Chapter Text
Tommy hit the ground running.
It was never supposed to escalate this far. It was supposed to be simple reconnaissance, but of course nothing ever went right, and soon the stealth mission turned into a fight, and the fight bore witnesses, and the witnesses, inevitably, called the heroes. Now, that wouldn't have been a problem, if Tommy wasn't a vigilante.
Most crime fighters are heroes, superpowered people who were trained at a young age to beat the bad guys and serve the everyman, born and raised to protect and save the lives of those who couldn't defend themselves. Pretty much every kid wanted to grow up to be a hero, obviously. Fame, fortune, fighting, it was every tiny child's dream, but only a select few were allowed to become heroes, especially not powerless ones.
And that was just Tommy's issue, he was powerless.
It seemed that everyone around him had some sort of quirk or superpower that made them stronger, that gave them incredible abilities like no other, but Tommy, arguably the kid who wanted to be a hero the most, was left untouched by luck.
But that didn't mean he couldn't help out. Far from it, in fact.
"Tommy!" a voice shouted over his earpiece, hardly audible over the sounds of his own feet pounding against concrete, "Jump into that ally there, you can loose him in the back roads!"
If it weren't for Tubbo, Tommy probably wouldn't have gotten this far, would probably have given up on his dream, but when his friend had heard him lament about his longing to fight for justice, or, more probably, when he found Tommy climbing through his window at ungodly hours of the morning with a stab wound to the shoulder, offered to help him out with gear and equipment so he didn't immediately die out in the cruel, unforgiving world.
If it weren't for Tubbo, he probably also wouldn't have been being chased by the Winged Hero, Philza.
This was where the problem with being a vigilante lay, with the fact that it is very much illegal and punishable by at least 4 years in prison.
Vigilantes were considered the lesser heroes, the ruffians who went around protecting the places that weren't usually patrolled by skilled heroes like poverty stricken areas or ghettos, defending the less well known areas and doing generally mundane things like getting cats out of trees or helping old ladies cross the street. But vigilantes were known to become... less than savoury at times. The law didn't apply to them, they couldn't be controlled by any sort of safety commission or hero agency, so they could do pretty much whatever they wanted without any sort of backlash or repercussions if they didn't get caught. There were several known vigilantes who let power get to their heads and ended up going on rampages and doing, all around, pretty villainous things, so being one was a highly dangerous task, having to fight not only villains, but also other heroes.
Without taking the time to glance behind him, Tommy jumped straight down into the ally, feeling his mechanical boots cushion the fall that would have otherwise snapped his bones like a pair of toothpicks and took off through the darkness, jumping over a wooden-plank fence as he went. He didn't need to look up to know that Philza was matching his movements from above, following along like a eagle eying his prey. Philza was a scary hero, and a skilled one at that, with iridescent wings and an increased grip strength. Once he got a hold of you, he wasn't letting go, and Tommy had a dark purple bruise on his arm to show it.
Well, he was known as the Angel of Death for a reason, wasn't he?
To avoid getting caught a second time, Tommy launched himself through the back alleyways, the width of which was too large for the hero's large wingspan to fit through, "Thanks, Big T. He's not gonna get me down here."
"Just get out of there, okay?" Tubbo replied, "There are still other heroes around, be careful."
"You know it," Tommy grinned, jumping from the lid of a dumpster and grabbing a handrail to swing himself over another, taller fence. He might be running for his life, but he could at least do it in style.
"Wait- I'm getting a reading," Tubbo stated suddenly, sounding on edge, "There's someone else coming, they're going to intercept you!"
With that warning, he skidded to a halt just in time to avoid the hand that appeared through a wall and attempted to grab at his hoodie. He startled, stumbling back ungracefully as a body walked out of the concrete as if it weren't there at all.
The Ghostly Hero, Phantom.
He looked the same on TV as he did in real life, tufts of brown hair puffing out from under a crimson beanie, eyes glowing white as he became fully visible once again. There was no expression on his face, maybe determination, maybe confidence, but his gaze was cold and calculating, much unlike his public persona.
