyebrow at Tommy’s clearly unopened box.
“If you couldn’t tell, I’ve been a bit busy the past week,” Tommy deadpans, pointing to the rumpled suit thrown over the back of his chair.
Tubbo’s eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to presumably apologize. “Oh, shit, yeah I’m sorr-“
“Stop it, you’re supposed to laugh!” The blond gives a weak grin, but the other just shakes his head with relief, and his shoulders un-tense. “What? It was funny, c’mon.”
“Absolutely fucking not, it was ass. Out of all the dead family jokes you choose arguably the worst.”
“You’re saying that because that’s the joke I made.”
“You’re just unfunny, Toms, hate to break it to you. I’ll be here for you while you come to terms with this new revelation,” Tubbo puts a hand over his heart and gives a solemn look.
“That is simply not true, shut up.”
“Alright, alright. On a serious note, how have you been holding up?” Tubbo shifts the tone of conversation, going from lighthearted and slightly forced to the time he called him far too late but still picked up. Tommy turns around and grabs the duffel, throwing it into his closet without showing any color, and closing it.
He turns back around. “I’ve been doing good,” he says, voice breaking near the end. Tubbo gives him an unimpressed look, gesturing to the other spot on his bed that’s open.
It’s an invitation, Tommy can tell. Tubbo is giving him a chance to talk about how he’s absolutely not been fine, but at the same time giving him the choice to stay standing and brush it over. He was gonna throw it under the rug like he does with everything, but Tommy’s stressed out, and Tubbo clearly had good intentions with breaking into his house.
Which sounds wrong. Out of context.
Tommy sighs, giving in and sitting on his side of the mattress, leaning his head on the wall behind him. Glancing over, he can see his friend’s smug face, so Tommy throws a pillow at him.
“Prick!” Tubbo yells, throwing his own at Tommy with the most force he can muster.
“Hey! We’re supposed to talk about my feelings, not abuse them. Have some respect for your poor friend who’s in pain.”
“Oh boo hoo, now you pull the unwell card when it’s in your favor.”
“You proposed this chat in the first place!”
Tubbo rolls his eyes, “I suppose I did.”
The blond stares off for a little while longer, trying to hold off the inevitable confrontation of his own thoughts. A small part of Tommy desperately wants to tell him of the weight he’s carrying, the power he holds in every web he shoots and the sharpness of his canines. He wants to tell his friend about his increased hunger for meat and his iridescent eyes that faintly give off a soft glow. The way his muscles tense before punching someone full force, and the way his skin stitches itself back together.
Tubbo would guard that secret with his life, probably. They could be a duo, Tommy fighting crime while the other stays as his man-in-the-chair, building gadgets and bouncing ideas off each other. They would share the responsibility, and that would make it a lot less difficult to carry. Yet every time Tommy thinks it could work out, Sam’s dead eyes show back up, but this time they’re Tubbo’s.
He thinks back to the funeral, the strange figure in the distance that caused such a scary and accurate hallucination, who somehow knew Tommy was Spider-Man in order to show him that. They could’ve definitely had something to do with his uncle’s death. Tubbo having any knowledge of Tommy’s secret identity will lead to him being the next person the blond has to bury while blood drips off his hands. He’ll be another set of flowers to bring to the graveyard, and yet another to mourn.
No, Tommy can’t let that happen. Yeah, he’s sitting on the bed, and he’s accepted the chance to open up, but Spider-Man is still standing in the corner, and probably will be for a long time. Instead, Tommy decides to just give Tubbo a watered down version of all his troubles and not worry the guy with threats of death.
“I haven't exactly been over the moon lately,” Tommy admits in a low voice, barely whispering it.
He can feel the other fully turn his attention towards the blond, nodding slowly. “I figured as much.”
“With Sam’s death-“ his voice cracks again, “-and then just arguing with Will and everyone, it’s fuckin’ hard, man.”
“Will? I didn’t know you argued with Wilbur.”
“Yeah, after I sort of blew up the science room, I ran off to the workshop and, uh, lost track of time.” The only person who knew Tommy got mugged and injured had literally taken those secrets to the grave. Hah. He’s debating whether or not to tell Tubbo. “When I got home, they weren’t exactly happy. I didn't give them a heads up, so Wilbur then proceeded to call me a ‘terrorist’ and that ‘I was bound to head down that path’—the path being crime—because of a few mistakes I made.”
“WHAT?” Tubbo practically shouted. Tommy winces and tells him that his family doesn't know he’s snuck into his room, and reminds him that they’re not on the best terms. “Sorry,” Tubbo then whispers, “but he fucking called you that?”
Tommy nodded, “Yup. Accused me of chemical warfare and running from the fucking cops too.”
“Where’s the asshole?” Tubbo stands up, making a show to roll his sleeves and try to form a fighting stance, bouncing back on his heels. “I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”
Tommy wheezes, shaking his head at the other. “He’s, like, twice your size, Tubs.”
“That doesn’t matter, I’ll just bite his ankles like I threatened to tear off your kneecaps!”
“You look way too trigger happy for such morbid words,” Tommy gives him a concerned look, who then falls back down onto his spot.
“I’m sorry, but that’s just a dick move by your brother,” Tubbo shrugged, shamelessly saying it to the blond’s face. He appreciates his honesty, however the thought of his brother directing his poison tongue towards him still stings.
“You reckon?” He scoffs. “Yeah, all that shit really doesn’t improve my mental state at the moment,” Tommy laughs dryly.
“Well…if it helps, you can always come talk to me, Toms. I know we’ve barely been friends, but you’re pretty cool, bossman,” it looked like Tubbo had been looking for a point to throw that in, but not in a pitying way.
Tommy felt his eyes burn, and quickly wiped at them before his friend could see. “I really appreciate that, big guy,” he says shakily. “You’re pretty great yourself, just not more than me.”
Tubbo laughs, and punches Tommy’s shoulder. The blond smiles, and watches as the other opens his arms as if offering a hug. His last hug was from a dead man, so it feels good to melt into his best friend’s arms, holding back tears and sniffling. Tubbo pats his back, almost awkwardly, which is so fucking ironic considering he’s the one who initiated, but Tommy thinks the effort itself is great.
When they break away, Tommy decides that he’s talked enough about his feelings, and stands back up. “You play Mario Kart?”
The other teen looks like he wants to drag Tommy back down and make him deal with his grief in a healthy way, but he probably sees the stubbornness in his eyes and decides against it.
“Hell yeah I do, prepare to die!”
Notes:
Can you tell I’ve never gotten drunk?
I’m fighting through this with quora, reddit, and other scenes from various fan fiction someone help 3
Chapter 11: Why should we bow to you?
Summary:
“My nose!” He shrieks, bringing up a hand to the flattened appendage and nearly passing out at the sight of blood.
“Doesn’t violence and gore come in with the job description? I would assume you’d be used to it after choosing a life of crime,” the blond drops to the floor, webbing up the guy’s hands. He lets him fall to the ground, his wound dripping crimson onto the marble tiles, and then he turns to run to the lock picker. However, he had completely disregarded the last girl, who barrels into him seconds before he can shoot a web.
Notes:
REALLY LATE CHAPTER I KNOW 💔
I started school a week and a half ago and was just swamped, so I didn’t have time to get to this. Hopefully I’ll have more time to write now :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tommy would seriously love it if banks improved their damn security. Criminals are getting far too comfortable, and he can absolutely attest to that conclusion, seeing as he’s just dodged a confidently thrown punch. Honestly, it’s impressive how quickly they learn to bypass anything thrown at them. It’s also really fucking annoying.
“At least learn to aim a gun before trying to pull off such a shit heist,” the blond snarks, shooting a web at one of the five—four who are currently in the main vault with him—and bringing the guy down, tying his wrists behind his back.
The blond had thrown on his suit not long after school got out, deciding that he should patrol that day. He’s been gone for a week, and while there hadn’t been much of an uptick in crime during his absence, it’s still best to quickly comb through the neighborhoods just in case.
It was going well until his ears picked up the blaring sound of an alarm. Up until then he really just did the basics, walked a group of kids home, helped an intoxicated couple not get run over, and save a cat or two from a tree. It was at that moment he truly had to fight.
The doors to the building were kicked in when he got there, windows shattered as screams rang out from inside. The glass covered every inch of floor in its proximity, the shape of a man right in the middle. Some of the shards were covered in a bit of blood, and Tommy guessed whatever morons were robbing this bank jumped through the windows, getting nicked in the process.
People were dashing away from the group holding blazing guns, faces hidden by their colorful ski masks, making them appear as if they stepped out of a bad skit. They didn’t look all that dangerous, in Tommy’s amateur opinion. The true danger came from their inexperience; they were more likely to shoot at random, rather than to hold off from clicking the trigger like most do.
Swinging into the bank took two quick seconds, and Tommy lands right behind the guy who has a gun aimed at the receptionist. With quiet steps, he raises a fist and knocks the man’s lights out, watching as he crumpled and tying his arms before throwing his unconscious body to the side. The lady behind the desk didn’t hesitate to run after she was free from her captor, heels clicking against the floor.
That was when he heard commotion coming from the hallway to his left, a succession of shouts and arguments. It was how Tommy found himself ducking under a roundhouse and sending punches of his own after finding the rest of the group at the vault. The three he was trying to simultaneously fight were protecting the fifth, a woman who was picking the lock to the vault of the bank—and miserably failing. Her frustration was evident in the way her hands shook with barely concealed anger, constantly missing the clicks.
The man he fights bristles at Tommy’s insult, “My skills are just fine, asshole.”
Tommy stumbles away from an incoming elbow, only to be hit with a knee to the face, sending the teen onto the floor with a yell. The boot that tries to kick his chest quickly gets stopped by the blond’s hands, which come up to catch it. He pushes away, sending the man flying, and he knocks his head against the wall adjacent to the vault. This strength thing was really coming in clutch.
The space they’re fighting in is cramped, Tommy having to climb onto the walls to avoid getting crushed. With one person down, it’s slightly less difficult to move around, yet he still prefers to crawl across the ceiling and avoid the gunshots.
“This is not gonna end well for you, big man,” he grumbles, hanging from his feet like a bat to throw fist into another man’s face.
“My nose!” He shrieks, bringing up a hand to the flattened appendage and nearly passing out at the sight of blood.
