Chapter Text
It was summer when the blackout happened. It was a hot evening leaning into a hot night- it had been the hottest week of the year. The hospitals were full of people with heatstroke or those injured in the mayhem of the city-wide power loss.
A lot of people had died.
People die every day in the city, and in L’manberg it was just as likely a chance that death would be to a villain-hero fight, but there were no grand fights that day. The heroes had been called in to help navigate the chaos. Some criminals had robbed shops or tried breaking into houses, but everyone was burning. It was like the energy had been sapped out of the population, yet everyone knew they had to power through the darkness.
That was the day Tommy had killed someone, too. It was where everything went wrong.
The oppressive hot weather, the smell of a corpse left out in the heat, and the HA agents in their pristine uniforms. He had been given a choice that was never really a choice at all.
They told him he was lucky, that his power was interesting enough that he wasn't instantly thrown into Pandora’s Vault.
He was nine years old.
————————————
When the Heroes Association shut down for good, most heroes had already been on suspension for months. It still felt so sudden. The titan that once ruled over not just Tommy’s entire life, but all of society, was gone. In hindsight, the fall started even before the Syndicate existed. Maybe even before he was born. But every sign of a failing system felt like more proof it could never be undone. The rampant corruption and misuse of power were all symptoms of a diseased tyrant who died on his deathbed.
Now here they are. No more heroes.
Most of his coworkers have a foundation to go back to.
Totem joined Las Nevadas. Dryad moved in with the Warden. Blaze lived with his two fiances. 404 had family to fall back on. Demon and Diamond got a place together.
Yes, the HA stole a lot from its heroes. But, most of them still have lives and friends to rely on. Tommy wasn’t the only kid, but Purpled left with the other mercenaries and went off the grid, and Jack Manifold turned eighteen recently and could do shit on his own.
Turns out civilian life is hard for an ex-hero when you’re recently out of a job. And are going to be kicked out of your apartment. With all your funds frozen in the bank because you're a minor without a legal guardian. Without even a birth certificate to prove you exist.
Tommy is new to apartment hunting and all this paperwork hell and if he doesn’t sort this situation out soon, a social worker might actually try to pull something dumb and throw him back into the foster care system. Which is just not happening.
Sapnap tried getting Tommy to move in with him. Karl and Quackity had been enthusiastic about it, too. But it was something something they were already fitting three people in a couple’s apartment, something something they were accused of faking their relationship to save money on rent and would be in hot water if they got a fourth tenant. He didn't want to witness the three being gross lovebirds, anyway.
Sat in a near-empty cafe with the AC on full blast, Tommy is certain that he’s screwed.
“Hm,” Sapnap’s face scrunches up as he hums, “y’know who I bet could help you?”
“Who?” He asks with a little bit of disbelief.
Tommy expected maybe Quackity since he was supposed to be a lawyer or something and why the fuck would Sapnap have The Angel of Death’s phone number?
It hadn’t clicked immediately when he saw the short blonde man stepping into the cafe, dressed in a baggy grey sweatshirt and frayed jeans. Even the wings, folded close in on his back, didn’t make him stick out. He was painfully normal looking, but Sapnap waved him over to their table, and oh.
While Sapnap is content just scooting over and letting the retired leader of the Syndicate clumsily try to shuffle into their booth, he genuinely considers just booking it.
The Angel has never seen Tommy’s face before. Or knew his name. They barely even knew each other, they had talked together maybe a dozen times. And taking down government institutions isn’t exactly a positive bonding pastime.
Sure, logically it made sense the Angel didn’t go about his daily life in green robes and a black veil, but seeing him- the all-powerful villain who’s torn down entire teams of elite heroes- as just a dude? It was jarring. He had a soft disposition, like the kind of guy who stops by and fixes your car when you’re stranded on the side of the road.
It didn’t deceive him though, he was on edge. The Angel’s crusade is probably only shadowed by the violence that was Protesilaus.
He glances at Sapnap, staring at him intensely, trying to convey the absolute absurdity of the situation. The bastard just shrugs.
“So,” the man speaks when he settles down, “Sapnap says you need help?”
The Angel has a soft smile on his face and pale stubble around his jaw. His eyes are very blue.
“I’m fine. I don’t see why you were called here,” he gives Sapnap a pointed look.
Sapnap just explains, “Hi Phil. Tommy here is trying to get a new apartment and a job, but without a legal guardian, there’s not a lot he can do. I don't really have the resources to help him out, and I was thinking you probably knew how to deal with those kinds of problems.”
The Angel hums, a strange glint in his eye, “I see.”
Tommy blurts, "I just need to move. I'm going to be homeless next month if I don't find somewhere to stay. I'd like no murder involved, preferably."
"Let's see what we can do right now, mate," The Angel remarks, glancing over the mess of papers all over the table.
It's actually a productive meeting, as they look over the multiple files Tommy has printed out, from what apartments he’s interested in and which ones Sapnap or The Angel thought would be the better. He even explains the situation with his frozen bank account and that the officials have no idea what to do with him.
Sure, he’s legally not an adult, but he’d practically raised himself and had risked his life for most of his childhood anyways. It wasn’t like he was a dumb kid, and the idea of some new overbearing civilian foster family was a nightmare.
The hardest part is that he doesn’t have any fucking proof he exists. Maybe there’s a birth certificate for him somewhere if the HA didn’t just destroy any evidence of him, but he needs a driver's license or a passport. He can't do much without a form of ID. And the HA were adamant he had no way to prove his existence, since he if ever became a troublesome loose end they could cut him right off without consequence.
The Angel is, admittedly, a pretty smart guy. Tommy is used to himself or 404 having the brain cell. Well, most of the time they were four idiots who didn’t know how to take care of themselves because the HA trained them how to give someone a concussion, not the forbidden art of folding fitted sheets.