Before Tommy could turn and bolt in the other direction, he heard a thud from behind him and, just as he predicted, there was Philza, looking rightfully annoyed, shuffling his wings on his back as they folded in on themselves. There was something uncomfortable about being sandwiched between two of his idols in a back ally, knowing that this would probably end in a fight.
"Tommy? Are you okay? Tommy?" Tubbo asked desperately, but Tommy knew he couldn't risk giving him a response. He blocked the noise out for now.
"Sorry mate, but we've gotta take you in," Philza said calmly, tilting his head backwards in an attempt to be intimidating, and boy oh boy was it working. The vigilante bit his lip, "You know why."
He didn't give them the pleasure of hearing a response, opting to remain silent. Nothing he could say in this situation would get him out unscathed.
"Come on, you've got to throw us a bone here. Give us a name, something to call you by, maybe?" Phantom asked civilly, as if he wasn't talking to a vigilante, just another civilian you would see on the street, "Or are we just going to have to keep calling you Theseus?"
"Theseus?" Tommy couldn't help himself from asking, before immediately regretting it and wishing that he'd managed to clamp a hand over his mouth, because the hero broke out in a grin at the response.
Tommy's entire thing was that he didn't talk, no matter who spoke to him. Tubbo recommended it after he found out, saying that separating his civilian and vigilante persona by being seen as cold and wordless would push less suspicion onto him if he ever garnered more fame, if there were ever any more people looking for him.
"Yeah, you never gave us a name, so the Blade made one up for you. Something Greek mythology related," the man shrugged casually. What was up with this guy? Why was he acting so weird?
Also, the Blade? The Blade? The Blade knew about him? Enough to try and give him a name?! If he wasn't about to be arrested, he would have broken out into a smile and screamed like a fangirl.
Tommy narrowed his eyes but didn't say a word, pushing his feelings downwards, gaze flickering around for some kind of escape. There was none.
"Enough of that," Philza sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You've already caused enough trouble for us, Theseus. We need to take you in."
He stared for a moment, before slowly settling himself into a fighting stance, watching the two with calculating eyes, as he scrunched his hands up. If he was going to go down, he wouldn't go out without a fight.
"Really?" Phantom snorted in amusement. The vigilante wanted to wipe that smug look clean off his face, "You're surrounded on both sides. What makes you think you can fight your way out of this?"
Instead of replying with words, he simply shrugged, bringing his clenched fists closer to his face. All he needed was some kind of escape, but there didn't seem to be any way to climb out, no nearby rusty railings of foot-holds, just soothe brick and concrete on either side of him, no ledges in sight, and even if he managed to get out, he wasn't dumb enough to believe the two heroes would simply let him run free.
"I'm sending Ranboo, just keep them distracted!"
Tommy perked up at that. He knew what he had to do.
He had to do what he did best and talk them to death.
"Why do you guys have it out for me?" he asked, thanking the high heavens that his voice changer was working, making him sound older than the sixteen year old boy he was. At the sudden sound, both heroes perked up in surprise, "I'm just trying to help people."
"You're breaking the law," Philza glowered, quickly shaking himself out of his stupor. God he was so cool.
"I'm saving lives," he snapped back, "Isn't that what heroes are supposed to do? I'm just doing the nasty in between bits you fancy fame hunters aren't willing to put up with."
It nearly physically hurt him to insult his idols in that way, but it had to be done to stall for more time. It was either hurt his own pride, or get locked behind bars for an unknowable amount of time.
"What do you mean?"
"Physical assault cases, minor muggings, street fights, illegal drug usage, I deal with the nitty gritty shit. You take care of the super villains and get all the glory, we take care of everything else."
"We? Who's we?" Phantom asked, and if Tommy didn't know any better he'd say he sounded curious.
"Me and other vigilantes. Don't know much about 'em, but I know they're out there, and I know they're doing a better job at looking out for the little guy than you money craving pricks," he swiftly lied, unwilling to let his fellow companions get thrown under the bus, but it didn't feel like much of a victory, as the hero's face contorted in frustration.
