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It was the biting, unbearable heat that he felt first, soaking through his padded suit and into his skin until it buried itself deep into his bones and left his blood boiling. The pain was the next thing to hit, shooting up his limbs and through his body, forcing choked gasps from his lips with every movement. Tommy doesn’t think that he’s ever been in this much pain before. He’s been in plenty of bad situations before, all the way from a difficult childhood to getting his ass absolutely handed to him in fights against villains who just so happened to be stronger than him - but he’d always weaseled his way out, returning to the hero tower to lick the few wounds he’d received. Hell, he even had more than just a handful of hospital visits on his back. But this - this felt different.
Slowly, Tommy cracked his eyes open, his mask thankfully shielding him from the heat of the roaring fire around him. The warehouse he’d been in had been torn apart almost entirely - the wall to his right nothing more than a giant hole now, looking out over the docks where the freighters happily swayed with the soft waves. The closest ones looked undamaged and Tommy breathed a sigh of relief - as far as he could see the damage had been kept to a minimum. Well, if you didn’t count him .
Looking around, he found that he was sitting upright against the back wall of the warehouse, rubble and debris littering the ground as everything was bathed in an orange light from the flames licking at everything they could reach. The young hero blinked a few times, desperately trying to clear his blurry vision. When it finally somewhat cleared he risked a look down, steeling himself before taking in the state of his own body.
“Oh, fucking hell.” he rasped when he took in the sight. His suit was practically ruined, torn and burned in too many places - revealing angry red skin that was already starting to blister. There were countless dark stains where the suit hadn’t torn entirely, opting instead to turn a dark shade of crimson. Bleeding scratches littered his broken body along with bruises that came bold and bright, making him cringe. This would be a bitch to heal from.
Well , he thought, if he healed at all .
The spreading of purple and yellow blotches that peppered his skin like a meadow of wildflowers wasn’t what concerned him. No, what really made panic quell up in his chest was the entire fucking metal rod sticking out of his middle. The thing was lodged neatly just below his ribs, sitting there like it hadn’t just ruined Tommy’s entire fucking day. His body broke out in a cold sweat, ice running down his shoulders and back despite the suffocating heat.
This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
Tommy looked up again, squinting at the harsh orange and yellow lights that filled his vision. Some of his teammates still had to be around here somewhere, he just needed to get their attention and he’d be alright. This was nothing - he’d survived something similar to this before, the memory of the Warden’s trident piercings through his chest still fresh on his mind despite the time that had passed. It had been painful and Tommy had been oh so close to death, but he never regretted taking the hit. It would have been Sapnap instead - Tommy would have died with a smile. But thankfully the older man had rushed him back to the tower’s emergency hospital, curses and pleas falling from his lips as he carried the boy out and away from the fight.
He just needed to find the others. Dream or George or Sapnap, one of them would find him and he’d be okay. Tommy groaned as he looked around, his neck aching from the movement.
The flames climbed up the walls, crawling their way to the ceiling and leaving nothing but ash behind, the stone of the walls the only part that stood firm. But even they had been shaken by the blast, left brittle and close to collapsing. The entire building would be nothing but skeletal remains in the light of a new day, the ashes that didn’t get carried away by a careless wind sinking down into the earth to be part of something entirely new.
But for now the world was still dipped in black, bright city lights the only thing piercing through the darkness. Or in Tommy’s case, it was the lingering fire of an explosion that had ripped almost the entire warehouse apart.
Tommy couldn’t help the low whine that escaped him when destruction was all he found, none of his team members anywhere in sight. This wasn’t at all how this was supposed to go.
It was supposed to be a simple mission. Reports of illegal weapons that were planned to be shipped out had reached the hero tower, something a few lower rank heros usually would have handled if it wouldn’t have been for a specific seal stamped onto the inside of the wooden crates that contained the cargo. The workers doing random spot checks that night had almost pissed themselves when they found it, immediately sealing off the area and calling the authorities. So the Dream Team had been called onto the scene, arriving at the docks and taking over the entire mission. And sure enough, there on the crates was the symbol of a small back crow, its wings spread with two rapiers crossed behind it.
The Syndicate.