His guard does slip when The Angel squints at a form and pulls out those stupid granny glasses with a chain. He chokes on his soda, which makes Sapnap lose it. Tommy kciks a leg at his shin in retaliation.
Besides the massive stress headache he develops by the end of the night, things seem better. The Angel cryptically tells him he’ll figure it all out and that even though a part of the government has fallen, they really should be giving more care and aid for a minor. Anarchy this, anarchy that- the dude has some weird vibes but he's tolerable.
Tommy just scoffs. He’s not some kid.
The three are walking their separate ways when The Angel turns around and shouts to him, "I believe Niki has been thinking of hiring if you’re still looking for a job.”
“Nixie is?” He shouts back from across the street.
“I’ll text you about it!” The Angel waves, the lowering sun casting long, dark shadows around him.
He does receive a text later that night, and it dawns on him Sapnap probably gave the guy his number. It puts him ill at ease as much as it relieves him. It's not like The Angel's going to do anything dramatic; Tommy's just some washed-up sixteen-year-old now. No one is going to care about him.
————————————
Tommy became a hero-in-training at the age of nine.
He bled and broke and survived the system. He made a choice that was never a choice. The HA, or Pandora's Vault.
No one has ever escaped The Vault- except Protesilaus. At least this way, Tommy got to keep the sun, keep the summer breeze on his cheeks, keep the bite of cold winter on his nose. Everyone knows once you're thrown in The Vault, you never get out.
Training for heroes was hell. But he's a survivor, and he made it through the training, and then the missions, and then his eventual team-up with Dream.
Maybe he never had a choice, but at the end of the day, Tommy liked helping people. It’s the one upside. He likes bringing a little more good into the world. He likes running into burning buildings and carrying civilians out of harm's way. Sure, it was annoying when they had to work for some snobby rich person, or he'd have to do some publicity Q&A thing, or the “villain” they’re sent after isn’t someone he thought did anything wrong.
He doesn't think too much about the heroes in the beginning. It was the life he was stuck with and questioning or despairing it was useless. They treated him like a dog, and there were horrible, repulsive people who had the title 'hero.' Ones who liked seeing a kid bleed or bent the system in their favor whenever they did wrong. People like Schlatt and those who worked with him. Where a hero rating became more important than saving people.
Corruption was easy to find, especially when anyone who asked too many questions didn’t stick around for very long.
Tommy had been fed all the propaganda before. Heroes are great. He has a duty as a super-powered individual to save the world. Villains are evil because they hurt people. Vigilantes thrive on bringing discord or fulfilling their own whims.
But The Syndicate did what real heroes should've done. They took down corrupt politicians or revealed human trafficking rings in wealthy circles. They pulled back the golden curtain that protected heroes and spoke about their crimes. Tommy liked it, even if the HA propaganda painted it so The Syndicate was the grand evil hurting society.
The Syndicate, the so-called villains.
He admired their work even as Dream complained endlessly about them. While he doubted Dream would ever call the HA good, the man was certainly convinced the Syndicate was going about things wrong.
“They create unrest. They’re scaring people and trying to shuffle rocks on a mountain. The HA is basically like a second government; telling people that heroes are bad is going to create more chaos than actually fix anything. We can only do what we can; we’re humans, not perfect beings. We’re not all like Schlatt, and I know for me I’m helping hundreds of people every day. I’m not bad, you’re not bad, most of us aren’t bad. It’s just the system. We can’t be blamed for that.”
Tommy was convinced that Dream's vision was closer to reality than The Syndicate's. Bending the knee to a corrupt system instead of fighting it.
So he nodded along, agreed with Dream. Dream was his teammate, his mentor, the person who saw him when nobody else did. The one person who knew Tommy better than anyone else. Where nobody else cared to make an effort to get to know him or hang out with him, Dream did.
Dream cared about him, more than anyone else had. He had to trust that what he said was right. Dream wasn't just the number one hero to him, but his mentor, his friend. Dream was human where most people saw a celebrity.
They butted heads about their accents; in retaliation, Dream had once bought a stupidly large poster of The Queen, which he nailed to their living room ceiling. Tommy had ordered a poster of a random American president because he could maybe name three off the top of his head. When it arrived even Dream hadn't known who Chester Arthur was.
“You don’t know your own dumb presidents?”
“As if you could name Queen Elizabeth’s predecessor.”
“No one could pre-de-cess Lizzie, she’s too good for that.”
“That- that doesn’t even make any sense.”
Dream is- well, he is infallible.
Even with The Syndicate rocking the ship, he didn’t think anyone could shake Daydream from his pedestal as the number one hero.
And yet, the day came.
He remembers how the first controversy popped up, about cover-ups for missions that went wrong, crimes from the wealthy straight out ignored, and deals with criminals for weapons or funds. They bubbled over like a boiling pot, then, as one of the largest moves by the Syndicate.
(Inadvertently kick-started by Tommy himself.)
The public panicked. If the number one hero wasn’t who he seemed, then what did it mean for a system he was the paragon for?
———————————
He returns to an empty apartment, with everything packed up so he can book it as soon as possible. It doesn’t help a lot of Dream’s things were confiscated from their already bare-bones apartment. He’s not really allowed to stay there by himself or whatever, fuck the laws. All he knows is that the rent was paid for the month.
He’s running out of time, and nobody wants to deal with some random kid forgotten by the system.
He can handle this all on his own, but Blaze has decided suddenly that he's going to be a clingy fuck and also involve The Angel in his issues.
Prime, he’d rather be homeless at this rate. What's the worst that could happen? Maybe they’ll throw him in a group home. Maybe they’ll just put him in Pandora like the HA wanted to.