“Doesn’t violence and gore come in with the job description? I would assume you’d be used to it after choosing a life of crime,” the blond drops to the floor, webbing up the guy’s hands. He lets him fall to the ground, his wound dripping crimson onto the marble tiles, and then he turns to run to the lock picker. However, he had completely disregarded the last girl, who barrels into him seconds before he can shoot a web.
“Can’t you shut the fuck up?” Annoyance seeps into her tone, which is quite audacious considering she’s the criminal here, and shot two people already in the lobby. Tommy’s just trying to keep people safe, damn.
While they scuffle on the ground, Tommy manages to kick away her gun. “Can’t you do this another day? I’m bruised with a bitching headache. Writing out a job application cannot be that hard.”
She growls, punching his gut and trying to force Tommy onto the ground beneath her, reaching for his throat with bloodstained hands. He coughs, feeling his airways restrict from the pressure she puts on his esophagus. Desperately aiming a web to her fallen comrade, he yanks harshly with the last of his air. The body knocks her off of him, and Tommy scrambles to get up, rubbing his bruised neck with an angry expression, shown clearly on the eyes of his mask.
When she tries to run at him, fists up and ready to draw blood, Tommy ducks, grabbing her torso and lifting her up, dropping her behind him. He webs her as she’s disoriented, and turns to see the lock picker inching away from her spot before the metal vault, trying to sneak her way outside. Before the woman can run out the entrance, Tommy webs her ankles, letting her join the heap in the corner.
Breathing heavily, he checks the vault and is satisfied to find it hadn’t been cracked. The only damage was the pathetic scratches on the steel from the lady’s efforts. He turns back to the other four, grabbing them and dragging them out to sit outside the bank on the curb, along with the first guy he knocked out. Some of the policemen run up with handcuffs, some making their way towards Tommy, but the blond is already swinging away.
He’s had enough interactions with cops.
Any minor cuts quickly grow scabs, Tommy’s suit having literally no damage at all except for some dirt. This, he counts as a win—ignoring his bruised knuckles that sting every time he throws a punch. He’s not sure whether or not it’s caused by his lack of form and experience, or it’s simply the absolute strength he carries. It hurts nonetheless.
Tommy seriously needs to get on the fighting lessons. Techno’s been busy, so the hero’s been banished to video tutorials and mimicking the poses in his room again. It slightly improved his technique, but theory only goes so far. It’s only a matter of time before a bigger threat shows up and he’s just powerless against it.
It reminds him of the cloaked person. Goosebumps crawl on his skin whenever he thinks of the strange figure that hid amongst the flowers at Sam’s funeral. Tommy’s only ever seen them once and it’s already consumed his mind; something he had marked off to research later turning almost into an obsession. He needs to find the person responsible, they're still a threat after all, and this green bastard that can create hallucinations apparently is high on his suspect list.
Stopping on top of a random building to rest, he starts to seriously wish he brought water with him. Not only that, but in Tommy’s haste to start patrol, he didn’t even get lunch, so the grumbling in his stomach is becoming increasingly more prominent.
He wonders how people would react if Spider-Man walked into a random restaurant. Would they pull out their phones and record? Scream and run away? Maybe they wouldn’t even care and Tommy is just being arrogant by believing he’s famous enough for that to happen. It’s not about fame at all, but it would be a little funny being followed around with cameras.
However, Tommy’s head is still pounding, and he’d rather not deal with the nonexistent paparazzi he created for himself flashing lights in his face. Other than Puffy’s, he hadn’t really gone out to eat anywhere, so everything is alien to him. In this situation he’d probably look up small businesses around his area, if he actually carried his damn phone.
It’s tucked away in his nightstand back home—where it should be. Tommy isn’t risking its possible damage, knowing if he damaged or broke it, he’d have to dig into his steadily declining allowance to repair it. Most of his money has gone towards stocking up on bandages and gauze, stuffing his medkit to the brim with all the necessities and hiding it under his bed. Hopefully it will stay there, seeing as Tommy can heal himself, and will probably only make an appearance if worse comes to worse.
It sends shivers throughout his body whenever thoughts of that kind stumble through his head. He doesn’t like to think of any threat with that power.
At the rate his stomach is cramping and rumbling, Tommy realizes that continuing with patrol in his state will be useless. Going home is out of the question though, seeing as he’s barely even started making his rounds throughout the city. Instead, he stands—and with a lot less energy than before—hops between buildings in search of something cheap.
He has a few dollars he forgot to take out his suit, which he hopes is enough for whatever he finds. There aren’t many options that really entice him, and he’s really just about to walk into a convenience store for a bag of crisps, until he comes across a park. It’s nothing like Central Park, the lush green he’s only seen through pictures online, despite it being a ten to fifteen minute drive.
It’s nice though, in its own way. Along the roads are a few food trucks with lines in varying lengths. Kids run around trees, chasing each other with imagined swords and sticks. One of the trucks with sandwiches plastered over its walls catches his attention, his nose picking up the smell from pretty far away—and after jumping to a closer building to read the menu—decides he’s found his lunch.
Tommy drops off the roof, swinging over and stepping in front of the next person in line. “Sorry, buddy, but I’m famished and this patrol isn’t gonna finish itself. I’ve gotta put myself first,” the blond pats the awestruck man’s shoulder, speaking a little melodramatically, before then turning to the equally shocked cashier. “Hello!,” he starts, reading off his order—throwing in a bottle of cola along with it—as if he wasn’t blinking up at him with wide lenses.
The surrounding people take out their phones to record, whispering slightly as others point—just as he had predicted. Tommy waves awkwardly at one of the cameras, handing his money to the cashier with a smile he can’t see behind the mask. Off to the side he waits, rocking back and forth on his heels as he loiters about.
It’s a bit off-putting to see so many eyes directed towards him outside his thoughts, but if he puts himself in their shoes, he would be wary after Spider-Man had only really made two appearances so far, not counting his current patrol. It’s his first one back after…
After Sam.
Shaking his head, Tommy grabs his food when his name is called—now is not the time to dwell on matters of his civilian life, even if they still hurt—shooting a web and waving as he leaves. Balancing a styrofoam container while swinging mid air is a lot harder than he anticipated, but he manages to settle himself down on a decently tall building.
Kicking his feet over the edge, Tommy happily pries open the lid, salivating at the scent of the fried chicken lathered with sauces and incredibly unhealthy oil. Pulling his mask up just over his nose and throwing aside his gloves, the vigilante inhales deeply, before taking a large bite of his sandwich and nearly crying from how good it is.
His tastebuds dance as they joyfully take in the flavors, all of which melt on Tommy’s tongue and compliment each other perfectly. Something he bought for less than five dollars at a food truck has easily taken up his number one spot for food. And while that is probably his stomach talking, his point still stands, this shit is fucking delectable.
The sandwich is gone in two seconds flat, and Tommy downs it with his cola, taking generous sips of the fuzzy liquid before laying on his back, trash discarded next to him. He lets himself breathe for a moment, waiting as the pounding behind his eyes slowly lessens with the food in his system, Tommy’s fast metabolism making quick work of the sustenance. Wiping his greasy hands off with some of the brown napkins he nabbed, he slips his gloves back on, and pulls the fabric of his mask back over his mouth.
With a groan, he stands, grabbing the empty bottle and styrofoam filled to the brim with trash, and steps off the roof, swinging to the nearest trashcan and throwing everything in as he zips past. He whoops after seeing it landed perfectly inside, grinning to himself.
He continued swinging, letting himself fall through the air before shooting a web at the last second, getting yanked up and soaring through the sky. It’s exhilarating, and Tommy loves every second he spends defying gravity. He’s not sure he’ll ever get sick of it.
Swinging through an area that’s under construction, he spots a familiar lanky figure with their focus completely taken by whoever is on the other line of their phone. Holding it up with both hands, Ranboo’s face contorts into confusion after hearing whatever they were just told. Clearly, they’re distracted, and don’t see the gaping hole they’re about to fall through.
Just as they step past a bright orange cone—genuinely how did he not spot that—Tommy swoops in, grabbing them with a web and carefully cradling them in one arm while the other swings across the hole. The blond lands a few yards away, setting down a disgruntled Ranboo whose eyes are blown wide open, dark hair pointing in different directions. They look silly, clearly shocked at just suddenly being picked up.
Tommy resists the urge to just insult him like he usually does, biting his lip and instead settling for a lower pitched, “You gotta watch where you're going, dude. You almost went splat all over the concrete. That would not have been something pleasant to see.”
Ranboo looks down at him—which slightly annoys the blond because who gave them the right to be so tall—and sputters, holding their phone limply at their side. “Holy—you’re Spider-Man.”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”
The brunette reaches for something in his back pocket, making Tommy tilt his head in curiosity. They pull out a few dollar bills and go to hand the vigilante them, when he finally clocks what Ranboo is doing. Why does everyone he saves think he wants money?
“Stop that,” the blond pushes away their fist with a sigh. “I’m not doing this shit for money, even if it might seem that way, big man.”
They paused, looking up with a dumbfounded expression. “I’m dreaming. There’s no way this is real, I must’ve fallen asleep at my desk, huh, silly me!”
Tommy fixed his friend with a concerned look, taking a page out of Tubbo’s book. “I could punch you if you want,” At Ranboo’s furrowed brow he clarifies, “If it hurts then you’re not asleep.”
“I’m aware of that, but you could’ve just offered to pinch me or something.”
“Touché,” Tommy hums. “Uh, but you’re not dreaming. I’m very much real.”
“I would hope so.”
“You ‘ought to steer clear of this area, they haven’t put up many barriers yet which is a bit fucking stupid, but whatever,” Tommy winced. It was such an awkward experience trying to act as if Ranboo was a stranger to him, and he struggled to keep down any jokes that bubbled up that he would’ve made outside the suit. He doesn’t need them knowing anything or getting any suspicions.
Ranboo looks back at the hole he was about to fall into and sucks air through his teeth. Faintly, Tommy can hear yelling coming from the speakers of their phone. “I’ll make sure to do that…next time.”
They look up at the blond with a complicated expression, before nodding. “Thanks, Spidey.”