It had been a lucky find - their organization’s activities were usually on such a low that it went undetected by everyone. They’d been silent for months at this point, rumors popping up here and there but never really leading to anything. It was always too late when they eventually did hear something of value, an attack or shipment already over and done with before any authorities arrived on scene. But as of late they’d been extra cautious, practically disappearing from the scene until they’d been nothing more than whispers in the dark.
Dream had been on edge for weeks now.
Tommy had stayed up so many nights with him, trying his best to gather even just the tiniest scraps of information from any sources they could find. He’d watched Dream pacing around his office, muttering his thoughts. It was hard to help Dream as best as he could and yet still stay out of his way when he got like this. The older hero would demand that Tommy trained, spied, fought and worked until he collapsed from overexertion, the crushing exhaustion weighing him down heavily after pushing his limits yet again. But whenever he was in line of sight of his mentor, the man’s eyes would ignite with cold fury as harsh, cutting words were flung at the boy. More than once Tommy had left his office with a black eye.
Evading his mentor’s anger that paired with insults and bruises was even more exhausting than working himself to the bone.
But when organizations as powerful and dangerous as the Syndicate went completely quiet it was a sign that something bigger, something worse , was in the making. Preparations for attacks that were no more than unstoppable forces once in motion.
So Tommy understood that it made Dream anxious - hell, he’d been restless himself this whole time. It was okay, he knew Dream didn’t mean it. The masked hero was the one to take him under his wing, after all. He’d seen Tommy during a villain fight a few years ago, young and inexperienced but burning with rage as he flung himself at some no-name villain to keep him away from civilians. Powers flaring as he slipped away from every attack by the bulky man, countering with strikes of his own and spitting mocking insults. Dream had been amused by the fledgling hero, approaching the boy after the fight and offering him mentorship - a way up, an opportunity to do more, be more.
Tommy liked to think that Dream cared about him as much as he cared about the older hero - his mentor along with his teammates, the closest thing to family he’s ever had.
They worked well together, the four of them a flawless team on the best days. Which is why he had strolled into the warehouse with confidence, nearly bursting with energy at the prospect of finally having a lead. They’d be able to go somewhere with this, possibly find out what their enemies were planning and put a stop to it - and then Dream would go back to being kind. That’s how it was supposed to go.
And then the Syndicate had shown up and everything went to hell.
The fight broke out faster than usual, everyone being too on edge to bicker back and forth. Dream’s fingers had twitched the second the Blood God had stepped out of the shadows, followed by Siren. Even the theatrical villain had been jittery, opting to stand next to his partner rather than casually leaning against anything. The Angel of Death had stepped out before them, velvet wings extended threateningly, and demanded that they retreat - that no one would get hurt if they just left.
And maybe, Tommy thought, they should have listened this time.
The tension had been too tight, too suffocating. In a weird way Tommy had even missed fighting against the Syndicate. Truthfully, he didn’t stand much of a chance against the God or the Angel, but the fights between Siren and him resembled more of a dance than anything. Banter being tossed back and forth between them effortlessly as they spun around each other, laughter on their breath as they tried to land hits on each other. Tommy would never admit it, but something in him twisted when all that left Siren’s lips during the fight were harsh commands, silky smooth words trying to wrap around his enemies’ minds until they were nothing but puppets.
Tommy had lost sight of his team members far too early into the fight, Dream crashing through one of the windows when the Blood God flung him. Sapnap and George went up against the Angel, leaving him with Siren. It would have been alright, but everything had been too loud, too fast - honestly, Tommy didn’t even know what caused the explosion.
He’d been in the middle of trying to land a solid punch right in the center of the masked villain’s face when the force of the blast knocked him down and everything went white. His best guess was that a stray energy blast had hit one of the weapon crates, something in them not reacting well to the assault and in turn ripping almost the entire building apart.
And that’s how he ended up in his current predicament - suit torn to shreds, blood soaking through the already red material and an iron rod protruding from his abdomen. Tommy couldn’t even remember how it got there. Was it launched at him during the explosion? Or was it already sticking out of the wall only for him to smack right into it? He supposed it didn’t really matter anyway, the absence of any feeling in his legs was far more concerning.
