Chapter Text
Tommy slams his forehead down against the wheel of his stolen car, fingers curled tight around the edges of it, jaw clenching against the sound struggling its way up his throat, something between a laugh and something horribly wretched that he forces down.
“It’s okay,” Dream’s voice echoes in the back of his mind with the memory of the strange boy who’d picked him up from the streets stumbling into the apartment, greeting dying on his lips as Dream stumbled, sinking down to his knees as Tommy’s bare feet hit the floor. “As long as we have each other everything is going to be fine, right, Tommy?”
It’s been years since Dream had told him those words, his tongue wrapping clumsily around them with laughter that bubbles like mania in his mouth as Tommy burrowed beneath him, shrugging his arm over his shoulder and clasping it to his chest, taking the brunt of the weight as he forced the other boy up and carried him with stumbling steps to the couch.
There’d been ash and soot, burnt skin wrapping up his arm, a feverish sort of haze to the green eyes that meet his when he sinks to his knees before the other, grimacing at the jagged cut that slants down between his brows, over his nose and past the edge of his mouth.
“You won’t leave me, right?” A hand reaching out clumsily to be caught by Tommy’s cold grip. “Promise me, Tommy.” Voice breaking, something wet trickling down freckled cheeks as Tommy clumsily reaches out to wipe it, Dream’s head turning to press his cheek into the palm of his hand. “Promise me you’ll never leave me,” he begs, breath warm against his skin.
Tommy doubts he remembers it or the promise he’d made to the then fourteen-year-old.
Dream, had he been in his right mind, would never have voiced such an obvious weakness, to reveal the aching loneliness that clawed deep inside of him despite how much he struggled against allowing attachments, claiming them nothing more than a weakness.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Tommy had promised him then, leaning forward to press his forehead against the heat of the other to a shuddering breath and eyes slipping shut.
His lime green hoodie had been a thing drenched in blood and it lands wet on the floor when Tommy finally manages to cut it off him only to find a wound bubbling dark, deep enough that there’s bone visible where his shoulder had taken the brunt of it, gaping wet beneath the shining red blood.
Blood loss, a fever already wrecking his body- it had been sheer fucking luck that Dream had survived it at all, heat having seared a good chunk of the fabric to the wound and slowing the bleeding until he’d finally found his way with stumbling steps to their small, shared apartment.
Dream never speaks of what had happened to bring him to such a state but Tommy gathers enough between nightmares and feverish ramblings, between shaking hands and pleading, between sobs that wrecks Dream’s body as he clings desperately with grief and horror stark in his eyes that Tommy doesn’t know how to fix.
“I didn’t want to do it, I didn’t want to do it- you have to believe me, Tommy, you have to-“
“HE BETRAYED ME!”
Something wretched, something broken, the loss of something Dream struggles to grasp at.
“I trusted him-“
“I thought-“
“I should have known better, he always told me-“
“He was my friend- or I thought he was I don’t- I can’t- he left me, Tommy, he left me and now all I have is you-“
“Maybe I was the fool all along, for thinking that he actually cared about me but I just wanted-“
“Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“
“It’s all my fault.”
And Tommy stays through it all, curled up beside the older boy who tracks him almost desperately whenever he has to leave the room with eyes shining with the fever from the infection ravaging his body.
It’s two weeks of staying glued to Dream’s side, sleeping beside him with a hand curled around the older boy’s wrist, fingers pressing against his pulse, so very desperately afraid to lose him.
Dream is all he has.
“You’re something else, Tommy,” Dream laughs, bright and warm as Tommy clasps his hand, allowing his mentor to pull him up from the training mats and loop an arm around his neck, dragging him close in a rare show of open affection. “The world won’t know what’s coming.” He’s sweaty, limbs trembling, but it’s all forgotten with the warmth that blossoms inside his chest as he tips forward, forcing Dream to take his weight with an arm that wraps around his chest and holds him up. “We’re going to change everything. Together.”
It’s all worth it for Dream.
It has to be.