***
Someone is following him. Tommy is being tracked, footsteps echoing not long after his coming from somewhere below, The Sense prickling in annoyance. Clearly, his stalker isn’t prioritizing stealth, or maybe they just don’t care. Either way, there’s currently someone after him, and Tommy only realized when his ears picked up the noise of a bottle clinking against a shoe, and his eyes zeroed in on a shadow that was cursing lowly at the noise.
The blond slowed down his steps, knowing fully well he could just swing away, but he’s curious to see who’s trailing after him. Jumping over a gap in between buildings, the person speeds up, wanting to keep the vigilante in their line of sight.
There’s a chance this could be a criminal, wanting to take Tommy down for whatever reason they saw fit. However, it was unlikely they would be much of a fight considering he easily found them out and was practically stalking them instead of the other way around.
Growing tired, Tommy hops onto a fire escape over an alley—ignoring the way his body screams from the resemblance to…that alleyway—getting ready to confront his follower.
He had wanted to wrap up patrol before he realized he was being followed. It wouldn’t have been the brightest idea to lead this person straight to his house and practically give away his identity. That would’ve been an absolute train wreck.
The Sense alerts Tommy as the footsteps draw closer, and he crouches lower as to not be seen, watching through the metal bars that creak as he shifts. He can see someone’s shadow hesitate at the entrance, before taking a deep breath and walking in. He can barely make out what they look like from the way they fade between the shadows, but when they walk into a path of light, Tommy can see it’s the bald reporter from before.
The guy’s name was…Jack Mitchell? Marshall? Something like that. He was the intern, a familiar camera slung around his neck, and his trademark red and blue glasses settled on the arch of his nose. Jack looked perplexed, probably since he just saw Tommy dip into this alley and then disappear. The blond could easily just leave, go home without the threat of being found out, but once more, his curiosity got the best of him. Why was he the one following him anyway?
With nimbler feet than he remembered having, Tommy maneuvers off the fire escape and lands with a soft thump behind the guy, who whirls around with wide eyes and a shriek.
Once Jack realizes it’s just Spider-Man, his shoulders lose their tension, but they tighten up just as quickly once he realizes the vigilante is standing right in front of him. It’s a bit amusing honestly.
Jack clears his throat, straightening his back and still falling nearly half a foot below Tommy. “Christ, man, do you always drop ominously behind people and give them a fucking heart attack?”
“…it’s a part of my brand, what can I say?”
Jack gives him a weird look, fiddling with the lanyard holding his camera. “Right, right.”
“So, why were you following me, dickhead?” The blond raises an eyebrow, not really caring if it comes off as slightly rude. It’s something he really needs to work on, considering he wants the general public to know he’s for the people, and insulting them really does quite the opposite. Fuck, he needs to get media trained. But then he won’t be funny anymore!
“Oh! You, er, you noticed?” The intern looks slightly mortified.
“It was hard not to notice. With the amount of noise you made, I was starting to think you wanted me to see you.”
“I thought I was doing pretty well considering you only realized until now,” Jack shrugged.
“Clearly no—wait what? How long have you been following me?” Tommy asks, bewildered.
“Well, since I first caught you out patrolling, which was around four thirty; when you were at that bank. The photos I got from there look so fucking banger.”
Well shit. He blames The Sense for literally not catching any signs that Jack was following him, and he can practically feel it roll its eyes. It’s strange, because Tommy knows The Sense is something he got from the bite, but sometimes it acts like it has a mind of its own. “It’s pretty dangerous following around a vigilante, y’know. You could get hurt.”
“I would, but my manager promoted me after I sent in the first photo I took when you stopped those muggers from shanking me! Well, not really promoting since I’m not being paid…but the boss says they’re front page worthy so now I’m exclusively taking pictures of Spidey.”
Tommy blinked as he processed the information. He basically has his own personal photographer now that follows him around. “You said you’re doing this for free? How old are you, big man?”
“Seventeen, almost eighteen,” Jack grimaces. “It’s an unpaid internship.”
“Well if your photos are as good as you say, I reckon you should demand some cash, eh? Don’t let your work get taken advantage of, take it from me, kid,” Tommy walks up, patting Jack’s shoulder. It’s ironic, considering Tommy is nearly three years younger than the guy.
“Uh huh, that’d be genius if I wouldn’t get fucking fired.”
“Fired? You don’t even classify as employed! You’re just like my brother, my goodness,” Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Fuck you, man! At least pose so I can get a good shot. You’re perfect for clout, every news outlet wants a piece of the vigilante story.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow at that. “Do tell.”
“I mean, you appear out of nowhere, start punching criminals, and apparently insult a cop. Everyone’s asking themselves if you’re a friend or a foe. Headlines everywhere post the same question.” Jack brings up his camera, putting it up to his eyes after wiping the lense and saying, “Smile, bitch!”
The vigilante gets caught off guard and barely manages to look into the camera with a hasty wave, his mask eyes blown wide. “Seriously, uh, Jack was it?”
“Jack Manifold,” the guy says, smiling at his work and letting the camera dangle around his neck again.
“Uh huh, I’ve come to the conclusion you’re being used for free labor.”
“What the fuck?”
“Tell you this, I’ll let you follow me around—which is probably a mistake but whatever—and you can get all the good angles and shit, but you have to make your boss hire you, or at least pay for the photos.”
Jack gives him a conflicted look, but clearly the thought of getting up close was tempting, so he nods. “Alright, mate. You’ve got yourself a deal.”
The blond smiles, “Pog. Now you don’t have to stalk me.” He goes to swing away, before throwing one last comment over his shoulder, “also, make sure to stay away from anything too dangerous!”
Tommy webs a tall building, and swings away, content with his so-called confrontation. His house is a short distance away, and without Jack on his trail, he doesn’t have to be looking over his shoulder every two seconds.
Now that he’s struck this deal, he’ll have to make sure that Jack doesn’t do anything stupid trying to get his ‘front page pictures.’ If he was willing to literally follow Tommy around for a chance at a good photo, he doesn’t want to think about what he’ll try if he thinks there’s a good story involved.
***
It’s late when Tommy goes down into his living room, the last remnants of the afternoon fading with the setting soon. Streaks of silver replace the gold as the moon rises, and throws a blanket of darkness over the sky. His suit was stashed at the back of his closet once more, stuffed inside his dark duffel bag that was closed with a lock and key.
Phil is probably already asleep, tired out from his days at Pandora. They were swamped with paperwork and the relocation of their company, moving to one of their other many buildings as their main one was being rebuilt. Phil spent the last week working late nights at his new office signing random papers and emailing letters.
Kristin was sitting in one of the dusty armchairs they bought at the second hand store, the cushions lumpy from their long life, but somewhat
comfortable if you found just the right position. Her nose was in a book, probably another rom-com she and Techno were reading. They hosted their own little book club that only read books like the Princess Bride and the occasional Art of War.
Tommy used to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night at their old house and would find them both still talking about some stupid plot twist or love triangle. It was funny when Techno nearly started crying after watching the movie adaptation though, going through nearly two boxes of tissues.
The man himself was sitting in the corner of the couch, watching the TV with a bored expression as Wilbur sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally. He was leaning forward, hands intertwined below his chin as his eyes stayed glued to the screen. Tommy was still bitter from their last argument, so he walked over and forced himself in between Techno and the armrest, shoving his brother to the side to squeeze into the spot.
His brother huffs, shifting to the side and returning to his boredom, this time, annoyance radiating off of him. It must be awkward being the mediator between two raging fires, each threatening to stomp out the other until it’s nothing but a burnt ember.
Tommy leans over to Techno and murmurs, “What’s got him so invested?”
“Well this Schlatt guy won the election for governor apparently. He’s talkin’ about Spider-Man right now,” Techno gestured to the screen.
It was the same man from the night of the hospital, with dark brown mutton chops and a crimson tie. His charismatic grin masks the dark glint in his eyes by drawing all the attention to his faked aspirations. The Sense prickles slightly as he taps the mic on his podium smugly, taking his sweet, sweet time to get on with his speech.
“Well?” Schlatt pauses, looking into the crowd. “That was pretty easy.”
There’s a wave of laughter that ripples across the people, and Tommy can hear Wilbur snicker as the camera pans over to the face of the losing candidate. The man’s bright orange hair falls around his face in an “aesthetically messy” way, streaks of white marking a tuft of hair near the front. Tommy barely remembers the guy’s name, something that started with an F, but right now, the frown he has plastered over his face is everything but immemorable.
“And you know what I said? The day I announced I was running—an election that I won, by the way—and the day that I started campaigning, I said ‘things are going to change’. I looked every citizen of this great state in the eyes and said ‘You listen to me, this place will be a lot different tomorrow.’”
For dramatic effect, Schaltt pauses, adjusting his tie as journalists snap photos and yell out questions that won’t be answered. He leans forward on his podium, staring right into the camera. His lips nearly touch the microphone as he speaks in nearly a whisper, but somehow manages to enunciate every word as if he was screaming.
“Let’s start making it happen.”
The crowd roars at his words, and Schlatt relishes in the cheers and applause, spreading his arms out like a showman. When everyone eventually calms down, Schlat continues his speech, this time with more fervor.
“My first decree, as the governor of New York, the leader of this grand state, is to issue a warrant for Spider-Man’s arrest.”
Tommy’s eyes widens, and he reaches for the remote, raising the volume and ignoring his brothers’ noises of surprise. This couldn’t be happening. There’s no way.
Schlatt goes on, grinning evilly as his previously positive comments were split, some cursing at the governor, and others praising his efforts that they thought hadn’t been pushed enough by others. “We can’t let this, this criminal run around playing hero, threatening innocent people’s lives for his own selfishness.
“I mean just look at what happened to Pandora Dynamics! This vigilante starts messing with our first responders, picking fights with cops, letting one of our most respected scientists die; all in all, the guy’s dangerous. Which is why I want Spider-Fuck arrested and put behind bars. I want to know exactly who hides behind that mask. Thank you.”
He steps away from the microphones, barely even glancing at the crowd, and walking off as if he didn’t just rock Tommy’s entire world. Tommy wasn’t even doing anything bad! All he wanted was to help people, and this asshole clearly didn’t think that was good enough.
Wilbur, a large smile on his face, looked at Schlatt with respect, and almost admiration. “Finally. Someone sees this from my point of view! You see, Tommy? Even our governor knows he’s a criminal.” He says this lighthearted, the way someone would correct a toddler who was holding a pencil wrong, with a condescending tone and curved eyebrows.