Channeling his entire remaining willpower, Tommy focused on wiggling his toes, letting out a frustrated snarl when he couldn’t even manage that. The panic that had slowly been creeping up through his stomach was now fully curling around his heart, squeezing painfully as it clogged up his throat and made breathing all the more difficult.
Tommy knew he was on the verge of breaking down, frustrated tears already burning at the corner of his eyes and threatening to spill over. But he was a hero , he had to be strong. He couldn’t be panicking over this. Dream always told him to be strong, and he’d be damned if he showed weakness now.
He choked on another breath, the air thick and bitter on his tongue. Biting down a low whine, Tommy reached up and ran his fingertips over the lower part of his mask, frowning when he felt the cracks along the usually smooth surface. It was obviously broken, which would explain why instead of filtering the smoke from the fire around him, it felt like it was trying to force it down his throat until his lungs were charred and black. The teen shuddered at the thought of what his face would have looked like if his hero getup didn’t include a protective mask and instead one of those flimsy “identity hider” masks that more than a few villains and heroes liked to don. His jaw would have surely been ripped off.
He pawed at the clasps for a moment before his fingers finally hooked underneath and he pulled at it. The mask had already been hanging somewhat loosely, tearing it off thankfully didn’t take too much of the energy he still had left.
A poetry of heat and light reflected in sky blue eyes as Tommy sucked in a breath, the remnants of smoke still a thick, acrid layer in his throat, but God was the occasional chill of the cold night’s wind against his bruised face heavenly. He closed his eyes and let that small relief wash over him for just a moment, trying to calm his pounding heart as best as he could with deep breaths that felt more like swallowing liquid heat than anything. But it helped, it cleared his mind just a bit. The hero looked out over the destruction once more and licked his cracked lips - Dream had to be around somewhere, there hadn’t been enough time for his fight with the God to really carry anywhere else. He had to be close.
“Dream,” he called, desperate and oh so faint with smoke and blood weighing his voice down, “ Dream! ” he tried again, ignoring how his voice cracked with the effort. Talking hurt, any sound he made felt like claws tearing at his throat.
There was no reply, no voice calling back. The steady crackle and pop of the all consuming flames around him was the only sound filling his ears.
This time, Tommy couldn’t bite back the sob, tears finally falling and leaving streaks on his dirty cheeks. The reality of the situation crashed over him like a tidal wave, swallowing him up and stealing all the remaining air from his lungs - leaving him wheezing as more and more sobs tore out of him and he finally let himself break down.
Dream wasn’t here, neither were Sapnap and George. He was alone, he was injured and he was beginning to feel numb all over. He was alone. Alone, alone, alone, alone.
The young hero knew he wasn’t supposed to panic like this, but god dammit he was terrified . His ability to process this overwhelming fear had been exceeded, flinging him right out of the driver’s seat of his own brain and leaving him a shuddering, bleeding mess. The searing pain crept over his skin, his ruined suit clinging to him uncomfortably as his injuries screeched at every movement. It hurt, it hurt so much. But despite the ache of his bones and the black spots appearing on the sides of his vision, Tommy desperately clung to the agony. Because the alternative was so much worse.
It didn’t matter that any movement felt like knives piercing him, it didn’t matter that he was hot and cold and dizzy, it didn’t matter that his tears burned worse than the flames around him - anything was better than the numbness crawling up his body and threatening to swallow him whole. God fucking damnit, he didn’t want to die. Not like this.
Not alone .
He curled his fingers, balling up his fists in pain and frustration. Another sharp wave of pain coursed through him and he gasped, bringing up his hand and digging his teeth into his knuckles to smother a scream. He wanted Dream, he wanted his mentor so badly. Or Sapnap or George - anyone to take him away, to tell him he’s ok and that they’ll help. Fuck, he’d cry tears of joy if even Jack would show up right now.
But any hope he hung on to was quickly dying out, flickering and fading in the looming threat that the growing paralysis brought with it. It was getting harder to breathe, his already muddled and scattered thoughts slowing down as his movements became sluggish. The pain didn’t fade, though. No, it kept digging further into him until every part of him burned.
He wouldn’t make it.
And wasn’t that just laughable. All his fighting and screaming and clawing his way through whatever life decided to throw at him - this was what was going to do him in. He would have laughed if his body had allowed it, but the sizzling panic had sucked up everything he had left. The hero’s hand fell to his side, the impact with the ground barely even registering on his tired mind.