"You ungrateful little- listen, we know its a big thing to go around saying that heroes are just in it for the money, but most of us aren't. We help people, protect them, you just go around in your little costume and try playing the hero without a license or any sort of regulation," Phantom retorted, taking an intimidating step forward.
Tommy went to take a step back, but remembered who was right behind him.
"You're doing good, he's nearly there. Just hang on."
"No, I think you need to listen," he met Phantom's intense glare with a levelling stare of his own. His face wasn't visible under his mask, but he tilted his head downwards, letting the venom in his words do the work for him, "This area has gone unprotected for so long. Do you even know how god damn high the crime rate was? It was insane, and no heroes wanted to touch this part of town with a ten foot pole, so we made do," he tilted his head upwards, attempting to seem far more confident than he actually was, "You know, at the beginning, I was glad to hear you guys were moving nearby. Finally someone would protect the people, but I realised after like a week that you were only here to catch the abundance of vigilantes who'd made themselves known here. Don't even lie and say it's not true."
Both heroes seemed to pause at that.
"We moved here because we heard about all you guys running around rampant around these parts. Don't forget, the crime rate includes people like you too," Philza said, no longer looking quite as aggravated, and there was something unknowable in his eyes. Good, his guard was down.
"T-minus 30 seconds!"
"Yeah, well you haven't done good enough if I'm still here and kicking," Tommy scoffed, "I've had to stop three different muggings and was about to bust that drug ring when you fuckers showed up. If I hadn't been there, they would have left ages ago and you would've have had to have started all over again. Really you should be thanking me."
"Well, you won't be here for much longer," the Winged Hero said, pulling a set of handcuffs from his belt loop and the vigilante's blood ran cold, "We can handle the rest. I'll admit, you did good kid, but we just can't take the risk."
Tommy shrunk back at Philza reached out towards him, but before he could grab onto his hoodie there was a sudden a puff of purple particles and a body right in between the two, and the boy felt himself get swiftly lifted up under the arms and pulled to someone's chest as they went. There was a shout of confusion before the entire world tilted on it's axis and everything went dark.
"You really need to be more careful."
"I know."
"They could have caught you today, you could have given something away!"
"I know."
"Now they might think they can talk to you and squeeze information out of you. I thought your whole thing was that you weren't going speak to them! Separate your vigilante and civilian persona so they'd never suspect you."
"I was in a tight spot Tubbo, I had to do what I had to do."
"If you just listened to my advice and stayed back none of this would have happened. You put Ranboo in danger too!"
"I know."
"Stop saying I know!!"
"Tubbo-"
"Ranboo, I love you but please shut up. Tommy, this is serious- why are you smiling?!"
"Because," the vigilante grinned, looking up at his two friends who sat on both sides of him cross-legged, staring at him intensely, "I've finally managed to get a name for myself. They call me Theseus."
)()()(
"So the brat can talk," Techno raised an eyebrow, leaning backwards in his chair, "I thought he was silent. That was, you know, his whole schtick."
They sat in the Syndicate meeting room, Phil at the head of the table and both other heroes at either side of him. Outside the wall length window, the sun was starting to get low in the sky as thousands of people rushed home after work, roads filled with metal cars that seemed like ants from such a height. It was getting colder as it got closer to winter, the air filled with frost and snow filled clouds hanging heavy in the sky.
"Well apparently he's not," Wilbur groaned, planting his face in his hands to prevent himself from slamming it against the table in an attempt to get rid of the headache he could feel growing behind his eyes, "He obviously had a voice changer, just like we suspected, but he's got his morals down to a T and spoke his mind. I don't think we'll be able convince him to bring himself in without dragging him kicking and screaming."
"And what was with that other guy," Phil tilted his head in thought, curling a finger under his chin, "Just popped out of nowhere, grabbed the kid and left. Teleportation ability... there's far too many of those for us to narrow it down to just one person."
"Why do you keep calling him kid?" the ghostly hero asked through callous fingers, muffling his voice, "He's probably an adult you know. He's taller than you."
"You're all kids to me," the winged man replied with a slight smile, "But he seemed on the younger side. Hot headed, brash, strong willed, but maybe that's just me."
