Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

The ice rink is inside. Tommy had imagined something outside, with wind and nature and animals to focus on. An easy getaway route. Instead, the entrance has flashy arcade games lining the walls and loud music playing from somewhere. He's never been to an ice rink, or anywhere quite similar, and it's unusual. Different. 

Tommy's not unsettled, just... at odds. With a building. He feels like he usually did before fighting a villain.

 He's on edge and has to physically hold himself back from trailing Sapnap like a baby chick. He's not some bird-brained idiot. 

Instead, he awkwardly tries to stay next to him, taking a few steps ahead to pretend he can be an independent human being. He follows as Sapnap veers left, walking towards a group of people chatting.

There are not a lot of them there, thank prime for that. 

He knows already that Sam's the creeper hybrid with green hair. The Warden is fucking recognizable from a mile away. He's laughing with Karl and Quackity about something Tommy can't overhear, while two teens scream over an arcade game next to the group. They're... probably the guys Sapnap wanted him to "socialize" with. Fuck that. 

There's also... a tall fucker with curly brown hair lingering behind everyone. Their eyes meet and he flashes a sharp smile.

He shivers under his thick coat.

That'd be Magpie. 

Tommy should avoid him.

Suddenly, ditching sounded like a wonderful idea. The best one, actually. The walls are tall and white, with a faded mural of polar bear families skating. The air is stuffy, the fluorescent lights harsh in their brightness. He is surrounded by villains-- ex-villains. 

The Syndicate disbanded once the HA was fully dealt with. Protesilaus had explained in a long-winded note that they didn't want to become tyrants dictating how the country should recover. They lived in a world devoid of heroes and villains, but criminals and vigilantes still roamed the streets. It's why Karl stays out late, and why Sapnap keeps a first aid kit in his backpack, and why L'Manberg streets have been safer than ever even with the fall.

Karl's cool, along with Quackity. Sapnap really lucked out with them both. 

Their presence doesn't soothe the anxiety building up under his skin. 

This was so dumb. This was such a bad idea. Why'd he let himself be talked into coming here when he could have just stayed safe at home, in bed curled up and pretending the world wasn't spinning around him-

There's a tugging on his sleeve from Sapnap.

"We need to grab a pair of skates. If you don't know your shoe size, they have something you can measure your feet with to find out."

He nods without a sound. He can deal with this shit. He's not a coward and he can do normal people things. Like figuring out how to lace up the ice skates that pinch at his toes. 

He waddles over to the rink accompanied by Sapnap. It looks kind of like a frozen-over basketball court, but there are walls around the whole perimeter. It's weird.

Tommy's... never ice skated. And it shows. He doesn't know when Sapnap acquired the skill, but while he can glide easily where Tommy can't even figure out how to move himself on the ice. 

"No, no you need to lean forward more."

"If I lean forward, I'm gonna fall!" 

"How about- uh, here just grab onto my arm so you won't fall."

There's no saving his pride in front of Sapnap, from the moment he set foot on the ice he's been struggling and he's been a witness to it all. 

"If I fall I'm bringing you down with me," he threatens, wrapping one hand around Sapnap's elbow. 

It's better like that, but that's just because he lets Sapnap drag them along so it's zero effort. Eventually, though, he gets the hang of it and lets go. He's far from good, but he shuffles his feet to keep up a slow pace. He feels better struggling on his own than relying on Sapnap for help. The atmosphere is weird, only a couple of other groups are there and all are in their own world. The chilly air and clinical feel are offputting, but it's not like it's loud or packed.

It's kind of peaceful, in a way. 

Of course, that's when Quackity and Karl come barreling into them, and Karl's momentum sends Sapnap skidding into the wall. 

He simply watches from the sidelines.

"Hi, kiddo," Quackity skates forward, messing up his hair.

"Not a kid, Big Q," he punches at his arm.

Karl's perpetually the energetic type. Tommy's not sure how he manages it with his job and going out as a vigilante at night, but he's always been one for a little chaos. He's speaking a mile a minute about an ice hockey game going on and how they should all go-

"You want to come with us, Tommy?"

Yeah, Tommy wasn't going to fourth wheel. So. 

"I don't need to be babysat, you three idiots go have fun."

Sapnap frowns, "You sure?" 

"Oh prime, yes I'm sure. I'll be fine." 

He said that, but as he continues to shuffle around the outside border of the rink, it's more boring by himself. A little uncomfortable. Nobody is looking at him but he still feels under surveillance. 

A couple of other groups of people and kids were easily gliding past him but he was trying his best not to fall over and die.

Skating was not easy, nor fun. 

Fuck this, if this is what civilians do to have fun. They had all the time in the world since they didn't have to fight villains and they chose to spend it freezing their asses off- inside. They're inside and the air bites into his skin and his fingers are bright red from the cold. 

This sucks. His feet hurt, he's cold and doesn't know how to do this and it sucks-

"Are you alright?" Somebody spooks him hard enough he shuffles forwards, trying to shift into a defensive stance before his skates slip on the ice and he's fallen on his butt before he realizes it.

He looks up to golden eyes. The Warden looks down on him. 

The guy is freakishly tall, almost as tall as Totem. Totem was like, a superhuman though and the Warden's power has nothing to do with his strength, he just explodes shit. The height is either a creeper hybrid thing or just a genetics thing.

As the Warden, Sam had been intimidating as fuck, as a seven-feet tall villain in a gasmask with glowing red eyes. He could as easily impale someone on his trident as he could set off an explosion powerful enough to kill at point-blank. 

As a civilian, he stands hunched like he's self-conscious over his own height and looming stature. His eyes are soft and surrounded by laugh lines like he smiles a lot. 

"Don't fucking sn- sneak up on me like that, " he grumbles, pressing his hands to the ice to stand back up. He was proud he at least hadn't fallen over yet, but that's been ruined.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to... you looked a little lost?"

He glares up at the ex-villain, who looks sheepish at least. Tommy is usually imposing enough with his height, and his armor used to add bulk to his frame, but standing next to The Warden could make anyone look unimpressive.

He's seen this man skewer another human being with his trident like they were a slab of soft, fatty meat. Hell, he'd even cut off the arm of one of Tommy's coworkers. 

"...I've never done this before, you can't fucking blame me for that," he bites back. He's not lost, he's not some nine-year-old lost in Tescos looking for his parents. If he were left alone in a Tescos he'd take the place over with his Big Man brain.

“I could give you a few pointers- I taught Ranboo the basics on how to skate, so I think I make a pretty good teacher," the man smiles, tugging a bit on his coat.

“... I’m good.”

More people whirl by, going so fast that their skates scratch deep divots into the ice with a shrill sshhhksh sound. The noise makes him shudder in discomfort, and he rubs at his arms to play it off as the cold. 

“I think the boys are in the arcade if you want to meet them. Or if you want to try out some of the games. I didn't see a lot of people there.”

"Sure. Why not," he answers just to end the conversation.

He waddles past the man, shooting one last glare, before stepping back onto the carpet. He hasn't been defeated by ice skating, he's- he's simply taking a breather. And then he'll get back on the ice and be better than any of the other idiots there. He'll kick his skates and cut the whole place up. After a few minutes.

The Warden smiles and waves to him before skating off.

... what a weird guy.

The Warden is just kind of- of a pushover. He didn't argue with Tommy's bad behavior at all. He's soft. Soft like the kind of guy who'd apologize if you bumped into him. He's nothing like his terrifying persona.

Sure, finding out the original three Syndicate members were father and sons was weird- but it made sense. They were like a messed-up supervillain family that did everything together. The Angel hadn't been able to shut up that one of his sons was an amazing songwriter and had a few performances booked soon, and that his other had restored an old barn by hand. He radiated Proud Dad energy, but still gave off a certain air that screamed danger. He was a family man and a dangerous villain.

Sam felt so different from The Warden. He didn't feel dangerous, or looming, or threatening. He offered Karl an extra coat when the man had forgotten to dress warmly. 

So he's. Soft. Soft in a way Tommy doesn't usually associate with people in their field. He isn't sure how to be soft. He doesn't want to, he just- doesn't know how to. Doesn't want to. Yeah.

Yeah. 

It's easier to walk on ice skates than he would've guessed out of the ice. They dig into the carpet but don't affect his balance at all. As he enters the dingy arcade area, the metal clacks on the tile.

The arcade games are all foreign to him except the crane game, or whatever it's called. The one here blinks blue and yellow, with little penguins painted on it excitedly looking up at all the prizes stored inside. 

He looks around the machine, trying to figure out where to start it up. He finds a slot asking for tokens and he... isn't sure where to get those. Not that he's curious, of course not, this is some stupid kid's game.

In the corner of his eye, he spots movement. He won't be caught off guard like with The Warden.

He straightens up to meet a heterochromatic set of eyes, vibrant red and green. They look away from him, and he makes eye contact with the person next to them. The two teens of the group, though he never saw them teamed up with the Syndicate so he doesn't know why they're here. Sapnap did mention Tubbo was a criminal, though.

"Hey- you're Tommy, right? I'm Tubbo, and this is Ranboo, " the boy with blue eyes introduces himself, holding out a hand to shake. 

He ignores it, glancing down to see the pair still in their sneakers. Fuck, was he not supposed to have skates on in here? Was he damaging the floor? Was some worker going to come over to yell at him?

"Okay... Sapnap did say you were going to be standoffish," Tubbo hums.

Ranboo makes a sharp noise of surprise, flailing his hands. "What he means is- is- uh- it's nice to meet you?"

He scoffs, "Oh yeah, at least I'm not one of the losers hiding out back here instead of skating. At the skating rink."

"'Boo here is a danger to himself and others when on ice. Plus, now you are one of the losers hiding out in the arcade."

Well. 

Hm.

"Well- well, I've never uh, been here before. Just checking shit out," he coughs.

There are about a dozen games lined up against the wall, all looking wildly different from each other. Some fit the theme of ice or cold, but there's one with a mermaid and pirated painted on the side, and ironically, one with a camel trudging through the desert. His eyes dart back to the crane machine.

"I bet five quid you fail your first attempt at the claw crane," Tubbo exclaims.

Ranboo responds, "Wha- I'm not betting on this. These machines are always super rigged."

"You better bet on my victory, Boob Boy, I'm always a winner," he cracks his knuckles, walking up to the control panel.

A long silence follows. He... doesn't know how to turn it on. 

"Oh, uh," Ranboo leans down a plops one of the gold coins into the slot, "Here, um, you usually have to buy tokens from the front desk but it gets boring continuously beating Tubbo at pinball, so I'll pay."

Tubbo bleats out an offended noise, but Tommy's more focused on the claw machine lights come to life as a fuzzy narrator voice says something about no cheating and not straying far away from your parents.

He settles his hands on the stick to control the machine and presses forward on the joystick. He bounces away at the loud metal grating that accompanies the movement, but quickly leans back forward and scans his eyes over the prizes.

He grins, setting his sights on a target. 

He can feel Tubbo and Ranboo staring closely as he maneuvers the claw to the right, right, left a little and-

It descends into the sea of toys and prizes, successfully clutching onto the one he wanted. It slowly rises, jerkily moving over. The toy slips and Tubbo starts cheering. His heart stutters as it falls on the plastic divider, but it tips and falls the right way down the hatch.

Tubbo's cheers cut off and he excitedly pulls out the cow plushie that had instantly won his heart over. He digs his fingers into the soft fabric, unable to stop the smile growing on his face.

Ranboo stares at the toy, "Congrats. I don't think I've ever seen anyone win anything from this before. It's cursed or something." 

"I'm just that talented and cool," he tries playing off his excitement.

Tommy's chest warms up in pride, the toy soft in his hands. 

Then he hears Quackity's loud voice in the distance spouting something in he can't understand. He whips his head over to see Karl, Sam, and the other adults making their way to a vending machine tucked away in the corner of the building. 

He squishes the toy in between his palms, pressing it close to his stomach while keeping an eye on the group.

"You good there?" Tubbo breaks him out of his trance.

"What?"

The boy raises a brow, "You totally froze up when they walked by- you're completely on edge around them."

"I'm not on edge- I could beat up any of those bastards any day," he squawks.

He's not nervous, he's really not. At least, not about being surrounded by villains. He knows The Warden isn't going to suddenly pull out a trident and start stabbing shit, Magpie isn't going to start hypnotizing people, but- 

But they're there all the same, and they know Tommy's Red Thunder. All of them know that, it's not like it's a secret that Sapnap's sixteen-year-old friend, suspiciously the same age and height as Red thunder, is not just a civilian. He isn't now but. But he used to be Red Thunder. And Red Thunder used to be respectable, someone who could keep up with Daydream and the rest of the Dream Team. And to know he's here, trying and failing at ice skating and holding a children's toy- it's more mortifying than anything. Dream would be so disappointed if he could see him now.

He's... incredibly tense right now. Nervous? not really. Embarrassed? Yes. 

"You owe me five quid," he breathes out.

"Oh," The brunette shrugs, "I don't have any more cash on me. I'll pay you the next time we see each other."

"The next time-?"

No no, this was a one-time thing. He doesn't need others to start assigning him things to do. He's only here because Sapnap is paranoid Tommy is going to waste away in his apartment. He's not trying to make friends or get to know the Syndicate members any better. 

Someone in the group by the vending machine spots the three of them, and they start making their way over. 

Tommy feels a chill go down his spine. Fuck- what is he doing? What is he doing here, surrounded by civilians acting like this? If Tommy had run off like this half a year ago, he would've gotten into a world of trouble. What if- what- what if someone gets upset? What if Sapnap sees the cow toy he won and pulls a Dream and rips it out of his hands, berating him in front of everybody? He- he needs to hide it, but he can't fit a whole ass cow into his pocket, it'd be so obvious, should he just throw it away before someone decides to use it against him, attachments are so very dangerous-

"Here," Ranboo shrugs off his backpack and unzips it, holding it open for Tommy. It's one of those tiny backpacks, electric yellow with bees and flowers patterned on it. 

He quickly shoves the plushie into it and zips it close. What, is Ranboo just going to steal from him? Is he really going to be robbed by one of the first civilian teens he's interacted with in years? And by one that looks gangly enough he'd get knocked over by a particularly harsh gust of wind?

His worries are quickly quelled when Ranboo shoves the backpack into Tommy's hands. 

"The children are here playing games," Karl teases, throwing an easy smile their way.

He still feels clammy and a little nauseous. His toes have started going a little numb from the too-small ice skates. Neither Tubbo nor Ranboo bring up his panic from moments ago.

"I'm not a fucking child, I'm doing big man shit," He says, voice deceptively steady. He feels out of breath for some reason.

... Nobody's commenting on the backpack clutched in his hands. 

"You're younger than Sapnap, right?" Karl asks.

"That doesn't matter. I'll be a legal adult in like, a year, anyway."

"You're not seventeen. I haven't missed your birthday, have I?" Sapnap asks all worried-like.

"... Well, I'm almost seventeen."

"Yeah, when?" Magpie asks, butting in.

"Soon..."

"In... April, if I remember correctly," Sapnap muses.

Wilbur giggles, "So in half a year, child."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch."

"I didn't realize Red Thunder cursed so much," Tubbo says suddenly. 

That's weird- being referred to by his alias while completely out of uniform, but it’s less weird than having The Angel casually call him Tommy. That was all sorts of uncanny since he didn't even tell the man his name.

It’s mostly just weird because Tubbo is a civilian. The HA was very strict about what happens if your identity got revealed to a civilian. The rules didn’t apply the same to villains, because that was your own death sentence or some weird behind-the-scenes fuckery. Villains and heroes worked closer than the HA would have people believe, proven by the fact Sapnap was familiar with the Syndicate even before the fall.

"I legally couldn't swear, it was bad for PR and The Dream Team was advertised as PG-13. Can swear as much as I want to now, bitch." 

“It caught me off guard, too," Magpie swoops into the conversation, "The top heroes were always marketed as family-friendly despite the, y’know, extreme violence. But Red is truly feral. Like a raccoon. A raccoon that swears like a sailor.”

The man is immediately making a nuisance of himself. Tommy looks forward, refusing to make eye contact with him.

"I'm nothing like a raccoon, I'd be like a bear. Or a tiger- or a moose! I’d fuck your shit up!" He’s watched enough weird nature videos recommended in his YouTube explore feed to know moose are the true menaces of nature. If he ever moved north to somewhere like Canada, it’d be important to know to avoid them.

"Wait- you two have talked before? When?” Sapnap asks, eyebrows scrunching up.

"Oh uh- y'know, here and there. Patrols and shit," He shrugs. He never realized how out of the loop Sapnap was. 

It was almost a year ago now that The Angel had gone on his weird campaign trying to recruit Red Thunder. Less recruit and more just- just him being weird. The Angel was weird. Tommy wouldn’t say he was successfully recruited, but. Other events would prove otherwise. He’s here, chatting with ex-Syndicate members and not the heroes. 

"So you've two are like… acquaintances?" Sapnap asks.

Magpie grins, "Tommy and I are besties, actually. We used to braid each other's hair while complaining about workplace inequality and-”

"Oh- shut the fuck up, that’s not true, he's lying, he's a liar,” Tommy shouts. 

"We're not just besties now- we're family," Magpie sets a hand on his shoulder which Tommy immediately swats away.

"No- no, no, no that is simply not true. You are lying to the masses,” He shakes his head. 

The Angel simply signed on as a legal guardian so Tommy would stop running into legal bullshit, it’s barely even anything. The Angel surely doesn’t expect Tommy to be like a son, much less a- a- a brother. That’s just. Ew. 

“Paperwork doesn’t lie,” Magpie sings. Tommy flips him off. 

“Y'know, when I asked Phil for help, I thought more along the lines of blackmailing Tommy's landlord and not, y’know, adoption, ” Sapnap says drily. 

Magpie cackles, “It’s all on you for putting a poor orphan child in front of him and going, ‘Oh look! he doesn’t have any parents! Look how helpless he is!’ when he has a record of taking in kids.” 

“Phil tried taking in Niki, too, but then she went off on her own. She’s still basically a Watson in Phil’s eyes. Man likes his strays,” Ranboo adds. 

“I’m not a fucking stray- but you're right, he also blackmailed my landlord," He says.

"Ah. Great. I see... well c'mon, it's getting late and you need to return your skates," Sapnap pulls him away from the group.

"Okay, Big S.” 

After pulling away from the mayhem of the crowd, he’s hit with a sudden exhaustion. From the skating or just having to exist in front of other people or because of his panicking earlier- he's not sure. He knows his skin feels all buzzy like he ate a ton of bees and maybe he’s a little too clammy for being in a freezing concrete box for the past few hours.

There are many sets of voices saying their goodbyes, but he lets the noise fade into static behind him.

The group finally makes their way out of the building, leaving the giant concrete mass behind them. The wind is warm on his cheeks and the sun is setting. With how eager he’s been to leave the whole time, it’s felt like days have passed instead of just a couple of hours. Being outside again is nice. He listens closely to the quiet sounds of cars driving and birds chirping.

"Hey, take this," Magpie shouts, breaking him out of his reverie. Something is flung at him that he snatches from the air, "it's like you." 

It’s, uh, it’s weird talking to Magpie like things are normal. Sure, he’s not going to be the first one to mention what happened on Doomsday, but it’s still weird. He considered Magpie an enemy for a long time, and then he mostly considered him a nuisance. Now they’re just people. Today was kind of like meeting each other all for real, with no masks or costumes or hero-villain politics behind them. Technically, their introductions were long before this point, but now he’s been introduced to Wilbur Soot, not just Magpie. He’s annoying, sure, but he isn’t that bad. 

He looks down from the man's smug face, down to what was tossed at him. It’s a keychain of a raccoon.

"Hey, what the fuck is this supposed to mean-!"

————————————

There are blisters on the soles of his feet and a ringing in his ears. Tommy never wants to go ice skating again.

His ankles are sore, toes pinched from the skates that didn't fit him quite right. He's freezing despite the layers he wore, nose and fingers still tinged pink. Even his ears hurt from the cold. A headache lingers behind his eyes. There had been so much light, from the fluorescence to the arcade games. Blinding white and blinking colors.

He's not used to talking for so long with so many people, in a public area so full of light and noise. It had been too much for him, in the end. Not that he'd tell anyone that, he's just- just overwhelmed. But that's not going to be a regular thing, it was just to appease Sapnap. He feels ready to sleep straight through the weekend, like a cutscene straight to him showing up on Monday for work. 

Tommy collapses into his bed, feeling something press into his side. He pats at his pocket, pulling out the gift from Magpie.

Oh yeah. That.

It's just a stupid keychain with a cartoon raccoon on it. Magpie only gave it to him because he thinks Tommy is a feral child. It was a joke gift, cheap plastic that cost maybe a pound. An insult to his character, really.

And the mere thought of tossing it out made his chest constrict. 

He's never gotten a gift like it before. Dream believed in solely practical presents, as rare as it was. It was always stuff like a new pair of sneakers after his old pair got worn and too tight a fit. Any knickknacks and unnecessary items were trashed.

Attachments were dangerous. What you hold precious will be used against you.

The dark, beady eyes of the raccoon stare back at him. 

He decides to throw it in the drawer of his bedside table to hopefully forget all about it. Tommy glances at the bright yellow backpack he flung onto the ground. 

When he had won the claw crane, he'd felt so proud of himself. Now he feels a little silly, getting so worked up over something so childish. He'd made so much of a scene he'd ended up stealing Ranboo's backpack and- and Tubbo had said "the next time they saw each other" like they simply would. As if Tommy doesn't have better things to do. As if Tommy probably made a shit first impression. 