He leans back to stare at Queen Elizabeth’s HD face still nailed to the ceiling. It is too quiet and he can’t help but feel incredibly alone.
He misses the past, even if things were arguably worse then. Definitely were worse. Because maybe the HA had exploited him his whole life, and Dream was still an anomaly of "he was my only friend" and "he always lied and hurt me" so-
Maybe it's fucked up, but he wishes Dream were here now.
At least with the HA and Dream, there was a sense of normalcy. Tommy always knew what the new day would bring: a mission, a fight, an interrogation, or an infiltration. Hero work. He woke up every morning exhausted and hurt from the previous day and already bracing for the new wounds the new day would bring.
The rules were simple: Don't piss off anyone who could make you disappear without a trace. Listen to orders. Don't form attachments. If asked, the enemy is the Syndicate.
The idea of the HA actually being taken down by the Syndicate had sounded nice, but taking a plane to Fiji and vacationing there for a month also sounded nice. Some things just aren't expected to happen, no matter how nice they sound.
Tommy isn't ready to face this new world all by himself.
The rules of the game used to be simple. He was expected to be a hero, a celebrity, a weapon. Now there is no game and no rules to follow, not any that he's aware of. Surely there are rules he's missing, unaware of.
He's never had to be a full person before.
————————————
It is pitch black in his bedroom, all the curtains pulled shut to hide the midday sun. He's exhausted.
Tommy is sick of making phone calls. He's had to call landlords and agents and the mayor's secretary and investigators and-
He's also receiving a disgusting amount of them. A lot of his old trainers and supervisors are trying to get a vouch from him so they're not convicted of crimes they definitely committed. They're all helpless idiots if they really think he's willing to help any of them. They're lucky they weren't part of the Syndicate's culling, that they are alive to be sent to court.
He ignores most phone calls for that reason, and because of the telemarketers, but Sapnap is a worrywart who calls him almost every morning. Man must feel really guilty. It’d be better if he was more like 404, all apathetic.
“… So once I get a place, the next step is... actually getting stuff to the apartment. And then a driver’s license. Fuck, there’s the meeting with Nixie, too,” Tommy curls up in his bed, the phone set to speaker on his bedside table.
“You don’t need to worry about her, she’ll definitely help you out.”
Tommy hums, “I don’t know, Snapmap, if I burn down her kitchen, I don’t think she’ll be too happy with me.”
“She can literally control water, you won’t burn anything down.”
“Ah, yes, quick question: You’re frying something on the stove when the grease catches fire. What do you do?”
“Douse it… with water?” Sapnap responds slowly.
“I’m surprised you’ve survived this long, man. I know for a fact Karl and Quackity don’t know either.”
“It’s a fire? How would water not work?”
“You’re lucky your fiancés don’t love you for your brain.”
“Hey! I’m at least smarter than you, remember when-” Sapnap trails off.
“Hello? You good, man?” Tommy asks.
The speaker crackles from Sapnap's shifting his phone around.
“Yeah, yeah I just got good news, actually. Phil says that you were approved for the apartment. He’s can get everything paid for and set up, the whole shebang.”
He bites at his lip, silent for too long. Sapnap asks him what is wrong.
He sighs, “I don’t know if I like the fact The Angel knows my face, name, phone number, and other personal information about me. That he’s helping me out with getting an apartment. Isn’t this just… owing him a debt? Digging myself into a hole?”
“He's not a villain anymore. He's retired. And I wouldn’t have called him if I thought he’d bring any danger to you. We’re all civilians now, but we worked together at the end there. Heroes, villains, vigilantes-we all teamed up.”
“Necessity doesn’t mean we were friends,” he hisses.
“Phil’s a nice guy. Seriously.”
“Yeah, well, Dream was too.”
An awkward silence sits between them until Tommy clumsily slides his thumb over 'end call.'
He grips his phone, staring at the ended call. That was uncalled for and Sapnap is probably worrying himself into a fit, and he should really call him back, say he knows he's just trying to help-
-but he turns his phone off, shoves it onto his bedside table, and curls up tighter into his comforter.
————————————
The HA started training young. Tommy was only nine at the time. He had five other classmates. Competitors. Victims. They were children, and that is where Tommy learned he was a weapon.
Electricity could easily hurt people, and a large quantity of it killed. He had no time for honing it for small sparks or bursts. This power was terrifying and new to him but he had no time to be afraid. He needed to be powerful because lagging behind wasn’t an option.
Lagging behind meant more lessons.
More lessons meant more pain.
There had been a girl who had wind powers strong enough she could summon a hurricane. She had initially been put in The Vault, and she told the other kids what it was like.
Intense, unending heat. Powers blocked out. The constant feeling of your limbs growing numb, too fatigued to even stand up most of the time.
She told everyone that all the training, the bleeding, and the pain- it was always going to be better than rotting in Pandora. So however harsh it got, however much he wanted to give up or fight back, he bit his tongue and did what he was told. It could be so much more worse.
When he was fourteen, he saw the building she was helping evacuate collapse. He never saw the body, but he saw the blood pooling where she once stood. She was declared dead on the scene and what was left of her was taken straight to the morgue. She deserved better.
If anyone were to survive for so long, he would have assumed her. She’d been to hell and back. They’d been the last two survivors of their class, all of them children sent to battle too young. Maybe that was the point. Maybe the HA never wanted overpowered kids to make it to eighteen, or thirty, or become so old they wrinkle up and grey. Or become old enough to be real threats.
He doesn’t die. Instead, he meets Dream. Dream, who surely saved his life back then.
And he's alive now. He doesn’t spend any time thinking if that makes him lucky or unlucky.
His phone dings, unmuted in case Sapnap texts him. His stomach drops when the message is from the only unnamed number saved on his phone.
Unknown
Hey mate... could we meet up and discuss your moving plans?