Tommy let his head fall back against the wall, his breathing being forced to slow down by his body slowly shutting down. His eyes lazily wandered up and he was pleasantly surprised that a good chunk of the ceiling was missing, revealing a star filled sky. Despite the lights of the city they were still there, like sugar over black marble they glistened. The boy felt his body relax at the sight of the velvet sky stretched above him.
Even though some part of him kept telling himself that it’d be ok, he’d be safe once he was found, there was a bigger, steadily growing part that told him that there was nothing to fear. Like honey dripping down his body, rendering his limbs heavy and useless and filling his head with sweet promises, a voice slowly lulled him away. A soft song promising love once his eyes closed and his heart stopped beating. The pain was still ever present, the last thing that proved to the teen that he was still here, still alive. But even that was fading now, content with the damage it had dealt and ready to leave. It’d be messy and painful, his death, and he was beyond terrified , but he was also so tired .
And all of a sudden, resting didn’t sound so bad anymore.
The sound of footsteps had his slowing heart leaping in his chest, beating against his ribcage with a sudden vigor that left his head spinning. The voice hushed and his eyes tore from the sky to scan his surroundings.
There.
A figure walking towards him, stumbling over the carnage. Tommy whimpered, his body suddenly bursting with a last reserve of energy that had him almost toppling forward.
It had to be Dream. He’d be ok, he’d get out of this. Dream would pick him up and get him out of this hell. He knew he wouldn’t leave Tommy behind. He’d get to live .
Tommy choked, reached out and-
***
This was honestly not how Phil thought his day was going to go.
It had started pretty decent, all things considered - with a morning coffee, reports of successful shipments, lighthearted conversations with his sons. An easy day.
And then of course something just had to go wrong. It had been well into the night when he’d received a call from one of his men, frantically explaining that there were heroes snooping around one of his warehouses, apparently having found one of the last weapon shipments that were meant to leave the harbor only a few hours later. And not just any heroes, no. The fucking Dream Team.
It was an annoyance, really, because he couldn’t let anyone interfere this time. If he allowed the heroes this win, things could spiral out of control entirely too fast. So he bit back a groan and the three of them went down to the docks.
Who would have guessed that things would go south that fast.
Dusting off his robes and shaking the soot off his feathers, Phil looked around the rubble, clicking his tongue in distaste when he caught sight of the destroyed crates. Not even a dent in his wallet, but still yet another unnecessary annoyance to add to his list. What mattered right now were his sons, though.
While he’d been lucky enough to be outside of the building when the blast went off, he had lost sight of Techno and was certain that Wilbur had still been inside. So he willed his mind to stop spinning and rushed through the torn doors of the building. The smoke that hit him had him coughing even through the filter of his mask, his large wings instinctually tucking tightly against his body.
“Siren?” he called, stepping further into the building and dodging the burning beams that had fallen and now blocked parts of the area. A hand on his shoulder had him spinning around, eyes meeting glowing red that pierced through a boar skull mask. Phil sighed in relief. “I’m glad you’re alright, mate.”
Techno shrugged, pieces of ash falling off his cloaked shoulders. “I wasn’t close to the building when it happened.”
“Dream?”
“Ran off. Apparently you did a number on 404, Dream and Arson carried him away.”
Phil hummed in thought before turning and stalking deeper into the warehouse, eyes searching for his still missing son. It didn’t take long to find him, the villain was cussing up a storm, stuck between the wall and a fallen beam that thankfully had not caught on fire yet.
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled once he caught sight of the two, “Just get me the fuck out.”
Phil laughed and, together with Techno, pulled at the offending object enough so that Wilbur could weasel his way out. The youngest stumbled, brushing his hands over his chest where he’d been pinned and grimacing at the tears in his coat. “Ugh, this was brand new.” he complained.
Phil lightly smacked him over the head. “Be grateful it didn’t crush you completely. You’re lucky you were mostly shielded from the explosion.”
“As if you’d get rid of me that easily.” Will grinned, all teeth and tease.
“Don’t tempt me.” Techno deadpanned, staring down at the younger, a challenge in his eyes. Wilbur’s grin widened and he opened his mouth to shoot back - before they could keep bickering though, Phil stepped between them.