It didn't matter too much, it's not like he needs them to like him. But he probably needs to return the backpack. He's not a complete jerk. 

But he leans over and pulls the plushie out, unsure of what to do. He knows what Dream would say. "Toss it out, you're too old for something like that. Why become attached to something so easy to destroy?"

He likes it. He... really likes it. Despite all his worries, he leans back in bed and holds it close to his chest. 

"You'd make a pretty good Henry," He whispers, and he knows he's fucked. He's gone and named it now. 

He'll- he can throw Henry out any time after tonight. He's just too lazy to get up from bed. He'll find some other time- because Dream was and is right. He's too old for kid's toys and unnecessary things filling up his space. 

He'll get rid of the toy tomorrow. Just not tonight. Tonight, he can be a little greedy. 

Henry's presence still sits heavy in his mind, and he doesn't get a wink of sleep despite his exhaustion.

————————————

His work as a hero was supposed to be an admirable thing. But it was all a sham. The records said he was older than he was and that he was normal. His old supervisor told him his ratings would tank if the public knew the truth. 

“The Angel- Samael notoriously never breached the top ten because he was a hybrid. And with him going rogue and Protesilaus wreaking mayhem, there’s a going to be bad rep on hybrids for years to come.”

His first real battle as a hero was a week after his twelfth birthday. 

All of his missions beforehand had been stealth, infiltration, and hidden. His growth spurt had hit early, and he was tall enough to pass as an adult. They gave him boots with thick soles that made it harder to walk and a basic uniform that didn’t fit right. The shoulders were made for someone with a wider frame, and he had to tighten a belt around the baggy pants, like a child in their parent's clothes. 

It was just against a minor villain. The woman could conjure spikes. She nearly skewered him next to a grocery store. 

It was grueling, breaking bones, bleeding out, and having a healer fix it right up and being told to go right back out into the field. It's unforgiving work, being televised like a celebrity while almost dying every day. 

Other twelve-year-olds were in year eight, losing the last of their baby teeth and learning about fractions and exponents. 

He was not a child, though. He was a weapon. And there was no sympathy to have for a weapon. The teachers and agents at the HA had supervised him strictly for years, and Tommy only got away from them because of Dream.

Daydream was a prodigy. When his flashy debut fight went viral, he blew up overnight. 

Then he had seen Tommy- and then saw something more in him. 

Tommy admired the man immediately. He was a real hero amongst pretenders, he was going to save Tommy.

Things grew, overtime. They trained together, worked together, and lived together. It wasn't easy. Dream was firm with his lessons. 

He said Tommy should feel an obligation to help people when he had a power like his. He could save lives and it would be selfish if he refused to be a hero. 

He said Tommy was a monster who hurt people, and no one else would deal with him but Dream. 

Tommy was volatile, and that’s why nobody has ever liked him. He needed to learn how to listen to authority and learn manners. Because he was deemed too dangerous to society. 

With Dream’s help, he could stay free and prove them wrong. If he worked for it.

“You’re crying? There are thousands of kids who cry and can’t do a thing. They’re weak, or powerless, or discriminated against. We’re going to make a world where children don’t have to cry anymore. You’ve been gifted a chance to do that. So, stop crying and work harder.”

Dream had always just been trying to make him better. Tommy was destined to rot in Pandora or die as nothing more than cannon fodder for the HA, but Dream saw something in him no one else did. Something that made him worthy, more than just a monster.

Dream was his mentor and then his teammate. Most of Tommy’s teachers and trainers were downright brutal with him, but where they were uncaring, Dream put more effort. He prepared icepacks for after training sessions, offered him advice on how to synchronize his power and fighting style, and reviewed their missions together to see how they could work more efficiently. 

He almost thought they were bonding. He was twelve and still looking for a savior (-or a family.)

Tommy learned fast that Dream was downright allergic to forming attachments. He learned there is no such thing as friends or family in this business.

Dream and Tommy may have worked closely together, but his mentor was not someone to confide in. He was the best Tommy ever had, though, and so he found happiness in their dynamic. Before, it had been ghosts of classmates, and before that, it was foster parents that starved him. As a dog of the HA, he knew he was never going to get a loving family or make tons of friends to hang out with. He had to be happy when Dream gave him small amounts of affection. Like when he bought a whole cake for New Year, and they both ate so much of it they got sick. 

It was the best he ever had, the best he thought he was ever going to get. 

404 and Blaze sometimes hung out with them or did missions with them, but the HA had them on very different work hours and locations. Having a bunch of powerful people in one place is a scary thing, after all. 

Dream and Tommy lived in the same apartment. A hero’s paycheck could've paid for a high-rise suite in the center of town and still have enough to dine on expensive alcohol and caviar or whatever the fuck rich people ate. 

But it had been a simple place with white walls. Dream kept promising to fix their busted showerhead but always forgot about it. 

(It was still broken when Dream got arrested. Tommy doesn't even live there anymore, but its incompleteness sits heavy in his chest.) 

Their apartment was the first place since he was nine that wasn’t supervised twenty-four-seven. Of course, there were rules, but Dream trusted him. After the wonder wore off, it became clear neither of them was fit for living alone. 

“You can put… too much soap in a dishwasher?” Dream had lamented as the two had to clean up the bubbles spilling all over their floor. 

It was mostly fun. One time Dream accidentally put his phone in the freezer while spending a moment trying to check the frozen peas for the latest news. 

It was less funny when Dream was pissed. Usually about the Syndicate. Usually about Protesilaus.

“If they really wanted to change things, then they’d become heroes like the rest of us,” Dream ranted. 

They both know very well Tommy didn’t choose it, but he kept quiet. Speaking out against the man always made him more pissed off. 

“In the end, they’re just creating more chaos and trying to achieve their own vision of how things should be. If they didn’t have strong members like Samael or Protesilaus, they’d crumble. They will crumble. They don’t understand the burden real heroes have, the weight we bear so civilians can go on happily living their lives.”

It's not fair. 

He learned not to ponder about it too much. Thinking about it too hard made things make no sense. Objectively, he knew it must be wrong. All of it was wrong. Dream’s weird double standards for heroes, villains, and Tommy himself. Dream lied to him- or, he thinks he did. It's hard to differentiate what was actually the truth, what Dream twisted into the truth, and what never even happened. It's hard to tell which things were the lies, but Dream did lie to him. If he wasn't just overreacting.

He’s just one kid, and the system had existed for centuries before him, so how could it ever change?

The Syndicate made it their goal, though. 

They were called villains, like the people they were killing weren't a bunch of corrupt, rich bastards who continued the cycle. They did what they did because you can’t arrest people who control the police and justice system. 

Most disagreed with The Syndicate's drastic methods, but Tommy couldn't be bothered to condemn them. He couldn't feel compelled to say that "there were systems that are meant to be followed" when the Syndicate made a bloody message of one of his old trainers. The fucker had found delight in snapping the fragile bones of children and his corpse had been a ragdoll of fractures.

They dug up all the filth and flung it out, showing people the heroes they worship aren’t gods, that they didn't even do good most of the time. Controversial studies were released about the number of damage heroes created; how most of the villains they fought were created by the hero industry and were usually poorly dealt with. 

Stories are told.

Like the kid whose power went out of control on manifestation, and was killed by a hero who assumed it was another villain attack. The school was shut down and had everyone sign NDAs. Any mentions of it on social media lead to the account getting suspended. 

A hybrid walking at night, taken in and imprisoned because she was the assumed robber of a bank heist that happened nearby, locked up for a decade before being proven innocent. 

A hero’s power going out of control and bringing down an avalanche that swallowed a whole town, swept under the rug as a natural disaster, their name not connected to it at all. 

The business titans who drink champagne worth thousands of pounds and also fund illegal fighting pits and the slave trade.

There's the story Tommy wants to scream to the world and simultaneously hold close as a secret, the dissonance keeping him quiet.

A child with a volatile power used by the system. A child who waited to be saved and realized nobody was coming. 

The Syndicate, to Tommy, were heroes. Even if he didn't think they could change anything. Not permanently. What is one villain group to a whole societal complex?

But he felt seen, in an indirect way. Nobody except those in the HA inner circle knew about the child soldiers, and the blackmailing, and the choices some heroes were given. The Vault, or shackles. And pointing out the HA’s flaws to the public made him feel seen for the first time. 

(Because- Dream knew. He didn't even think it was right, to use people like that. To use children wronged by the system to add fodder to the HA’s ranks. He said Tommy should have been able to have a normal childhood. But he also said he was just one man trying to do his best. He could help Tommy now, but no one else would. No one else could care about him as much as Dream did.)

He did his job, did what he was told along with his coworkers. He'd seen all of them almost die at least a handful of times and could write a whole essay on how their powers worked, recite all their names- but they were all strangers. There were a lot of rules, a lot of lines that couldn't be crossed. If a group of heroes ever rebelled against the HA, it’d be catastrophic. 

He continued to be mostly unseen. Unknown. Unheard. 

And then Magpie found joy in annoying him, even if they were supposed to be enemies. And Tommy should have run. But he didn't hate The Angel, and he didn't hate The Syndicate as Dream did. No even Protesilaus, who was the scourge of the HA. The villain had never looked down on Tommy, never through him. Somewhere buried beneath all their differences, there was a semblance between them. They were both too dangerous to live as normal civilians.

And Tommy had a few conversations with Magpie. They were hardly friends, but they talked. Mostly bickered, really.

But trust? Trust is a dangerous thing and should only be given to a select few you know won't betray you. Trust is a folly in the world of heroes and villains where allegiances change all the time. It was a shock when Las Nevadas welcomed Protesilaus after he tore open Quackity's face. Nixie took her chance of freedom and she ran from the HA straight to the villains. Blaze had worked with The Syndicate behind Daydream's back. 

Tommy didn't trust anyone, except maybe Dream. 

He misses Dream, but he doesn't know if he can tell anyone that without being horribly judged. 

————————————

Tommy was nine when he was sent to his last foster home. He doesn’t remember enough about his bio parents to hold any resentment for them, but he hated every patronizing adult in his childhood. Either they assumed he was too young to be affected by their deaths, or they believed he was a poor kid broken by grief and needed to be babied. He told them all to fuck off, and that pissed them off. He wasn't grieving in the ways they wanted.

 They called him volatile. A flight risk. Hostile. Foul-mouthed. 

Unlovable. 

Most of the foster homes weren’t even that bad. Most of the time, he was just ignored. He spent hours in his assigned room scrolling on his phone or wandering outside going to the park, or walking through the forest. Those kinds of houses tend to forget to feed him, though, and foster parents get weird when you “stole from their fridge.” There were the strict ones, which sucked ass. He’s never been one for backing down, so he butted heads with any adult that tried telling him he needs to be home by five o’clock and needed to report what he did during the day and show them all the grades he got on his assignments. 

He’d been in homes where he’d been slapped, or pushed around, or grabbed so tightly it bruised, and he’d been in homes that had terrified him. His last house had been shitty, dingy and his foster parent barely acknowledged his existence.

Then they got into a fight, where the old man argued he did so much work, so much to provide for Tommy, giving him food, buying him clothes, driving him to school- things he insisted Tommy should be more grateful for. Tommy said bullshit, those are basic necessities and he's a shit guardian.

The fight escalated and he assumed at worst he'd get hit.

But then-

But this fucker pulled a knife on him because Tommy kept talking back, and he didn’t want to die. 

It wasn't anything more complicated than the primal survival instinct in his head.

Powers come in most commonly between ages five and ten. There are cases of being born with them or those who are late bloomers. Tommy was nine and hadn’t had time in his life to worry about powers, but he felt a burning energy buzzing under his skin and he didn't want to die.

Electricity flooded out, and it killed his foster parent on contact. It also sent most of the city into a blackout. 

He was nine and unsure of what to do. 

He spent a good hour just paralyzed in the corner, curled up and crying in the dark. His veins burned and the air smelled acrid. When he grabbed the phone to call emergency services, nobody picked up. He called the HA hotline next, and nobody answered. 

All hotlines were out. Everyone was panicking, the entire city was plunged into darkness. 

Tommy could’ve run. But the sun was already setting, and he was paralyzed by terror. The corpse scared him, and it was burnt and rotting in the heat. The building was like an oven with a growing inferno. Sweat rolled down his neck as he sat still in the corner. 

For as much as he’s called a problem kid and flight risk, he’s never run away from a house, and he didn't know if he'd be arrested. That'd ruin his record, prevent any other family from ever looking at him again.

The city-wide blackout wasn’t something he’d been aware of then, maybe he would’ve tried running if he knew. He reasoned, back then, if he pointed out the knife he’d be understood. If they listened to him, they'd understand he was terrified for his life. It was self-defense.

In the end, he didn’t know what to do, and when the HA agents kicked down the door he was still curled up in the corner.

This is where everything first went wrong. Tommy used to wonder what could’ve happened if he just shut up that day. Let the fucker run his mouth at Tommy and maybe be sent to get locked in his room. Maybe he would’ve just punched him, instead of trying to stab him. 

Maybe Tommy just somehow attracts people who want to care for him and kill him in the same breath. With hands as soft as knives and promises like dandelions. Fleeting.

But maybe that house was always going to be a grave for one of them. He doesn’t know how long they could have gone if the man was so willing to pull a knife out on a kid. But maybe he would’ve just been sent to another home. Maybe it could’ve been a nice house where they respected his boundaries and didn’t force him into being someone he wasn’t. Maybe he could’ve had a kinder introduction to his powers. An accidental shock while playing tag, or charging his phone without plugging it in. Maybe even something badass like setting off a bolt of lightning and not a fucking blackout. 

There are so many maybe’s and what-ifs he can ask. But none of that happened. 

His power is a weapon, he is a monster, and the HA agents kick down his door and give him a choice that was never a choice. 

Even children know Pandora’s Vault is hell. 

——————————— 

Tommy is used to having an extremely messed-up sleep schedule, built around intermittent napping during the day and working all night long. 

Now, he goes to bed in the evening and wakes up around sunrise. The same routine, every day. 

(Besides the days where he can't fall asleep at all. They are more common than what is probably healthy, but he feels fine, so it's not a big deal. It's not.) 

He’s a new person when he’s not exhausted every day. Any breaks he had in the past were spent sleeping in or, more painfully, spent doing intensive training with Dream. 

Not-exhausted Tommy wakes up early in the morning and doesn't crash after lunchtime. He feels better, physically. That's just in part with the new calm his life has become, but he isn't sore and he has a larger appetite. He has the energy to do things. Like, go out. Maybe socialize. 

Or- or stay inside and do his knitting.

The sound of the TV playing in the background doesn't lull him to sleep as it used to, but buzzes pleasantly as his hands continue to thread one knot over the next. He's getting decent at this whole knitting thing. It used to be a thing of necessity, ripped seams or torn clothes after a fight, so it's familiar. But now he makes different things. He's still starting small and simple, but it feels good to be getting better. 

Red Thunder lived an exciting life of villain confrontations, HA politics, and dancing the line with the Syndicate. Every minute of every hour was full of anxiety- but also adventure. The constant exhaustion he felt then is clearer now that he is actually sleeping a little. 

He doesn't know how he managed it, all he was running off of was fumes and the fact he had to keep going. There were no options to stop. 

Under the hero, beneath all that, is the kid he was from seven years ago. Tommy, a child, still being sent to various foster homes and still grieving two parents he didn't have enough time to get to know. 

'Tommy' is a corpse that has crawled out of the morgue nearly a decade late. It's been too long since he's just been one person, just a civilian. 

Sometimes he thinks his life stopped at the blackout. Maybe he never found the light again, the power never came back on. Nobody broke down the doors and dragged him away. He is still there, newly came into his powers. There he is still a child, unaware of how horrible the world can be. He has no idea how much worse it can get. 

There, he just marvels at the new sensation of electricity buzzing under his skin. He is wide-eyed, sat paralyzed on the cold tile, cheeks flushed from the summer heat and the rush of adrenaline. 

There’s still that nine-year-old somewhere inside of him. A kid who never got to grow up. Maybe that's who he is now, a child in an ill-fitted suit of a body. A kid who didn't grow up, or- or he did, but he did it wrong. He grew up on violence and now there is no fighting. Like a gun manufactured right before the war ended.

Red Thunder is a hurt kid in his own right. He is a phantom, someone who will always linger and haunt him; he's a child that grew up with the HA. Who grew up with training regimens and cruel adults overlooking his every action. For the past seven years, he's been Red Thunder, the weapon, and now that person is retired.

He's- 

A child waiting for something that is never coming.

He's-

A hero. A kid with the ability to summon an electrical storm powerful enough to devastate the city once more. And- and everybody just trusts that he won't. 

He's-

Some who was raised in blood. Twisted, fragmented parts- none of which really know what to do now, with all the freedom in the world. 

He thinks of a secluded cabin in Canada. That was once the definition of freedom. Running so far away he could never be found again. Now it's just him, standing alone in his own apartment. 

He's-

Confused. There's the way he's been trained to view himself for so long, there's the twisted lens Dream viewed him through, and there's the stranger he sees in the mirror every morning. 

He's-

Possessive, grasping at things that don't belong to him. He had tried tossing out Henry, really. But he didn't have Dream to talk him into him, knock some sense into him and so he hesitated. Technically, Henry had been won with Ranboo's money so maybe he should just return him with the backpack? So, he should just hold onto him. 

He's-

Uncertain. 

Lost.

At least civilians were safe when Dream was there to look over him. 

——————————— 

Protesilaus scared most people he faced. Not just because his power specifically made people terrified, but he was also a near seven-foot-tall absolute tank of piglin hybrid. He didn't need a power to fuck up your day, it was just the fun bonus on top of it all. 

"You need to break Magpie out."

He spoke with little intonation. It wasn't a request, but a demand and a demand he expected to be fulfilled. 

Tommy didn't have to, no matter how much the villain tried to threaten him. It'd be a little counter-intuitive to murder the guy you want to help you. 

It wasn't like he owed a debt to The Syndicate, and surely not to Magpie. Magpie owed him, really, if you thought about it. Because he should have just ignored what Tommy told him that night on the roof and not spilled his secrets. 

(There is a child who is ignored, unseen, unheard who disagrees, but he is not nine anymore. He is not so naive and hopeful for happy endings.)

And it really bit Magpie back, because the information leak had led to Monarch betraying the Syndicate, leading to Magpie's arrest. He dug his own grave, really.

It was a huge success for the HA since a member of The Syndicate had never been taken in. They'd interrogate him, turn to any methods to get answers out of him. Then they'd kill him without hesitation because he was a supervillain. The HA wouldn't even hide it, they'd tell the public that there is no redemption for menaces like Magpie and there'd be celebrations in the streets. Monarch would be revered as someone who chose the right side of history: The HA.

Prime, why was Magpie the dumbass that had to be captured?

He sighed at Protesilaus, "Be ready to grab him. It'll be easier if you get The Angel to fly him out, so I'll bring him to the roof. No one else will be there."

Tommy knew what he was doing. From when he snagged the keys from a guard, to when he made an anonymous call about a disturbance in the lobby. He had slipped on his mask and snuck past the remaining guards to Magpie's cell. 

He was aiding the Syndicate, something he never imagined doing. (Maybe he thought about it just a little, but Tommy was a coward. He didn't think he'd help them so purposefully with his head on the line.)

He opened the cell door, and Magpie was already beaten up. Bright crimson blood ran from under his mask down his neck, a fresh wound. 

"R-Red?" The usually silver-tongued man slurred. 

"I'm gonna get you out, Big Man," he assured, moving to unlock the villain's chains. 

They drugged the guy with something that made him shaky on his feet, and he leaned heavily onto Tommy. His power didn't work if he couldn't speak clearly. It just would've been too easy for Tommy to have him just be able to mind control anyone they came across. 

But they had snuck out of the row of cells, past the desks of guards, and painstakingly made their way up the stairs.

Tommy had almost gotten completely away with it. 

The roof of the HA's central headquarters was high above any other building in L'Manberg. It made it stick out in the skyline, like a titan. The wind was vicious, but Magpie had become more steady on his feet and trailed behind Tommy as they walked across the concrete of the roof. 

"The Angel will be here soon!" He shouted over the whirl of wind, the villain nodding along. 

Maybe if he'd been of sound mind, the villain would've cast doubt on him. Why would The Angel come here, how did he know that- but he'd been given a heavy trust. 

Magpie trusted him.

The metal door clanged open again.

"What the fuck are you doing, Red?" Sapnap- Blaze had roared. 

He had almost gotten completely away with it. The Angel flew past, securing Magpie in his arms and leaving just as fast. In a moment he was left alone with Blaze.

And he'd been pissed. 

He dragged Tommy to an empty meeting room and demanded answers. 

"You've let loose a supervillain, kid. And don't just give me the bullshit that he used his power on you, you're smarter than that."

His tongue had turned to lead, but he was too calm for the situation he was in. 

He didn't want the Syndicate's trust, or debt, or allyship. They made him feel seen, and he wanted them to be the heroes to save him, but Tommy doesn't get heroes. He doesn't get saved and happily ever after. He gets up after being pushed down, and he continues the routine. 

But he admires The Angel, and he marvels at Protesilaus's strength, and he had confided in Magpie and been heard.

Maybe they were the enemy, and maybe they'd never win against the HA, but- 

He's starting to think Dream is infallible. At least Dream can fall. 

"I fucked up, okay? I'll explain later, but please, please, just don't tell anyone right now. I'll come clean to the HA myself." He wasn't even lying. He knew he wouldn't get away with letting a criminal of the likes of Magpie go. The cameras and personnel logs would eventually pin him on the scene of the crime.

"This isn't something small, this is- is the Syndicate!"