————————————
Tommy slurps loudly on his diet coke. What kind of restaurant doesn't have the normal kind? A fucked up restaurant.
The one he's met up with the Angel in.
"... It's on the fourth story, and the building is an older one so there's no elevator, but the security is modern and up to code. It's also bigger than the other places you asked about, so you'll have more space to work with. One of my sons loves covering the wall in posters, you could do that."
The Angel had first asked how he was planning on moving everything and was unhappy to hear he was just going to do it himself. It's not like there were many boxes of stuff. It wasn't like he was super attached to the couch or bedframe he had.
But the man had insisted on hiring people to transport his stuff on a truck. And then he'd gotten curious about what earthly possessions Tommy owned and hadn't been pleased to hear "not a lot."
"...there's one bedroom, one bathroom, and a kitchen with a stove, fridge, and microwave already provided, so if you want a toaster or rice cooker we'll need to buy one ourselves. Oh, and there's an empty room you can put a couch and tv in, make in your living room. Or decorate it however you want, we're trying to make this somewhere you'll be comfortable."
"Wait- we? It's my apartment, there's no 'we' going on here."
The Angel proceeds on, "We're going to make a list of everything you'll need and I'll buy it. It won't be a big deal, I'm certainly not making you buy everything."
"I have shit. From my current place. I don't even know how a rice cooker works."
"Then I'll teach you how, it's important to have one."
Tommy shakes his head, "You're not going to do that, actually. Listen, I- uh, I appreciate the help and everything- even though I was perfectly fine and Blaze is the bitch who called you in the first place- I appreciate the help with getting me a decent apartment. But. You don't have to go overboard."
The Angel frowns, "You've never lived by yourself and you're still a kid, of course I'm going to worry, mate."
"And why do you care? I know how to handle myself, I'm not a fucking kid. I'm Re- I've been through enough to take care of things without your help."
The Angel smiles brightly, "For one, I've become your legal guardian and would prefer not to be investigated for child neglect."
Tommy promptly chokes on his drink. He coughs, and he keeps coughing. Maybe if he coughs forever he won't have to process what he just heard.
The Angel continues, mostly unfazed, "And second, I know you need help. You're on your own and have been isolated from the outside world and were forced to fight for the HA. Or, tell me you know how to fix a broken radiator?"
Admitting he doesn't know what a radiator is is defeat, so he changes the subject. "Uh- when were you going to tell me you became my legal guardian in a definitely non-legal way? And more importantly, why?"
"You needed someone to co-sign on the apartment as an unemployed minor. And as a minor, you needed a guardian. It's simple legal logistics. I assumed it was obvious, sorry about that."
"No, I just assumed you blackmailed my landlord."
"That too."
He wishes he ignored The Angel's text messages. He wished he blocked his number immediately.
The man hesitates, "I know... I know you're interested in having your own apartment, and I know you're very independent and you're almost seventeen, but you know if you need to- or want- to stay somewhere where you won't have to be by yourself, you're always invited to stay at my home. Even if it's just because you don't want to cook for yourself, you can come over for a meal. The more the merrier."
The Angel is offering Tommy an open door, a space for him. In the house of an ex-supervillain.
"We have an empty room and everything ever since Techno moved out to the countryside."
"Is he one of your sons?" He asks drily.
If he's learned one thing about the infamous angel of destruction, is that he's an absolute family man. Fucker probably has his phone lock screen set to his kid's faces.
"Yes, you've met him before. He went by Protesilaus, then."
Moving into Protesilaus's old room? The bloody crusader, infamous escapee of Pandora's Vault, the hero murderer, the villain of villains- his bedroom? Yeah, no thanks.
“You know, you once stabbed me,” Tommy chimes.
“Hmm.”
“In the stomach. Hurt like a bitch. Must of hit an artery or something because there was a lot of blood. Was laying in a pool of it. Might've died if Dryad hadn’t been on the scene. Still needed a blood transfusion and enough healing pots to make my mouth bleed.”
“Yes?” The Angel tilts his head, like a confused crow.
He sighs. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll be fine."
"Well, the door is always open," the man smiles easily.
He hums noncomittally, finishing off his soda.
————————————
It was a whole debacle when the Syndicate first formed.
An ex-hero, a respected vigilante, and a feared villain all teaming up?
It was unheard of. The ideological differences should've been too much. The HA liked to have the public believe that villains were twisted creatures of darkness and vigilantes were just thrill-seekers. And maybe the Angel had once been one of the HA's noble agents, but he had fallen from grace. He had killed many, could do so efficiently, and so his moniker went from "The Angel" to "Samael"
(Tommy never used the pretentious ass name change, but it was an official denunciation from the HA, just like when Nixie became Nemesis.)
It's hard to fix an official date the Syndicate first became a thing. The timeline is messy, but Magpie and The Angel had been seen working together months before Protesilaus broke out of Pandora's Vault. But soon enough the three teamed up and the rest is history. It's assumed none of them knew each other personally but had agreed to all work together for the same goal: Take down the HA.
It was ambitious. Ludicrous, many said. It was the same as saying megacorporations would start paying their workers fairly or for large studios to stop monopolizing creative media. The HA's media team painted the picture of a terroristic group of villains who wanted to burn L'Manberg to the ground.
But unlike other groups with similar goals, The Syndicate thrived instead of shriveling up.
The Angel had once been amongst the top ranks and had lots of insider knowledge. He used to be one of the best heroes, many had gone as far as to call him the spiritual number one. He never reached higher than in the twenties for rankings and they say it's because he wore his wings out and proud. There were no hybrids in the top ten, even if many were ranked in the top one hundred.
A coincidence, the HA would respond. If you looked at the statistics, the HA would say, you can see we hire 16% more hybrids than any other company- and that number only grows year after year!