“Let’s get out of here first, ey?” he said, leading the way out. The door they’d entered through had been blocked off by now, more rubble and bits of ceiling that had succumbed to the fire, closing it off entirely. Luckily for them, there was a giant hole in one of the walls. He was about to step back out into the night when he heard it. The faintest call, words illegible and cracked, barely there, but enough for Phil to make his head turn and his eyes search his surroundings. Wilbur nearly bumped into him at the sudden stop, complaint dying on his tongue when he saw his father so alert.
“Techno-”
“I heard it, too.”
The tall man pushed his way back inside the burning building, followed by the Angel. As per usual, Wilbur ignored the quick “wait here” from his father and followed the two, uncertain of what it was that they had heard. Honestly, Phil would have brushed it off if it hadn’t been for Techno confirming it.
“Someone got caught in the explosion.” he thought out loud as they pushed through the flames.
“Probably a worker or something, come on.” Techno replied, not turning around.
Wilbur frowned, “No, no, maybe it’s-” he cut himself off with a gasp, Techno stopped in his tracks and went completely still, and that’s when Phil saw it. Sitting against the furthest wall of the warehouse, looking impossibly small, was the fourth hero of the Dream Team - and he looked rough .
His usually bright red suit was too dark in so many places, cuts and jagged wounds painting it almost black. The skin that had been exposed was an angry red, covered in blisters and soot and dirt. Bits and pieces of rubble had basically embedded itself into the guy’s skin - probably the side that had been exposed to the blast, Phil mused. The left side of the suit was worse off, the arm and leg shredded. Phil could see the small stones and splinters moving with the skin. It was probably agonizing if the hero could feel anything at all anymore. The hero’s legs were mangled, lying uselessly on the ground - not that he’d be able to use them anyway, not with the fucking metal rod sticking out of him.
It wasn’t his wounds that struck him, though, wasn’t the harsh and dying breaths that he could now hear clearly over the roaring fire - no, what struck him was his face. A familiar mask lay broken and unusable to the side, revealing matted blond locks that framed a bruised face and tired eyes. There were dark bags underneath them, telling a tale of sleepless nights. Blood ran down the hero’s forehead, a cut somewhere along his hairline.
Despite the smoldering heat around them, Phil felt ice burst in his stomach, cold sweat breaking out all over his back as his breath hitched. This was wrong. Very, very wrong.
“Vermillion?” he asked, disbelief so painfully clear in his voice. Because it didn’t make sense that his eyes were a little too big and unfocused, a little too scared. There wasn’t a lot, but there was still too much baby fat on those cheeks, softening what would be sharp features in the future.
Dull blue eyes struggled to move up but finally managed to focus on him again and Phil distantly wondered how brilliant their color would be when filled with life. The child huffed a breath and grinned - a pained and bloody thing.
“Today’s just my lucky day, innit?”
“No.” Wilbur breathed, stepping back. “ No , you can’t be- what the fuck , Vermillion?!”
The boy frowned, “Rude. You’re probably way uglier than me under that stupid mask.”
Wilbur let out a strangled sound, exasperation and panic so evident in his tone. “That’s not what I meant, you- you ridiculous child .” Wilbur’s expression immediately soured when the familiar insult slipped from his tongue, a desperate laugh falling from his lips. “You’re actually a child. Fuck. Fuck .”
“M’not a kid.” Vermillion snapped, lacking all the usual fire that he threw at them whenever they met. Phil admitted to himself that he missed it.
Wilbur shook his head, turning away.
Without another word, Phil walked over to the boy and dropped to his knees by his side. Ocean eyes scanned the smaller frame, assessing the damage more clearly while his hands hovered over him. It was.. it was bad. His mind screamed at him to bring the kid to safety right away, to waste no more time and just get him out of here. But he was- the second he’d lift the kid off of that fucking metal rod he’d bleed out. The damage was just too great, he wouldn’t make it in time. Any potions he had would only drain the kid’s energy more.
For the first time in a long time the Angel of Death was at a loss.
The kid looked up at him, body almost slumped forward and eyeing him curiously - like he was expecting Phil to strike and couldn’t understand why he hadn’t yet. When Phil didn’t make a move to hurt him or end his life entirely, the kid spoke. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out how to get you out of here.”