"And I promise to 'fess up to this. Just don't tell anyone. Let me do it."

He stared Sapnap in his blazing eyes and saw them give in. "You're going to have to take responsibility for what Magpie does."

"I will. I will," he promised. 

And maybe Sapnap hadn't lied either. Maybe telling Dream didn't equate the same as telling the HA higher-ups what Tommy did. Because Dream was good, and he would never hurt Tommy, and surely it'd be okay to at least tell him. 

Maybe Sapnap had been a liar. Maybe he always planned to tell Dream. Maybe that's why he's consumed by a guilt Tommy can't understand.

Tommy doesn't know what the real truth is. It feels like too much effort to uncover it. 

——————————— 

His phone dings while he's trying to boil pasta and his jolt of surprise spills boiling water all over the counter. 

"Fuck- fuck!" 

For a moment he just wants to let the mess lay. It's just water, what's the worst it could do? 

His brain provides all the times Nixie tore down walls with the force of water, dumping boiling water onto criminals until they cooked alive. Couldn't even scream, couldn't do more than gargle around the water. 

... And, y'know, he doesn't really want to worry about water damage in his new apartment.

Tommy hastily throws a towel to soak up the mess and pulls out his phone to see what had ruined his breakfast.

It's just... Sapnap checking in on him. It's not like he has a plethora of people texting him, he shouldn't be surprised. The only other people who message him are Nixie, his boss, and The Angel, who's already dropped by once to fill his apartment with unnecessary things and has plans to do so again. Who needs a dehumidifier? Like really? Tommy was fine without a dehumidifier. 

He sighs, reading over Sapnap's texts.

Blaze

hey, u good? 

did wilbur bother u too much at the ice rink?

Red 

it was all pogg bidg man 

Texting always feels different than just calling Sapnap. Their contacts are still set from a different age. From a time of heroes, and era past but still so close to the present. If he scrolls far back enough, there are messages about info shared in HA meetings or questions about what time a mission was. Official hero things. 

Blaze

i can make sure he isn't there the next time we all hang out, rlly 

if ur uncertain

Red

im not nsoem pussy

its not a big dael 

and idk if im gonan go again

Blaze

aww dont say that

it won't be ice skating next time promise

itll be fun 

Red

ill thinka obut it

Magpie... is in this weird grey area of being someone he knows well and being a complete stranger. They chatted enough before so that Tommy is aware of things he dislikes, things he likes. He's prone to dramatic monologuing and is sometimes such a stereotypical villain; The evil laughs and ridiculous schemes he's plot out. Tommy would always argue he shouldn't reveal his plans to a hero, but was always shrugged off.

He doesn't hate the guy, like Sapnap seems to believe. He doesn't trust him, like the ex-villain himself seems to believe. They aren't friends. It'd be untrue to say he wasn't unnerved by the guy- but it isn't because of Doomsday. He'd rather just forget all about Doomsday. 

No, Tommy had admitted to the villain late one night secrets he hadn't told anyone, and not even a day later the Syndicate had released info condemning Daydream. 

-Well, it was about a lot of heroes, but the spotlight had been turned on the number one in a way that had been purposeful in a way he couldn't ignore.

He was still kind of angry about it. None of his secrets had been shared with the media, but it was clear it was some sort of reaction from Magpie done through the Syndicate. He hadn't thought his midnight rant to the villain would have such repercussions. 

It's- it's not like he trusted Magpie, but he had wanted someone to know. Someone that wasn't Dream's friend, or their coworker. Not a hero- heroes wouldn't care or wouldn't believe him. Nobody wanted to hear that Daydream wasn't anything less than perfect. Less than what he seemed.

Sometimes, Dream even seemed guilty. 

He'd apologize, heartbroken and desperate, making promises about how he'd do better. He spouted excuses, like he 'just got so irritated' or that he was 'so frustrated at the world' or that 'he had so much work to do and was under so much stress.' And then he would promise he'd do better by Tommy. He'd help him, he'd never hurt him again. Never yell at him again. Never lie again.

But Dream was shit at keeping promises.

Maybe Magpie is like Sapnap. Maybe he just feels guilty that Dream killed him over helping the villain. 

... he's so sick of other people's pity. 

Chapter Text

Red Thunder, besides being Daydream's sidekick, was someone who helped a lot with civilian rescue, stealth missions, and intel gathering- and he had his fair share of solo villain takedowns. He didn't interact with villains a lot, though.

So he never expected to have his first real conversation with The Angel to be when he was patrolling alone. 

(When he was younger, he imagined meeting The Angel and getting him to sign something, maybe get a photo with him. He was- embarrassingly- a bit of a fanboy and had his merch.

Then they stood at two different spots in a war between heroes and villains. 

...Tommy would have kept his Angel merch if it were up to him, but Dream had thrown it out. No attachments, he said.)

It wasn't what he expected, meeting a supervillain, as it was a slow night of patrolling when the villain too-casually swooped down next to him like they were old buddies. 

"Hello, Red Thunder," he grinned too easily.

"...Angel. Samael." 

He expected a fight. The big, scary leader of the Syndicate would surely have a bone to pick with the number one's sidekick, caught out alone and off-guard. Dream wasn't quiet about his distaste for the anarchy group.

But instead, The Angel had folded back his wings, stood with palms open, and threw Tommy his first-ever lifeline.

“Do you need help?” He asked, his face mostly obscured, but concern pulling at his mouth.

It sounded so simple. 

It sounded heroic, and not in the grandiose, performative way of the HA heroes, but heroic in the way heroes should be. Tommy himself had asked hundreds of people in his life if they needed help. 

He’s never held his breath that someone would help him. Ask him if he needed help. The people he was closest to would let him die if it was necessary for a mission. But Tommy doesn’t die easily. He survived sixteen years, after all. 

The Angel was also just. Incredibly short. Like, just so much shorter than him. He had never realized it until they were standing face to face.

Without the added size he gained from his wings being flared out, he looked like a man. Un-intimidating and so very unlike the villain who had done his fair share of damage to other heroes. 

He should've tried to run or tried to arrest The Angel- which would definitely not go well- but he stayed still. 

“Why?” He asked instead. 

Of course he needed help. He’s pleaded, screamed for it when he was smaller. Weaker. Newer to the unfair world he’s now used to. 

Nobody comes. 

“I want to help you... you look like you need it.” 

It would've been bitter if it weren't true. Red Thunder is far from helpless, but Tommy's just a kid.

It just didn't make sense. He knows the rules of the game- altruism doesn’t exist, and it is important to obtain favors and alleviate your debts. Hoard the queens and send out the pawns. 

The Angel didn't benefit from helping someone like him. 

He didn't know what The Syndicate could gain by trying to take down the HA. Tommy didn't understand the intricate game played between heroes and villains, he always did his work with his head down and unquestioning. The Syndicate members were going to end up with life sentences in Pandora- or executed. 

Maybe they wanted to become the overlords of a ruined city? But they could do that without taking down the HA. It'd be easier with the HA around. Other crime bosses and villain groups had made similar deals in the past with the HA. They and the police took bribes, as a continuous stream of villains was like free publicity for heroes.

(He’s certain the HA had tried negotiating a contract with The Syndicate in the past; Back when it was unclear what their goal was besides opposing the heroes. Then they realized they were more than just villains, they were revolutionaries. They sought to undo such corruption.) 

The Syndicate was controversial, and not just the hot topic of variety magazines, housewives, and bored teens. No, they were taking the nation by storm.

So what could The Angel want with Tommy?

“I don’t need help from anyone. I’m fine.” It's an acidic lie, and underneath it is a bleeding heart, a screaming torrent of yes yes please yes please please I’ve been screaming my whole life I need help

I don’t want to hurt anymore.

“The Syndicate could use an ally like you... I know you’re a good person, Red Thunder.”

The HA had made a huge announcement saying Nixie was brainwashed by Magpie to defect. They said that even if Nemesis used to be a beloved hero, the orders were to attack her on sight. 

Tommy knew better. She had escaped. She had been resentful, exhausted to the bone, and ready to burn the whole complex to the ground. 

He was too scared to run. 

Tommy’s always known Nixie was a doer, a fighter. He’s glad she broke free. She knew what she was fighting for, what she wanted back. Tommy simply didn't know anything else, and he’s always been a coward in the face of fact that the thought of something new- even if it was better- scared him. Change made him panic and meeting new people stressed him out. 

And as much as he admired the Syndicate, he didn't believe they were fighting a battle they could win. He couldn't see how Dream and the HA could ever fall. 

Tactically, he wasn't even an advantageous piece to have! It’s mostly his power that made him a good soldier, a good rook. But even if they’re mobile pieces, it’s hard to move them forward without first moving the other pieces blocking them. Tommy was always going to follow Dream's lead. He was always going to be trapped by the HA's rules.

Nemesis knew most of what he knew, the Syndicate had to be aware of that. He knew Dream better than most but he'd never known Dream as Blaze and 404 did- those three were friends. Actual friends. The HA had made it a challenge, always sending them off to different places. Where Blaze was sent off to deal with a fire, 404 off to Pandora to try and quell an inmate, and Tommy and Dream were always dead asleep during the day. 

He knew Dream’s mannerisms and hours and habits. He knew Dream was competitive to a fault. He knew his face. He knew his eyes were green. 

Dream, compared to other heroes, was near paranoid about showing his face, and he wasn't sure if 404 was joking when he said he still didn't know what Dream looked like. 

Tommy hated the HA, but he didn't know if he could betray Dream for the Syndicate. Dream was his savior.

Dream was watching him. Dream was there to watch him. He was never his friend. Dream lied to him. Dream cared about him. Dream could go fuck off. Dream will help. Dream will fix everything. Dream will understand. Dream, please don't. Dream, stop, you're going to kil-

His first encounter with The Angel would hardly be his last. They were mostly just one-sided conversations. But if Tommy was with another hero, or if another hero showed up, it usually ended in a fight. 

Sometimes Tommy told him to fuck off, and he did. The Angel listened. 

Magpie was a different story. He was annoying and he liked annoying Tommy. Magpie liked his mind games, is all. 

The Syndicate had assumed it was all cool to bother Red Thunder, since he didn't mind The Angel. It was a pain. If he caught The Warden trying to smuggle weapons, he'd report it and try to stop him. He wouldn't call it out if he spotted Nixie slinking around the shadow of L'manberg, but he would intervene if he saw her causing any trouble. It's not like he was an ally, or that he helped the Syndicate. It was dumb, actually, since it would have been so easy for him to set a trap or trick one of them. Red Thunder was Daydream's sidekick, the partner to the number one hero. Trusting him could have been catastrophic, if he ever confided to Dream about them. 

Tommy was out of the loop for a lot of things. The secrets he knew were the ones he'd seen firsthand and weren't ones he wanted to tell. He wanted the world to know about the children being trained in the underground of the HA headquarters, but he couldn't bear the weight as the one to tell. 

Logically, he was a bad piece for the Syndicate to try and turn over. He tended to not spill much besides what he'd been up to, fights he got into, small things. 

He knew one, one deadly secret, though. One no one else knew- one he wasn't supposed to know. If the Syndicate ever found out- well, he's not sure what it could change, but it would change something. 

He knew-

(He knew Dream didn't have a power.)

He knew Dream's biggest weakness. And he'd never tell anyone, no, but he knew. It wouldn't change Dream's prowess in a fight or his quick mind, but the media? The news outlets and gossip websites and tabloids- they'd have a field day. There's never been a powerless hero, nonetheless one being in the top ten. Never someone powerless as the number one.

That knowledge would've died with Tommy, if he had only died when Dream wanted him to.

————————————

"Uh," Tommy searches for any words- any words at all- as he stares at The Angel at his front door, "what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just had some things to drop off for you," he says lightly, inviting himself into the apartment while carrying a couple of boxes.

"I thought... your last visit was the last one?" 

The Angel had helped him move his old stuff to his new apartment. Then he'd brought over new things to fill it up- an electric kettle, a couple of bean bags, two hair driers when he forgot he brought one over already, and more. Things Tommy really doesn't need. 

"I know, I know, but I kept seeing things and thinking, 'Oh, Tommy could need this' or 'Tommy would like this' and I just had to come over again."

"What else could I possibly need?" He doesn't feel guilty, no, that'd be dumb. It's just. Weird. How The Angel is putting so much effort into Tommy's apartment. It's not like he's the one who has to live in it. 

The Angel rummages in a box, pulling something out. "Like this!"

He looks on, unimpressed, "It's... a rocket ship?"

"Yes! It's a rocketship lampshade, you can put it on your bedroom lamp to add some color-"

"I'm not some child that needs something that- that ridiculous," he scoffs.

"It's not just for children. I got it for Techno when he was seventeen."

It's a- what, a hand-me-down? From Protesilaus? 

Unwillingly, the image invades his mind of the teenage blood god himself, sleeping in bed with a rocket ship lamp glowing next to him. It's so absurd he can't help but laugh a little. 

"Yeah, I'm good, big man. You really didn't have to come. Or have to give me more junk."

The Angel is decent enough to look sheepish, "I promise this is the last haul of things." 

It's an inconvenience. Tommy isn't one for knickknacks and gadgets and useless stuff. 

(That's a lie, shut up, shut up, shut up-)

His old bedroom was simple, a clinical apartment across town from where they are now. Bare walls, grey bed sheets, and an overhead light that glowed too orange as the only color. 

Attachments are bad. Having things is a weakness. Making a house a home is a liability, because when you inevitably lose it all- 

It was just better to have nothing at all. 

"I don't get why you're doing all of this. You have no debts left to pay me. You and your Syndicate technically did what you promised me- I'm no longer working as a hero."

The Angel pauses, and sets the boxes down, “I said I wanted to help you.”

“And that was different, that was about the HA and…that wasn't...” 

"It was never just about the HA. I want to help you." 

Red Thunder was dangerous. But no matter how much his reputation grew, or how much he showed off his talents, somehow he was always underestimated. 

Maybe it's easy to pale when compared to someone like Daydream, but Tommy's brash personality made him seem immature. When a hero who is supposed to be in his twenties acts like a teen- because he is one- it's unbecoming. There was always some clip surfing around Youtube of Red Thunder's latest slip of the tongue with him cursing or making an inappropriate joke. His PR manager always got them deleted- but he never had a glowing reputation. He was unbecoming, unmanageable- but not small, not pathetic.

No one should look at Red Thunder and think, "Oh yeah, he's weak. Delicate and feeble, he'll need help." 

He grumbles, “... That doesn’t make sense, I was like any other hero. Don’t know why I had to be singled out as helpless.”

“You didn't look helpless. There... there wasn’t a lot of reason put behind it. I’d blame it on my bird brain, even if I didn’t know you were just a chick I think I still picked up on the signs.”

His heart pounds in his chest, “Chick?” He didn’t… know, right? 

There were very few people who actually knew the truth about Tommy, and no proof of it besides his sorry wings. There was hardly proof at all Tommy existed before the HA, all his old files destroyed. He was an informational blank, unseen by the world around him. 

“Oh- uh, sorry, I just call all my- t-the kids chicks. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop.”

There's nobody who isn't in jail right now who knows he's an avian. That's ... good. Secrets are the safest tucked close to your chest. 

It- maybe it wouldn't be so bad if The Angel knew? He was a crow hybrid, he would literally be the last person to judge him. He has never been the type to pry, so he might not even be upset that Tommy hid a secret from him for so long. 

“… Yeah, I’m not a fucking chick. I’m a big man.”

There’s no reason he can think of, of why he’s still so- so afraid. His wings hadn’t even been one of the things Dream gave him shit for. Dream liked his wings, and he knew the HA enforced they be kept secret, so he never judged Tommy for it. 

But if all his cards were laid out, who knows what others would do? 

Phil laughs, “I wouldn’t say you're a big man. Maybe a big child?”

"Oh yes, I'm sorry you're so short. Life must be so hard, being so short."

"I am literally a normal height! I'm just surrounded by giants like you and Wil," The Angel huffs, unpacking some weirdly shaped mugs into his cabinet.

-Wil.

... It's still too dissonant for him, to imagine calling Magpie Wilbur. As if he's just some dude. As if any of them could pretend to be normal people. 

He was rarely called Tommy at the HA headquarters or on missions. And "Thomas" was someone who existed on papers, Thomas was a name for a stuffy adult that he wasn't. 

He was most often referred to as Red Thunder, to his colleagues and to the world. Red for short, but less of a term of endearment and more just for convenience. Out in the field, no one was going to take the time to shout "Red Thunder" if a villain was about to attack. 

And here's The Angel, who can affectionately refer to his sons, who holds precious the trinkets they have. For some reason, he views Tommy as someone worthy of their old things, someone to call his chick even if they weren't a flock. 

His childhood hero was here, helping him make a house a home. 

(And boy does that make his chest start to tighten. Flock, home, love, family- none of it were things he could ever have.

But The Angel promised to help him. And he did. He continues to do so.)

He indulges The Angel, lets him fill his apartment with more knickknacks and "useful" things. 

It doesn't take too long, seeing as most of it was stuff he could just shove onto his empty bookcase shelves or easily tuck away in desk drawers. 

The husk of his apartment fills up, just a little bit more.

The Angel takes the now-empty boxes he brought and tells him, "You really must come visit for dinner sometime. Or movie night! Oh, and Fridays are when Techno visits- it's so Wil can spend the weekend off at the farm. You two would get along great."

Tommy may know Magpie a little, but he can count the number of conversations he's had with Protesilaus on one hand. The last time they talked, it was the arrangement to break Magpie out of prison. 

He doesn't even know what he'd say to him, he doesn't know if Protesilaus would still view him as an enemy. 

"Fridays are when I have knitting club," is all that Tommy says. 

The Angel was also weirdly invested in how he spent his time. Sapnap had been excited the first time he mentioned the hobby and asked all about it, it was almost like deja vu hearing the same interest in his voice.

"Oh, I know some of the other boys are into sewing stuff as well. It's a good skill to have."

"Sure..."

"Maybe you'd want to invite them-"

"Bye! Goodbye! Don't accidentally dislocate your hip walking down all those stairs!" He shoves the front door shut. 

He can hear The Angel's deep laughter from behind the wood of his door. 

————————————

Monarch was a later addition to the Syndicate. They were a mysterious figure who rose in infamy when they were spotted working alongside Magpie. They joined before Nixie defected from the HA, but tended to avoid the limelight. Tommy had only a few interactions and fights with the villain.

They were elusive, their power something to do with the mind. It wasn't something flashy or easy to discern. It wasn't obvious why they were a part of the Syndicate since they weren't as verbose as Magpie or Protesilaus. It was like they were an informational ghost- suddenly appearing beside the biggest villains of the country with little fanfare. Monarch always seemed to know more than they were letting on, standing in the shadows and observing. 

The Syndicate was strict with who was let into the inner circle. So surely, tucked away in their head, Monarch had ideals they believed in. Whether it was a city safe for everybody to live in, or to get revenge on a system that wronged them, or something else. The original triad respected those with strong constitutions.

If you asked Tommy what he thought of them? He just thought six-inch heels were impractical for the battlefield. Fucker was tall enough without them.

Monarch avoided big fights and thus wasn't given a lot of attention by the media. They had a big cult following for their flashy sense of style and mysterious air but, even as a part of the Syndicate, heroes didn't consider Monarch in the same league as the other villains.

Sure, they were kinda creepy with their deep voice, tinny through their voice filter, and they had a way of just knowing what your next move would be in a fight. But Tommy was confident he could at least beat Monarch in a one-on-one.

He doesn't know when it happened, but it happened under his nose when Dream turned the villain.

It happened between the rising tensions between the HA and the media, between the later and longer shifts, and the skipped meals left all by himself. Dream was cracking, and somewhere in it all he dug his fingers into the cracks between the Syndicate members and found the weak link.

Sometime between the start and the end, Dream crawled inside Monarch's head and convinced them to betray the Syndicate. 

And then they did.

And then Doomsday had happened. With Magpie within and then out of the heroes' grasp so fast, the HA wanted a bold move against the Syndicate. They needed a victory that would finally turn the public back onto the heroes' side.

Supervillains against superheroes, vigilantes, police, everyone against everyone. The city burned and ruptured under the weight. Monarch stood with the HA, but it's not a story Tommy can tell. Before he could even step onto the battlefield- Dream snapped. 

Red Thunder was not a part of Doomsday, the fight that decided the fate of the city, the fall of the HA, because he was simply dead when it happened. He woke up to a different city, one without Dream there. The world had flipped on its axis and Tommy didn't contribute and thing to it.

So, from what he's told, Monarch fled in the chaos. It could only be speculated as to why, with no explanation from the turned-villain themself. Did they feel shame for betraying their old allies? Did they see the heroes were losing? Did they never care, and ran to protect themself?

Nobody knows.

And nobody's seen Monarch since. 

————————————

This isn't real. If Tommy blinks, he'll find himself back in bed having some weird stress dream again. Or the afterimage of people who should definitely not be here will fade away.

He blinks.

Blinks again.

"What the fuck are you guys doing here?" He nearly screeches.

"Phil told us you're a part of a knitting club!" Tubbo hops out of the backseat of a car, his arms wrapped around a basket full of string and other sewing supplies. 

"That doesn't- doesn't explain why you're here."

Ranboo laughs weakly, "We've also got some experience with knitting, so Tubbo thought- hey ow!- we, uh, we thought it'd be a smart idea... to crash..." 

"To be fair, if Phil actually gave us your number, Tubbo wouldn't have had to track you down," Magpie's voice filters out from the front of the car as he slams his car door shut. 

"It's good he didn't give you my number- and track me down? What the fuck do you mean 'track me down?'" Tommy hisses.