“Techno, tell Wilbur I’m not talking to him and that he’s a bitch.”
“Wilbur, Tommy says you’re a bitch and he’s not talkin’ to you.”
The eldest frowns, scoffing, “Well, tell Tommy he’s being an immature child.”
“Tommy, Wilbur says you’re an immature child.”
The blond stands abruptly, pointing an accusatory finger towards his brother. “Stop acting like nothing fucking happened! Stop trying to make things go back to normal, when you ruined them the second you opened your mouth and called me a delinquent-in-the-making. Spider-Man isn't doing anything wrong!”
Techno leans back with barely hidden surprise, nearly sinking into the couch to give his brothers room to fight. Kristin looks up from the book, narrowing her eyes.
“Hes doing something to get a warrant at the very least. Stop fangirling over this wannabe vigilante, Toms,” Wilbur rolls his eyes.
Tommy was two seconds away from leaping over Techno to knock some sense into the eldest, but Kristin clearly noticed. The blond felt a hand grab the back of his shirt and yank him back the second he was about to pounce. “Wilbur, stop antagonizing your brother, Tommy, calm down.”
She was annoyed at being disturbed, and shared a look with an amused Techno. She dropped Tommy, who then huffed, and stomped back up the stairs.
Hopefully, Schlatt was stopped, and Tommy wouldn’t have to worry about the government trying to chase him around.
Notes:
Schlatt mention! But at what cost 😔
Also, Born in the SMP lore?? I’m getting flashbacks
Chapter 12: Lunch table Conversations
Summary:
His brows are furrowed like he was debating something in his head, mouth pressed into a thin line
“You alive, Tubs?” Ranboo waves a hand in front of his face, at which the other boy jumps.
“Fuck! You scared me,” he laughs.
“What was so interesting you disappeared for like five minutes?” Purpled asks, Tommy nodding along.
“Oh, right! So I’m guessing you’ve heard about Schlatt’s whole warrant thing, yeah?”
Notes:
LATE CHAPTER AGAIN AND ITS SHORT T-T
I kinda jammed my thumb so writing got a bit harder :( However, it’s not as swollen as before so it’s easier to type!
Enjoy an insight into Tommy’s thoughts and struggles
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The news about the warrant out for Spider-Man spreads like wildfire. The first day after had everyone at school buzzing, arguments popping up on whether or not Schlatt’s decree had been a good idea. People were wary, unsure who to believe and trust in this situation.
However the next two days had been an entire other wave of uncertainty. Every news outlet you could think of was spitting out thousands of copies covering the story, Schlatt’s evil grin plastered on the front page. Subreddits were exploding with discussions, clips from Tommy’s patrols surfacing as people dissected his each and every move, looking for clues to his identity or ulterior motives.
Tommy would be hard pressed to find someone who didn’t know about it.
Which is why that Thursday, it wasn’t strange to find Tubbo talking with grand gestures and fast words, eyes blown wide and twinkling. Tommy cautiously took a seat next to Purpled, setting down his lunch and seeing the other boy nodding along to what Tubbo was saying.
The blond tried to catch Ranboo’s eye, but they were too busy twisting the cap off those fancy insulated containers. He hadn’t seen his best friend for two classes and during that time Tubbo somehow managed to enrapture Purpled in whatever speech he was giving.
“Gentlemen!”
“Hey, man. What’s up?” Purpled greeted, and Tommy nodded at him.
“—that’s why everyone here’s gonna lose. Oh, hi Tommy!” Tubbo ends his rant, and everyone else looks up.
The blond snickers, “Took you fuckin’ long enough.”
Ranboo looks up and gives a small wave, eyes crinkling behind their mask. He stretches out his hand, making a motion for Ranboo to drop the container in his palm. The other raises a brow, but gives it anyway. Tommy unscrews the top with super-powered ease, handing it back to a shocked Ranboo and grinning.
“That would’ve taken me the entire lunch time,” They sounded slightly defeated, and Tubbo patted their shoulder solemnly.
Purpled huffs a laugh, shaking his head. Tommy takes a bite of his food, and while still chewing asks, “‘at ‘re ‘uo ‘n ‘out ‘rlier?”
“Ew, swallow before speaking,” Tubbo makes a face.
Tommy rolls his eyes, repeating what he said but without any food. “What were you on about earlier?”
Tubbo brightens up, sitting a little straighter, "Nothing much, just the winning invention I’m making for the convention in two weeks.” He paused before clarifying, “December 12th.”
“Convention?” He hadn’t heard about anything to do with that at all.
“Yeah! It's a yearly thing the school does during December. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it.”
“Uh huh, but what is it.”
“I’m getting there, stop being so impatient. Patience is a virtue, y’know.”
“Just tell me!”
“Fine, fine. Basically, it’s a competition between grades for the best invention or mechanical enhancement. It’s presented to the admin and I think sometimes the superintendent. Winner gets a cash prize and bragging rights. It’s taken pretty seriously because college likes that stuff apparently, it’s also pretty fun.”
“Tell that to last year Tubbo that grew white strands the week before the convention,” Ranboo mutters.
“I couldn’t get the coding to work and it stressed me out, cut me some slack!”
“Oh wait, I remember that!” Purpled laughs, recalling the memory.
“What are you doing this year?” Tommy asks, slightly interested in the whole concept.
“A hive frame that automatically collects honey as bees are making it. It’s not too original, but I think it’s cool. You should register!”
Tommy hadn’t touched anything mechanical for over a week, excluding his suit. The enclosure he worked on with Sam was his biggest project, but now that he’s dead, it was given to someone else. “I dunno, man. What would I even make?”
“We could help you brainstorm! You’re telling me you don’t like engineering enough to even try?”
Tommy bit his lip, shrugging. “I’ll think about it.”
“Yes! Then we can hang at my place while we bounce ideas off each other. It’s gonna be so dope.”
“We?” Purpled spoke up, glancing at Ranboo. “I don’t know jack shit about robots or whatever. I doubt Ranboo is any more knowledgeable.”
“And?” Tubbo mocks in the same tone. “You’ll cheer on the sidelines for moral support. I’ll even give you pom-poms if you want!”
The other rolled his eyes as Ranboo laughed, Tommy joining in. “I guess I could,” Purpled smiled, taking a bite of his apple.
They each take bites of the pizza on their trays, Ranboo sharing whatever snacks they brought from home as he ate his spaghetti. Tommy started to think that bringing his own food was better than dealing with the grease that drenched his fingers. Even with his insanely fast metabolism, the oil made him want to throw up, and the pepperoni never satiated his hunger for meat.
Tommy happily cups his hands as Ranboo rolls their eyes, placing an Oreo in his palm, which the teen then gladly ate. Tubbo split his apart, licking the sweet frosting inside before handing Tommy the leftover cracker.
“You’re so fucking weird,” the blond shook his head fondly, taking the chocolate cookie. He wheezes after catching Purpled frozen mid-bite, staring at Tubbo with something akin to fear written over his face.
“Says you,” Tubbo grins, and Tommy sputters.
“Bastard!”
Their table delves back into silence as they all finish up their plates with a good amount of time left. Tubbo looks lost in thought, staring at a fixed point on the wall. His brows are furrowed like he was debating something in his head, mouth pressed into a thin line
“You alive, Tubs?” Ranboo waves a hand in front of his face, at which the other boy jumps.
“Fuck! You scared me,” he laughs.
“What was so interesting you disappeared for like five minutes?” Purpled asks, Tommy nodding along.
“Oh, right! So I’m guessing you’ve heard about Schlatt’s whole warrant thing, yeah?”
“Mhm, who hasn’t?” Tommy scoffs.
“Basically, I was just thinking that since Schlatt is so adamant about arresting Spidey, there’s gotta be some connection there, y’know? Like why would it be the first thing he does? What if he knows Spidey?” He gasps, “They gotta know each other somehow!”
Tommy resisted the urge to laugh, because Tubbo just looked so confident in his theory, “Maybe the guy is just evil.”
“Schlatt?” Tubbo asks.
“No. Ranboo.” At the sound of their name, they look up from where they were eating. “Who the fuck else would I be talking about?”
“He is a little slimy, I get bad vibes through the TV screen.” Tubbo huffs, and goes to say something else when Purpled speaks up.
“If they do know each other, don’t you think it’s possible he’s trying to arrest Spider-Man because there’s something we don’t know.”
“Like what, genius?”
“I dunno, maybe he’s like putting on the nice guy act. He’s the manipulator, everyone else is falling for his charm, thinking he’s trustworthy, and then boom! He cheats.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow, sparing a glance with the other two. “You read one fuckin’ romance novel and this is what happens.”
“Why does everyone think Spidey is going to try and blow up New York?” Tubbo demands simultaneously, words mingling with Tommy’s.
“Two seconds ago you were talking about the governor knowing the vigilante personally. You’re saying this is too far-fetched?” Purpled shakes his head, hiding the grin from playing devil's advocate and watching Tubbo continuously try to defend Spider-Man.
“It was a valid point, stop being a hater.”
“You don’t think it’s a little bit suspicious? Wouldn’t it be better to follow the majority and agree with the Spider-Man defenders? I doubt there’s many who’s against him, anyway. Back me up here, boob boy,” Purpled turns to Ranboo.
They hesitate as he suddenly turns to look at them, and shrugs. “I mean, he’s not terrible.” At that, Tommy looks up with wide eyes. It seems everyone else does so as well, because Ranboo’s eyes dart between them as he starts to ramble. “I ran into him a few days ago. I’ll admit it he’s-he’s not that bad. It’s not like we had a full conversation, but the guy just declined my offer for money and swung away. Clearly he just wants to help. Uh, yeah.”
“So you’re not an anti-Spider-Man anymore?”
“I never was, Tubbo! I was just, er, how do you put this…I was just skeptical.” Ranboo shrugs, hunching a bit and sitting awkwardly as everyone processes their words.
Tubbo suddenly leans over their table, smugly tilting his head to point his ear at an annoyed Purpled. “What were you talking about again, Purpled?”
“I’m just saying! There could be some scheme going on that we don’t know about. Area 51 and all that shit.”
“I didn’t take you for a conspiracy theorist, Purp,” Tommy teases, poking the boy next to him. His hand gets swatted at.