Sam and Fran’s had never meant to be a permanent thing. He has enough saved from Sam’s more than generous pay that there’s no way he can justify staying and working when all it did was eat up valuable time he needed to get back to Dream’s side so why-
Tommy slams his forehead against the wheel, a frustrated noise bubbling out in a whine through clenched teeth.
“There’s no-one in this world I trust more than you.” Dream’s voice brushes soft in his memories and he squeezes his eyes shut, clinging to the promise of returning to his mentor’s side. “It’s a frightening thing, Tommy. The power you hold over me.”
Tommy doesn’t know how long he sits there, in the cold air of his stolen car, forcing one breath after the other, ribs lowering and expanding, trembles running through him.
There’s a small rustle, a zipper being pulled aside and a tiny head popping out of his rucksack to blink at him with brown eyes behind square glasses when he slowly turns his head to look.
He doesn’t know what he feels, everything bubbles too thick inside of him, and he pushes tiredly at it, and then with more stubbornness that bleeds with desperation, forcing himself out from the thick waves threatening to drag him under with a parting of his lips behind his mask and a loud rasping breath.
He blinks, a hand curling into the fabric of his hoodie, over his heart.
“Giving up is the same as death.” Dream’s eyes are bright in his memories, adrenaline pounding through them both as Tommy pushed to his feet, blood dripping warm from his fingers as he reached for the familiar hot wrap of power with a stubborn clenching of his teeth. “But you already know that, don’t you, Tommy?”
“Hello.” Slimecicle rubs a tiny fist over his eyes. “Are you done with work now Mr. Red?”
“Yeah,” Tommy forces out, pushing away from the wheel to slump back against the seat instead. “We still have some time before-“ He pauses, remembering just who was sitting beside him, a small figure of bubbling green but also Jester’s spy. “Do you- how about we get some ice cream?” he offers tiredly, desperate for any sort of distraction.
Slimecicle perks up. “We can?” he breathes out eagerly, small palms clapping together. “I’ve never had ice cream before!”
Tommy huffs a small breath, forcing himself to latch onto the idea and push everything else down. “I guess we’ll have to fix that then.”
-
Slimecicle tips his torso over the edge of the cup Tommy gets him, biting eagerly into a towering of soft vanilla, looking entirely too delighted when he drew back with a colourful sprinkle caught in his mouth like a pink bone that slowly gets absorbed into his mouth under Tommy’s morbidly curious gaze.
He looks at his own lavender coloured ice cream, small darker chunks of dark blue, almost black bits in it and-
He thinks of snow, of laughter, of the taste of blueberries in his mouth, of the touch that bleeds through his shirt when Wilbur had sprawled down against him, warm despite the cold that melts against his skin from the snow shoved down the neck of his jacket.
He takes a large bite, ignoring the sting of his teeth and the small shiver that crawls up his spine as he takes another larger one with more aggression, something burning inside of him as he stares out over the streets of L’Manberg where they sit parked at the side of the road.
There’s people moving about, hurrying over the white lined pavement with the ringing sound of the streetlights sporting a green figure preserved in hurried motion.
Businesspeople in sharp suits and fancy blouses beneath thick coats make up the majority of the crowd this close to the Hero tower that rise in a spiraling thing of white that stretches towards the sky.
A group of teens buff against each other, laughing over something they crowd close to look at on a small screen in the palms of a girl with black hair, and Tommy flicks his gaze to another that follows at their heels, head ducked with a long scaled tail that flicks behind her, only just avoiding being dragged against the dark slush on the ground.
He sucks in a breath and sinks deeper into his seat as he catches sight of thick curls of white hair and curling horns, the fancy red and gold trimmed jacket unmistakably that of the Captain, the tricorn proud on her head and steps sure, people pulling out of her path with whispers and wide-eyes.
There’s a black mask over her eyes, detailed with faded bronze, mouth drawn tight, and he watches her until she disappears around the corner before breathing out and pushing up.
He knows, rationally, that she wouldn’t recognize him like this but he and the Captain had never exactly been on good terms.
She had a sharp way of watching him whenever they were in the same room and it had made his neck prickle uncomfortable, far too aware of her.