The Angel had been an efficient hero. He could easily paralyze a villain without killing them, just with a touch of his hand, and so he had a high arrest rate instead of killing his targets. That was important to him, but when most villains aren't given a fair trial and sentenced to death anyway, it was a moot point.
When he defected, many thought the HA's golden hero couldn't do too much harm. But they had been wrong. He had talons and wings that could be as sharp as blades. The fact he could turn his opponents into marionettes was just an added bonus for him. He lived up to his new title, Samael the angel of death.
And that was just The Angel by himself. The Syndicate made a deadly trio. If you saw the three of them together, and they wanted you dead- you'd be dead.
Fighting them was essentially like losing control of yourself. Protesilaus made you illogically afraid, losing control of your emotions in a torrent of fear fear fearfearfear. Then Magpie would come in and give an order, making you lose control of your own mind. If Samael touched you, you'd go limp losing control of your body.
So, despite the HA's numerous efforts, the Syndicate stayed. They grew, taking in more villains and spies.
Tommy used to-
Tommy's favorite hero used to be The Angel.
Despite the hell that was hero training, he'd been excited to live in the same exact building as his idol. But the kid's dorms had been underground, and Tommy rarely even saw sunlight back then, so he never even got close to the hero.
A few years later, The Angel had defected, and a year later Tommy made his own official debut as a hero.
They've never been coworkers together, the man hadn't even known that in the bowels of the HA headquarters kids were being taken in and beaten into heroes. It was just one of the HA's many insidious secrets.
And then Tommy hadn't worked for The Syndicate, not really, wasn't even an ally. No matter what he told Magpie, he still had trusted Dream more. Returned to his mentor's side. He helped them one time, but one time enough of a condemnation.
Tommy didn't hate The Angel. He just grew up, realized he was waiting for something that was never going to come. He didn't get to have heroes swooping in to save him, no, Tommy stood back up and he continued through the routine.
But very silently, very secretly to himself, he can squeal in absolute delight at the prospect that The Angel is talking to him. The guy is kinda cool.
————————————
When he had turned sixteen, Tommy thought about emancipation. He never did file for it because it would've been a legal mess he couldn’t have won, the HA wouldn’t have just let him go that easily, not when it was questionably legal how he was taken in. And it was definitely illegal having him work as a hero so young.
But it was a nice dream to have.
He'd seen Sapnap, Niki, Purpled, and others try to get out too. They used Sapnap's minor crimes, Niki's financial situation, and Purpled's shadowy past to keep them chained to heroism. The HA didn't let go of heroes. Not until they died. There was no other path for them to walk.
It was a pit of a place. You got beaten down and taken to the bloody depths until your vitality and strength were consumed by whatever hungry beast lay at the bottom. You were never going to crawl out and see the sun and feel the soft grass under your palm, free of bloodshed and toil.
Tommy never believed he'd crawl out of that pit.
He was pretty sure he could've made a case about child abuse or whatever breaking his bones for the sake of “training” could fall under. But there wasn’t anyone who wanted to listen to a nobody kid.
It was wishful thinking, that’s all; A little dream he could have at night when he was scared and alone. Something to burn as kindling when it got too cold.
But he was old enough for a driver’s license. He did try fighting for his right to get one, even if he had driven plenty of cars before. He wanted to drive as Tommy, not Red Thunder. Dream had been against it, his supervisors had been against it, and it had been frustrating. He wasn't even considered a person to them.
It was such a simple thing that he hadn't found it a big deal. He was still denied.
It made him feel small.
He didn’t even think turning eighteen would change anything. If he managed to live to eighteen. He knew he was not the only hero who wasn’t given a choice to become one. Sure, Schlatt and Dream and others had some sort of goal, but Sapnap has told him before how at sixteen he burned down a building in an act of spite and was threatened with either jail time or, in their terms, community service. Dryad was a healer, and healers are highly sought for by governments and villain groups alike. Totem was inhuman in strength, the perfect supersoldier. It was never a choice for them.
Nixie got out, though. Maybe it had been into the jaws of a rebel group, but he had admired her.
... Now they were all free.
He wonders if the others are adjusting better than him in his sad and empty home and hollow heart.
Tommy checks his phone, looking at the new text from The Angel. Tommy had left his contact as his phone number. He had switched from just wanting to delete his number from his phone to naming it "The Angel" to "Samael" to a quickly typed out "Phil W." before clearing it and just leaving his contact unnamed.
The newest message is Nixie’s number.
He types in a new contact under "Nixie."
He deletes it, then retypes, "Niki."
The Big Man is still out of a job, after all.
————————————
Nixie’s shop is nice.
There was a pink overhang on top of the shop, and in white swirly writing, a sign read Nikis Bäckerei.
(He’s pretty certain it’s German, but he’s not sure. Besides knowing Nixie spoke with a slight accent through her voice filter, he never asked her about where she came from. Heroes weren't known for being socialites.)
He had only talked to her a few times in the years they were coworkers. She had mentioned wanting to have her own bakery but financially, she hadn’t been able to refuse a contract with the HA.
The power to pull tsunamis out of the ocean was a valuable one in L’Manberg, with the ocean nearby. The HA had pulled all the stops to get her to sign with them.
Tommy didn’t have any aspirations like this. Nixie had said she might even become a therapist once she could quit being a hero; prime knows heroes had issues that were repressed and ignored. But the HA had extended her contract and pulled every legal trick and trip until it became clear that heroes just don’t get to quit. They don’t get to have wishes. They don't get freedom.
He had liked her vision, but it's so dissonant to Nixie. Her hair was usually damp and she was always dressed up in armor and a waterproof suit. Scars ran down her arms and hands, hands that had drowned people.