“I don’t think Spider-Man’s an alien, but I can admit there’s gotta be some reason. I’m telling you, they’re probably like arch nemesises or something.” Tubbo relents, leaning back into his seat with a thoughtful look.
“Where the fuck did you get that from?” Tommy wheezes, and Tubbo gives him a deadpan look.
“We all agree Schlatt has a motive to arrest him, I don’t see why they can’t be like rivals or enemies!”
“Spider-Man has not talked about or interacted with him at all.”
“Exactly! He’s giving him the cold shoulder!”
“I highly doubt that,” Ranboo laughs.
“The day that Schlatt admits it or whatever I expect a full apology video with an original song.”
“In your fucking dreams!”
***
A week after the arrest warrant was announced, the crime rate skyrocketed. Clearly, these assholes thought Spider-Man would be threatened, and tried to up their game. Despite how much Tommy tried to keep up with the plethora of break-in’s and muggings that took over, he couldn’t predict where the next robbery was going to happen. And when he did find out before the criminals were running out with bags of money, he was halfway across the city, and only arrived when they were long gone.
Tommy was exhausted.
The cold had finally moved in completely, flurries of snow promising a storm soon. Tommy had thrown on a white hoodie over the suit whenever he would patrol, gritting his teeth at the bitter wind that managed to seep through, choosing to instead focus on the task at hand.
It was taking a toll on his body, which was impressive considering just how untouchable he felt. His spotless skin was now covered in bruises that healed at a normal pace, instead, cuts and gashes being prioritized by his healing, leaving scars all over his already marred chest.
Lack of sleep caused by his ongoing investigations—most of them about Pandora and possible perpetrators. Some of Schlatt due to recent events—have led to his eyes developing dark circles akin to the bruises on his limbs.
Most if not all had led to nothing. The only articles and experiments that were published for the public eye were only half of what they probably found, or just complete propaganda about their agenda. Schlatt wasn’t any better. The front page was just about his decree and his campaign, Tommy needing to go fairly deep to even get a glance at who he is.
Apparently, Schlatt was a pretty successful business owner before going into politics, making a pretty big name for himself. It would’ve been impressive, if it wasn’t sketchy as fuck. Tommy is ninety percent sure one of the buildings he owns is used for illegally importing alcohol and a weirdly large amount of ethyl chloride.
And while he would love to expose the man for everything, his lawyers must be insanely good and Tommy would need a surplus of evidence to even consider it.
Anything else he looked into was a dead end, and Tommy was drained from it.
As much as he tried to hide it from his family, the lack of sleep and focus was starting to get to him, and from nearly one day to the next his grades started to plummet. Tommy fell asleep in class, leeching his notes off of Tubbo and Ranboo, and making Purpled do his homework in return for whatever sweets he had stashed around the house.
Tommy was struggling.
Fights he should’ve won left him battered, suit torn faster than he could fix it. Pictures taken by Jack didn’t look nearly as impressive as before, instead, they showed Spider-Man in a way that was too close to Tommy. Slouched and leaning against a building for a break, sitting on a roof catching his breath, sprawled on the floor after taking a particularly nasty hit.
Those pictures the blond made Jack delete.
Papers that would take him an hour or two turned into a day, which then turned into asking for extra credit after bringing it in late. Assignments that he finished at school had to be done late at night after patrols, droopy eyes struggling to focus on the sentence he already read five times.
The blond was nodding off near the back of the French classroom, head laying in between his arms as he blinked away the fogginess in his eyes. All he needs to do is survive another twenty minutes, and then when the bell rings it’s just a stop to his locker and the walk home. Purpled was hastily scribbling down everything on the board into his notebook, writing down stuff they would both use, when she walked in.
It shouldn’t have been surprising when Professor Nihachu steps into the room with a soft knock on the door. She walks over to the teacher, and murmurs something in a low tone. Nodding over to the door and then gesturing to the clock hung above it. The teacher nods, speaking up after she leaves.
“Mr. Craft?”
Tommy startles, having been poked by Purpled to get him woken up. “Yeah?” He hums, straightening his back and quickly shaking away the sleep.
“Professor Nihachu would like to speak to you in her office.”
And just like that, every pair of eyes is on him, another chorus of whispers Tommy can hear as if they were insults being shouted at his face. “What did you do?” Purpled whispers.
“Nothing!” Tommy hissed, standing up and grabbing his messenger bag before slinging it over his shoulder. “Just send me the notes.”
“I’m still waiting on those forty bucks you promised me last time!” Purpled says before Tommy steps on his foot, walking out of the classroom and nearly falls over at seeing Nihachu had waited outside.
Her pink hair was more faded than usual, done up in its usual bun, her eyeliner sharper than most knives Tommy went up against. She didn’t look much different outside of school, however he’s only really seen her that one time during patrol.
She nodded towards the hallway, and they both made their way towards her classroom. “How’s L’Manberg been to you so far, Thomas?”
Nihachu’s voice was soft, a German accent noticeable in the way her vowels sound and her mouth curls around the words. Her question would seem innocent to anyone else. A way to break the ice, but Tommy could tell from the tilt in her voice that it was going to lead him to a bigger point. It was something the blond admired about Nihachu, that her kindness and gentle presence wasn’t anything to underestimate.
There was always something she hid beneath her flowery conversation.
“It’s been as good as it can be with all the shit that’s happened. Ignoring the fact I blew up the science room, I’d like to say it’s been pretty fuckin’ great. And it’s Tommy. My name’s Tommy.”
Nihachu huffs a laugh. “Well, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling at the moment, but there is something I want to discuss with you.”
Tommy’s heard that fucking scentence so many times he’s about to swing off the Empire State Building the second it come out another person’s mouth.
They walk into her classroom, and she sits down behind her desk, pushing a report card towards the blond. Tommy stares at it with a wince, watching as previously high scores drop to an average of thirty, plummeting at nearly a ninety degree angle.
“Look, I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but I simply can’t overlook this, Tommy. I’m aware of the situation you are currently in, but your grades have changed drastically, and I’m supposed to notify parents whenever things like this happen.To put it simply, you’re failing. If things don’t start looking up, the admin might try to switch your classes.”
Tommy’s eyes stay glued to the paper in front of him, displaying a big fat zero scribbled in red ink. He cleared his throat, putting on a mask of faux arrogance. “Do, uh, do my parents know yet?”
“I sent an email an hour ago, and I believe Principal Eret called.”
“Right, is this what you pulled me out of class for?”
Nihachu nods, but her demeanor suddenly shifts, and she leans forward with a softer look in her eyes. “Tommy, I think you should know that you have me here in your corner. Grief is a…complicated thing. If you ever need to talk, my door is always open.”
He didn’t think she noticed that much. It vaguely reminds him of Tubbo’s speech, and it warms his chest. “‘Appreciate it, Ni-ha-chu, but I’m doing fine. Really! I’m so great right now you can’t even imagine how good I feel. Grief? Pshh, coul—could never be me.”
She smiles, taking back the reports. “I just wanted you to be aware. I’m not opposed to giving out extra credit if you need, but I just ask that you talk to someone.”
“I talk to people all the time.”
“Tommy.” She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow as if saying, I’m not playing around.
He sighs, “I’ll try, I suppose.”
“Thank you. I would tell you to go back to your class, but there’s like five minutes left.”
With that, Nihachu reaches into a bowl next to her desk, handing him a lollipop. Tommy gladly takes it, ripping off the plastic and putting it in his mouth. She sends him off, and he wanders through the hallways at a slow pace, letting himself get lost in his thoughts.
Phil and Kristin are going to have a lot to say. Not to mention Wilbur. The asshole hasn’t apologized at all, and it doesn’t seem like he will. The prick’s always been petty to a fault, worse than Tommy at times. Two weeks without a single utterance of “I’m sorry.”
Two weeks.
It’s frustrating to say the least. Tommy is hurt, and he feels betrayed in more ways than one. Wilbur clearly doesn’t care, and admitting that takes more out of Tommy than he thought it would. His locker is up ahead, and just as he reaches for the lock, the bell rings loudly, releasing all the students into the hallways.
“Tommy!”
He turns to see Purpled walking over, shoving the notebook he left behind into his arms, and not doing anything to stop the papers fluttering to the ground. “Oí! What the fuck, bitch?”
“What happened? What did Professor Nihachu want?”
“Just stand there like fuckin’ idiot I suppose. Don’t even try to get my shit,” Tommy mutters, shoving his things into his book bag before scooping up the loose paper. He grabs his lollipop, throwing out the stick after eating the sweet candy.
“Let me nosy, don’t be a dick” Purpled punched Tommy’s shoulder.
“You’re the one being an arse!” He shuts his locker, shouldering his bag and adjusting the uniform jumper. “Nihachu was just showing me my report card. Im fucked, dude.”
“That bad?”
“A little faith would be appreciated. Where’s the moral support, huh?”
They walk to the entrance, Purpled muttering something about Tubbo and Ranboo waiting up front. “It would be pointless.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He exclaims. Purpled just shrugs and smiles like a dumbass. “Alright, listen here you lit-“
Tommy doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Cutting him off is a loud honk, and the blond whips around to see both of his parents in the car. He groans, waving goodbye to his friend and the two others that had walked over at the sound.
He walks with his head staring down at his sneakers, ears heating up as he clicks open the door, throwing in his school bag before hunching into a seat.
It’s silent as the engine revs back up, driving away from the building. Tommy can sense the disappointment, which is arguably worse than the conversation they’re about to have. He really hopes he doesn’t get yet another lecture. It’s practically freezing, and Tommy’s been needing to insulate his suit for the colder weather. His main priority isn’t really sleeping at the moment.
Crime is going up and doesn’t look like it’s stopping.
Phil opens the door as they approach the threshold, holding it out for the other two. Tommy walks in, finding the rest of the house empty. Neither of them stop him as he slides up the stairs, skipping the creaky floorboards and hiding away in his room.
He’s sure this isn’t gonna last, if anything, they’re just waiting to cook up another conversation about how Tommy has to work harder and not forget what he has to lose. Hopefully that’s not it. It’s getting tiring, and sometimes he just wishes they could go back to before the house was lodged in an everlasting tension.