She was a good Hero though, one of the better ones, most of her patrols far out from the city center.
His brow furrows because it was fucking rare that she visited the tower. She had made it no secret of how much she disliked the power plays at work and she’d made far more enemies than friends among her fellow Heroes even if the public adored her.
His instincts prickles sharply and he bites down on the last bit of ice cream, cone crunching and half-sticking out of his mouth as he reached beneath the wheel to twist the two closest cables, car rumbling to life.
-
Charlie peers up at him, palms buried into melting vanilla that clings and sticks to his skin, mouth smeared with the stuff.
“Adventure time?” he asks, sticking his entire hand into his mouth, green bubbling as his body absorbed the ice cream to slide a clean hand out with a wet pop.
Tommy stares at him.
“Yeah,” he manages with a curl of nausea he pretends not to feel, dragging his phone from his pocket and glancing at the time, ignoring the many missed calls on the screen with a thick swallow. “Adventure time.”
Tommy hauls himself into the back turns his backpack upside down on the seat, letting the things spill out.
They're in a parking garage, car crammed roughly into the darkest corner he could find, but his skin itches and prickles, far too aware that anyone could see him like this.
Slimecicle finds the round wooden toy that Techno had gotten him, stuffed away and forgotten but now being unrolled with a long string, the melting pool of ice cream forgotten as Tommy wrestles into his Hero gear inside the small space.
He tugs his hoodie in place, strapping on the vambraces and escrima sticks, his mask slotting over his mouth and nose with a breath that filters strange but familiar, comforting as he closes his eyes, chest rising and falling slowly.
He looks down with a twitch of his muscles when a small hand presses against his thigh, tiny body being hoisted up before Charlie peered up at him expectantly, toy beneath one stretched out arm.
Tommy takes it, pocketing it to a mouth that dips and then stretches wide with a glowing grin. “You’ll have to stay out of sight,” he mutters as he offers a palm, letting Charlie climb up and lifting him up to slip into the depth of his hood. “We’re meeting with a Hero.”
“I will be quiet,” Charlie says with an excited hush as Tommy pulls his black jacket on and loops the lime green scarf around his neck, tugging it carefully in place. “I promise.”
Tommy pauses before he grunts in acknowledgement.
He opens the car door and slips out, tucking his hands into his pockets and ducking his head as he kicked the door shut behind him, feeling the way Charlie shifts to hold into the edge of his hood with the motion of his body, and he clenches his jaw as he slips into the bright lit streets.
He misses the dark of the night almost immediately, his goggles tucked away in his pocket, but he tugs at his hood, shadowing his face as much as possible as he moves with easy steps, ducking and weaving through the people moving in a hurry with phones pressed to their ears and mouths moving, eyes quickly slipping off him.
There’s plenty of hybrids who hide their faces and features and Tommy knows he doesn’t stand out because of it but it’s something he only allows himself to be briefly grateful for, the reminder twisting dark in his chest.
He bares his teeth behind his mask at a father who drags his son close with a foul look shot his way.
It doesn’t take long before he can take a left, disappearing into the maze of alleyways, tracing down the familiar path, slowing his steps, heart pounding inside his chest as he swallows, taking comfort in the shadows cast by the tall rising buildings around him.
The slush is nearly non-existent here but the ground is wet, water dripping from high above, pouring down to the metal drains, graffiti paintings faded on metal and old brick walls that the fancy fronts of the buildings cover up on the main street.
The remains of what had been before L'Manberg's rise of Heroes, hidden away, almost as if the city was ashamed of its past.
A city built by Villains, that's what L'Manberg is, or so Dream claimed with a dip of his brow and something unreadable in his eyes as he traced over the lettering of one of his many old books.
There's rumours of an old underground railstation hidden somewhere deep below too but if it exists there were no-one who had come forward with any proof.
There’s rough metal trash bins here with peeling paint, hidden away from the bright streets of motion and life, and his eyes dart automatically to search for the rustling motion of fur, brightening as he sees a tabby peering out with wide golden eyes beneath an abandoned cardboard box.