The kid wheezed, the sound obviously supposed to be a laugh. “What?”
Phil looked up again, saw the confusion and curiosity overshadowing the fear that had been there just a moment prior. “I’m trying to help you, mate.”
“Since when do you give a shit if a hero dies?”
“Mate, there’s no-” Phil swallowed, “There’s no way you’re old enough to be actively joining hero fights. How- ” he cut himself off again when the kid started laughing weakly. It was a barely there sound, more bitter than anything else.
“Since when does anyone care? They’re basically picking kids out orphanages for their stupid hero programs.” he spat, anger flashing in his eyes briefly - at who it was directed, Phil had no idea.
The Angel swallowed down the weird lump in his throat, felt it settle heavy in his stomach. Was that- was that true? Had the hero commission started plucking vulnerable kids from their homes? Started training them young? How many more kids like Vermillion were out there? How many had already died ?
And why wasn’t he aware of this?
“And why do you care anyway?” the strained voice pulled him from his thoughts, “Since when do villains give a fuck about heroes?” Vermillion snarled, blood flying from his lips.
Phil’s face fell, “Mate, we’re not monsters .” Did he really expect them to kill him? Like it didn’t matter that he was already hurt, that he was nothing more than a kid? It tore at something inside of him, anger swirling and mixing with anguish to form something deadly. What had this fledgling been through to make him think that?
The boy looked at him, searched his face for any sign of a lie. When he found nothing, he slumped back against the wall, giving no more than a grunt. After a moment, he spoke again - this time his voice was unsure, like he was afraid of Phil’s answer. “Where’s Dream?”
The Angel bit his lip, having half a mind to lie and tell the boy that Dream had been killed by the blast, or that he was slain by the Blood God. Before he could answer, Techno beat him to it.
“He retreated with the rest of your team, runt.”
“ Techno! ” Wilbur hissed, uncaring of how he’d used Techno’s real name. Fury laced his tone as he stared at his brother. But Techno merely looked the kid in the eyes, lowering his head in sympathy.
“He deserves the truth.”
Vermillion’s breath hitched, eyes glazing over and becoming glossy as he desperately tried to hold his tears in front of the villains. Phil’s heart ached at the sight, the hurt in the kid’s face too much to bear. The fear returned in full force as his chest began to rise and fall faster, unevenly.
“They left?” he asked shakily, voice thick at the revelation that his own partners had left him behind. Judging by his reaction, they weren’t just teammates. Friends - family , his mind suggested. But that didn’t make sense, because what kind of family left their youngest behind to die alone?
Phil nodded and this time Vermillion couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, hanging his head at the confirmation. His shoulders shook as he silently cried. Phil reached out, stopping briefly when the boy flinched before gently cupping his cheek. To his surprise and utter heartache, the child leaned into the touch.
“I’m so sorry, little one.” he tried to soothe, wiping the tears away. “You were so brave, you fought so well.”
The child drew in a shuddering breath as he fell apart, hands balling into fists as he shook. The three villains stayed silent, unsure of what to say and instead offered their company. It seemed to help somewhat, because despite the pain and sorrow Vermillion managed to calm his breathing again after a few minutes, not once leaning away from Phil’s touch. Phil let him rest for a moment, simply stroking his thumb over the hero’s bruised cheek. He could feel Wilbur hovering over them, unsure and panicked.
Seeing the kid like this - it just wasn’t right. How could the heroes leave this little fledgling behind? Gods, he was so small.
When the hero’s breathing evened out and the tears lessened, Phil broke the silence. “How old are you, mate?”
“Nineteen.”
A scoff. “The truth, kid.”
The boy let his head fall against the wall, away from Phil’s hand, eyes falling to the floor and becoming almost lost in thought. The tension lining his shoulders nearly entirely vanished as he sighed. Phil knew this wasn’t defeat, he was simply too tired to argue anymore. “Turned sixteen last week.” he mumbled.