Techno is his only saving grace. Despite spending most of his time catching up with the material at his college and studying, he still saw Tommy’s point of view. Behind his dry remarks and sarcastic commentary, the blond knows his brother cares for him. Especially now when it feels like he’s alone, even though it's obvious he’s not.
Wilbur is being a bitch still, stubbornly refusing to admit he was in the wrong. It’s almost like he was avoiding Tommy altogether, stealing glances at him mixed with guilt and obstination. He finally scored a job at a music studio, and has spent a lot more time than necessary at the closing shift.
When he did get home, it was usually while Tommy was out patrolling, pillows stuffed beneath his covers and door locked. Occasionally their paths crossed at breakfast when Tommy was up early and Wilbur was running late, they would each stare at their plates, competing to see who can make it the awkwardest.
It would get worse when the news was on the TV, or a video played in the background claiming Spider-Man was a criminal. Tommy’s mind would replay their entire argument, finding claims they proved his brother was right to assume. Wilbur always shut it off whenever he was in the room.
Tommy wasn’t sure how to take that. On one hand, it seems like Wilbur was at least showing some remorse, but on the other, it’s like that’s the bare minimum he could do. Not even acknowledging what he did. It didn’t matter now. Tommy will continue this dance as long as Wilbur wants until he gets his apology.
His room is cold, heaters sputtering to keep up with the chill seeping in through the glass panes. Throwing off his uniform in favor of a thicker hoodie, doing the same with his school bag and tossing it in a corner, Tommy locks his door, deciding to insulate his suit while he can.
Reaching for the fabric in his duffel, Tommy placed all his materials on the floor, including some insulating fabric at the back of a dumpster. He was getting desperate for something, and hit the jackpot. It was gross, but not the first time Tommy had done it. Sue him, he needed the fleece.
Seeing it was a lot easier now that he’s grown more experienced. Repairing and making his suit made his fingers more nimble, grasping the needle like it was second nature. He didn’t take five minutes threading the little hole, or tying the finishing knot.
While he worked, Tommy mulled over Tubbo’s words.
He wasn’t wrong when he said that Tommy wasn’t a little interested. I mean, come on, the prize is money, and he’s a sucker for some extra cash. Not only that, but it might finally help Tommy somewhat move on.
He’s not sure how long his sorrows are supposed to have a grasp on his heart, but it’s starting to feel like Tommy is going in circles. Holding a screwdriver feels weird without the familiar voice asking for a flathead or a wrench. Warm hands guiding Tommy’s as he grasped wire cutters, explaining which to cut so he doesn’t get electrocuted.
The blond was still trying to process, so maybe Tubbo was right. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Notes:
Next chapter is when things rlly are gonna ramp up I’m so excited
Chapter 13: The Villain
Summary:
The blond still isn’t sure what he’s dealing with here.
But he didn’t even manage to get to that.
Just as Tommy was about to take to the skies once more, wrist aiming for a skyscraper, the screech of metal assaults his ears. The next second he’s getting flung into a building, a fucking car slamming into his body and pinning him against the structure.
Crack!
Chapter Text
Patrol is going normally.
Tommy is swinging through the concrete jungle with a healing gash down his left arm, holding the same chicken sandwich from his favorite food truck. His mask was pulled above his nose, left glove shoved inside his pocket to avoid the grease staining the fabric.
Some guy at a jewelry shop had taken hold of a glass shard from the shattered display window, and had thrown it at Tommy. It embedded itself in his arm, ripping his suit and creating a path of crimson down his flesh. It took ten minutes for it to scab over, but it still hurt whenever he stretched it too far.
That was when he decided to take his break, because not only was he tired, but fuck, he was starving. Running around all afternoon really takes a toll on a man’s body.
As always, the sandwich was delicious, and he happily tossed the wrapper away in a trash can, pulling his mask back down and wiping his greasy hands with brown napkins. They got thrown in another bin, Tommy’s feet ghosting just above the ground as he swung through a crowd of people, slipping down the middle.
The teen was mulling over Tubbo’s words about the convention he wanted Tommy to attend. It wouldn’t be a bad idea, really. He wasn’t wrong about the part that the blond enjoyed engineering, it was just hard. It brought back bittersweet memories he’d rather not unpack.
However, it also brought up the possibility of Tommy moving on. Finally accepting that Sam is gone, and catching back up with the world that kept spinning after his got a bomb dropped on it. Pun somewhat intended.
Would building a robot manage to do that?
Who knows.
But it’s a better idea than moping for the rest of the foreseeable future. Tommy feels like he’s dragged this grief thing too fucking long. People probably get better after a week, there’s no reason he should be dwelling on this still.
He has other responsibilities. Like saving New York, and making sure Spidey stays at the top of his game. Letting Tommy Feeling make their way into the suit is going to make him mess up, so he turns his focus away from the topic for now.
Instead, he thinks about the silly intern that has a hobby as a stalker.
He had met with Jack at the start of patrol. The man was practically glowing with excitement. His pictures had gotten him a promotion, and after finally asking for payment, his bosses were handing him cash for all the shots he brought in. It was nice to see his influence working in real time, watching as this prick finally got what he deserved. Jack had been featured on multiple news outlets already, loudly proclaiming his support towards Spider-Man and urging others to follow as well.
Tommy appreciated his enthusiasm, knowing that he needed the help more than ever with Schlatt’s warrant. It had been an unpleasant experience having to dodge the bullets raining down on him, lines of police aiming their guns towards Tommy’s head. One of them grazed his thigh, and he never felt his heart beat faster than in that moment, knowing if he’d been a second slower he would’ve gotten knocked out of the sky and fallen straight into the custody of a corrupted man.
Schlatt kept making appearances in interviews and press conferences, doubling down on the statements he said the day he got put into office. The man’s decision had pretty much divided the state into anti-Spider-Man’s and the die-hard fans willing to fight on Reddit for his reputation. Those were the radicals on each side, but mostly it was citizens arguing over who Spidey is and what he wants.
They’re scared that one day they’ll wake up and their homes will be under the threat of an unknown person.
And Tommy can understand these worries. But it’s a bit hard trying to save people when they keep trying to shank you after pulling them out of a burning building. Like, what happened to ‘thank you’?
He’s strolling on top of the rooftops like usual after he got tired of swinging. Tommy’s eyes are watching pedestrians walk on the sidewalks below him, making up little stories on what they’re doing. It was peaceful, the sound of the cars down below and the wind whipping against his face. It’s one of Tommy’s favorite things about being Spider-Man. He’s yet to see the view from the Empire State Building; however it is the next spot on his list.
It must be really fucking cold though. Even now, there’s clouds blocking any feeble ray of sunlight trying to make its way through. The insulation had done wonders for his suit, keeping the blond warm while fighting, and offering another layer of protection. Snow had begun to fall during his time outside, and it was collecting in little piles in the corner of the rooftops. He stoops down to run his gloved hand through the cold powder, drawing shapes in it.
But then he hears a chorus of screams and yells, loud enough that even without his super-hearing it would’ve reached his ears.
In the blink of an eye, Tommy’s following the noise, legs springing up and leaping over the gaps. There’s a rumble in the floor, and car alarms start beeping aggressively while birds soar into the sky from the disturbance. Their wings flap furiously, kicking up dirt and dust.
A few blocks away in a plaza with abstract art pieces in the middle, piles of debris and lamp posts are thrown around. It looks like they were torn out of their spots and tossed away like a toothpick. A building near the plaza was in pieces, the bricks strewn about. Police sirens were blaring in the distance, not having yet arrived at the scene, leaving the work to Tommy.
Tommy skids to a stop a rooftop away, staring down at the destruction with wide eyes. This isn’t a normal criminal. This isn’t anything he’s dealt with at all. He can’t even see where the perpetrator is. It doesn’t look like a bomb, well, not right now. Tommy shivers at the thought of having to duck for cover again, feeling as if he was being hit with an earthquake and feeling the floor rumble underneath him.
He snaps out of his trance when he hears the pattering of fleeing civilian's footsteps, and he propels himself down. Some of the piles look like they’re set on fire, so while he falls, he quickly webs them up to put it out.
“Get out of the area!” He yells, tucking into a roll when he hits the ground, shooting a web at some bystanders that were standing under a loose canopy. Tommy sets them down away from the danger a block away, ordering them to get to safety. Repeating this process, Tommy can get the people away from the damaged plaza, still scouting out what possibly caused this. The blond still isn’t sure what he’s dealing with here.
But he didn’t even manage to get to that.
Just as Tommy was about to take to the skies once more, wrist aiming for a skyscraper, the screech of metal assaults his ears. The next second he’s getting flung into a building, a fucking car slamming into his body and pinning him against the structure.
Crack!
Tommy lets out another string of curses as his ribs splinter, blood spewing out of his mouth before he crumbles to the ground, the car still halfway on top of him. Behind Tommy, a dent in the shape of the teen bends the steel, displaying how hard he got thrown.
Tommy groans, mustering up all his strength into his good arm and pushing. The limb shakes and seizes, struggling under the weight of the automobile. With a final heave, it rolls off him, and the blond sits up with a battered chest. He pulls the mask over his mouth to wipe the red staining his skin off, gingerly holding his side as the ribs snap back together.
What. The. Fuck. Was. That.
And it seems like the universe just loves to laugh in Tommy’s face, because not a moment later, his question is answered in the worst way possible.
Standing a few yards away is the same man he saw at Sam’s funeral. Cloak billowing in the wind, swirling through the cloud of smoke behind him. The previously brown colour was swapped out for a deeper green, nearly black. Dark stains on the sleeves and front have an eerily similar texture to blood, and Tommy swears he can see some fresh ones near his legs.
Barely visible through the cloak is a brighter green that covers his chest and shoulders, wrapping around his feet and stopping just below his knee. In some places it looks like the armor is merged with the guy’s skin, sinking into the flesh and then continuing on. Burns and rust cover the right side of the chest plate, ripping through the thin fabric of his pants and shirt. They’re plain ivory, and they look like the type of stuff the hospital would give you.
However that wasn’t the scariest part of the man. Shielding his face was a circular white ceramic mask, cracks running through it as if it had been punched or thrown around a lot. Two black dripping dots and a curve form an ominous smile, staring deep into Tommy's soul and dissecting it, grabbing every vulnerability and crushing it in his fist. The hood covers his head, and doesn’t seem to move away from that spot despite how much the man shifts.