"Either way he's a criminal, no two ways about it," Techno crossed his arms with a huff, "It was tough enough as it was tryin' to catch him, but if he's got a network of people who work with him that makes our jobs ten times harder. Great."
"I hate to say it, but Techno's right," the winged hero nodded, sighing lowly, "He's dangerous, even managed to get out of my grip somehow, maybe he has a strength ability, but I'm willing to bet it had something to do with the gloves he was wearing. He does a good job at protecting the people, but we're here now. There's no need for criminals like him anymore."
"But there's only three of us," Wilbur countered, and everyone's attention snapped towards him, "It's like he said, we can't do everything. Vigilantes take care of the things heroes can't get to in time."
"Are you defendin' him?" Techno asked, raising an eyebrow curiously, "Do I need to remind you what happened the last time we trusted one of those guys?"
The air turned cold, a sudden tension filling the once formal air.
Wilbur's eye twitched.
"No I just-" he sighed, rubbing his temple idly, "He seemed, I don't know, genuine? The way he spoke, the way he acted, he really looked like he just wanted to help out."
Philza stared at him with sympathetic eyes, eyes that seemed to burrow into the very depths of his soul, "Are you sure, mate? I know how much he meant to you and-"
"Don't," Wilbur snapped with a glare, before his gaze softened slightly, "Sorry I just- I don't want to talk about him at the moment."
"That's fine," the older man waved a nonchalant hand with a smile, "For now I think we should just keep an eye on him. If he really is working in a group, that makes him an even bigger threat than we realised."
Keep an eye on him? Wilbur could do that.
)()()(
The headache still hadn't gone away.
Wilbur groaned, massaging his temple with one hand and nursing a cup of tea with the other. It was cold outside, on the cusp of snowing, but inside Niki's small, quaint café, he felt safe, cosy, the heating warming the very core of his being as he sat on what had to be the most comfortable chair in existence, right in the corner of the shop. It was his favourite place to be, when he wasn't out there saving lives. It was quiet, but never silent. There was always the soft buzzing of a coffee machine or the light chatter of other patrons, the tap of the cash register or the hum of a back room oven, Niki's soothing singing or the distant whistle of a kettle.
Niki's bakery, the best café in town, but one of the least well known.
Part of him wished that she'd receive more business, but another part of him craved the calm that came with just sitting by the window without a care in the world, without loud noises or the laughter of gangs of kids out on their bikes.
"Would you like anything else?"
He snapped out of his thoughts at the voice, glancing up to see a waiter by his table, a pen and pad of paper in hand. He must have really been out of it if a mere teenager managed to sneak up on him.
"Huh?" the hero asked dumbly, blinking a couple of times.
"Would you like anything else? You've nearly finished your tea," the waiter replied, pointing the pen at the almost empty cup in his hand, "You know, we have some paracetamol in the back, if you have a headache."
Wilbur gaped for a moment, "Headache?"
"Yeah," the boy gestured vaguely at his own head, "You've been rubbing your temple for ages, do you want anything for that?"
"Oh- if you wouldn't mind," he smiled once he got over his confusion. The kid was perceptive, he'd give him that.
He nodded, turning on his heel sharply and waving his hand, "Sure, I'll go grab you something, be back in just a second."
The boy walked off not a moment later, only to be replaced with another person standing where he used to be.
"Hey Niki," Wilbur greeted his long time friend, feeling his heart warm at the beam he received in response. She wore her hair in a loose bun, some spare threads of hair hanging limply by her ears, a flour dusted apron wrapped around her body and sleeves rolled up to her elbows.
"Hi Wil," she said in return, "I see you've met the new boy?"
"Oh? Managed to get new canon fodder, ey?"
Niki slapped his shoulder lightly with an amused huff, "Wil," she said warningly, her eyes crinkling as she smiled, "Don't be rude. He's a good lad, got the job just the other day."
"Cool, sorry if I didn't notice, I've been kind of out of it recently," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
"It's fine," she replied, settling herself down in the seat opposite to him and placing her elbow on the table, her head leaned in her hand, "The world isn't going to save itself."