The trio walks past him and into the building, ignoring his question. Ranboo just shrugs when they make eye contact. Fucker. Coward.

He flips him the bird and trudges into the building behind them. 

Clara is overjoyed that Tommy has "invited his friends" to the club. He grumbles how they're not his friends and she laughs like he's joking. Prime help him. 

Tubbo's already discussing his plans about making a giant knitted octopus and organizing his yarn and loom. Ranboo shoots Tommy a thumbs up, probably wearing a shit-eating grin under his face mask. 

And Magpie is sweet-talking everyone. Fucking Magpie, who knows how to enthrall people without using his power. Some of the other ladies and him are already discussing the intricacies of home gardening or some shit. 

He quickly unpacks his bag, roughly setting up his needles for his latest project- it's just a small square to be used as a coaster or something. It was easy to make and Clara had suggested he keep things simple. His dreams of a soft throw blanket were for the future when he didn't fuck up every other stitch.

Tommy has dealt with burning buildings and hostage situations- this is similar, kinda. He just needs to stay calm, listen to orders-

No, he just needs to. Breath. In and out. Like a normal person. Like a normal fucking human. He can power through this.

He starts knitting and the rhythm of the motions calms him a little, all his focus going into remembering the proper steps to complete the next stitch.

"You should add a bee to that," his hands shake as Tubbo whispers loudly to him.

He doesn't know how to add patterns yet. He sees in Tubbo's hands the main body of his octopus already coming together. 

"Bees are dumb," he grumbles, trying to remember where he left off.

"Wahh? How could you say that? Y'know, they're important as pollinators, they help fruit grow!"

The sorry clump of yarn he's been working on is unraveling, for some reason. He looks up to Clara for help, but she's also been dragged into Magpie's reign of terror- they're talking about why Anteaters are horrible animals now. 

He sighs, "They sting." 

"Yeah, if you do something to piss them off. But they're chill if you're chill. Here's some yellow and black yarn if you change your mind," Tubbo drops two spools next to him.

"Tubbo's got an apiary back home," Ranboo adds, still sitting between them.

Tommy has no fucking idea what an apiary is. "Of course he does, that's so dumb."

Tubbo quiets after that. That's what he wanted but- fuck.

This isn't what he wanted from today. This was his normal activity to do to feel like he was succeeding at being a normal person. Instead, he can't get his hands to stop shaking and he feels a shiver go down his spine every time someone looks at him- they're waiting for him to mess up.

"I'm not feeling that good, Clara, I-I'll see you next week," he stands up abruptly, walking quickly and closing the door behind him before he can hear what she says in response.

The cold air bites at his burning face as he hurries down the sidewalk. He'll just go home and curl up in bed, maybe continue to watch the dumb Spanish soap opera Quackity watches. Pretend today didn't happen, maybe never show his face in front of Clara or Tubbo or Ranboo again-

A hand on his shoulder throws him out of his stupor- and it's just Magpie. Fucking Magpie.

"Are you good, man? I can drive you home if-"

He turns around sharply, scowling, "What's your game, huh? Are you worried about owing me a favor? Trying to pull a debt out of me? Investigating me? What are you doing?"

"What I'm doing, Tommy, is trying to be your friend," he grins, poking him on the center of his forehead. 

He stands stunned for a moment, "It's not like I'm much different. I'm just Red Thunder who- who goes to the grocery store unsupervised. Not that interesting."

"Hey, I do that, too. Maybe we can be boring together."

Frustration buzzes under his skin. He wants answers, explanations. Magpie has never been straightforward- always preferring mind games over normal conversation. Magpie doesn't do boring.

He always teetered on whether he trusted Magpie or not. He used to be a villain, his enemy. They were never allies, and yet he still risked it all to help free him. Now it's just confusing. 

But he's already learned many times before that trust is dumb.

"You can stop following me like a creep, what are you going to do? Stab me?" He says, making his way back down the street. He's not going to entertain more games for Magpie.

"What? No, no, Phil wanted me to tell you you're invited to come over this Friday."

"Your dad is fucking annoying, that's what he is."

"He wants to show you that you're more than just some legal obligation, that he wants to take care of you. Help you out."

"I don't need to be taken care of," he scoffs.

"Yeah, I don't need to either. It isn't about need, though, it's about wanting to. Family is about trusting one another."

"Yeah, but we're not family. I don't even fucking know you."

Magpie- Magpie frowns. But he frowns with his whole body, drooping like a wilted flower.

Tommy's heart stutters painfully in his chest. Prime, Tommy's just caustic, and volatile, and he's going to hurt everyone around him. He doesn't want to, but that's how it always ends up.

"Bye, Magpie," he grits out, crossing the street and leaving the villain behind.

————————————

"I heard Niki was sick today, did you go to the bakery by yourself?" Sapnap inquires, the sounds of cars pouring in from his end of the call. 

Tommy's exhausted after being unable to fall asleep the nights prior. He felt bad-guilty-angry and it had given him so much stress his stomach ached. He'd been relieved when Niki texted him he didn't need to come into work.

He snorts, "No, I think I'd actually burn her shop down if I stepped into the kitchen. Not that I'm a bad baker, I'm amazing at everything I do, but there's a very short list of people I don't want to piss off and, uh, Nixie's definitely on that list."

"Did you even leave your apartment then? If you didn't have work?"

Tommy squawks, "Hey! You're assuming some very rude things about me."

The judgemental silence makes him hiss. 

"Okay," He grumbles, "so maybe I haven't. I've been busy with other shit. Like knitting. I'm falling behind on my current project."

Falling behind, he says like he hadn't messed up somewhere and the whole thing unraveled. He's quit and restarted so many failed projects. He's got zero talent for knitting.

"That's- I mean- I mean this in the nicest way possible, but that's so lame."

"I'm not lame, you're lame! I thought... I thought you said knitting was cool..."

"It is! But every time I try inviting you somewhere, that's your excuse not to come. You're literally a recluse."

"Hey! Don't go calling me a fucking re-cluse, I- I had Phil over the other day. And those guys- Tubbo and Ranboo- they cras- they showed up- they came to knitting club on Friday. So. Take that. I bet you only hang out with your boyfriends, like the dumb idiot you are."

"That's- that's impressive, actually, that you invited them." 

Tommy swallows roughly, not bothering to clarify that they had crashed the event and he had been... less than thrilled about it. And then it had gone so horribly. "I'm a social butterfly, what can I say?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just worry about you getting out enough, or interacting with others. Y'know, doing more than sitting in bed watching Netflix all day."

He groans, "You've become such a worrywart, it's unbecoming of you. Tell me, what are you doing that's so much better than me?"

"I'm not- that's not- well- well, I've been going to the gym. And there's a group that plays basketball on the weekends that I join... I'm not a worrywart! Not when it's for a real reason, you're a growing teen who needs to experience these things."

"Memememe- that's what you sound like. You're so pre-ten-tious, 'ohh look I go to the gym, I'm so sweaty, I'm gonna go grey before twenty-five from stress'!"

"Yeah- well, every time we talk it's 'oh knitting this, oh knitting that, by the way, tell Quackity to change his Netflix back into English.' And I introduced you to Phil, Tubbo, and Ranboo! It's not like you did that by yourself."

"You're a prick, a straight-up wrongun."

"Then I'm the wrongun who's trying to help you! I don't think you talk to anyone else besides me!"

"I talk to the dozens of wives I have and they're spamming my phone right now-"

"And now you're avoiding the issue."

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm probably going over to the Watson's for dinner soon since The Angel won't stop bothering me about it. See? I talk to them," he half-lies. He has no intentions of actually going, but there was a standing invitation. 

"... is that a smart thing to do?"

"You literally introduced me to them, like you said."

"Are you gonna feel comfortable? With Wilbur and Techno there? I know Phil can be pushy, but you don't need to-"

"I'll be fine. I've said that a thousand times by this point."

"If you're sure..."

"I am."

That's a fucking lie, but he'd be proving Sapnap right and he's not going to give the fucker a valid reason to stress out.

It won't be that bad... probably. There are no plans set in concrete yet, anyway. Best case scenario he avoids the Watsons, he avoids Ranboo and Tubbo, and he stays content in his own little bubble.

————————————

Tommy is a hero, he works for the HA, he's Daydream's sidekick, and he's revered as a savior. A paragon. 

But he is not a hero, not in the true sense of the word. He lingers in a grey area. There are too many deaths under his belt and blood coating his hands to call himself that. Red Thunder lacks a drive, a goal, preferring to follow in Daydream's vision instead. He doesn't care about justice or politics, even when he should. There are civilians he's failed, villains whose deaths he was responsible for. 

Heroes are violent things. There is no gentleness in their line of work. 

He does what he has to, and he knows that. There's little choice in the matter. It burns him, to be a monster, but he isn't a hypocrite. Villains aren't just made of people who kill without reason. Heroes are not somehow better.

He doesn't think Protesilaus is somehow a monster just because of the number of corpses left in his wake. He doesn't think Vulcan is somehow a hero just because the HA committee awards him "Hardest Working Hero of the Year." The man spent more time getting drunk while on duty than anything.

The world was never just heroes versus villains. It was always much more complicated than any labels could explain. Sometimes, heroes worked with villains and villains worked with heroes. Sometimes heroes were villains, sometimes villains were heroes. Purpled worked closely with Las Nevadas. Heroes like The Captain still respected The Angel out in the field. Even when Nixie had defected, she and Manifold could still be seen teaming up. Vulcan had a whole network of villains he worked with. 

The lines drawn in the sand were rarely followed, instead trudged through and kicked over and redrawn again in different places. 

There are the pretty lies and fancy titles, but he's tired of the game. They're all soldiers, fighters, people who bleed. It isn't beautiful.

All of them, hero and villain alike. Just hurting and bleeding. 

Tommy used to never give a fuck about the intricacy of it, but Magpie loved his rants. He could go on for hours on any given topic and double that for any hero-villain issues. 

"All the HA does is exploit its heroes. You are- you're all human beings sent out to do work more dangerous than what most soldiers or police face, on the daily. And then you're commercialized like- like celebrities. It's obscene!"

"It's not that bad. It's better than being, uh, being thrown in the Vault."

"But see, the Vault exists because of the HA. They control who goes in and out, so they can put anyone who opposes them in it without repercussion. Most of the inmates are politicians or heroes who tried to speak out against the hero industry."

"I thought...the Vault was for dangerous people." That's why he was almost thrown in there. They couldn't just let some kid who'd killed someone accidentally roam free. 

"That's what the HA says. It's a tool, though, a tool used for fear and control. It's a sick place."

Protesilaus had been the only known person to escape Pandora's Vault. He tore through the guards with blood and fury and left a river of crimson in his wake. From there, his crusade continued, violent and unforgiving. 

The Syndicate's triad of Samael, Protesilaus, and Magpie trusted each other, so Protesilaus had probably confided to them about the Vault at some point. It's probably personal, Magpie's hatred of the place.

Tommy used to have nightmares about The Vault. 

Most details about it are kept secret, the building itself a maze of obsidian and unbearable heat. But the children used to whisper about it before bedtime, to scare each other. The girl he knew who could control hurricanes had seen it and told him of its horrors. Many nights it successfully left him wide-eyed in bed.

He feared it, because he knew he was bad. He was dangerous. He was the kind of person usually thrown into Pandora- but apparently, that didn't even matter. 

Opposing the HA was "evil" enough to get you thrown in. 

He used to be a little reassured that at least other monsters like him, un-reformable and dangerous, would be imprisoned there.

It's no wonder Magpie started his career as a beloved vigilante. He had a cause he believed in and spoke beautiful words in defense of his beliefs. He was much smarter than Tommy, much more well-versed and informed. But it made him dangerous, with his silver tongue. It made him all the more dangerous because he could turn anyone to his cause- with and without his power. There were times when Tommy thought Magpie was someone he could trust- mere moments of weakness that quickly passed, but still. 

Now Tommy is no longer a hero. He is no longer Red Thunder or the sidekick to Daydream. Where there once was a murky line of "good" vs "evil" there is nothing. They are all people now, somehow. 

The only useful thing about him has become useless. His power, which always put him on the tightrope between hero and prisoner, is now useless in civilian life. Electricity isn't going to help him clean tables or help him shop for groceries.

He's just dangerous.

————————————

Tommy clicks call before he has a moment to chicken out. 

His phone rings, and rings, and rings...

He isn't even going to pick up, this is so dumb.

The phone clicks, and he hears a sleepy, "Hello?"

He takes a long, deep breath to calm his frantic heartbeat, "Happy birthday, Gogy. Can't believe you're becoming a fossil already."

404 is just another dumb hero who's gone off the radar after the shitshow that was the 16th, he's not even sure why-

"Wait- what, Tommy?"

But he was once part of the Dream Team- he was once Dream's friend. And maybe he was once Tommy's friend, as well. 

"We gotta start planning for your funeral at this rate, it's only a couple of years until, you know..."

"Tommy, I'm sorry."

Well, that was unexpected.

- Why is he surprised, actually? People keep giving him empty apologies.

"... For what? You're gonna have to be specific, since I'm getting real tired of people just repeating over and over-"

"It's not like... I didn't know what was going on. I knew how Dream treated you, and I suspected Dream was lying to us, but I didn't think-"

"Are you want to, what, air out your guilt? I thought indifference was your whole gig, 404," he interrupts. 

"I'm not- I just wanted you to know that's- that- that as someone who should've been a responsible adult in your life, that I- I regret not doing more. You deserved better."

"... I don't care if you knew or not. It's not like you were holding Dream at gunpoint making him do your bidding. It'd be really funny if someone did, though. Imagine that!" 

"Red," 404 says firmly.

"...I don't blame you, or Blaze, or anybody else. Feel better?"

"That's not- this isn't about me. You... you know what he did was wrong, right? We were all in the same boat of being up to our ears in HA politics and pressure from the media. And the rest of us managed the stress without- without abusing someone."

Tommy snorts, "Ha, you're really dunking on your best friend-"

"He's not my best friend. Not anymore. I'm trying to be serious here, Red."

"Well- thanks. I guess. Prime knows I hear enough of it from Blaze. But... thanks," he says, even if he only half means it.

"Why'd you even call me?"

"To wish you a joyous birthday as you get closer and closer to death. They should put you in a museum at this point, since you're so old."

The silence drags on.

"... how's Sapnap? He hasn't called either."

Tommy hums, "Annoying as ever. Grossly in love with his fiances. I can... I can tell him to call you if you want?"

"Oh." 404 is silent for a couple of beats, "Maybe. Yeah. I should talk to him."

The Dream Team used to be the ideal hero group. They were powerful, all good friends, and beloved by the public. Whenever the three teamed up, it was just a fact that hat they'd succeed. The HA did its best to keep the three apart, in fear of heroes colluding behind the scenes, but they were a sight to behold in battle. 

The three of them used to be the best of friends. He hadn't thought anything could tear them apart.

"Do you miss Dream? Like, back when things were normal," he whispers into the receiver.

"No way. I wouldn't call those times normal... I don't even know who Dream really was, after all of that. He didn't care about any of us. He lied about a lot."

"But it wasn't all bad. We still had fun times. He wasn't himself at the end, but..." he trails off.

"We accepted what little we got. If I didn't have you, or Sapnap, or Dream- I would've lost my mind. When you're older, when you've gotten to live a normal life a little more, you're gonna realize it was all just bullshit."

"Oh, your dedicated stans would faint knowing you were cursing so much, 404."

"No, we-" George stutters, "we got out. You're Tommy. I'm George. We're not heroes anymore. I'm sick of hearing people devolve me into just '404.'"

Tommy doesn't know how to let go. He's clingy, he knows it's his vice. He's scared of things changing and never being the same again. If he's not Red Thunder, if George is not 404, or Niki not Nixie, or Wilbur not Magpie- then what remains? 

"Aw, I didn't know you wanted me to call you Gogy that badly."

"Oh shut up, child."

"I'm not a fucking child! Listen here-"

————————————

His arms are sore and hurting, and his back burns. There's an itch there that he hasn't scratched in months. 

Tommy hasn't... taken his wings out. For a long while. Maybe a full twelve months by this point- which is really bad. And gross. He knows this. He just- he just hasn't been able to look at them without feeling sick since- 

No.

No, Tommy can do this. No excuses. He can perform basic self-care. He can pull off his t-shirt and finally preen his wings after avoiding them for so long. Tommy's no pussy, he can do this.

He tugs his shirt off, because none of his clothing is wing-friendly, and looks at himself in the mirror.

His ribs jut out like they always have. There are too many scars to keep track of what caused which one. The branching bolts of scars running down his arms are from his own power. 

He looks so human. At times, Tommy forgets he's even an avian.

The HA kept a lot of secrets under lock and key. Secrets hidden on encrypted files or locked away in vaults. Those were the ones that could be found, one way or another. But there were things kept off the book never to be found. Things like his real age, since getting caught for employing a minor as a hero would not have flown well for the HA. 

There hadn’t existed a single piece of paper that said Red Thunder was a hybrid. 

It wasn’t a purposeful secret he kept. He just grew used to pretending to be human, and then he’d forget that not everybody knew. And then he didn’t want to tell them, because he didn’t want to be called a liar. A deceiver. A monster. It had hit him months after getting to know Blaze and 404, that they were under the impression he was human. Technically, he wasn’t allowed to tell them anyways but it was a bitter secret to keep. 

But now, there were no excuses.

He turns, ready to bring out his wings and face the sorry state they're in when-

He stares at the scar between his shoulders. It's a dark purple-red because he had scratched at it frantically, reopening the wound and letting it bleed and scar and bleed and scar-

A single curved line with two dots above it, almost masterfully carved into his skin. Like it had been planned.

It's over a year old at this point. 

Dream had-

Dream had been upset. Again. It was always something. Oh, he's stressed from the HA meeting coming up, he'll calm down once that passes. Oh, he's stressed because of the upcoming fan Q&A, he'll calm down once that passes. Oh, the Syndicate is causing him stress, but once they're dealt with he'll calm down. 

He always had some reason to be stressed, some excuse- reason, he had his reasons why had to take it out on Tommy. 

It usually started with yelling, but sometimes it was almost methodical how Dream would silently drag them both to an empty training room and demand they start sparring. It's no coincidence that the days Dream didn't pull punches and drew the most blood were the days that the news had criticized number one hero Daydream, or the days The Syndicate had successfully gotten away with another crime. 

And most of the time, Dream would even ask for forgiveness. Apologize.

He. Was. Just. So. Stressed. 

(It was always the same lousy excuse. Maybe it's on him for always accepting it.)

Prime, he even convinced Tommy to feel guilty about complaining about it. Because, why would Tommy ever be as overworked as him? Tommy wasn't the number one hero, Tommy wasn't the one constantly being berated by the media. Tommy didn't hold the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And they were friends, right? Friends forgave each other. 

Dream feared attachments. But in a way, it was the two of them against the world. Daydream and Red Thunder against The Big Bads of the world. As much as he tried keeping everyone at arm's length, maybe he really did care about Tommy. 

But that's where it gets fuzzy. Were they really friends? Was that one of the many things Dream lied about? Did Dream hate him? Did he even care about Tommy? If he really did, then why did he care in such a vicious way?

Tommy would have done anything for him, if he had been a brother instead of how things twisted up. 

(He has a pathetically low bar but he hasn't had a family in a long time. He's given up hope he could ever get one again.)

But Tommy remembers that Dream's hands hadn't shaken as he carved into his skin. The knife went deep enough for the blood to pool up on his back, trailing down his arms and onto the ground. 

They were hero and sidekick. Mentor and student. They were friends. Dream cared about him. Dream hated him. Dream didn't form attachments, but maybe it wasn't like that. Maybe Tommy was more like a possession, at that point. The same way kids signed their drawings with their initials, Dream had-

He finally pulls back on a baggy sweatshirt. His wings can wait for another day.

————————————

Tommy shifts his feet, hands clasped and eyes staring holes into the ground. He stumbles a little because the shoes his trainer gave him are far too big for him. "To grow into" he was told. But he's thirteen, not some dumb kid anymore, and he's pretty sure his supervisors are praying for him to trip and fall off a building at this point. They're all waiting with baited breath for him to die, but jokes on them, he's too good to die.

He feels out of place in his training uniform, next to the nicely dressed lady who brought him here, and the Daydream. 

“Daydream, are you certain? You don’t really want Red Thunder, we have tons of other eligible sidekicks available that are much better than-”

“I’m certain. We work well together and his power is useful. I don’t want any other sidekick but him,” Daydream says about Tommy. Like he's worth something.

“But- but he’s young. And he’s volatile. He’ll only drag you down. Your career is blooming and it’s still so early into it, you don’t want to ruin it all when it’s just become good for you," she pleads.

“... I’ve been training Red. I know what to expect of him.”

“Sir, you don't know this but he’s… he’s not human. He’s an avian. If the public ever found out, your ratings would plummet.”

Daydream glances at him for a moment, “Then why have him working here in the first place?”

His gut drops. This is it, then. Daydream's going to leave him behind, throw him away. All because of his stupid, stupid wings.

“Well, seven years ago winged heroes were all the rage. Then Samael defected. A bad investment, if you will.”

Today in the industry, there are virtually no winged heroes. They didn’t mass fire them, no, the HA would be called out for discrimination again hybrids. Those heroes were just sent on different missions. Ones more dangerous, ones risky, ones rigged from the start. They died like what was expected of Tommy. 

But Tommy survives, despite it all. Against all odds, he lives.