“Tabby cats are one of the most common species out there,” Dream’s voice ghosts in the back of his mind and Tommy remembers himself, nine and staring at the small kitten held close to the other boy’s chest with wide-eyes. “Come here, she won’t bite, I promise.” Tommy had taken a careful step forward. “Unlike you,” Dream had teased when he reached out to carefully brush his fingers over achingly soft fur to a high-pitched meow and a low rumbling purr when he rubs down between triangular ears.
He halts before he can think twice about it, suddenly regretting not bringing a can of tuna with him, a guilt that settles strangely heavy in his chest as it slowly shifts forwards, spine a fluid thing as it moves from beneath the dumpster, nose twitching and paws momentarily pausing as he instinctively sinks to his haunches.
“Hello there pretty thing,” he pitches softly, offering his hand out as it chirps, ducking to stroke beneath his fingers, encouraging his palm down its spine in a heavy stroke, tail high and flicking from side to side, orange and white winding together, dirty with grit that clings to it. "It can’t have been easy, getting through this winter, huh?” he murmurs softly as his fingers dips to scratch beneath its chin to a slow lidded blink. “You’re strong though, surviving despite the cold.”
He pulls his phone from his pocket with his other hand, checking the time and-
There’s still ten minutes before Chronos had claimed Sapnap would be in place and he stuffs it back before dropping down on his knees, uncaring of the cold wetness that seeps through his pants.
The cat wastes no time to press up on its hindlegs, a small wet nose brushing over his cheek before disappearing into his hoodie.
There’s a squeak, cat shying back in surprise, blinking wide dilated eyes with claws that curls into his jacket as one paw raised in an unsure curl.
“It’s okay.” Tommy strokes a hand down its back, voice low and rough. “He’s just a slime, he won’t hurt you.”
“I’m Charlie Slimecicle of Las Nevadas!” The slime reaches out a tiny hand to a small pink nose that slowly presses against his palm with a blink, ears flickering. “And you’re a very big cat!” He sounds delighted, his voice a hush as it ducks, just enough for him to brush tiny fingers over the soft fur on the top of its nose, a soft questioning meow leaving it and-
Tommy draws a breath, slouching forward, one arm curling gently around the cat’s body, pulling it closer and inhaling the scent of the streets clinging to it, fingers sliding through thick fur in a rhythmic soothing thing as it shifted to rub against his jaw and neck, purring up a storm under the attention.
He allows himself the time to breathe, to grasp for sanity in the tumbling, tugging grip of his thoughts going too fast with the buzz of another missed call in his pocket.
He checks the time once more behind the cat’s back- counting two minutes with the flick of the last number, fingers clenching tight as it buzzes with another call.
The contact picture Wilbur had taken of them both stares back at him, Tommy caught with his face crammed up beside a wildly grinning Wilbur who stands half-folded around him, chin pressing down against the top of his head, and his heart aches.
He swallows thickly against the guilt that curls leaden and horrible inside his chest before he steels himself with a clenching of his teeth and gently loosens his hold, pushing at the tabby until it reluctantly hits the dirty ground with all four paws and he pushes off the ground to rise tall.
He turns off the buzzing off his phone before pocketing it.
Tommy steps past golden eyes and a twitching tail of white and orange, Charlie melting back into the shadows of his hoodie as he settles his shoulders and raises his chin, trailing the pads of his fingers against the brick walls of the building beside him, steps near soundless as he falls into a prowl, tabby at his side.
Two months.
Sapnap better have one hell of an explanation, Tommy thinks as he rounds the corner, only to halt, staring at the crouched figure.
-
“What the fuck do you mean he quit?” Wilbur’s voice is sharp and dangerous through the phone and Sam’s mouth thins, eyes flicking to the door that had closed shut behind Tommy’s tense shoulders almost two hours ago.
Quackity is tapping a rhythmic impatient pattern against his thigh, speaking in a low sharp tone to someone on the phone, Niki opposite him with a small Charlie who was happily nibbling on one of the penguin shaped cookies Sam had placed out for them.