It’s not like he fits the home-y feel of a bakery any better. He almost wants to laugh from the absurdity of it. He, Red Thunder, who was once a hero and sidekick to Daydream... now standing in front of a bakery. For an interview. To work at said bakery.
He's gangly and made up of sharp edges. A fighter, a dog, a weapon, and someone with tense shoulders and a shoddy conversationalist.
Tommy opens the door, bells chiming his entrance. The sign says closed, but she’s expecting him.
Bright light floods his eyes and the smell of chocolate and pastries fills his senses.
He breathes in, and out, and takes it all in. There are smooth dark wood tables and white-laced curtains pulled open to invite in the sunlight. Vines from hanging plants sway by the large windows.
And right by the entrance, the front counter sat next to the glass showcase of loaves of bread and sweets. He’s easily taken in by the sight of flaky croissants, fluffy muffins with slightly melted chocolate chips, and those weird French cookies that come in pastel colors.
Low-lit lanterns paint everything with a soft coral color, side lit by the setting sun. The doors from behind the counter open with a silent swing, and Nixie greets him with a soft ‘welcome’ and a smile.
Her hair is a pale silvery color instead of pink, like when she was Nemesis. It was brown with blonde bangs when she was Nixie. The two of them kinda match now, with his own strip of silvery hair cutting through the blonde.
She looks less stressed out, with no crease left in her brow or jaw clenched tight. Vulcan used to work her to the bone, sending her on more and more missions, so she barely caught a break.
There’s no exhaustion in her face now or the harshness of vengeance set in her shoulders. He supposes she kind of got it- if having the fucker die of a heart attack in the middle of battle counted.
Her face glows as if she’s another lantern. Instead of stiff armor, she’s in a soft-looking sweater and a flower-patterned skirt. She looks like a civilian, completely shaking off the battle-worn look he still carries. He feels even more ridiculous, standing there.
Prime, what was he doing?
“I should let you know I haven’t really baked before. Or know how to run a cash register.” He cringes. Yeah, just hand her a whole list of reasons why she shouldn’t want to hire him.
She laughs, instead. “That’s okay. But how are you? It’s been months since we’ve just sat down and chatted. Oh- give me a moment!”
He awkwardly stands by the counter as she dips back into the kitchen. Warm air rushes forward, smelling of sugar and yeast. She walks back out, balancing two drinks and a large plate of cookies. He trails her as she sits them down at a table.
“So? How’s it been, Tommy?” Nixie asks.
“Uh. Good. Didn’t expect The Angel to be the one to help me get an apartment, but a lot of this is still new so. Yeah.”
“I owe a lot to Phil, too. I’m pretty new to running my own business, and he’s helped out so much.”
She fits in so well. She's a civilian, no longer an agent of violence. It isn't obvious, at a glance. She's still got the scars and a paranoia in her eyes. Her feet are planted steadily on the ground, ready to spring up for a threat that's no longer coming.
But she's moving on nicely. She joined The Syndicate with a goal, she believed in a cause where Tommy hesitated.
She succeeded.
He doesn't know how to wish like the others. He was the youngest hero he knew still kicking, but there had been others. Kids with powers deemed too dangerous and given a choice of The Vault or this. Those kids had aspirations, and then they didn’t make it. Tommy was a survivor, and he’s been beaten, drowned, burned, and suffocated- but he always made it through.
Somehow, always making it through.
He doesn’t know what he wants to do. He thought maybe he’d die before he turned eighteen in a villain fight. Or maybe he’d continue being a survivor, keep fighting until he’s old. Maybe the HA would even let him retire.
The wildest his imagination ever got was him running away. Maybe if he ran far enough, to some secluded forest in Canada or Russia, he could live in a cabin. Cut down wood and light his own fires. Raise some cows. Plant carrots.
The tracker in his ankle had thwarted most of that. If removed improperly, they exploded. He’d witnessed it himself of heroes who tried calling that bluff.
When she defected, Nixie's tracker had led a team to the middle of the ocean. They had found her entire foot there. It was a cutthroat but surefire way of getting rid of the device.
If Tommy could be called a survivor, then Nixie was someone who thrived no matter the circumstance.
He’s glad she has a bakery now.
————————————
The meeting with Nixie went well. She Explained that most of the baking is done before the shop officially opens, and he wouldn't be too involved in that. She didn't struggle to keep up with the demand, but she couldn't keep up with the front counter while also serving tables and keeping everything tidy. He'd be doing easy things, helping her around the shop.
Simple. Easy. He can do that.
Returning to his dark, bland home in comparison to the warm bakery is depressing. Like jumping into the freezing ocean after building sandcastles at the beach. The new apartment is smaller than the one Dream and him shared, which makes sense. Since it’s just for him now.
Alone.
It’s nicer, with a modern kitchen and a quaint balcony.
It’s empty.
Most of the things he had were just necessities, like shampoo or his bedsheets. He easily finished unpacking in one day, and the smaller space feels too big. Too barren.
The Angel has a list they curated together of things to fill up his apartment with. Tommy had made little input, most of it just stuff the man insisted he needed. It's unnecessary.
In this empty place. Alone
Tommy tilts his head back, staring at a blank white ceiling. He’s finally free, so why does it feel bitter?
He-
He's been fine. He hasn't had any nightmares about doomsday where-
Where he had died.
Medically, his heart had stopped for way too long and he should have had serious brain damage. And then Totem had said some weird shit about his soul going beyond the veil.
So, he had very thoroughly died, in all definitions of the term.
And the worst part is, he's not even sure that's why everything burns. His chest is tight with emotions he can't understand. He's not sure if he's sad he died or if he's happy they manage to resurrect him. Why is he alive, right now, in a world without the HA's oppressive eyes? Without Dream? Dream was the top hero, a paragon that everyone looked up to. Everyone loved Daydream and tolerated Red Thunder. Everyone would hate Red Thunder if they knew what he really was. People hated what made them uncomfortable, what didn't make sense or wasn't right.