He’s been dreading Daydream finding out. The top heroes were always privy to more information than most others working for the HA. Daydream probably knew the child soldier program that he came from, as well as what goes on behind the curtains of the HA elite. But it was always a gamble whether someone would judge him for his wings. He’s had plenty of nice foster parents turn on him, just because he wasn’t “normal.”

Daydream seemed to like him, but he was also hard to read. With the full face mask always on and all. All he had to read the man was the simple smiley face.

“If he’s hidden it for this long, I don’t think it’ll be a problem. Listen, lady, I’m not making a request here. Red Thunder is going to be my sidekick. Meeting over.”

Tommy can't help the smug grin that grows on his face as the woman in the suit is forcibly excused from the room. She glances between them, red in the face and indignant, but Tommy feels like he is soaring. 

Daydream wasn’t like everyone else, that's why he was on his way to number one. Where everyone else wanted to see Tommy fail, Daydream had brought him up into the light. Where everyone judged Tommy for his wings- something he couldn't control- Daydream accepted him. Flaws and all.

Daydream cares about him.

He asks Tommy, “How old were you when you started work as a hero?”

“Uh…” 

“You’re allowed to tell me, don’t worry about getting in trouble.”

“… If somebody gets pissed off, I’m blaming you," he hisses.

Daydream laughs easily, “Okay, sounds good to me.”

“Then… I was twelve.” 

Dream winces, “That young?”

“Fuck off… I’ve just... always been really fuckin’ tall.”

“How young were you when your training started, then?”

“Um, when I was nine? Ten?” He guesses.

“Tommy- can I call you that?”

“...Sure. I don’t care," he shrugs, glowing inside. Nobody calls him Tommy, so this is special.

“Good, good. You can call me Dream. Tommy, I’m going to help you.”

There’s a child in him that wants so desperately for some adult to finally realize he’s screaming. He wants to be seen, helped, cared about for once. He wants someone to tell him he's not a monster. 

He's naive and firmly believes Dream is going to be that person.

“I don’t need help. I’m a big man, I help myself," he puffs hot air, all fake bravado and awkward teenage energy.

"Good. You're strong, you're a survivor. I know you'll pull your weight. I didn't have to choose you, but I did. I'm... I'm sorry you've been put on this road. But I'm going to change the world, kid. I'm going to make it safe enough so nobody has to fight anymore."

"... Really?" 

Tommy thinks if it's Dream, then anything is possible.

"Really, really. So, you’re going to be my sidekick and we're going to change the world together. You are always going to stay by my side, right?” 

He smiles, "Of course, Dream. Always." 

Chapter Text

The morning is a dreadful affair. Tommy often wakes up with start, confused and frantic.

It's not nightmares. Tommy doesn't have nightmares, no. Most mornings he wakes up heart beating frantically, disheveled and struggling to breathe, but it's not like he remembers what put him in that state. 

Whatever stories his mind makes for him while he is unconscious, they fade away mere moments into awareness. He keeps flashes, bits, pieces of them but most of the time it is useless things. Remembering in his dream that he wore yellow, that someone gave him a cup, or that it took place in mist. Never the concrete substance of what scared him, what woke him up in the early hours of the day to haunt him. His brain nukes whatever he was dreaming about.

Tommy likes it this way. He shudders to think what his imagination would cook up for him if he did. So. So he shouldn't have to fear something he forgets.

He isn't sleeping, though. And only partially for lack of trying. 

For a while there he was enjoying all the downtime he had acquired. With no more packed and unforgiving schedule of a hero, he was sleeping through whole nights. Like a normal person. But now that he wasn't horribly sleep-deprived, he just wasn't sleeping. It's paradoxical and quite frankly, frustrating.

Many nights he tucks himself into bed, lays down, and closes his eyes. And as empty as he tries to make his thoughts, the longer it takes for him to pass out the busier his mind gets. From little worries about what yarn should he get next or is he running out of pasta, to the heavier shit. He doesn't like thinking about that, though.

Lately, what's been keeping him up is overthinking his interactions with others. The disaster of an ice skating trip, the fucking knitting club, even his handful of chats with the Angel. He's left embarrassed and with a stomach ache. He's not good at this- this "being normal" thing.

So, more often than not, he gets up from bed, and in the dark veil of night, holds onto Henry. He's just cloth, some filling, and two pitch-black eyes sewed on but somehow he brings Tommy comfort. He'll turn on his TV and play a random Mexican soap opera and stay sleepless the whole night. 

The peacetime is giving him more time than ever to sleep, alongside all the time he wastes lounging in bed in a haze. It's not a simple exhaustion, though, so sleep wouldn't fix it. It's exhaustion that lives in his bones and rears its ugly head at every inconvenient moment. 

Tommy has spent his whole life running from having to deal with his issues and that has not just changed because of his new circumstances. And it's just a little restlessness, he can manage that.

... It would bother him less if it didn't affect his work at the bakery. 

He's honestly kind of shit at it, working there, but Nixie's patient with his blunders. He tries sweeping and somehow always forgets an area. He tries wiping away coffee stains and the white marble still looks brown. Customers don't like his ever-present scowl.

Surely he's a bad investment, but Nixie just carefully explains how to properly wash a bowl covered with sticky molasses (let it soak in hot, soapy water first. The stuff is like cement before it warms up.) 

Sometimes, he hates the bakery with a passion. He isn’t usually put in a position where he has to deal with snappy customers, but there’s been a few times he’s been yelled at just for existing too close to someone. Nixie is always stern in tow, she doesn’t take any bullshit from anyone. But she’s also good with people and de-escalating situations before anyone is too upset. Tommy, meanwhile, is bad with his words and shrivels up under others’ scrutiny. He always ends up feeling embarrassed.

It’s almost funny. He could face a villain any day without breaking a sweat but it’s the old ladies buying croissants that scare him. Nice ladies, too! They'll compliment his charming youth and he'll be left floundering.

So, some days, he wishes he could just stay in bed. No changing into his uniform, no walking down to the shop, and no work. But, that’s exactly what Sapnap always bothers him about. He always sends little texts or reminders for Tommy to leave his apartment so he’s getting fresh air. Well, fuck Sapnap and his efforts to thwart Tommy's dreams of being a hermit. He's tired and cold, why should he get out of bed?

But. He doesn’t want to get on Nixie’s bad side, and he's not that selfish, so he hasn’t skipped work yet. It’s very tempting, though, now that it’s up to him and only him to get to his job on time. Dream would have never humored his current laziness.

There are pleasant moments, in between the quiet and bad moments, where there are no people. Early morning, the lull before evening hits, and closing. Quiet moments where he can close his eyes for a second, enjoying the hot air and sweet smell of pastries. The soft music that Nixie always has playing filling the space.

(And he’s gotten to try the new items as a taste tester, and he's taken home the ruined goods that didn’t get put on display, so he benefits more than he suffers.)

It's more fun than it is bad. Work gives him a set schedule that Nixie mostly doesn't deviate from.

And his inconsistent sleep doesn’t affect it much. By the end of the workday, he’s usually a little exhausted. It’s a different kind, where the soles of his feet ache and his cheeks hurt from handing out fake smiles to people. It’s just a little wear and tear but nothing like- yeah. It’s just nothing. He’d be fine if he didn’t avoid falling asleep, and that’s on him. He's being purposefully frustrating because he can't close his eyes at night, and that's nobody's fault but his.

Whatever mayhem or whatever is happening in his life right now, Niki's bakery is a constant. Rain or shine, he's there. Like a lighthouse he can always follow.

He comes to work early in the morning, like clockwork, but today the sky is overcast.

The lull after lunchtime is quiet, accompanied by a drizzle-y afternoon. The dark sky, the slow flow of people, and the warm air from the ovens have only made him more lethargic. Tommy forces himself to grab the cleaning supplies to tidy things up before the next rush hour. 

And he's-

One moment he's mopping up the floor and the next he's stumbling, laying flat on his back with soapy water soaking into his pants. 

He lays on the cold tile, confused and disoriented, before Nixie comes out to check on him.

Oh.

He tripped. 

She glances over, leans down wordlessly, and carefully maneuvers all the water back into the bucket he fell over. His skin is left feeling flaky and dry.

He's- it's not a great feeling. Not just the getting soaked through with nasty water part, but tripping over his own two feet. Tommy isn't clumsy, he's sly and fucking elegant. Being a little tired shouldn't trip him up.

He's better than- it's just embarrassing. Embarrassing.

After a heavy sigh, he forces himself to stand up again. 

"Sorry, I haven't been… sleeping well." Not sleeping at all, but by the way she's sizing him up, Nixie's already well aware of that.

"I think," she says slowly, "that it would be a good day to close early. 

"No, no I didn't mean to disrupt-"

"It's okay, Tommy. Honestly, I've been out of it as well. And I'd prefer it if we didn't destroy the whole shop before the day ends," she chuckles lightly.

His shoulders sag, but he nods in defeat. He honestly doesn't mind the idea, but he never meant to be burdensome. But there's no arguing with her, she's the boss of him. Nixie takes no bullshit, after all.

Nixie was the one who disbanded the Syndicate. The other members all had their own ideas of how L'manberg should change after the fall- from a whole new system of laws to blown-out anarchy- but she insisted it wasn't for them to decide, or they'd just end up as a second HA.

It would take a lot of bravery for the newest member of the Syndicate to boss them around like that, and it's admirable.

It's very dissonant, seeing her like this, the two of them cleaning up for closing in a pastel bakery. 

"... Do you ever miss being a villain?"

She softly shakes her head, "No. There's not much to miss."

"Wasn't there... something that you liked, if you joined the Syndicate instead of going into hiding?"

She moves to flip the sign from "open" to closed" before replying, "Nothing I enjoyed. It was a mixture of spite, anger, other unpleasant emotions. I knew I'd finally be done with it all if the HA ever actually fell."

 "Oh. Yeah. That's fair." 

"Don't tell me you miss being a hero now?" She says with a joking lilt.

And he really shouldn't, is the kicker. It was living, breathing hell but-

"Of course not. Just curious. You, well, you were a really cool hero. Hero and villain. Not just cool, I meant like, you did a lot of good, Nixie. N-Niki."

"...That really trips you up, huh?" she looks over at him, frowning. 

"Sorry, shit, I know your name is Niki."

"It is in the name of this establishment, I would hope so," she says, "you... I don't want to pry, but you sound like you miss it."

-but how does he admit he liked being Red Thunder? How he loved it, breathed it. When everyone else fought so hard to undo the Heroes Industrial Complex, and little Tommy doesn't think it was all that bad. He never grasped the full intricacies of hero politics, the moral spiels and conundrums people faced, or the kinds of battles vigilantes and villains fought. Tommy had his duty, Dream, and that was enough.

But people got hurt, bled, died to change things. He understands why it had to happen, but the simplicity of it all has bled away.

He wrings his hands, pinching the skin between his thumb, "Miss it? Psh, nah. That'd be dumb."

"I kind of get it, missing the security in the old ways. I didn't get to have a college or university experience like most others my age, so I'm estranged from most of the people I knew before I was a hero. Small talk is the most painful thing now. It was isolating, and now it's lonely."

It was right to take down to HA, but an ugly part of him resents the Syndicate. A bitter, simmering part of him that's so, so alone.

"... Why're you telling me this?"

"You're not a bad kid, Tommy. I don't know if you've been told that lately, but it never… it never should have been your responsibility to defend L'manberg."

"It's whatever. I was just doing my job.”

"Come on, I know you've got this whole aloof tough guy persona going on, and while it's admirable you're just taking all this change in stride, it's not like you're not going through this by yourself."

"...admirable? Wait, what? What do you mean?" He stands up straighter.

"Well, you've been really calm about all of this. Like, I even knew when the Syndicate was planning to strike and I still feel… lost," Nixie's eyes dart around the bakery.

"You feel lost? And lonely? But you're- you're-"

"I'm?" She blinks.

"I guess… I'm used to looking up to you. Back in the HA, you were so strong, yet so kind. You were always moving forward, making your own path. You still are.”

 "Looked up? To me? I got so much crap for being a female superhero, while you- well, you were at the top of the world."

Tommy shrugs, "But I was just a sidekick. I was always dispensable. But you were... cool, I dunno. You did good things."

"Thanks, uh, you did a lot of good work, too…" she breathes out roughly, "I thought you might've hated me, honestly."

Nixie was always cutthroat, never giving up. She wasn't strong or fast like other heroes in their league, but she always fought to hold her own. She honed her power and was the most clever person in their field. 

"I could never hate you, you're the closest thing I had to a positive role model. I'm- you didn't hear me say this but you're very intimidating and I kinda idolized you as a kid," he mumbles.

His cheeks burn so hotly his eyes feel like they're boiling, but he's left confused when Nixie collapses heavily into one of the pull-out chairs. She pinches at her nose, staring at the table.

"Are you… okay?" His voice cracks.

She runs a hand through her hair, "I'm a very bad role model to have. I literally became a criminal."

"The Syndicate isn't exactly a criminal group, though, they changed things-"

"They were very much a criminal group, you shouldn't forget that. And to say the pathetic truth, I used to dislike you, Tommy." She looks away, "You and Dream. You two sat at the top of the world and I assumed you had everything. I thought you were selfish and ruined everything you touched- but you were a kid who was bleeding. He made you bleed. And I ignored it. So. I assumed you hated me.”

"... Well I don't. Never did. What does it even matter anymore? Dream's locked away, we're out here living our lives- thanks to the Syndicate and you, I might add. Dream and all he did is irrelevant."

"It's a lot more complex than that. He did a lot of bad."

"Dream had a distorted way of how he wanted to help people, I guess."

Nixie's face scrunches up in a grimace, “Who even was Dream? Because there’s the star the media wanted us to believe in, and there’s the demon the Syndicate spoke of. But he’s just a man. But you knew what he really was, even when people didn't want to acknowledge it. Do you think he had good intentions, at the core of it all? Or was he just another selfish self-proclaimed hero?”

That was the million-dollar question. The media and heroes alike pondered on who was really Daydream. Sapnap and George had their own answers, and Tommy had his.

“From my experience? He was a fucking dork. He found the stupidest things funny. And he has a dumb laugh, not the one he has for interviews but something wheezy- like a boiling teapot. He was a disaster. He- he was nice, at times." Tommy exhales, "Really nice, even. He cared about people, in his own way. He said he wanted to save the world, just sometimes there are sacrifices you have to make to save it. He wanted to be perfect- he wanted everything to be perfect. He was a good guy who collapsed somewhere under his own ideals." 

Dream held the whole world on his shoulders. He claimed everything he did was to make the world a safer place. The heroes sacrificed themselves so the civilians would never have to and could live happy, easy lives. Daydream was a beacon of hope, a hero out to save the world. The man who would change everything. 

Tommy always said he understood that vision, but it was more like he knew how to follow in Dream's footsteps.

"That doesn't sound like a good guy to me. Just some egotistical prick on a power trip," Nixie scoffs.

Tommy had thought the world of Dream, even when it got messy. Dream would console him, tell him comforting lies, and they'd let the cycle repeat. He used to sugarcoat everything. Magpie had called it manipulative behavior, but maybe Dream didn't even know what was going on in his head half the time. He doesn't think Dream did any of the bad stuff on purpose.

Tommy has his own version of Dream, but he's less sure if it was any closer to the "real" Dream than what others saw. 

He frowns, "I don’t... know if I really know who he was. He said so many things it gets jumbled up. I want to believe what he said- yeah. Yeah, like I said, it's whatever. Maybe I didn't know him like I thought I did.”

He used to pride himself on being the person closest to the number one hero. After Doomsday, that doesn't ring as true anymore. What is there left to be proud of?

"I think," she drawls, "that you would benefit from talking to someone about all this. Like a therapist."

He sputters, "Why? I'm better now. Everyone has their happy ending now. We're all supposed to be moving on."

"I haven't moved on... I don't think anybody has. We're just doing our best to trudge forward."

"But you have the bakery and your new friends..."

"How could I just move on? Sure, maybe I seem fine but, you seem alright too, on the outside. Us heroes have a talent called compartmentalization." 

He thinks to his tired eyes, his surely unkempt appearance. His off-putting demeanor. Surely everyone in a miles radius can tell Tommy is a fraud, a mess, a liar. 

But it's just the same unremarkable self he always sees in the mirror.

"I'm fine, but thanks."

Nixie looks like she wants to argue with him, but just says, "We're not fighting for our lives anymore. We've got time. If you wanna talk to someone, you can. And should. Even if it's just me."

It sounds easy. But- but vulnerability is gross. It feels bad, and it's willingly handing over your open wounds to someone who could dig their nails into you and make you bleed even more. 

In the past, if Tommy was ever having a shitty time he kept it to himself. Who would he turn to? Dream, who didn't want to hear about it? Sapnap or George, who'd do nothing? Tell someone else who'd tell him to suck it up, he's supposed to be better than that? 

So, he's not well versed in just saying what he feels. His brain turns to jokes and dismissals. He's fine, he's the poggest man on earth actually. 

They finish closing up early, and Tommy walks home in a daze. Just the conversation with Nixie- Niki, Niki Niki sat badly in his chest. Obtrusive and staticky like he somehow swallowed a whole CRT TV. 

He returns home, ankle sore, eyes burning and chest heavy. He stares heavily at the backpack he borrowed from Ranboo at the ice rink. 

It's... easy to let a mess stay a mess. Especially if he chooses to avoid people for the rest of his life, hidden away- then he can just pack away any annoying emotions. It's not guilt, it's not vulnerability, and it's certainly not because he wants something as dumb as to make friends- 

But it would make him a bit of a dick if he never returned the backpack. 

————————————

Failure is unforgivable, weakness a crime. Tommy knows messing up isn't acceptable.

Tommy has spent a large portion of his childhood scared to death of Pandora's Vault. Adults always threatened to send him there, but in hindsight, it was mostly a scare tactic and not a genuine threat. A little lie to keep them in line. It was kind of the equivalent of when a foster parent threatened to send him back with the social worker if he misbehaved. 

But he had been convinced if he messed up, he'd spend the rest of his days there. 

Now it was Dream, the Vault's prisoner. It's ironic, in a way, with how much Dream supported The Vault as a way to punish villains and control the masses. In part, it sits badly in his gut because it was so wrong. Dream was the one who saved him from ever going to the Vault. 

But… logically, the HA was mostly bluffing about sending him there, and once he was an established minor hero, he wouldn't have just been sent off for nothing, right? Why not just kill him at that point?

Dream always reminded him how he saved him. But. Tommy was never saved.

And Dream always said Tommy overreacted whenever he hurt him, but after fucking getting beaten to death he's guessing it wasn't just overreacting. Fucking prick.

But-but- but Dream was good, strong, and brave. He was supposed to be the true hero, with a smile always on his face.

It's all been flipped on its head.

Dream's smiley mask is more intimidating now. It never used to be scary, not to him, even when the man was criticized for the "unnerving look" or for it being "too plain and boring." Daydream's smile was always kind of childish, simple in design, and easy to recognize. But it was his symbol to bring peace and safety to the people of L'manberg. It assured civilians and brought joy to children.

And it's the last thing he saw before he was- before what happened on Doomsday. 

It's what has haunted him since, which has never left him and never will. 

A smile, one slightly curved lined and two precise dots above it. Blood red. 

Tommy isn't in The Vault. Dream is. 

And who would change that? Who would miss him? Who would miss all that- the HA, the bleeding, the corruption, Dream?

But he does. 

————————————

He had assumed since Magpie said his father wasn't forthcoming with handing out Tommy's number, that he wouldn't just hand out Tubbo and Ranboo's numbers to him.

But he did, quite easily so. No questions asked. No explanation required. Just Tommy asking and the Angel sending them to him. 

Tommy's not complaining, no, but it is weird. 

He adds them to his phone.

His contacts list is a growing, festering mess. It used to just consist of The Dream Team but now it has ex-villains and civilians alike filling it up.

Maybe he should start deleting shit. Just to get his life under control again. 

Tommy doesn't bother to change their contact names since he's never planning to contact them again. It's a one-and-done, give the backpack back to the two bastards, probably hand Henry off to them as well, and go back to an attachment-free lifestyle. 

With shaking fingers, he texts them.

Red

i still ahbe the tall guys backpalc 

i wanna reetuen it

this is Red Thunder hy the way

Unknown 1

Huh???

Unknown 2

tomym?

:DDD

Red

tubbo u qwe me five dkllars

Unknown 2

DDD:

Unknown 1

Hah

————————————

Closeness is a foreign concept to him. 

He's never had anyone to tell his secrets to, no one to turn to in time of need. 

Dream didn't like revealing all his cards, he was a very closed-off person. Even if he seemed to genuinely like George and Sapnap, they couldn't hang out often. Hero work took away a lot of time. Tommy himself has probably spent more time with Magpie than George this past year even if they were supposed to be a team. 

They were never the types to confide in each other. 

He doesn't know who he knows, who's an ally, and who will turn on him. Dream was his ally and turned. Monarch was his enemy who switched sides and still ran away during Doomsday. Magpie was supposed to be his enemy, but-

Tommy is a survivor. He was the cannon fodder, the unwanted by the HA. His selling point was his power. While most people in this day and age developed powers, most were insignificant or weak. Things like being able to glow, or to change the color of your eyes. So when truly powerful people showed up- people who could bend nature and the laws of physics- they were singled out.

And causing a major blackout? Killing someone? That was serious. Tommy needed to be taken away from civilians because he was going to hurt more people if he was left to roam free.