“There’s not much else I can tell you,” Sam admits, breathing out as he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “He was…” He frowns, aware of the sharp danger brewing on the other side of the phone. “He was spacing out all morning, clearly anxious about something, and then he just quit. Gave no explanation or anything. I gave him 5 minutes, to see if he’d come back.” A pause, a breath. “Fran couldn’t find any trace of him.”
“He knows how to drive,” Quackity flicks his gaze up, fingers pressing over the mouth of his phone. “And hotwire a fucking car. Kid could have just taken off somewhere to work through whatever.” He waves a dismissive hand but Sam has known Quackity for years now.
He might not be his son in blood but Sam loves him, knows him, and there’s something on his mind, something beyond Chronos and the whole mess with Red Chaos who was leaving more questions than answers in his path.
There’s a telling stilling of motion on the other side of the phone and Sam flicks his gaze to Niki who inclines her head at the silent question and Sam allows himself a moment of relief.
Wilbur wasn’t on his own then- either Technoblade or Philza was with him, that was good.
“He wouldn’t just leave.” And Wilbur sounds so sure that Sam doesn’t dare to tell him that Tommy had been a flight risk from day one, clearly haunted by something in his past with the hunching of his shoulders, still pulled sharply towards something or rather someone.
Too young for such a heavy thing in his gaze, thin and withdrawn with the curling of his lips.
Quackity had been the same way when Sam met him- his past tied with the man who had risen to become the Number One Hero and then Number Two with Dream’s climb up the ranks.
Schlatt had left his marks on Quackity, no matter how much his son tried to deny it, a hurt that wired deep inside of him with anger that flared dark and violent.
It had been years and yet is remained just as curling and prickling with the tension in his shoulders, a brooding sort gnawing desire to get even that had only intensified with Schlatt in a position where he, by all reason, shouldn’t be.
Sam frowns.
“The only thing we know right now is that he’s missing,” Sam says instead of lingering on the past, dragging a palm down the back of his neck. “He could just be gathering his thoughts, he’s a teenager and he’s been under a lot of stress with everything happening-“
“That’s-“ Wilbur’s answer gets abruptly cut off, mouthpiece covered to leave Sam with something muffled and sharp, an argument that fades into the background as Sam absently reaches down to stroke a hand over Fran’s head where she’s leaning against his thigh.
"Thank you for calling us, Sam.” Philza’s smooth voice makes him straighten up. “Have you received any news on Red Chaos?”
Ah. Back to business then.
“Nothing,” Sam admits grimly with a glance towards the slime kicking his small legs. “Slimecicle left a piece of himself on him but Red Chaos appears to have won it over.” He glances at Quackity who has slumped back, head tilted back with a complicated tense line of his lips that curl with the scar that dip the side of it. “At most we have an assurance that if anything happens to him the small Charlie will alert us.”
It’s not much but with Red Chaos in the midst of things anything that allows them even a hint of what’s going on is worth gold as far as information goes.
The former Hero still largely remains a mystery and whatever Quackity had gathered from their meeting in Las Nevadas is being kept quiet and Sam had yet to speak to Technoblade or Philza in person to get the whole picture from the day before.
There had been no time with Chronos passed out on the upper floor of his café, the aftermath of Schlatt whose lava had spilled hot over the ground of Las Nevadas, ground shaking with Foolish rustling himself awake from his slumber, the news media leaving a tense storm in its path.
“There’s…” Fran nudges against his hand and he twists it to scratch his fingers beneath her jaw with a breath. “There’s rumours of Heroes being called in from the outer districts,” Sam settles on finally. “Quackity is working on getting confirmation on how many are being routed in, and what the official reason is, but-“
“There’s a chance they’re going for Red Chaos,” Philza finishes, his tone mild and impossible to read over the call and distantly Sam hears the tap of a clawed finger against something wooden. “Techno thinks there’s reason to believe that he knows more than he’s letting on but that he was defensive enough that Dream might have intentionally left him out of the loop.”