There are so many people who deserved better than what they got. And Tommy is free. But. He's not even happy about it. Dream was right, he was always right. Because he's always just been an ungrateful monster, he's the anomaly, maybe he should've just stayed-
He gets up from the couch, walking down the hallway to his bedroom empty beside his old bed and a table. He flops down, not bothering to take off his shoes or to get under the blankets.
Maybe Totem had left a piece of his soul behind. Maybe there's a part of him that just never came back, still dead and cold. Maybe it's somewhere else, close by and almost tangible, locked away in The Vault. Maybe he hasn't been a complete person in years.
Wherever the rest of him is, he isn't a whole person. Not like this.
————————————
Tommy and Dream were two chaotic messes who were trusted to live in one apartment together. While he had the excuse of being a kid basically brought up by the HA, Dream was just… something else. They had a dishwasher they never used because neither of them could figure out how to use it or how much soap to put in it.
Tommy got used to living in the same shirt because the attempts Dream made at laundry ended up with the clothing shrinking and the colors fading and mixing. Nothing was spared.
The first time 404 had visited, he had looked around in disgust asking how often they vacuumed, to which Tommy had told him they didn’t even own a broom.
404 had gagged in disgust and bought them a broom that never left its original packaging.
Tommy isn’t afraid to boast his various and impressive talents, but he has to admit. He doesn’t know how to live all by himself. He used to have Dream, and everything worked out as long as Dream was there.
Living by yourself is different. There's no pressure to be a proper human being in front of anyone. But he wasn't raised to be human, he was raised to be a hero.
(He's fallen into the habit of singing along to songs with his crackly voice while frying eggs for dinner.)
The emptiness is a mockery. He doesn't know when The Angel is going to drop off the new stuff, so his empty apartment has filled up, with of all things, yarn.
He had preferred to sew and patch up his clothes when he was younger, and the skill lingers, repurposed. He only knows the practical things, how to fix a torn seam or mend a rip. But his hours at Nikis are nothing compared to the long hours he kept as a hero, so he has much more dead time than before. He would've filled up the time using Quackity's Netflix, but all his settings were locked to Spanish.
At the back of the supermarket, he had spotted a spool of thick yarn and added it to his trolley. Now he sits on the cold floor of his living room trying to figure out how to knit a blanket from a YouTube tutorial.
It's going... badly.
His hands have never been hands before, they’ve never neatly folded clothes or scrubbed grime out of bathtubs. They have always been weapons, conductors of electricity, and blood-bringers. They were a weapon to point and fire. Trained to perfection and given Dream’s bidding to do.
His voice has never been a voice, but a conduit for Dream’s desires and demands. It was used to relay mission plans and repeat lessons until he couldn’t forget them. He’s never used it as an instrument, singing songs. It was used as something to admit dangerous secrets to a dangerous person. It's been a very long time since he has used it to cry.
Human eyes are meant to see beautiful things. To go to mountain valleys far from light pollution where you can see the galaxy; or to venture out into the woods where you can glimpse deer, bright red birds, and squirrels run.
But his eyes are witnesses to the ugliest of things, the saddest of sights. Mutilated corpses, the bloated dead, and the grieving who are left. He’s seen violence his whole life so that a hand raised is one meant to hit and never one to ruffle his hair.
It’s almost embarrassing, to be made up of all these retired parts. He is no longer a weapon, a conduit, a bearer of horror. He doesn’t know how to bake or make pretty things like everyone else. His stitching is crooked and blocky and his muffins don’t rise in the oven even though he added baking soda.
He hates the feeling of heat rushing to his face when he is perceived in these slights, projecting to the world that he is a fraud.
He is a failure.
He is a child.
Tommy goes to a crafts store the next day, picking up needles, thread, and embroidery hoops. Start small, build up to making blankets. That makes sense, right? It'll probably be easier.
———————————
"A group of us are going ice skating since the weather is getting cold enough for it. Karl and Quackity will be there, too!"
Tommy turns in bed, glaring at his phone for broadcasting Sapnap's voice.
Sapnap probably only mentioned them because he knows Tommy likes them. Frustratingly, if Quackity's involved, he's more likely to agree to hang out.
He's not trying to play favorites with the three of them, even if Sapnap is the one he knows best. But. But Quackity has wings. The same stupid part of his birdbrain that acted up whenever to spoke to The Angel also buzzed around the duck hybrid. The part that makes him an idiot who can't muster up the courage to tell The Angel to fuck off, because he doesn't really want him to.
He's never had another avian hybrid to look up to-
No. No, fuck that. He doesn't need any hybrid role models. He's his own role model. He's the biggest man and no other can compare.
"Yeah, and? Ice skating sounds lame. I've got better things to do."
"Do you even go outside besides working at Niki's or to buy groceries?" Bold of him to assume he doesn't just get his food delivered to his building.
"Yes! Of course, I do!"
He pointedly ignores how he's still laying in bed at three pm.
"Like what? Where do you go? Are you making any new friends?"
"What's it's to you, huh? What, are you trying to monitor where I'm going? You gonna start telling me where to go or who to hang out with?"
Sapnap's voice goes all soft and hurt in the stupid way he does when he's being genuine, "I just don't want you to be lonely."
He huffs, playing up his annoyance, but admits, "I'm in a fucking knitting club, okay?"
After his knitting and embroidery endeavors ended up as absolute disasters, he wanted to give up. He had angrily grabbed all his supplies and his failed attempts and made his way to the dumpster to get rid of it all.
A neighbor of his, Clara from down the hallway, saw him. She was nice, so he didn't want to be rude when she asked what he was doing tossing away a lot of good yarn.