He wasn’t valued beyond that. If anything, he could feel people waiting for his demise. But he’s clever and doesn’t know when to back down, so he had to be fast on his feet and quick to react. The HA would send him on rigged missions, against villains much more powerful than himself, into a collapsing building, or into a volatile hostage situation. If anything went wrong, he’d die or become a scapegoat. But all he knows is how to fight and how to survive, through the pain and trials he’s given. Instead of dying, he succeeds again and again. Of course, they never praised him for it. He’s never been given attention by the media. No matter how much he tries to be the best, no one sees him. And when they do, they see a monster. 

But Dream saw the potential in him. He saw the feral kid, the survivor he is, and the hero he could be. He finally wasn’t alone, and so Dream became his only friend. 

And maybe he was. Maybe it was the truth. Tommy doesn't know how to pick apart what could've been genuine and what could've been the lie. He used to take all of Dream's words at face value because he trusted him. Looking back, he's full of doubt about what was true and what was the lie. 

(He wants to believe it all, he wants it to have been beautiful and true like the ends of fairytales. Where the witch is slain and the children get home safe, the hero good, brave, and strong. He wants that to be his.

But it's not. He's never had pretty stories to tell.

He's always just been so desperate to- to- to be-)

It isn't all bad. 

Civilian life is weird, foreign, annoying, etc etc but in between the moments of hatred and sadness, he finds new things to enjoy. 

Knitting. Watching sunrises. Listening to the music from the radio. Muffins. 

Henry. 

(But he's saying goodbye to him. He has to.)

It's all so small, inconsequential. He's used to at least being somebody, somebody important. Somebody hated and admired. 

This is what Tommy has learned since the fall:

It's nice having full reign in what he does.

-It's also exhausting having that autonomy. 

It's actually very easy for people not to hit him- not a single person has. Take that, Dream.

Niki and himself aren't too different from each other. Somehow.

It's freeing to not be under any supervision. He can order and eat a whole thing of oreos and no one is there to judge him. 

People talk to him differently. The call with George, the conversation with Niki, even the way the Angel treated him. 

(A certain shade of lime green makes him want to throw up-)

Tommy has never needed friends. But it's more obvious now there's emptiness around him. 

... he's not sure what to make of these realizations.

At the HA there was always Dream, always other heroes as the outsiders. It was a small circle, the top heroes always separated from everyone else. Red Thunder knew the rules.

And now the game has changed. The rules are new and nobody has explained them to Tommy. He doesn't know if he's broken a rule or skipped a step or what things he should be aware of. 

So it's like this:

If- if- and only if, very theoretical, not true in the least, if Tommy wanted to make friends, he wouldn't have a clue how to. 

He'd probably be a shitty friend, considering his only friend is in prison after murdering him. 

He's not enjoyable to be around, since the knitting club fiasco had ended so horribly that he needs to ask for forgiveness from some civilian he's only met twice. 

-Not that he's planning on doing that. His pride wouldn't let him. But he's texted Tubbo and Ranboo and they've agreed to meet up at their place in a couple days. As much as Sapnap wants Tommy to "make friends his own age" it just wouldn't work. 

Tommy doesn't know the rules of friendship. If it's really what Dream and him had, he doesn't want it. He can't deal with anyone else telling him he's useless and dumb and weak and pathetic and ungrateful and monstrous and- 

If friendship is blood, Tommy has bled enough. He'd rather be lonely.

If he was lonely, which he isn't. 

————————————

In Sapnap's never-ending, annoying campaign to get Tommy out of his apartment, he's been invited to the fiance household. Er, Fiance apartment. Calling it a house is a bit generous. For two of the tenants being absolutely loaded, the three of them are crammed into Karl's tiny, shitty flat. What people tolerate for love, blegh. He will never fall to such depths.

Tommy hasn't been there often, since it is a cramped apartment belonging to the three most annoying lovebirds in the whole world. But he has inquired before about why they don’t get a nicer place. They explained Karl was attached to it and the three had just never had the heart to move out. (And that moving in the city was a massive pain they were all unwilling to deal with.) Instead, the three made do together. One bed, one bathroom, and one cat. 

Tommy liked the cat, even if she hated his guts. 

Sapnap has insisted that when they get married, they're getting a real house to call their own. Part of him doubts any of them can get their shit together to do so. 

The only reason Tommy agreed in the first place is because his TV remote won't work so he's been stuck watching stuff on his phone, which is kind of ass. And maybe he doesn't mind the company of the trio that much. But only a little, maybe.

Obviously, Tommy looked up to Quackity because he was the badass behind Las Nevadas and- and a duck hybrid. That was cool, too. He had tiny wings and a tough spirit that accepted no bullshit. 

Karl was nice, always laughing and cracking jokes. He could make anyone feel welcomed. 

And Sapnap was Sapnap. Blaze. Sapnap. He was excited to hear that Tommy had plans to "hang out" with Tubbo and Ranboo, and he’ll let the man continue to be delusional. It's not like they were even acquaintances! Just people shaped people doing people things. 

Tommy would never know how to get along with civilians. They probably didn't like him, anyway. And it was just business, a yellow backpack in hand with Henry in tow. 

Because he still has Henry, and Dream would be so disappointed-

Keeping the stuffed animal for so long was a mistake, and he's going to remedy it. Ranboo paid for his use of the claw machine so, logically, it was kind of his all along. Tommy just needs his five dollars from Tubbo from the bet he won, then they'd be out of each other's hair. 

He won't explain that to Sapnap. It would make him upset to hear- and it would be annoying to deal with. Yeah. So annoying.

Tommy steels himself when he approaches their building. It's late in the evening already and it is pitch black outside. It is chilly, but walking inside he is barraged by hot air. He prepares for the assured chaos that is Sapnap, Quackity, and Karl. 

But when he walks up the narrow stairs to their place, he's not met with silly greetings or Sapnap's fretting.

Instead, the house is full of rushed conversation and movement. 

Karl's pulling on his trademark color block coat and looking for his mask- he's getting ready for a fight. 

"-and down on 47th street and they need someone on scene-"

Sapnap trails behind him, pulling on a black jacket, "-someone else will go help, firefighters are already on their way-"

"Karl, you promised to take a break." Quackity pleads, and is the first to notice him, "Tommy's here now! Don’t you want to talk to him?"

"I do, I do- this just really needs my attention but I will be back like, so fast. Promise," Karl says, continuing out the door. 

Sapnap rushes by, “Listen, uh, don't worry- hi Tommy!- I’ll follow Karl, make sure he doesn’t get hurt." 

Sapnap pecks Quackity on the cheek before following after Karl. 

And as quickly as Tommy saw them, the door closes behind Karl and Sapnap. 

“And then there were two,” Quackity sighs.

"Is that… a regular occurrence?" He asks, ears ringing from the jump from silence to noise to silence. 

"Kinda. Karl's been running himself thin since, um, since everything happened. But ey, that's not why you're here. Are you hungry, did you have dinner?"

Tommy shrugs off his coat, "I'm good."

As he says that, his stomach growls. Q laughs, pats him on the back, and moves to the kitchen to fix something up. Tommy sits down on their couch, making himself comfortable. 

He wonders when Karl and Sapnap will be back. Hopefully the mission they're on isn't too serious. 

The fall of the HA meant the disruption of many major gangs and rings funded by them, but there was a rise in petty crime and villains dumb enough to think that no heroes meant a free pass. So, mayhem and chaos and surface wounds. Nothing that's left irreparable damage. Scraps bandaged over by the dedicated vigilantes L'Manberg is basically known for at this point.

Tommy should be out on the streets doing vigilante work, too. He has a duty, he owes it to the people when he has a power like his. He’s a soldier, trained since he was a kid to defend. And it would be simpler, easier. Familiar.

He has an obligation to, but nobody will let him. He doesn't have his armor, his weapons. Sapnap would scold him, and he'd probably always be tired at work.

Karl had been a vigilante before any of the mayhem started, even if his boyfriends wish he’d stop. He genuinely loves it, which makes him a better person than Tommy. He doesn't quite have the drive. Tommy doesn't want to, just a simmering sense of guilt. Of duty. He'd rather hide away then help people.

With the HA and police department in shambles, things have been different. 

The streets have never been safer, contrary to what many imagined. Without the HA, there’d be no heroes. No heroes meant no protection from villains. Even Tommy had been hesitant to believe things wouldn’t fall into total mayhem. 

But a lot of villain groups and gangs had been supported by the HA and police. The crime rates had skyrocketed with the HA’s growth, a statistic once used as proof for the necessity of it, but now just lives as bitter proof that they were one and the same. More villains meant more heroes to fight those villains. And that meant more spectacle for people to watch, more heroes to turn into cash cows of signed posters, merch, and comic con meet-ups. 

And even if the Syndicate had officially disbanded, The Angel was never far off. He rarely fought anymore, once again using his powers for pacifism. Rumors said sometimes a thralling voice de-escalated fights and sometimes an irrational fear made people turn away from conflict. 

There are still mysterious figures, someone with scorching hands or a golden man with super strength, old Heroes who are heroes. Doing good for the sake of doing good. There must be a behind-the-scenes thing of ex-heroes banding up with vigilantes, but Tommy isn't up to date with any of them.

Always in their time of need, vigilantes looked over L'manberg. L'manberg has always loved its vigilantes. 

And even then most vigilantes were dropping off the radar. The streets did not fill up with violence and the city did not fall to mayhem. Instead, people helped each other. 

It's not what he thought would happen. 

Tommy has a strong power, he should be out there helping people, too. But he isn't. Maybe he doesn't need to.

"Here ya go," Quackity hands him a plate of food. Warm and steaming, fresh off the stove and much better than the PB&J he had for dinner. 

"Do you think Karl would take a break if he had more help?"

Quackity sits down heavily beside him, leaning back, "I think he's a self-sacrificing dumbass who doesn't know how to take a break. So, no. He wouldn't know how to relax if it slapped him in the face."

Karl's always put so much of himself into protecting their city, even when the HA persecuted him. It's never stopped him before, and it certainly won't stop him now. 

"... do you think if I-"

“Nope, gonna stop you right there, kid. The only thing you need to be doing is taking care of yourself.”

“But I’m able to help people, I’ve done so before! Was literally my job not too long ago.”

Quackity sighs, “You can’t save everyone, it’s impossible to take on such a burden. Karl's just a dummy who doesn't understand that. And it's not your job, now. You work at Nikis."

Tommy frowns, digging his fork into his rice.

Quackity refuses to turn on the TV in case the news reports show Karl and Sapnap doing something dumb. His self-restraint is impressive, but it's awkward as Tommy eats in silence. Q continues texting and receiving messages, his phone constantly buzzing from notifications. The so-called retired owner of Las Nevadas doesn't seem so retired.

This is not what he had prepared for. He was expecting a night of Karl's loudness, Quackity's jokes, and Sapnap's questions. He was prepared to be annoyed, but slightly excited to be surrounded by people who he knew didn't hate his guts. 

This was also uncomfortable, in a far worse way. Just tense, still air. 

Quackity exhales roughly, shoving his phone into his pocket, "Sorry I've been distracted. Phil said he was going to go help Karl and I was keeping tabs… but you're my guest right now. How are you? How's work?"

He shrugs, "Niki's badass. She makes a really good cake. I dunno, it's different."

"Of course, of course. Do you… have any plans for the future? Like, any jobs or projects in mind? World's your oyster now."

A lie sits prepared on his tongue, but he pauses. 

Niki said he should really talk to others, be vulnerable.  If anyone could... Big Q would understand, right? 

"Well, I'm still getting used to things. It's been… it's been..." his heart thrums, "it's been great. Y'know me, nothing knocks me down."

"Yeah, yeah, the unbeatable Red Thunder. And Tommy. Is there- is there anything you want to do now that you're out?"

No. He thought he'd be done at eighteen with all of this, plain and simple. There were no spiraling years ahead of him, no dreams to dream. 

Now there's the whole future in front of him. 

"I- I haven't thought much about it I guess," he shrugs.

"That's okay, I had no idea what I'd do at sixteen either. I thought I'd be a politician!" Q laughs. 

Tommy laughs along, "No way, really? You?"

"Well, you see, I wanted to be famous! But show biz didn't pay what I wanted…"

This is why he likes Quackity. He tells the best stories, he exudes confidence, and he doesn't look at Tommy like he's some ghost. 

Like, when everyone found out he was sixteen things definitely changed but now people get all weird and stare pitifully at him. But Quackity still tells him funny stories and looks him straight in the eyes, no hesitation. 

If he admitted to anyone that he was- well, not struggling he's not struggling, but if he needed any help or someone to show him the ropes, Quackity might be the person he'd turn to. He knows a lot about life things. 

He swallows over thick phlegm, hands shaky as he thinks it over.

Tommy knows an issue stays an issue when you let it fester. So, logically, the best course of action to start fixing his problems is to tell someone. Logically. Like how one reaches for a wrench to tighten a loose fixture.

But Big Q looks like shit.

Worry lines crease around his eyes, his hair and clothes disheveled. He's not going to sleep until his fiances return home, whenever that will be. Quackity has them to worry about. So… he doesn't need Tommy's worries on top of his own. 

Tommy nods as he continues talking, laughs at the funny parts, and gasps at the dramatic bits. 

Quackity's smile eventually droops, "Sorry man, this was supposed to be all of us hanging out."

"Well, don't tell anyone else I said this, but you're my favorite son."

"Son?" Quackity laughs. 

"Yes, I know I have a very paternal role in your life," He nods sagely. 

"Pfft- no, no that's not how this- that is ridiculous." 

He doesn't want things to keep changing. He's already so unfamiliar with the world around him and he doesn't need Quackity to change, too.

"Have you gotten any updates from Karl and Sapnap?" He asks instead what he wants to ask, because this isn't about him. He can't make this about himself. 

"I don't think they're going to be home anytime soon. I guess 'I'll be back fast' didn't pan out," Quackity frowns. 

"That's okay…this wasn't that bad. I mean, I wasn't expecting to spend the whole evening learning about how ditching your asshole ex led to you starting a casino, but here we are." 

"Ah shit it's getting late, isn't it?" He writes a quick text and looks up again, "Sorry to keep you so late-I can drive you home, if you need me to but- it's just that the two of them are still out-"

"-I'll walk. My place isn't too far away."

Tommy is glad he decided to stay quiet. As perfect as the three of them seem, the fall hasn't been easy on them. It hasn't been easy on Nixie, and it's been rough on 404, and it'd be like a passenger on a sinking ship complaining about the sinking ship. They're all in the same boat, in the end. Nobody needs to hear him repeat himself.

He returns home, remote still broken, Henry still by his pillow, and he doesn't sleep. 

————————————

The first time Dream hit him, it was in the HA training room. 

It was a cold place. Plain and sterile. He remembers the spotless walls, not a speck of grime to be seen.

Tommy had started his morning stretching and finished up on the treadmill- a quiet day of warming up, staying in shape. The usual. He was still unfamiliar with Daydream's personality and the lines he drew. While they had gotten over their initial rough patch of learning each other's personalities, there was nothing set in stone that Tommy was going to be Daydream’s sidekick. 

He was still proving himself. He was terrified after everything, Daydream would still drop him.

Dream had hunted him down in that spotless training room, cornered him by the treadmills. 

He vividly remembers why, with the man’s tense shoulders and cold voice. He'd never heard the hero so mad and it frightened him. In a mission report Tommy had written up, he had snitched on the man for roughing up a couple of villains after they’d been caught. 

Tommy had thought it was a dick move, they were some d-tiered idiots they shouldn’t have been fighting anyways. His report had gotten Dream in trouble, because the HA follows protocol- which is why so many heroes omitted things from their reports in the first place. If it isn’t written down, it's harder to prove. Usually nobody's going to argue with Dream’s reaccount of a fight- unless you’re Tommy. 

Looking back, it was probably less about Tommy snitching and more about what was happening at the time. With the new year passing by, there had been some changes in the hierarchy and rules of the HA and there was a lot of pressure on the up-and-rising Daydream to prove his spot on the top. 

Tommy didn’t know that, then. He had written the truth, and why was it a big deal anyway? Dream could get away with anything he wanted to. 

He’d been lectured, still sweaty and sore, and dressed in his workout clothes. Tommy’s been lectured by a many of pissed-off mentors and trainers, and he’s never been one to just let authority shit on him. So, he talked back. 

Dream... hadn’t liked that at all. 

He immediately stepped forward and punched Tommy’s face, hard enough for his neck to snap back and for blood to start dripping down into his mouth from his crushed nose. 

He was stunned to silence, and let Dream finish his rant on respecting authority and whatever bullshit. It all happened so fast, he didn't know what to do.

Tommy looked up to Daydream and respected him a lot. Dream worked harder than any other hero he knew, and he seemed like one of the good ones. He’d never expected him to hit him. The shock was bitter and twisted in his chest like a knife. 

Why was he surprised? There were no “good ones” in the field of heroes. 

The real kicker is that he didn’t tell a soul. He didn’t know who to tell. He had no allies in the Heroes Association, and few people had the authority to punish Dream. Those who had the power were on his side, or wouldn’t care for one hurt kid. He’s never been the kind of kid to go running to the teacher when a classmate pushed him over. He usually pushed back and got them both thrown in time out. 

There’s no pushing back against Dream, not when he helped Tommy out so much. He should be grateful.

But his nose fucking hurt. He remembers being pissed off about that. 

The shoddy ice pack he had to make himself was just ice cubes wrapped up in cheap napkins, but he was too scared to go to the infirmary to explain what happened. Tommy had stuffed his nose full of tissues and held the pack up to his cheek, the bottom part of his mask held between his elbow and ribs. 

It was then that Nixie rounded the corner.

When she saw him, she stilled.

“...Red? What happened?” She asked, perplexed. 

He felt too exposed. Yellow-tinged goggles still hid his eyes but he'd never been one for unmasking. Tommy and Dream were always the more secretive heroes about their faces. 

“Nothing.”

"Here, let’s just get you to the infirmary so they can make sure you're-”

“I’m fine,” he hissed back. 

“... Stubbornness like that isn’t going to keep you alive.”

“It wasn’t- it wasn’t from a mission. I was being dumb, so just let it be.”

“Did… Did Daydream do that?” She asked. 

“W-what? No. Why would you say that? No- no, that’s not. Not- no.” 

“So he did?”

“No! I literally just said- just said no. I was- it was just a training accident. Fell, I fell. Tripped.”

“Okay. Sure. So Daydream… would you say he’s a nice guy? Good mentor?”

“What’s with the fucking interrogation- of course, he is," he bumped his shoulder into her, walking past. 

"If you wanna defend a shitty guy, be my guest. I was just trying to help." 

 "Fuck off," he flipped her off.

"Ok! That's how you're going to be, ok," she walked off in the opposite direction. 

Before she fully rounded the corner, she leaned back and said, “I spotted Daydream with split knuckles. It would’ve been way less suspicious if you’d just said he accidentally clipped you during a spar.”

She walked away from his line of sight. He bit at his lip, groaning. 

Dream found him a couple of hours later, a sincere-sounding excuse on his lips and the first healing potion of many in his hand. 

Tommy accepted it, like a fool. 

————————————

The TV remote is dead. And it didn’t just happen, it died a week or so ago.

After the nights spent accidentally dropping his phone on his face, he's decided to do something. He's finally found some initiative to buy some new fucking batteries to revive it.

Of course, the process of getting new batteries would've been easy with using some app to just get them delivered, but it was broken. Broken. He shouldn't be so surprised but he feels betrayed. So. He has to actually leave his apartment to get them. 

He's gotten too much fresh air recently, from going out for his job to meeting up with Quackity. It must be unhealthy at some point to get too much fresh air, touching too much grass. Tommy is certain of this. 

And he really hates crowded places. They're harder to breathe in. The bright lights make it hard to see and give him a headache. The floors are always squeaky. Hell is a shopping mall, and Tommy can say this without dispute. Who's gonna argue with him, he's the one who's died. 

The cold ass weather sucks. His wrists always hurt more on cold days, his joints ached. 

He goes through the motions, entering, grabbing a basket, and walking down the aisles trying to find batteries. It sucks. As much as he prides himself on his levels of independence, he never used to do household chores like this before. Dream didn't either, they just lived like that. So, this is new to him and it sucks.

He wanders, looking at the different sections and realizes he has no idea where the batteries would be kept. What... is a battery? How do you classify it? Is there just a 'batteries' section somewhere? Where? 

He's going to develop a migraine before the trip is over.

While he is having a crisis while staring blankly over a bunch of pumpkins (why were there pumpkins indoors?), Tommy spots someone familiar. 

There, in all his stupid, tall glory, was Magpie himself… squinting at tactical shovels. 

Probably to bury bodies with. 

He's obviously distracted, and Tommy could just sneak past him but…

The last time they talked Tommy had been pretty dickish to the villain. Tommy was accusatory, claiming that Magpie was trying to mess with him. The whole Knitting Club Fiasco was a shitshow for himself, from the stress and anxiety, but he still feels guilty for being so aggressive. He has texted Ranboo and Tubbo, he's got a whole thing arranged with them to (maybe) apologize, but there's still Magpie.

"Ayup," he greets, hands shoved in his pockets.

Magpie startles, whipping his head over his shoulder straight at Tommy. 

"Oh! Hi, Tommy. What are you doing here?"

"... Shopping. What else would I be doing?" He tilts his head.

Magpie flourishes his hands, "You could be stealing, committing a crime, following me- plenty of things."

"That's dumb. I'm just… looking for batteries."

"But this the gardening area," Magpie deadpans. 

"Fuck you, I know that. I'm- I'm on my way to the batteries, why are you here, huh? Lurking like a weirdo?"

"Oh, I got lost from Phil."

Tommy stares at the villain, flat and unimpressed. He has the decency to look embarrassed, taking a step away from the shovels. 