The edges of him look fuzzy, and parts of his attire—especially his mask—lag back and forth, following his smooth movements with jarring intensity and choppy motions. It’s almost like he came out of a dream.
Wherever he came from, clearly he doesn’t have good intentions, because Tommy watches as the man flies a foot off the ground, raising both arms as two cars float behind him. The blond barely has any time to dodge as they come speeding towards him, crashing into a ball of flames in the building Tommy dented.
Holy shit. This guy has powers as well.
Tommy pushes himself to his feet, facing off the green bastard with his hands up in fists near his head.
“Who are you?” Tommy demands, inching closer.
“Hello, Spider-Man.” His question gets ignored.
The voice that greets him is metallic and scratchy, almost uninterpretable, as if it went through a cheap microphone and was blasting through even worse quality speakers. It’s off putting and makes The Sense scream.
It’s urging Tommy to run, giving him the same fear he felt after seeing the man for the first time. He hasn’t felt fear this powerful since, and it’s nearly enough to make his knees buckle.
“Is the child scared? How pathetic.” Those words and the flick of the guy’s wrist seem to amplify his emotions.
This time a lamppost comes flying, which is easier to dodge considering The Sense is wide awake and practically sobbing. “I’m not a fucking child. Answer my damn question, who are you?” Tommy’s voice trembles.
“Im going to ruin your fucking life.” Again, Tommy gets ignored. It leaves him stumped. He has not been here long enough to make an enemy of this degree.
“I don’t even fucking know you, bitch!” Another lamppost, but after he dodges, Tommy sends a web over. Using the momentum from the man’s throw, he spins around, and releases the lamppost in his direction.
Effortlessly, the green-clad villain avoids it with the twitch of his shoulder, stopping it midair and throwing it to the side. “You have no clue what you’ve gotten yourself into with your powers, little bug. Things could’ve been so much easier if you stayed AWAY!” With a roar, multiple poles slash through the air, and one of them knocks into Tommy, sending him onto the floor. He’s up with a quick jump of his legs, deciding to stay swinging instead of standing around like an idiot with the maniac at eye level. “Sam just had to be an incompetent idiot, huh? The apple doesn’t seem to fall far from the tree.”
“Don’t fucking talk about him like that!” The blond yells, grabbing those poles with a barrage of webs from his other arm and throwing them back with full force. Tommy is still incredibly confused. “Just give me your damn name, stop being so pr-e-ten-tious!”
“That’s not how you—whatever. I am Dream, and I’m going to be the stuff of your worst nightmares.” Dream raises a hand, clenching his fist and suddenly the ties Tommy felt at the funeral are grasping for his mind again.
“Shit,” Tommy mutters, pinching his forehead. He stumbles at the sudden pull, web snapping as he falls to the ground and knocks his head against the concrete.
The Sense goes haywire, and Tommy tries to build up a wall to push away the sudden intrusion. A laugh rings out, wheezing as if his lungs were collapsing. “You can try to fight it! But it’s useless in the end!”
Tommy clears his mind enough to reach for a pole that had fallen into the debris next to him. He grasps it tightly, before dropping down and sprinting towards Dream who was still doubled over in maniacal laughter. The blonde raises it a few feet away, twirling it around before channeling all his strength and slamming the pole into Dream’s stupid mask.
CLANG!
It doesn’t even scratch, but the force is enough to make him stumble and falter in the air. Dream slowly turns around to face Tommy, and the blind could feel the anger radiating off him. The vigilante takes a few steps back,
Then they’re off.
Police have put up borders to close the roads leading to the fight, yelling at citizens to stay away while simultaneously shooting at the teen. There’s a helicopter overhead, carrying heavy cameras as they air the fight live, the loud sound of their rotors spinning cuts through the air like a bullet. Tommy can faintly hear Jack’s fearful voice yelling something near the barriers, and the frantic snap of a camera.
They weave and dodge, stuck in a dance with Dream as the clear leader. Tommy is tripping over his feet, a stitch forming in his side from the sheer speed he has to jerk away from the man’s hits. He exchanges the occasional punch at Dream’s torso, but it barely does anything. The melted armor was clearly well made, and won’t budge with a simple hit. Using anything scattered around the plaza, Dream lifts it with his powers, sending them like missiles towards the vigilante and grasping once more for Tommy’s mind.
More than once, Tommy was thrown off balance because of his poor base and terrible form. His knuckles are bleeding through the fabric of his gloves, skin split open as it collides with the steel. The only thing it does is smear it with crimson.
Dream isn’t even breaking a sweat. Anything Tommy tries to throw at him is deflected with a lazy wave or a swift side step. The blond growls in frustration, running at the man after another unsuccessful attempt at stopping him. Tommy doesn’t think. He feels anger, and that anger clouds his mind. The blond is used to petty criminals that are easy to apprehend and only leave him with a few scratches. Dream is making him drip blood.
He doesn’t care. Tommy just wants this to be over with, so he tries to run again, to reach for another weapon and jam it through the soulless mask. If it worked the first time, why wouldn’t it work again?
But practically four yards away, Dream holds out an open palm, and then clenches his fist. Suddenly there’s a force around Tommy’s neck, constricting, inching him closer to the green man, lifting him up a few inches from the floor. The blond claws at his throat, choking at the sudden loss of air.
Dream snickers, keeping Tommy right in front of him. “This is the supposed hero of New York? This is who my spider bit? An obnoxious child?”
“…what?” Tommy croaks.
Was this man the cause of Tommy’s powers, of his problems? Did all this originate from him? There’s no way this…monster was the reason he could swing from buildings and lift a car.
The green man clenches his fist harder.
Tommy never felt fear like he did right now. Sure, that time during the funeral was scarily off-putting, sending shivers down his spine, but never the intensity that shoots through his body while staring into Dream’s ‘eyes’. Black spots were dotting his vision, and he could feel his limbs weaken.
The world around Tommy starts to ripple, and Dream’s face disappears. The dark void swirls, a mirage of colors coming together and forming a new surrounding. It’s replaced soon by the image of the rolling hills and flowers that Sam is buried under. He’s looking through the eyes of someone watching from the outskirts, the service seen in its entirety. Tommy could make out his own blond hair from the spot.
The murmurs of conversation make their way over, coming from the section where his coworkers were sitting.
“Did the authorities ever give out an actual statement on what happened?” A woman asks the man next to her quietly, his arm in a sling.
“Fuck no, you know how they are. All they’re saying was that it was a gas leak, but I know that shit’s all a lie.”
“So, they did give out a statement.”
“It’s not true, obviously.”
“Well, what happened in that case, genius?”
“Y’know that Spider-Man kid they’re always talking about on the news? I bet my life savings it was his fault.”
“That’s…interesting. From what I saw he was helping everyone. Ask Hannah, she was at the reception table and saw everything.”
“I don’t trust what Rose has to say. How do we know it’s not all a ploy? Sam’s practically the only one that’s dead. You think this hero couldn’t have saved one more life?”
“I suppose.”
If the conversation he just heard was any indicator, people were turning on Spidey way before Schlatt’s warrant.
The focus switches to his brothers. In front of the pair, Past-Tommy is zoned out, staring at where Dream was standing among the bushes, while they murmured in low whispers. Wilbur is shaking his head lightly while saying something, Techno nodding with a conflicting expression.
“Why does Spider-Man get to live and we have to bury our own family members? He’s a criminal!”
But these…visions start to dissipate as his eyes begin to droop. While his chest burns for the relief of oxygen.
There’s no way this is how he dies, he still has to make up with Wilbur and ask Techno to train him. Phil and Kristin haven’t even started working on the garden yet. Tubbo said they would hang out and do the convention together, he and Ranboo have an upcoming art project, and Purpled said he’d teach Tommy to parkour—unaware of the blond’s dexterity. He can’t…he still has so much to do. His family’s already lost enough with Sam, and Tommy can’t—won’t—let himself be the next headstone.
Tommy was sure he was going to pass out at that moment, but Dream suddenly opened his palm, letting the blond fall into a heap before him. “As much fun as it would be to stomp you out right now, I still need answers.” It’s like the metallic voice was muttering to himself, completely disregarding Tommy’s struggle to breathe.
The teen gratefully takes in gulps of air, watching his sight go back to normal with a racing heart. The sudden attack weakens him for sure, leaving the blond sprawled on the concrete. Tommy tries to stand, gingerly holding his neck, but then Dream crouches down in front of him, reaching into his cloak before pulling out a syringe.
In his other hand, a small vial appears, words on the label too small for Tommy’s struggling brain to decipher. This must be how Tubbo feels. He almost laughs at his own joke, before realizing that Dream is sucking the colorless liquid into the syringe. The Sense panics, and Tommy tries to crawl away, still recovering from the loss of air, while feeling his body stitch itself together.
It’s clear he isn’t fast enough, and Dream’s boots stomp up next to his head. The man reaches for the back of Tommy’s mask, and he’s sure for a second that he’s going to rip it off. However, the man uses it to yank up the blond’s head, and to stab the needle into Tommy’s already battered throat. He whispers, “Sam might’ve done a fucking great job at hiding your identity, but I will find you. You’ll wish you never got bit.”
Dream pulls back the syringe, letting Tommy’s head fall onto the ground with an unceremonious splat! The Sense is going insane, because whatever he was just administered immediately throws Tommy back to the first day after the bite. Where every little noise or sound gets heard, where his glowing blue eyes provide the blond with overly sensitive night vision. His lenses are blown wide as Tommy feels himself fatigue out of the blue and his healing wounds begin to reopen.
Almost as if it was an afterthought, Dream backtracks and summons a sharp piece of metal, shoving it into the teen’s arm with the most force he could muster. It pins the blond to the ground like a preserved butterfly, drying him out of all his blood.
“FUCK,” Tommy screams in agony, head dropping onto the concrete as a searing hot pain fills his vision. Tears burn in the corner of his eyes, blood is spilling from everywhere in his body and his senses are overwhelmed; the main thing he relies on—The Sense—has pretty much gone into disarray.
Faintly, the sound of footsteps slowly walks away. Tommy can’t hear this, seeing as the only sound registering is the ringing of his own ears.
He’s not sure where or when the villain left the scene, but when Tommy manages to roll onto his back, he finds that Dream is gone. His chest heaves heavily, struggling to stay conscious. His hand shakily reaches for the steel, wrapping a hand around it.