And oh , didn’t that just crush him? Because how could it be that a hero who’d debuted as Dream’s sidekick nearly two years ago, who’d clawed his way up the ranks for even longer, had just turned sixteen a few days prior? He could see Wilbur still out of the corner of his eye, feel Techno fall deadly silent at the revelation and it took every ounce of control he had left in his exhausted body to not replace his shock with unbridled rage. No, he’d push it down for now, let it fester and rot and turn into something gruesome until he was able to unleash it onto whoever had caused this - whoever had consciously allowed a child onto the battlefield.
Once more he looked down at the metal piercing out of the child, glaring at it as though it would disappear if he just willed it away hard enough. Maybe he could dislodge it from the other side? Get the boy out without killing him immediately?
His hands brushed over the kid’s wound, blood sticking to his gloves, and he winced at the pained yelp it earned him. “Shhh, it’s ok, it’s ok. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” he soothed, his hands hovering over the wound instead. “You have to hang on, alright? We’re going to get you out of this.”
“Angel, he-” the Blood God swallowed, voice cracking ever so slightly before practiced apathy coated his tone again. Phil couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard so much pain in his son’s voice. “He’s too far gone.”
And it was true. The Angel of Death had seen too much bloodshed and death and destruction in his days to lie to himself now - the child before him was going to be in his Lady’s arms very soon, and nothing he could do would prevent it. No, he’d only drag out the child’s suffering.
“ Gods. .” he heard Wilbur whisper, voice thick and pained as he turned away.
Phil’s breath hitched as his gaze settled on the hero again, sorrow painting his features. “I’m sorry.” he choked, “I’m so sorry.”
The boy looked up and despite everything, he smiled. Gods, he was just a baby .
“S’okay.” he slurred and there was a small movement that could have been a shrug.
“Gods, Theseus,” the nickname Techno liked to use for the hero carried over the sounds of the flames, “What did you get yourself into?”
The boy was silent again, too still for Phil’s liking and for a terrible, everlasting moment Phil was sure that the kid was gone. But then those blue eyes looked up to Techno again, something unreadable in them that Phil wasn’t strong enough to decipher. “Tommy,” he whispered. “M’name. It’s Tommy.”
“Vermillion, you-”
“ Please .”
Wilbur shut his mouth, a pained sound leaving him.
“I-'' Tommy swallowed, blood trickling down the corner of his mouth and Phil had to force himself not to reach out and wipe it away. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. Please j’st-” and there was something so desperate in his voice. “ I’m scared .” he whispered so faintly that Phil almost missed it, but he heard and his mind screamed .
Phil reached out, his arms settling around the boy before he whispered a quick apology and pulled .
Tommy screamed and it tore right through Phil’s chest, the sound so much more broken and desperate and young now that the voice changer wasn’t covering it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ve got you now, it’s ok, I’ve got you.” he whispered sweet nothings as he gently lowered the boy into his arms. The metal rod stuck out of the rubble now, a thick coat of blood where the hero had just been pulled off of it. It was unnecessary, cruel even, to put the little hero through more pain than he was already in, but Phil refused to not hold this child in his arms. He cradled the kid against his chest, one arm around his body and his other hand gently running through matted, blond hair.
The hero’s trembling body relaxed again, ragged breathing evening out once more as tears and blood stained Phil’s robes. He didn’t care - what mattered was the fledgling that was pressed against him.
“There you go,” he cooed when the boy leaned into the touch, “I’m here, I’ve got you.”
Tommy hummed, relaxing into the hold and letting out a rattly breath. Phil could barely feel a heartbeat thrum beneath his fingers, could barely make out the slow rise and fall of the hero’s chest - but he was still there , leaning into Phil as though kind touch was a rarity.
“Th’nk you.” he whispered and Phil smiled gently, giving his reassurance by brushing his hand over the kid’s arm.
He stays like that, with the boy in his arms and just holding him, listening to the soft yet strained breathing. He faintly registered Wilbur settling down next to them after a moment, a hesitant hand coming up to rest on the kid’s head as he leans down to whisper praises and reassurances to Tommy. Phil felt his heart ache again - despite their rivalry, Wilbur had always been fond of the hero. The boy being the only one to indulge in his antics on the battlefield.
There was a hand on his shoulder, gently tugging him away. “Angel.” came the soft voice of his oldest son, and Phil knew what Techno meant. The building was about to collapse and even though the heroes had fled the scene for now it wouldn’t take long for this place to be swarming with police. They had to leave.