"I think I know where the electronics section is, if you wanna look there together?" Magpie offers. 

"Shouldn't you find… your dad?"

He shrugs, "Nah, this is pretty normal."

Tommy had no idea that batteries would be in the electronics section, so he accepts the olive branch. He honestly didn't think he'd have company on his shopping trip, but he's kind of glad about it. Tommy doesn't know where to find batteries, and Magpie does.

Or, he thought so. Magpie acted like he knew.

"I could've sworn it'd be by appliances…"

"I distinctly remember seeing them here last time."

"Here's a battery charger, where are the actual batteries?"

But they wander the store, lap it twice over without any sign of what they were looking for.

"I don't think they sell batteries here," Magpie says after they pass the fertilizer for the third time. 

"Why wouldn't they? Everything requires batteries."

It would explain why his delivery app was broken- it wasn't really, they just didn't have them.

"...This is the worst thing to happen ever," he groans. 

"We could ask somebody- do you know what type you need?"

"There are different types of batteries?" He asks. 

Magpie takes his turn staring flatly at him. He feels his face heat up in embarrassment. 

"Whatever, it doesn't matter. Prime, I'll just- just- fuckin' I dunno. Steal the batteries from Q's remotes."

 Magpie laughs, "You're such a gremlin child."

"Not a child."

"Toddler. Infant. Zygote."

"I don't know what fucking zy-goat means but fuck you, you're a fucking zygote."

"Says the child who doesn't know the difference between AAA batteries and a 12 volt."

He sputters in outrage, "I could- I could tell the difference. I've never needed to but- shut up you tall, dumb, wrongun-"

“-Oh! You should get this!" Magpie interrupts, pointing at a tiny cactus sitting in a terra-cotta pot. It’s a small, squat thing with thick barbs. "It’s prickly, just like you.”

Magpie is just trying to distract, he shouldn't fall for it. It’s really just another jab at his character, like the raccoon keychain. Prickly.

Distantly, he thinks he should respond with outrage, but all he can wonder is, “You keep doing that. Comparing me to shit.”

“Hm? It just reminded me of you. Plus, you've mentioned wanting a plant before. And now you have your own place."

It’s weird. He doesn’t think Magpie knows him well enough to say that- but it’s weird. Not bad weird, definitely not good weird. Just weird. Magpie is always an anomaly, though, so why is he so surprised? 

His eyes dart to the cactus, to the colorful label on the front. On the picture there’s a colorful dash of pink- “Wait- can they really grow flowers?” 

Magpie leans down to look at the small printed image of pink flowers.

“Yeah… do you really want to get it?” 

He stares at the cactus. It’s so tiny, only a couple of inches tall, and it looks more like a tiny, fucked up green pumpkin than any cactus he’s seen on tv. It’s ugly. His dumb birdbrain wants to coo over and tuck it away and-

“What if I end up killing it?”

“It’s used to growing in deserts, as long as you water it every so often you’ll be fine. Cacti are the easiest plant to take care of.”

If Tommy kills it, he might actually be devastated. He frowns, “I don’t think I should.” 

Magpie says, “Aw, don’t say that. I’ll buy it for you, then, and you can toss it or keep it. See? No responsibility on you.”

“That’s a waste of money," he argues back.

“I’m a villain- or, ex-villain now. My family is fine on money.”

Tommy sighs and lets Magpie do whatever. If he really wants to blow his money on something as frivolous and unnecessary and useless as a cactus, then he can. Tommy humors him and lets the man drag him over to checkout to pay for it.

"Thanks… I guess," he mumbles, fingers curling around the terracotta. 

"It's no problem," Magpie waves a hand, smiling easily.

Silence falls over them, slightly awkward. Magpie doesn't go and Tommy still needs his stupid batteries. 

He should really apologize right now.

His heart instantly throws itself into a panic, abort mission, emergency emergency-

-but he's here with Magpie, and this is the whole reason he approached him in the first place. 

"I- I wanted to clarify some things- just, um," Tommy looks away, "y'know. Apologize."

"For… what?"

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry for brushing you off last week at the club. I guess I was surprised, and it came out badly. But I was definitely being a jerk. So… sorry."

Magpie shakes his head, "No- no, I'm sorry. We should've given you space, or asked you if you were comfortable with us being there. That was on me. I'm sorry."

Tommy looks up at him- analyzing his wide, earnest eyes. They're brown, like the color of old leather shoes. 

"... Whatever, I just wanted you to know uh- I didn't really mean what I said," he shrugs, feigning ease when he still feels shaky.

Magpie opens his mouth to say something else, but a loud voice rings out over the speakers, interrupting him. 

"Hello, if you are Wilbur Soot, your father is waiting for you at the front desk. Again, if you are Wilbur Soot, your father is waiting for you at the front desk. Please come to the front desk if you are Wilbur Soot."

"Ah shit, not again!" Magpie frets, looking around.

"Again? This has had to happen before?"

"Techno is never going to let me live this down- fuck, bye Tommy! This was fun!" Magpie waves, rushing to what is hopefully the front desk. 

Tommy blinks. He takes a moment, taking it all in. The buzz of energy under his skin, the annoyingly bright lights, and the small plant he now has. Despite his arguing, the weight of the pot in his hands makes him giddy with excitement. Tommy tries his best to hold back a smile while walking back home.

And fuck, he still needs batteries. 

————————————

The Gymnocalycium Baldianum, otherwise known as the dwarf chin cactus, does best when it is kept in partial shade, watered every seven to ten days, and kept in a well-ventilated room (if grown inside. Which he is, to keep a close eye on it. To keep it safe.) 

Tommy has done, what some might say, an excessive amount of reading about cacti and his Gymnocalycium Baldianum. But it was exciting and the first thing to make him feel genuine happiness in a while after his… slump. 

Even if it was just a plant. Just a plant. Just a plant from Magpie. 

He strategically figures out which windowsill will be the best so the cactus won’t bake in the sun, but one where he can still prop open the window to let air in. It has to be perfect.

He's so excited he feels light and floaty. He feels like he could soar right up to the clouds through sheer force of will. His apartment, not empty but filled with knickknacks and utilities and his countless knitting projects now has life. He's so happy.

His gut drops.

The inexplicable feeling that he's messed up washes over him. 

Attachments are a weakness. They give your enemies the strings to control you. 

Tommy knows he's messed up, because what is he doing- getting excited over something from a villain. And gifts are easily used to manipulate someone. 

But … surely being happy to have a plant isn’t something bad? It’s just a plant. If he got attached to a tree he wouldn’t just cut it down- that’ de-forest-tation and that’s bad. So- so being excited about growing a plant isn’t something important. No, he’s just… helping the environment. Do cacti even give off oxygen like trees? Or does something needs leaves to do that? Whatever- he’s helping the environment. With his cactus.

He should name it-

No. Naming things means you expect them to stick around. It’s- it’s attachment at its worst. He’s stopped himself dozens of times from naming his knitting projects stupid things (who names a scarf that's too short? who names a small knitted turtle? it’s dumb, he’s dumb, he knows but he still-) but Henry the stuffed cow sits on his bed, a heavy weight in the background. 

… it'd be pretty annoying just referring to his cactus as ‘his cactus’ or ‘the cactus’ or ‘his plant.’ That’s all.

“You can be L'Cactus," he announces to the plant on his windowsill. If he- when he gives Henry the Cow away, L'Cactus will be the only attachment in his apartment. But not really. Because he's not attached to L'Cactus, he's just... taking care of him.

There are these tiny, brussel sprout-looking lumps that will, hopefully, bloom into pink flowers in the spring. If all goes right.

————————————

Tommy isn't a hero anymore. Being a hero had meant a lot of things- being a savior, a rescuer, a celebrity. It was everything, and now there's none of that. In simple terms, he's now a nobody. 

He used to think he was always going to be a hero. He knew from a young age he didn't have it in him to rebel, run away, do what the Angel did. He was never supposed to leave Dream's side. And Magpie was always going to be on the opposite side of the HA, from vigilante to villain. So it would have been impossible to be friends, in the game they were unwilling players in. 

Maybe Magpie- and he's thought a lot about this- but maybe the man isn't complete dogshit. 

The thing about Magpie is that he looked like he weighed less than a sack of potatoes and dressed like a gangly scarecrow. He wasn’t the brawn of the Syndicate, like Protesilaus. But Tommy had underestimated him in their first battle- and never again. He was stronger than he looked, but he especially knew how to wrestle himself out of a bad situation. 

His weapon was his words.

It was easy to be pulled into his spiels and rants and forget you were even in a fight, then bam! You're getting punched in the gut.

And Tommy is no stranger to Magpie's power. He's seen seasoned professionals and newbies alike freeze at a single command. He could turn partners against each other and change the tides of a battle with a single sentence. 

Tommy had even fallen under it a couple of times, back when he underestimated how powerful the villain was. 

But Magpie valued words. The normal kind, that everyone speaks. Back when he was a solo vigilante, he was known for de-escalating conflicts and fights with simple negotiation. People loved his charismatic personality and he had his way of avoiding violence. That changed when he helped form the Syndicate, but Magpie has always been a popular villain despite the HA's propaganda. He wasn't someone who reveled in blood. He didn't hesitate against his enemies but Magpie didn't kill people, not so excessively like the Angel or Protesilaus.

It didn't mean he wasn't a wrongun. He still used his powers to help the Syndicate and he still broke every other law out there- it was always so complicated. Does it even matter if Magpie has killed five or five hundred people? Tommy's hands aren't free of blood, Dream's aren't either.

Magpie and Red Thunder talked sometimes. Sometimes they fought, sometimes they just ran, but sometimes- sometimes they talked. Sat on top of dark rooftops or hidden away between small alleyways.

Maybe the villain still hadn't changed much from his old ways of words over weapons, but Tommy just liked slacking off from the job. So, they didn't always fight, going through the usual motions.

They never talked about anything meaningful. Not really. Well, Tommy never did. Everything Magpie said seemed to rile himself up and his revolutionary spirit. 

Tommy doesn't do friends or vulnerability, and surely a hero and villain could never be real friends. It just had to be… some ploy from the villain. Yeah, he was just trying to gain Tommy's trust to betray him later, but Tommy wasn't dumb. He wouldn't fall for it.

And he didn't. Really.

He still thinks Magpie is a bastard wrongun piece of shit.

He knows the rules of the game. Heroes and villains will never be on the same team, no matter what. 

… Barring Sapnap's situation. Karl was a vigilante with a heart of gold and Quackity wasn't even a villain in the HA's terms, just a flashy criminal- because Las Nevadas was just a den of normal crimes. Drugs, gangs, shady deals, and so on. The media just loved his antics and incorrectly slapped the title villain onto him as if the word had no meaning. But Sapnap, Karl, and Quackity make do.

Does the fall mend that gap, that they could be friends? Can ex-heroes and ex-villains truly forget everything that had happened and bridge the divide? Did Magpie even want to be Tommy's friend? Did Tommy want to be his? 

(He remembered Tommy wanted a plant, but Dream never allowed it.)

The world has been flipped, the rulebook switched out but now that means the unending quiet that surrounds him doesn't have to remain quiet. And a part of him want to grab and pull at everything around him until a whole furnished world surrounded him. 

Sapnap hasn't left him yet and Quackity doesn't treat him any differently and the Angel has helped him so much and Tubbo maybe doesn’t hate him and Wilbur-

And Magpie isn't bad. Whatever bad means, whatever not being bad entails. 

They're all nice people. But Tommy isn't normal- in so many different ways. But where- where normal people are like trees, Tommy is like moss, or lichen, or maybe even mold. He grows on others, needs support. Is clingy. But Dream, his old tree was cut down. And now he's just- well, the metaphor falls apart there but he's just a parasite in need of a new host. And he doesn't want to put anyone else through that. 

Nobody has ever wanted him, and it's not just Dream who put that in his head. There's empirical proof of that called His Life.

Love is just another weapon people can use. Love has always been used to hurt him, withheld from him, and it is his own love that rots and sours in his head. 

Tommy is unlovable. His own love is volatile. 

And nobody deserves to have to put up with him. 

(Dream used to be nice and he used to be good, and either he was always bad or something- someone made him that way. They say one bad apple spoils the whole bunch, and what if Tommy rotted it all? What then? Is it all his fault?)

There has to be something wrong with him, some sort of explanation for everything that has gone so horribly wrong. He’s never tried to ruin things. He’s never tried to be a problem. There’s just something synonymous with Tommy and an inconvenience. 

Talking with Magpie was the only time he didn't feel like one.

He would never tell the bastard to his face, but Magpie was… kind of an okay guy. Just a little, tiny bit. But it's useless to put that kind of energy into Tommy. 

He could easily admit Magpie wasn't as bad as Dream. But that's a low bar to have. Maybe. Maybe that's what love is and he should forgive Dream. Should he forgive Magpie? Is there anything that has to be forgiven? He doesn't know! It's a mess! It's been a mess since the Angel first tried recruiting him and it's been a mess since he let his guard down around Magpie and it's been a mess since he helped free the villain from the HA.

Why did Tommy help him? Why? Why? Why? 

If someone really pried him for the answer, the truth is- he doesn't know. It wasn't done impulsively nor did he regret it. But there isn't an easy answer, nor a noble cause behind it. It's a tangled-up and hypocritical mess that has no answer to it. 

He wanted to help Magpie, but he never wanted to help the Syndicate. Tommy didn't trust the villain but he was the one Tommy turned to when he needed someone to talk to. It's all cheap and disillusioned ideas of what the world was. Just broken dreams. Misplaced trust. A boy unsure of what was truth and what was lie. 

He's very aware that if he hadn't freed Magpie, Doomsday wouldn't have happened. The HA wouldn't have fallen, Dream wouldn't have killed him, and he would still be Red Thunder. 

Tommy misses it, because he's a mess and he's lost and theoretically. One might say he's lonely, even. 

Chapter Text

“Red, you might’ve heard this already, but Spiral was seen in a scuffle against Blaze today! This is the first skirmish between the uprising vigilante and a top-ranked hero- a hero you’ve worked with on multiple occasions now. Do you think Blaze should’ve tried harder to apprehend Spiral?”

Tommy stares at the mic being shoved in his face. His scheduled time ended three minutes ago and would like to leave. He bites his tongue from making some sarcastic reply. 

“I think- I think that’s a little hard to answer. It’s still unclear why-uh, what Spiral was trying to accomplish being at- by Las Nevadas. It’s ultimately not up to me to determine what happens to him, but his own actions against the law.”

“Of course, of course, but it’s scary for us civilians to be kept getting caught in vigilante and hero fights. Shouldn’t he be arrested as soon as possible, especially with the power he holds?” 

Spiral's power isn’t scary, the vigilante just uses it very well. From what people can assume it’s some form of teleportation or displacement power, but it can’t actually hurt anyone. He can catch heroes off guard easily. It’s all bullshit fabricated hysteria because Spiral is new. They know next to nothing about him but people love to hate vigilantes and hate to love them. 

Vigilantes are powerful but also the underdog to the heroes- they can do anything but also they’re just pests. One day people will be celebrating a vigilante’s actions that saved people from a shooting, and the next they will criticize them for working against the heroes in a robbery. It’s cherry-picking what facts are remembered and which are forgotten. Nobody bothers to mention how Spiral hasn’t even caused any civilian casualties yet. No, it’s always ‘blame the heroes for not doing enough to stop the dangerous vigilantes.’ Except when people decide to like vigilantes, then it's asking why the heroes don’t work with them. 

He replies, monotone, “The HA always puts its energy into issues they think deserve the most attention- like villain attacks, gang activity, and hero patrols. Hopefully, with our efforts, vigilantes realize they don’t need to interfere when the heroes can keep people safe, instead of trying to divide our attention. Thank you for all the questions, it was a pleasure to be a guest on the show today.”

He grabs the interviewer’s hand and forcibly shakes it as she gives him a strained smile. She stutters to ask one last question but he’s standing up, walking off set before she can finish her sentence. 

Prime, he hates the media part of being a hero. 

Tommy doesn’t give two shits about vigilantes, but his PR manager and all his publicity team were very particular that he didn’t just say that- people would get cross with him, accuse him of not caring about the people's safety. If he said he did care, then they would say he should and that he's not doing enough. If he condoned vigilantes, he’d be called an encourager of violence and law-breaking. If he said he didn’t support them, he’d be called a tyrant hating on “the peoples’ heroes, the little guy.”

Since they work outside the law and set rules of the Heroes Association, it’s very nebulous whether vigilantes can be trusted. Of course, the HA would love it if every vigilante was scrubbed off the street. But they are a touchy subject, and if the HA openly opposed them, people would protest. So it’s a gray area to be tread lightly upon.

Dream is waiting for him by the makeup tables. He’s very grateful that he didn’t have to do any of that annoying makeup or hair touch-up stuff the other celebrity guests had to do- perks of wearing a helmet. He switches out his fancy helmet and coat for his studier work ones. 

“We’ve got a call about Dry Waters Mall being threatened by a group of A-tier villains. The bomb squad has been called in, but they want us on the scene in case anyone gets too trigger-happy.” 

“Gotcha, Daydream," he nods to his mentor, following him off set.

“You did well in your interview today. Didn’t insult the interviewer once,” Dream laughs.

“Yeah. I was this close by the end there. Should’ve just said I didn’t give a fuck.” 

Dream bats him on the shoulder, “You’d get in so much trouble- I would never hear the end of it! Because it would be put on me.”

“It would’ve been funny, though," he insists. 

Dream grumbles, “... It would’ve been funny.”

“I mean- she had the nerve to just keep asking me questions that were traps,” Tommy complains, following Dream outside and letting the cold air wash over him. 

“It was certainly a choice to bring up Spiral,” Dream says. His voice is a strained calm, trying to sound nonchalant as they both clamber into the HA vehicle picking them up. 

They sit in silence until they reach the mall. 

A fact not many know about Daydream- but that Tommy is privy to- is that the number one hero hates vigilantes. He’s not allowed to speak any slander to the public, but within the walls of their apartment, he’ll rage on and on about them. 

If someone wants to be a hero so badly, they should go about it through the safe and sane and legal means- through the HA evaluations. Having a convenient power does jack-all without the addition of support, tech teams, intel gatherers, and backup. The HA runs a large, well-oiled machine. 

Spiral is a part of these rants. Dream says the vigilante is poorly geared up, with a nonconsequential power, and obviously not trained in combat. He’s a dumb civilian with a pipe dream of changing the world. 

To Tommy, it’s just strange. The lack of choice in his position makes him wonder why others try so hard to be in the same place. He knows many say he’s not qualified to be a top hero, that he doesn’t deserve to work by Daydream, but it’s not up to him. It’s up to the power laws that declared his electricity a tool for the state.

Power laws are fucking dumb. They have the same loopholes that made Tommy a hero, that condemn people with ‘villainous’ abilities. Any power deemed “too dangerous for the public” was to be closely monitored. Just recently, Spiral's strange displacement power was declared in that category of ‘too dangerous.’ 

Red Thunder doesn’t cross over into the vigilante scene but from what he’s seen, Spiral is harmless. 

What’s the most one vigilante could do? With Las Nevadas and its information ring, the HA the most powerful sector of superpowered people, and the rampant criminal groups in L’Manberg- short of turning all three fronts against each other, there’s nothing a single person could change on their own. 

-Of course, that’s just what Spiral succeeded in doing. 

The Syndicate coordinated the manpower of Doomsday, the heroes on the inside turned against their superiors, and vigilantes teamed up in a way that was never seen before- and one could argue it was Spiral that was the leader of the revolution. In a mostly unknown way, he was able to gain powerful allies on every side of the conflict and unite them.

Little do people know, it was just because he got engaged to a hero and a criminal. That the three of them were a sappy mess who would do anything for each other, and together they united against the HA.

————————————

Tommy post-closing time at the bakery. There are no customers and he can get lost in doing the methodical cleaning. And afterward, Niki bags up the desserts about to go stale and gives them to him.

An irrational rage fills him when the bell above the door chimes, because they closed ten minutes ago but some people don't know how to fucking read. He glances up at the customer- a tall man with long hair and tusks. Some sort of pig or boar hybrid, then. Entering their shop after hours.

He frowns, throwing the rag he was using harshly back into the bucket. 

But when Niki looks up she smiles and greets him, “Hi, Techno. How are you?”

- And it sort of clicks in his head, that Niki must know this dude. He has after-hours privilege since she isn’t surprised to see him. So Tommy’s rage at annoying customers continues to be irrational as he wipes down the tables.

No, Tommy is always right, fuck customers.

They start chatting, calm and quiet, as Tommy ducks into the kitchen to put the last of the dishes away. When he exits back into the main part of the bakery, Niki is handing the man a wrapped-up loaf of bread. 

The man glances at him, and asks, "Who's the new hire?"

"Oh! This is Tommy," she smiles. Tommy cringes, slowly backpedaling out from behind the counter. 

"Tommy like..." 

"Like Tommy who is Red Thunder, yes."

He makes a panicked sound, "Hey?"

Niki blinks, “Oh, no this is Phil’s son, Technoblade. He already knows about you.”

Technoblade, Techno- oh. 

Techno. 

Also known as Protesilaus. The fucking blood-thirsty demon of the Syndicate. The Angel of Death’s son. 

Huh.

What the fuck do you say to someone you used to be enemies with? “Oh. Hi?” 

Protesilaus looks him over, “You’re… smaller out of costume.” 

“Fuck you. I’m not small. You’re small!” He hisses. 

It’s a blatant falsity when the villain is twice his size and has almost a foot in height over him. Protesilaus could probably benchpress him, but there’s the principle of it. Tommy isn’t small, he has always just been… wiry.