With a deep breath, Tommy rips off the bandaid, yanking out the blunt shard and tossing it away. Someone is screaming again, and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to figure out it’s his own vocal chords, snapping from the sob crawling out from his throat. He glances down at his battered arm—it’s the same one he injured that day, how convenient—gagging at the hole cut into his shoulder. It goes straight through, where the blond can see an opening on the other side. Part of his bone is shattered, tissue around the stab jagged and rough. Anything below that point Tommy can’t feel.
People are calling his name, and the familiar sound of ambulance sirens are drawing closer. They’re struggling to get through the crowd of people accumulated around the plaza, holding phones and video recorders high. If they manage to put Tommy in the back of that truck he’s done for. No doubt they’ll take off his mask, and into the hands of Schlatt he’ll go.
Tommy has to think of a plan, quickly, but his brain is fuzzy from the drug he was administered. It’s an open space, meaning he can’t hide anywhere. Anything that does offer protection, however, is a mess of beat up cars and twisted lamp posts. The blond strains his head to look up, scanning the rooftops for any route.
His eyes land on a certain platform, lower than the buildings he usually swings on, but in the state he’s in, it’s the best option. There’s still blood oozing out of his wounds because it seems that his regeneration just stopped working. Without the pull of his skin coming together that he became so familiar with, Tommy feels like he’s dying. As if all his injuries are so severe that he’s not going to wake up.
Miraculously, he lifts his other arm, shooting a feeble web and nearly passing out from the sudden jolts. Behind him, an ambulance draws closer, but Tommy’s already flying up, ignoring the loud honks and offers to take him to the hospital.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he whispers, struggling to stay awake. His house isn’t that far away, he just needs to make it through his window.
It’s hard running and jumping across the large gaps in between buildings. Tommy is barely conscious as he’s sprinting, gritting his teeth in a last burst of energy. The dead weight of his arm doubles the length of the usual trip, but Tommy manages to fall unceremoniously into his window, grateful that he forgot to close it behind him. His room is the safe place Tommy needed, wrenching his mask off and trying not to choke on his blood.
Warmth pools under where he lays, red seeping into the brown floorboards as his vision spins. The door is locked, and Tommy physically can’t call out to anyone. Faintly he can hear the mumble of television in the living room, and Wilbur’s soft strums in the kitchen.
He must’ve gotten home early, meaning that Techno picked him up if the clock read correctly. The sun was just beginning to set as 7 PM dragged on. The smell of salmon cooking wafts up the stairs and into Tommy’s nose. Wilbur’s favorite. Everyone must be home right now, and Tommy’s bleeding out just a floor above.
There’s no way he dies here. Right…?
Tommy has to pull through, he will!
This isn’t the first time he’s been injured, and surely it won’t be the last.
But it’s a lot worse than his usual injuries. Most of the time, they’re nicks or scraps from petty criminals with dull knives. Tommy’s arm has a hole in it, and his ribs are decimated, the simple act of breathing making them ache and burn. His neck had a purple mark all around it from Dream’s powers, and not to mention whatever the fuck got injected into his veins.
He’s hanging off a thread.
At the plaza, Tommy was fighting to stay out of the hands of the law, purely adrenaline keeping him awake and able to move. Without the looming threat, Tommy can feel the bursts of energy start to fade. The Sense is still a faint pulsing at the back of his head, regeneration practically disappeared from the scene.
If Tommy doesn’t do anything he’s going to fucking die.
But what is there he can do? There’s nothing surrounding him that can he—
Right there.
Under his bed is his med kit.
Tommy nearly cries from relief, rolling over to reach for it with his good arm, and clenching his fingers around the little red box. He drags himself over to the side of his bed, leaving a trail of blood behind him while setting himself down. Thankfully, Tommy had the right idea to restock the kit last week, and finds a full supply of gauze and bandaids.
The blond carefully slips his right arm out of his suit, rolling it down near his waist to try and do so with the fucked up arm. Before doing so, Tommy grabs a rag from the med kit and bites down on it, counting from ten to prepare himself. When his numbers reach zero, he pulls the fabric off, and cries out into the fabric, yells muffled. Black dots fill his vision again, and Tommy needs to take a break before continuing his attempts.
Again, the blond wrenches his arm from the suit, gritting his teeth as it sticks to his skin from the dried blood. When he gets it off, Tommy spits out the rag, taking heaving breaths to calm his racing heart.
Tears spill from his eyes as Tommy reaches for a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, dumping practically the whole thing onto the open wound to cauterize it. It burns and burns, but the blond has to just fight it out. He can’t afford an infection when he’s back to being so breakable again.
When the peroxide stops bubbling, Tommy reaches for a strip of gauze, tightly wrapping it on his arm and sticking it closed. He tugs the suit lower, near his waist so Tommy can wrap his chest as well, the area of his ribs covered in ugly, large splotches of purple.
When he deems the bandage tight enough, Tommy leans his head back against the bed frame, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand.
Dream was going to be a problem for sure. Their fight barely lasted any time at all, and the blond felt as though he was going to be buried as a pile of bones. It was terrifying. All the more reason to research who the fuck he is because Tommy never heard of any bloke called Dream
If this villain has it out for the teen, it only amplifies the importance to get rid of him quickly. His whole family could be in danger if Dream manages to find Tommy’s identity, and based on how far he was willing to go to just send a message, Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if he targeted his parents or brothers. Hell, even his friends are in danger.
Furthermore, Tommy needs to find out whatever the hell he was injected with. The effects are starting to wear off because he can feel The Sense come back to him, but it left him weak. Defenseless. Tommy couldn’t heal, couldn’t do anything anymore because of how accustomed he grew to be able to climb on walls and predict a punch.
If any criminals he goes up against catch wind of the drug, he’ll be groveling on the floor on every patrol. It’s made his head pound and his wrists start to hurt burn like it did when he drank Sam’s alcohol. He can’t imagine going through this all the time.
All this simply meant that Tommy was going to lock himself into his room once more, burning the words of various articles into his memory, while hopefully being healed up after the drug fully wears off.
For now, though, he’s going to rest. He doesn’t—won’t—acknowledge the shake in his hands or the increased paranoia he feels.
Tommy curls up into a ball and cries.
Notes:
And Dream entrance
I’m having so much fun with his powers, so just to clarify, he has telekinesis, but can also create illusion based on what your current emotional state is. If you’re feeling a bit weaker, sad, angry or fearful Dream can get into your head
Leon kennedy (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 20 May 2025 01:31AM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 1 Tue 20 May 2025 01:33AM UTC
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Marly_rat on Chapter 1 Wed 28 May 2025 02:31AM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 1 Thu 19 Jun 2025 04:45PM UTC
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I twisted my ankle and it hurt (Guest) on Chapter 3 Mon 23 Jun 2025 02:45AM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 3 Wed 25 Jun 2025 04:17AM UTC
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AjolotaSanta on Chapter 4 Thu 26 Jun 2025 07:46AM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 4 Fri 27 Jun 2025 05:04AM UTC
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AjolotaSanta on Chapter 5 Wed 02 Jul 2025 05:06AM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 5 Thu 03 Jul 2025 04:51AM UTC
Last Edited Thu 03 Jul 2025 04:52AM UTC
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Samtheidioticbozo (Guest) on Chapter 5 Sat 05 Jul 2025 03:14AM UTC
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AjolotaSanta on Chapter 6 Mon 07 Jul 2025 01:29AM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 6 Tue 15 Jul 2025 03:40AM UTC
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A_454 on Chapter 6 Wed 09 Jul 2025 11:04PM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 6 Tue 15 Jul 2025 03:40AM UTC
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EmpireOfMen on Chapter 6 Sat 12 Jul 2025 07:17PM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 6 Mon 14 Jul 2025 04:59AM UTC
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I trapped my balls in a bear trap (Guest) on Chapter 7 Mon 14 Jul 2025 07:56PM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 7 Tue 15 Jul 2025 03:39AM UTC
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My dad is only gay on the weekends (Guest) on Chapter 7 Wed 16 Jul 2025 09:01PM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 7 Wed 16 Jul 2025 10:18PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 16 Jul 2025 10:20PM UTC
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AjolotaSanta on Chapter 7 Tue 15 Jul 2025 06:59AM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 7 Wed 16 Jul 2025 10:17PM UTC
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There was a hurricane in class and a big fat rat bursted through the window (Guest) on Chapter 8 Wed 23 Jul 2025 05:17PM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 8 Thu 24 Jul 2025 02:26AM UTC
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EmpireOfMen on Chapter 8 Wed 23 Jul 2025 05:40PM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 8 Thu 24 Jul 2025 02:26AM UTC
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IM FINALLY ON SUMMER BREAK BUT ONLY FOR A WEEK FUVK WHYYY oh well could be less (Guest) on Chapter 9 Sat 02 Aug 2025 12:32PM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 9 Sat 09 Aug 2025 05:22AM UTC
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(Samtheiditoicbozo) SUMMER BREAK PLEASE COME BACK I LOVE YOU BUT A WEEK ISN'T ENOUGH WHYYY (Guest) on Chapter 10 Sat 09 Aug 2025 06:50PM UTC
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Samtheidioticbozo (I gotta start putting my actual user instead of random things that happened to me as my username 😭) (Guest) on Chapter 11 Tue 26 Aug 2025 09:56PM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 11 Wed 27 Aug 2025 02:09AM UTC
Last Edited Wed 27 Aug 2025 02:11AM UTC
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scruffedpup on Chapter 12 Wed 10 Sep 2025 06:42AM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 12 Wed 10 Sep 2025 12:09PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 10 Sep 2025 12:10PM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 12 Wed 10 Sep 2025 10:11PM UTC
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scruffedpup on Chapter 12 Thu 11 Sep 2025 07:13AM UTC
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Samtheidioticbozo (Guest) on Chapter 12 Wed 10 Sep 2025 07:10PM UTC
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Samtheidioticbozo (Guest) on Chapter 12 Wed 10 Sep 2025 07:11PM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 12 Wed 10 Sep 2025 10:11PM UTC
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Samtheidioticbozo (Guest) on Chapter 13 Mon 22 Sep 2025 10:59PM UTC
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blu3mari on Chapter 13 Tue 23 Sep 2025 02:02AM UTC
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