She had been delighted when he said he tried to learn how to sew and invited him to her knitting club. It's Friday evenings at an old person's home. He's the only teenager who attends, the rest being Clara's elderly friends.
Sapnap has... never done this before, caring about what Tommy does or- or if he's lonely of all things. But, then again, the man had also been the one to tell Dream he helped Magpie.
(He doesn't blame Sapnap. He doesn't know who to blame or if there's anyone to blame. Some days he doesn't even hate Dream for what he did. That's proper fucked up, but he knows Sapnap never thought Dream would go so far. Shit just happens sometimes.)
Guilt must be one hell of a motivator because Sapnap asks him about the knitting club. "That's cool. What have you made so far?"
Nothing, he says. Clara has just shown him the basics, she explained how to start off with tying loops around one of his needles, to tie a loop around the other one, and pull loose his first stitch. His hands are shaky from years of frying his nerves, but he's not the only person there with shaky hands. They say to just take it slow.
He wants to eventually knit a blanket, large and soft, but that'll take a lot of time when he still struggles to actually remember the order of the steps and not end up with a clump of knotted yarn.
Embroidery is a different skill set, Clara had said, but she could teach him all the same.
It's been a long time since he's felt like such a beginner, a novice at something. He's never had so much downtime to take on a hobby. It's endlessly frustrating, but kind of fun. It's like a challenge and he's going to defeat yarn. He's a victor and extremely tough. He's not a coward.
He's not a coward, and he's not scared of whatever sport requires someone to put knives on their feet, too.
"Do you really want me to go with you to your- your villainy meet-up on ice?"
"You don't have to go if you really don't want to, but Sam's bringing his kids and they're your age. It must be boring to be friends with so many adults."
Tommy cringes at his liberal use of the term "friends." He- Red Thunder doesn't make friends. They're not even friends. He's just worried for Tommy because of some misplaced sense of guilt.
He bites back the question of, 'Are we really friends?'
Daydream, Blaze, and 404 were the Dream Team. They were the trio. Tommy was just Dream's sidekick.
Sure, they could spend Halloween as a group, walking anonymously with the hundreds of other kids dressed in hero costumes. Maybe 404 and Blaze looked after him when Dream ended up in the hospital overnight, but friends? Tommy wasn't part of that. It was the Dream Team that got tipsy on New Year and got caught trying to steal from Schlatt's whiskey stash. It was the three of them who ran off to Las Nevadas in civilian garb saying they were doing an "undercover investigation."
Tommy was just the child they left behind.
He doesn't talk to any of the other heroes. He doesn't know if they're staying in contact with each other or if they're all collectively trying to act like the past didn't happen.
Tommy isn't Sapnap's first choice in friends, but George has been completely off the radar. Maybe Sapnap's the lonely one. Tommy sure as hell isn't lonely, he's not that pathetic.
Weirdly, Sapnap is trying to shoehorn him into his friend group now. He expected the guy to help him with the apartment and decide that his guilt had been absolved. And yet, he still calls and checks up with Tommy.
He should really tell Sapnap he's fine, he doesn't blame him for anything. But then he might really leave. Like everyone else.
So, they're not really friends. They can't be. Not in any meaningful way, and it's not like Tommy wants or needs friends.
He scowls, "I don't want to go ice skating if it's just because you want me to play nice with your friend's kids. I don't need to be socialized like a feral cat."
"It's important to socialize. Prime knows us ex-heroes are shit at social interactions. At checkout at the market the other day, the cashier asked for debit or credit, and I responded, 'Thank you, have a good day.' I was so embarrassed I dashed out of the store with my bags, forgetting to pay. I did pay, though. Eventually."
"Oh! You're becoming a thief, all these villains are a great influence on you."
Sapnap hesitates, "Oh, uh, speaking of that-well, err, I don't want to stress you out but Wilbur will be there, too."
"Okay? Who is that?"
"He's Phil's son... Magpie."
Oh. Protesilaus and Magpie were The Angel's sons? The Syndicate was what, a family business?
"And you just... know that?"
"Everyone kinda knew. Except for you and Dream, since no one really told you guys anything. You two always had your masks on, so those of us who didn't really care... well, we didn't really care," Sapnap laughs lightly.
"And do you only hang out with ex-villains now?" Tommy sighs.
"Hey, Karl's a vigilante. And Tubbo and Ranboo- they're your age- aren't technically villains. Tubbo has definitely hacked into the HA's records, but that isn't villain behavior. That's just crime."
Tommy hums, contemplating.
Sapnap continues, "We could leave any time you wanted. So, absolutely no pressure. You don't even have to talk to anyone if you don't want to."
He doesn't even know how to ice skate, so he doesn't know what possesses him to say yes. But he does.
Tommy hasn't even been to an ice rink.
He doesn't know if that's just something people do every winter, or if it's something people do on special occasions. How long do people ice skate for? Is it really so easy it's a seasonal sport even young children participate in? It seems slightly dangerous, trusting a whole group of people to not accidentally slice somebody's finger off.
It's an unknown for him. Another blank for what's normal for any other civilian.
Every new thing he tries out, he's afraid everyone is going to notice he has no idea what he's doing. Somehow, he's going to break a rule he doesn't know exists and everyone will know he's a fraud of a person.
These past months have been a whole tribute to how he doesn't know how the world works. It was always the small things, how he'd never watched a Disney movie in his life, or how he had no idea what Jaffa cakes were. Now he wasn't sure how to apply to classes (if he wanted to, which he doesn't. probably.), or where to go to buy video games, or what people did with the hours of dead time when they got home from work.
He's spent hours watching movies and shows on his computer screen and he's sick of staring at pixels.
Maybe getting outside and doing something would be good for him. Hell, maybe he'll even talk with someone new.