"True," he brought his tea cup up to his lips once more, basking in the warmth, only slightly disappointed when it ran dry. Maybe he should have asked that kid for another, "We've got a new case going now."
"Huh? What happened?"
"A vigilante," he replied, "And a real annoying one too. Managed to slip away from both me and Phil just the other day."
"Really?" Niki gasped, leaning in curiously, "Are they that skilled?"
"Not sure yet," Wil said, "He's been around for a while now, but only recently have we actually managed to get any info on him. He's well known, well respected, but only in the less savoury parts of town. People love him, he's silent and mysterious but he still stops to get cats out of trees or help kids find their parents. We've recently found out that he's working in a group, meaning he probably has plenty more tricks up his sleeve."
"Hmm," the baker murmured, tapping her chin with her finger idly, "Minx said she got saved by a vigilante the other day, swooped in and stopped some guy from mugging her before leaving without a word, but not before giving the cheesiest thumbs up she'd ever seen."
"Might be him," the hero shrugged, "But we can't be sure, did she say what he looked like?"
Niki nodded, "Yeah, it was quite dark, but she said he looked like he was wearing a black airsoft mask of some kind, a dark red hoodie that covered his hair, and a back pack. She also mentioned something about mechanical boots, but I might have misheard her."
"No, that's definitely him. It-"
"Oh, Tommy! You're back!" Niki interrupted, and Wilbur turned his head to see the new waiter, standing awkwardly nearby, with a tray in his hands.
"Sorry, we didn't notice you there," Niki said brightly, standing up and taking the plastic platter from him, and placing it down on the table, "Are you okay? You look pale; are you sick?"
At that, Wilbur looked at his face again, and it was certainly less saturated than before, and his jaw looked like it had been clenched tightly shut.
"No, no, I'm fine Niki," the boy shook himself out of it quickly with a smile, but Wilbur still took note of the way his fingers trembled slightly at his sides, "I just didn't uhm- didn't realise that this guy was a hero, that's all."
"Yeah, he does look quite different without his hero costume on, doesn't he," the woman snickered, and the hero rolled his eyes fondly.
"Say, what's your name, gremlin boy?" he asked, watching in amusement as the boy's mouth gaped open.
"Wha- I'm not a gremlin you fu-" the waiter cut himself off, and suddenly his sheet white face became a bright red, "I'm not a gremlin, and my name's Tommy, prick," the second insult didn't sound nearly as aggressive as the first, like he was trying to save his pride.
"Tommy, huh?" Wilbur grinned, "It's nice to meet you, but you probably already know who I am."
"Of course I do. Who do you think I am? Someone who lives under a rock? You're the number 7 hero, Phantom," the boy replied, his eyes shining brightly, "A limelight hero and honorary member of the Syndicate, you dad is the number 3 hero, Philza or sometimes known as the Angel of Death and you-"
"A fan are we?" he teased, revelling in the fact Tommy turned his face away in sudden embarrassment.
"Shut up, dickhead," he bristled, but instead of being offended, Wilbur simply laughed.
"Says you, gremlin child, how old even are you?"
"Sixteen, so not actually a child," Tommy responded sharply, but anyone with more than a braincell and a half could see he didn't mean it. Perhaps he was putting on a caricature in order to be noticed. Either way, this kid was funny.
"Oh, most definitely a child," he grinned mischievously, only to get slapped on the shoulder once again by Niki, who rolled her eyes with a sigh.
"Wil, stop bulling the newbies," she chided humorously, "Hey, Tommy, how about you go and man the register, I'll stay here and talk with Wilbur for a bit."
"Okay," he responded, already walking away to the front desk of the bakery, waving one of his hands as he departed, but Wilbur's heart stuttered for a moment as the boy's sleeve rolled down slightly, revealing a nasty bluish yellow bruise that crawled up his arm from his wrist, shaped mysteriously like a hand print.
Before he could call out in concern, Niki had already started up another conversation, so he decided, regretfully, to drop the subject, but he kept the boy in his sight until he clocked out an hour later.