A weak squeeze to his hand brought him back to reality, to the sharp sting of smoke in his eyes. The boy was looking at him, so tired and so scared .
“Please stay.”
And something in him broke because this wasn’t a hero asking, this wasn’t a rival who’d been a thorn in the villain’s side for years, wasn’t the sidekick of the country’s highest ranking hero - this was a child . A scared, dying child.
He ignored Techno’s hand on his shoulder, dismissed Wilbur’s warning gasp - he wouldn’t, couldn’t , ignore this child’s wish. So with shaking hands he reached up and unclasped his mask, the familiar weight settling into his hands before he laid it down at his side. Blond locks fell into his eyes, damp and heavy with sweat and soot from the soaring heat around them. It made his skin burn, his feathers puff up in anxiety at the looming threat - none of it mattered, not with the dying kid in his arms.
Tommy looked up at him and his eyes widened at the sight, his mouth falling open slightly before turning into a soft smile. With what Phil knew was immense effort, the baby lifted his hand and placed it on the man’s chest and the villain laid his own over it, thumb brushing over bloody knuckles.
“Hey there, mate.” he said softly, returning the smile.
“Huh,” he mused. The older man held his breath, feeling as though the child was looking right into his soul, picking apart his very existence and examining it - his experiences and grievances, his victories and losses, his family, his love. All of it he laid into the hands of the boy, hiding nothing from those sky blues. Whatever Tommy had been looking for, he must have found it when his lips formed into an easy smile. “Who would’ve guessed that the Angel of Death has kind eyes?”
Phil huffed a laugh, a small smile pulling at his lips as he closed his eyes at the bittersweet feeling settling over him. His voice was light and genuine and the Angel couldn’t help the adoration for this impossible child to rise in his chest. He pulled him a little closer and let the feeling ebb away the sorrow for just a second.
He opened his eyes, retort ready on his tongue as he looked down at the boy, expecting to find humor glinting through those tears - to see that familiar spark once more. Instead, he found nothing.
Only dull, lifeless eyes. And while the one in his arms had ceased its beating, his own heart shattered, the sight too much and he shut his eyes again, unshed tears burning and threatening to fall. His mouth opened in a silent cry as he leaned down and pressed his forehead against Tommy’s, whispering endless apologies that would never be heard.
It was expected, merely a matter of time - but it didn’t stop the agony that weighed him down so heavily.
He should have known. He should have known . He should have found out through other means, not like this. He could have changed fate, could have prevented his Lady from having to receive another child soldier. It was obvious that Vermillion had been young by the way he fought and talked - Phil should have paid closer attention. Then maybe he could have saved the fledgling. By Gods he would have saved him.
“Angel.” Techno’s voice sounded distant, as though he were underwater - barely reaching him through the thick haze. Phil choked, the sound almost a sob as he pushed closer to the baby in his arms, to yet another failure that etched into his skin oh so painfully. He almost didn’t feel the presence kneel down by his side, the hand on his shoulder replaced with a forehead pushing against him gently. “ Dad .”
Phil looked up and was met by pink hair filling his vision. Techno was beside him, grounding him, the skull mask in his hand as he leaned against his father. Wilbur was on the child’s other side and Phil could feel the despair in his eyes even through the mask as he hovered over the body.
His sons . They were here, they were hurting, and they were alive .
Phil sucked in a breath and leaned back up, willing his mind to stop screaming at the sight in his arms. He reached up, his fingers brushing against a cold cheek gently and lingering there for a moment. His thumb wiped over a speck of blood and he felt another wave of guilt and sorrow wash over him. He pushed it down as he stroked the baby’s cheek. After another moment he let his fingers trail further up and, as softly as he could, closed the hero’s eyes.
He laid the boy down gently before rising to his feet, Techno’s presence next to him and Wilbur’s hand on his own the only things keeping him rooted to the ground - keeping him from letting himself be taken by the blinding rage and grief lapping at his insides.
They left, leaving the little boy behind.
That night, Phil held his sons a little closer, murmured his praise and love a little more and let his grief wash over him. Sky blue eyes burned into his memory, a constant reminder - a constant melancholy. And with it came wrath that settled over his heart like an old friend.
The heroes would burn .