Techno was good at picking apart his enemies with sharp words, his statue and aura only adding to the sense of danger that clung thick to him, and Red Chaos might have been a Hero but he’d been all alone on enemy territory with an injured Vigilante and that was enough to unsettle anybody.
Especially someone who wasn’t used to working on his own, always at Dream’s side like a shadow, as faithful and loyal as a dog.
He glances down at Fran who blinks up at him with large golden eyes and his mouth curls wryly.
“We need him to talk,” Sam leans back in his chair, eyes on the door Tommy had disappeared out of, chest aching but knowing that he had more important things to focus on. “Figure out exactly how much he knows.”
“We do,” Philza agrees and the tapping halts. “Whatever the Heroes are trying to cover up by getting to him first isn’t something we can allow.”
“Which means we have to get to him first,” Sam concludes with a hum as he pushes off his chair, meeting Quackity’s lingering look with a raised brow that gains him a deaf shake of his head and a frown.
“I’m heading back to Las Nevadas.” Quackity glances at Niki who hums, head tilting as she offers her palm to the small Slimecicle who wastes no time to climb into her palm, cradled gently.
“I’ll come with you,” she offers with a flickered look at Sam. “Meeting tonight?”
“At eleven,” Philza confirms over the phone and Sam relies it back to the two.
Quackity offers a wave over his shoulder and Niki spares him a smile, following at his heel as she slipped Charlie into the pocket of her coat, bell ringing above them both as they stepped into the sun melting the snow on the streets.
January weather was always unpredictable, swinging between the beginning spring heat and snowstorms at the flip of a hand, and it feels like a false promise where it shines bright outside the windows of his café.
“What about Tommy?” Sam dares to ask, because he’d taken him in and now he’s disappeared and he feels responsible for the situation he’d drawn him into despite his best intentions.
“We’ll deal with him,” Philza answers mildly and there’s a promise there that sends a shiver of dread up his spine.
“He might come back on his own,” Sam offers weakly, despite knowing there’s no point to it.
The situation is out of his hands.
Wilbur had laid his claim on Tommy and if the boy was smart he’d come back on his own before the situation could escalate.
Red Chaos was offering a distraction but it wasn’t one that would last forever, not with the Syndicate actively hunting for him.
“Perhaps," Philza allows. "See you tonight.”
He ends the call and Sam let’s out a rough breath, lowering his phone down, staring at the screen for a long moment before pocketing it.
The café is empty and he crosses the floor silently, the wood strangely hollow beneath his feet as he pauses, locking it shut and pressing the small button to allow the rattling metal to fall over the windows, darkening the already dim lightning of the café.
He parts his lips, tasting gunpowder on his breath with a sharp exhale, letting scales crawl dark down his throat and pattern up his face with the brightening glow of his eyes.
Fran whines, tail wagging unsurely.
“I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he kneels down in front of her, gently stroking his palms over her soft white fur to frame her face. “I know I keep promising each mission will be the last, but they need the Warden far more than they need Sam right now.”
He gives her one last stroke before straightening up. “Come on, you can stay with Karl, alright? Guard him for Quackity.”
His steps feels heavy as he leaves the familiar comfort of his small café, stepping up the stairs to the door that opens with a twist of the bronze handle.
Fran presses past him, nosing up the first door on the left and disappearing into it, and Sam pulls it shut as he passes it by, shoulders straightening and steps growing firmer as he opens the door on the right and steps into the room.
The Warden’s uniform waits for him – golden armour, a dark green gasmask that stretches up to hide his face, trident gleaming sharp with a promise of violence where it leans propped against it.
It has been almost two years since he had his first encounter with Red Chaos, the Hero’s eyes wide and hands wet with blood, clawing desperately at the metal that had gone straight through him, pinning him like a bug to the ground with a choked gasped breath behind his mask.
The Warden reaches out to grasp the same trident tight, giving it a spin before the end clacked down against the floor with a roll of his shoulders, gunpowder smoldering in his chest.
He’s hunted the Hero down once, spared him, choosing mercy where there had no business being any.
He’s not about to make the same mistake again.