“Sure, kid.” 

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t make another quip. Niki is happy enough to ask about their book club, which eugh, of course they’re interested in things like book clubs. That’s some old people's shit. 

In stilted movements, Tommy unties his apron and collects his things from the backroom. Protesilaus’s gaze filters over to him from time to time and it leaves him uneasy. He’s not scared, he’s just- it’s just- well, Protesilaus probably hates Red Thunder’s guts. He’s well known for despising heroes and all that they stood for after being locked up in Pandora’s Vault. Which, fair enough. But there’s nothing Red Thunder could’ve done about that. 

Tommy has faced the man on the battlefield only a handful of times. Never on purpose and they were always crushing defeats. After Dream’s close but brutal loss against the villain, the HA knew sending any heroes after him was a suicide mission. Tommy’s a hero- was a hero, and Protesilaus used to be a villain who was known as the slaughterer of heroes. 

Not a great combo. 

Protesilaus had a whole thing about ‘complete reciprocity.’ The heroes destroyed his life, so he set out to destroy the HA and everything the institution stood for. Tommy had done the villain a huge favor- freeing Magpie- but it’s not like the man kept a tally of all the favors he owed and the favors owed to him. Probably. It’d be real pedantic of him if he did. 

So, it didn’t matter!

He was just getting nervous for no reason.

It could be the villain’s power, too, making him antsy. The HA didn’t know a lot about the specifics of Protesilaus’s abilities because everyone who’d been under it had been too scared shitless to gather any details. Maybe he just had an ambient ability that always made people feel afraid. That would be kinda fascinating.

He knows the man wouldn’t pick a fight in Niki’s bakery because pissing off Niki is a fate worse than death, so he’s just feeling irrationally afraid. 

No- not afraid, even, just antsy. Maybe a little awestruck, because anyone who can beat Dream in a fight is something impressive. If Dream was the number one hero, then Protesilaus was the number one villain. Maybe he’s a little concerned that out there, there are documents and words on a computer screen that says family, linking them together when all of the “family” Tommy’s had in the past has been shit. Maybe something in his dumb bird brain wants him to run away from the predator lurking nearby.

“Are you planning to drop by the farm this weekend?” Protesilaus asks Niki. 

“If I’m free, I definitely will.”

She coughs. 

“What do you think- or, uh, are you interested in… farms at all?”

Tommy jolts when he realizes Protesilaus aimed the question at him, “Uh… I guess? I like animals. Cows are the best animal on earth.”

“I see,” Protesilaus nods.

He wrings his hands together.

Niki continues, “Techno runs one all by himself. A lot of us stop by to help out- but it’s mostly so he doesn’t start talking to the animals from lack of human contact.”

She laughs, but no one joins in.

“There are cows,” Protesilaus adds.

“Really?” He lights up, “Do they have names? You should name one Henry- Henry is a solid name for a cow. If I had a cow I’d name him Henry, and I’d cherish him like he deserves. You know, cows have such soulful eyes I don’t know anyone can hate them, they are the kindest of creatures.”

“... They all have names.”

“You should rename one to Henry, then.”

Protesilaus stares, looking a little confused. Maybe a little fed up. He sighs. “Oh-kay. I gotta get goin’- see you later, Niki.” 

She says goodbye, and just as fast as the hulking figure of the villain had entered the bakery, he left. Tommy watches his back until he rounds the street corner.

“What did you think of Techno?” Niki asks him as she flicks off the lights to the backroom.

“He’s weird.”

“Yeah, he’s not a big people person. But he’s a complete softy once you get to know him.” 

Softy. Number one wanted villain for the Heroes Association and the L’manbergian government. Uh, he’s pretty sure those two things don’t coincide.

It was… unnatural seeing Protesilaus out of the mask. He wore a terrifying thing, a giant mask that resembled a boar skull- and might’ve actually been one. Bone is a tough material, durable and long-lasting. But Protesilaus was scary, and- and Techno wasn’t. Not nearly as much as the sight of the villain with his cape whipping in the wind and blood dripping from his hands. The pink hair and golden jewelry didn’t fit an infamous criminal, but on a civilian, it felt put together. Pristine. 

And now he knew what Tommy looked like, too. At this point, he thinks the whole Syndicate has seen him unmasked. (Er- barring Monarch. But they technically weren’t a Syndicate member anymore.)

Amongst heroes and villains, it was commonplace to wear helmets or thick, obscuring masks since keeping your identity was important. But the truth of it was, if you glimpsed someone’s face, it’s not like it could feasibly help you track them down. A few years back Manifold had glimpsed Magpie’s face but “young-looking man with dark hair” was like, almost half the population of L’Manberg. Most of the older heroes knew what the Angel looked like, but that did jack shit when he went off the radar. There could only be so many warrants for “an older man with blonde hair and blue eyes that’s a crow hybrid” before somebody accused the HA of hybrid discrimination. 

The whole population could know Red Thunder’s face and would still be unable to trace him back to anything- courtesy of the HA wiping his record. It was names that needed to be protected under lock and key, and names that Tommy still struggled to use. 

Red Thunder was young, and Dream had always been a stickler to the rules. He never showed his face to anybody, and Tommy never did either. 

Now everyone around him is chill about the whole ‘secret identities are dead because we’re citizens’ idea but he’s always been more comfortable in a mask than his own skin. 

“Do you keep up with all the villains you knew or just the Syndicate?” 

Niki tilts her head, thinking, “I’m trying to keep up with anyone I considered a friend. I’ve even met up with the Captain recently!” 

“Oh, that’s cool. Uh, The Captain the guy or The Captain the girl?”

“The girl one, the other Captain has been retired for years," she laughs, handing him a bag of cookies.

“Thanks," he accepts them, taking one out and sinking his teeth into it.

He follows her out the front door as she finally locks the entrance to the bakery.

She stares at the door for a moment, sighing, “I do wonder how everyone is doing. Because we’ve got the bakery and Ponk’s with Sam. And there are the fiances. But I don’t know much outside the Syndicate’s circle.” 

“I called George recently. He was doing fine, y’know him. Sleeping a ton.”

“Of course. Ach, It’s been ages since I’ve talked to the heroes. I wonder how they’re doing.” Nixie gasps, “You know what? We should do an ex-hero meet-up! Because we’re all civilians now! I don’t have all of their contact info, but Phil could help me there, and it could be here in the bakery. What do you think?”

Heroes were always kept busy and apart. Duos like Diamond and Demon or Nixie and Manifold were good for press and merch, but too many heroes fraternizing could mean rebellion. Decades ago a group of the top heroes decided to go against the HA, but the number one at the time had aided in apprehending them. Since that point, heroes were banned from forming groups.

The concept of meeting all his old co-workers is a little daunting. A room full of super-powered people who could, united, do pretty much anything they wanted. The most heroes he’s seen in one room together unsupervised were the Dream Team and himself. 

“It might be weird. We were just coworkers at the end of the day. I wasn’t on great terms with a lot of them.”

“But we all understand what it’s like to go from the world of heroes to civilian life. This adjustment period is hard. I know when I first got out I was a mess. And it’s comforting for me to know how you’re doing, I’m glad to have you here at the bakery. I’m sure the others want to know how we’re doing after Doomsday.”

He looks up to Niki. Nixie. Nemesis. She used to stand at the top of the world with the top-ranking heroes. She joined the infamous Syndicate to change the world. She did change the world.

He smiles, “I think it could work, since it’s you coming up with it.”

————————————

After the not-disastrous first meeting with The Angel and the olive branch he offered, the Syndicate apparently decided Red Thunder was someone they could just annoy. 

Nixie- or, Nemesis- bothering him makes sense. They just chatted about HA things, she’d sometimes ask how Manifold was or what Dryad was up to. He’d sigh and make a fuss about having to turn her in and they’d have a half-hearted scuffle before she’d go on her own way.

Then seeing the Angel flying overhead became a common sight during patrols. He ruled the skies because he moved faster and more elegantly than any plane or other flying hero. It wasn’t like anybody could catch him. Sometimes he’d dropped down and bother Tommy until he started threatening to call in Daydream.

Sometimes even fucking Monarch would wave to him when they passed ways like they were buddies. Tommy, without fail, flipped him off every time. It was like a ritual of theirs.

So sure, he was used to villains bothering him, and conveniently never reported it to the HA. (Because the game between heroes and villains was just that- a game. Bloody and tragic but a game all the same. And he’s always hated following the rules-

-and maybe it was nice. The attention, the bantering, the painlessness of it all.)

He could easily say he wasn’t getting attached to them. Tommy just admired The Angel and the hero he used to be. He missed Nixie and didn’t tolerate most other villains’ presence.

But Magpie was slightly different. They… talked. Really talked.

“- in all your interviews, you insist you’re 6”3 but you’re 6”1, max. Really, if Dream is 6”2- or 6”3 like he claims- and you’re shorter than him, it’s simple math.”

“Fuck you. Fuck you, you stupid bitch, shit ass wrongun fucker-”

“You have the foulest mouth- I bet you’re a joy for your PR manager.”

That’s true! Tommy is a joy and a delight, Magpie’s just too thick-skulled to see it.

… He just finds it dumb he can legally electrocute a group of villains until their skin is charred but couldn’t drop a singular f-bomb during an interview. 

“At least I have a social media team, Mister ‘I was caught ranting about eating sand for fourteen minutes straight’ by the L’Manbergian tabloids.”

“I’m offended, I bet you’ve never even tried eating sand. Your ignorance will continue to influence your small-minded views.”

“Okay, sure, you act okay now but don’t come crying to me when you’re voted lamest villain in L’Manberg.”

Magpie droops, “Do people actually do that?”

“On Reddit they do. I think the other social media are too sah-ni-tized for that. On twitter they’d start canceling people for joking about villains.”

“Well, they’re wrong. I’m not lame, Protesilaus is lame. Did you know he purposely doesn't team up with me during missions? It’s like he’s embarrassed to be seen with me. And he has no flair for the dramatics!”

“I’d be embarrassed to be seen with you, too. You know what? Yeah. I’m gonna dip before tabloids start saying shit like we’re besties.”

“Are we not besties, Red? Do you not want to be besties with me?” The villain leans in closer to him, hand over his heart like he’s been mortally wounded.

“No, fuck off you drama king," he laughs.

Magpie was a clingy bitch. Even in the middle of battle, he’d start chatting up a storm. He loved the sound of his own voice and never hesitated to show it off. 

Just because an enemy appears amicable, doesn’t mean they are to be trusted. Letting his guard down would just allow them to attack him while he’s unaware. Magpie doesn’t have the brawn of Protesilaus, the agility of The Angel, or a dangerous physical power like Nemesis. So he was charismatic, complimenting a hero’s job in a fight before charming them to drop all their weapons. He was tricky, slippery like an eel. If the man were a fish caught on a hook, he'd figure out how to convince the fisherman to let him go.

Half of his brain was always on alert around Magpie. Sure, the man didn’t seem to use his powers often, even in battle, but he could charm Tommy while his walls were down. 

Logic says Magpie is trying to manipulate him. Logic says they’re on opposite sides of an unending war. Logic says who would like him, even? Tommy is annoying, immature, selfish, and loud. 

The last part sounds more like Dream than logic, though. 

————————————

“Do you want anything to drink? We've got tea, hot chocolate, apple cider. Or just water," The Warden asks him.

The Warden and Dryad live in a yellow house with a white picket fence and lilies growing in the front yard. It’s idyllic, normal, very civilian of them. Nobody would ever guess that a wanted criminal and ex-hero lived there. 

“Uh. I’m good.”

“You sure? It’s awfully cold out today.”

“I’m sure. Thanks.”

Tubbo leans over him to shout, “I want a hot chocolate!” 

The Warden smiles and nods, pouring steaming water into a mug. 

There’s the part of him that was aware that Ranboo and Tubbo were staying with The Warden, and the part that knew he agreed to meet the two at their place- but he had somehow just forgotten to connect the pieces that he’d be seeing the villain, not just the two civilians.

One time Tommy’s head got caught under a chunk of debris and his mask snapped under the pressure. After he had gotten out from under it, he held the metal close to his face to protect his identity. He crossed paths with the Warden, they exchanged threats of violence, and it took him a couple of moments of talking to realize his voice changer had also broken. 

He panicked. Hard. Dream was adamant that if anyone found out Red Thunder was a teen, his career would be over (And his career ending would be catastrophic for him. The HA wouldn’t simply let him return to civilian life, no, he would end in Pandora’s Vault. Or dead.) 

But the villain, who certainly heard the voice cracks and pitchiness of his voice, backed off. Left the hero alone in the rubble. There was no backlash on him, no matter how long he waited for the information to be used as blackmail or for rumors to start spreading.

So The Warden wasn’t that bad of a guy. 

“Thanks for coming over. I honestly forgot you had my backpack,” Tubbo laughs.

“Yeah, 's no problem," Tommy answers as if he hasn't been agonizing and losing sleep over the fact for days now.

The Warden walks over and sets down the cup of hot chocolate on the counter.

“Thanks, Sam,” Tubbo says, immediately picking up the mug and taking a sip. 

“Of course. If you boys need anything I’ll just be in the other room. Please don’t break any laws while we have a guest, Tubbo.” 

Tommy watches him walk down the hall to another room, “How’d you end up staying with The Warden of all people?” 

Tubbo shrugs, “I know, it's kind of crazy. It started when we were all hiding from the government. It was before Sam joined the Syndicate, so we were all just outlaws trying to help each other out, Sam taught me about hacking and building weapons.”

“Hiding from the government? I thought you two were civilians?” Tommy looks them over, and they seem normal. Just two teens.

“We are, we are. We just, um- saying we’re wanted by the government is a little extreme. We’re just runaways,” Ranboo explains.

“Ah. I see.” Tommy had been called a flight risk back in his fostering days. It was bullshit since the only time he tried to “run away” was when he forgot to come home before curfew. Then the reputation of the problem child never left him. “And you don’t mind living with a supervillain?"

"There was also that one-time Tubbo threatened the capital building with nukes, but we don't talk about that."

"What?"

“Ignore Boo, it was just a little thing. So! Staying with Sam just kinda happened since he mentors me but I love living here- Sam’s got the backbone of a chocolate eclair so I can make him do anything I want. But once things settle down Boo and I will probably get our own place.”

Ranboo adds, “We all joke about Phil being the dad of the group, but Sam is the real one. He’s always got like, granola bars and water bottles with him and he memorizes everyone’s allergies. One time we had the vigilantes Rose and Amphibian hiding in our basement and now they come over during the holidays.” 

He hums, “Hm. Wouldn’t have been able to guess that about him. Most of the encounters I’ve had with him have been a lot more… stabby and explosion-y.”

Tubbo startles, “Oh shit, I totally forgot about that. Do you want to go somewhere else? If you don't feel comfortable around Sam we can go, or we can call Ponk, or- just- yeah. You guys used to be on different teams and all that.”

"What? No, I’m fine. He hasn’t done much to me. He’s a pretty chill guy like you said.” 

“But you must hold some sort of grudge against him. Ranboo can accidentally elbow me in the stomach and I’ll hold a grudge for it.” 

Tommy... isn’t a big grudges guy. One of his old teachers had them train until kids were collapsing, had them fight against each other. There was nothing personal there when they were just kids who had to follow orders. He used to be petty, got angry when someone would beat him in a fight. Funneled his anger in the wrong place.

But it got too exhausting getting angry at everyone and everything when the others were in the same boat as him. He doesn’t hold many grudges now. Especially when most of the people who screwed him over were killed or put on trial by the Syndicate. He doesn't blame Dream for anything, not even now.

“Uh, as long as someone hasn’t like, gleefully tried to murder me I really can’t be bothered. Even Blaze has hurt me before, in training or burning me on accident out in the field. Totem once stuck me with lightning!”

“But that’s different from, say, Sam trying to stab you.” 

“There are a lot of people who have tried to stab me, few succeeded.”

“But he has succeeded. Multiple times.”

“Lies and slander," he scoffs.

“So you’re really okay?”

He’s always been okay with the Syndicate fluttering around him like mosquitoes. They unnerved him and they were predatory, probably wanting something from him, but not anything he couldn’t deal with.

“Would you… hold a grudge because someone’s character in a play hurt your character?” 

Ranboo nods, “Oh. So, is Red Thunder like a character for you to play, then?”

He frowns, “Um. No. Maybe more like a mask? Or a shell to inhabit. Like turtles. Or- or like coral and those zoozen-things. The coral grows, but the mi-cro-organ-isms give it its color, and I'm the color.”

 “… You’ve lost me, boss man.”

Tommy hums, “I’ve lost myself, too.”

They sit in awkward silence as Tubbo continues to drink his hot chocolate. Ranboo is jittery, flattening out non-existent creases in his shirt and avoiding any form of eye contact- that last thing might just be an enderman hybrid thing, though.

Nothing comes to mind, so opens his mouth to talk about returning the backpack- when he is interrupted by Tubbo.

“Let’s do something fun, boys!”

“I dunno-”

“Let’s watch a movie! What’s your favorite one to watch?”

“I don’t have one?”

Tubbo gasps, “What? What movies have you seen?”

“... None?” Tommy's probably seen a few of the classics like old Disney and Pixar movies, but that was when he, like, five. He doesn't remember watching them.

“Then we have to watch something together. We made you come all the out here, we should at least make good hosts.”

“I don’t want to watch a movie," he says more firmly. 

He was mentally prepared to stop by their place, drop off their shit, and leave. He’s not getting corralled into spending another more time there.

Tubbo pouts, “What do you want to do, then?” 

“Crime," he jokes.

Tubbo lights up at that, “Oo, we could hack into the court cases for the current ex-HA officials. I told ya, Sam taught me how to.” 

“Wait, can you- can you seriously access those?” 

Ranboo groans, “Sam literally told you not to do anything illegal.”

“Shut up Boob boy, I wanna see this.” 

“That’s… not my name,” Ranboo hisses out in defeat as Tubbo pulls out a laptop.

Hacking, it turns out, is much more boring than what is hyped up in the media. There are no blinking lights or blaring alarms or mysterious text messages warning you to stop. Tubbo mostly just clicks on things and writes in lines of code that Tommy doesn’t understand. Ranboo sits quietly, bouncing his knee up and down.

“And here- the complete information on the court trials coming up next month.”

Tommy’s eyes dart over the computer, “Woah, I know these bitches- these were all the trainers at the HA.”

Tubbo smiles, a fire blazing in his eyes, “I helped pull up every scandal they ever tried to hide, from affairs to domestic abuse to the taxes they never paid. I made sure none of them got out of the sentences they deserved. I hold grudges, fiercely and firmly, and I'm very proud of that.”

Tommy looks the boy over, who is smiling triumphantly over his work. 

Tubbo is a runaway. He was hiding from the government.

He - was he there? Was it personal?

Did he get out?

That’s- that’s too much to think about.

“This is poggers.”

Tubbo laughs, “Poggers, indeed. It took a lot of time to dig up all the dirt. Surprise, surprise, the people in charge of the HA had committed just so, so many crimes. Made it easy for us.”

He shifts in his seat, “You know, I was the one who told Magpie dirt on Dream. I was like his information broker like- like the shit Quackity does at Las Nevadas.” 

“Really? How did that happen?” Ranboo makes a sound of interest. 

“I- uh, I didn’t quite do it on purpose. I was mostly just talking to him like, ‘oh Dream and the HA doesn’t want me to get a driver’s license!’ and he was like ‘oh really, they won’t?’ And I was like ‘yeah, it totally blows’ and that pissed him off. And then he told the rest of the Syndicate Dream was a wrongun who doesn't let people drive, and then the Syndicate told the media Dream was a wrongun, and the rest is history.”

“... Was it really about licenses?” Ranboo asks.

“Yup," he answers, popping the p.

Tubbo nods in acceptance. 

Tommy grips onto the backpack in his lap, Henry stored safely inside, “It’s getting kinda late, so I should just give you-”

“If you don’t mind, could you sign something for me?” Ranboo interrupts, voice hushed.

“Ranboo, no,” Tubbo groans. 

“What do you got, Big R?”

Ranboo’s eyes dart across the ground, shoulders hiked up, “I have, uh, a sweatshirt from one of your older merch drops. If this is too weird you can just say no.”

“I don’t mind,” Tommy says. 

Ranboo gets up and pulls a baggy sweatshirt out from the closet and sheepishly hands it to him, along with a marker. It is an older design, bright red and crisp white. It’s simpler, with just his hero alias written on the front with some sparks of electricity bouncing off of it. Later on, most of his merchandise was made with Dream on it as well. 

He writes down his usual signature for Red Thunder, scribbled and large. After a moment of contemplating, he adds a dick on the hoodie, too.

“Thank you so- what the?” Ranboo’s face falls, staring at his hoodie.

Tubbo sees it and laughs, “No no, this is funny, actually. This is what you deserve Mr. Fanboy.” 

Tubbo and Ranboo start bantering, the shorter one playfully jabbing at the other while Ranboo cries and laughs. They’re- they’re so happy.

And a withered-up, bitter part of his heart is jealous. They live in a nice house with organized spice racks and decorative paintings on the walls and framed photos of sunsets- and it’s all so disgustingly perfect. Sam has this perfect house where they get to stay. It’s what he’s always wanted, in shitty foster homes where the adults had chipped counters, rickety tables, and ratty furniture. He’s never lived somewhere that looks so full of love. 

There’s an angry child in his heart somewhere who just wants to be loved. Who wants a parent to make them hot chocolate or take photos of important days or teach him new hobbies- or to care about him at all.

A part of him hates them for having such perfect lives- because they don’t, obviously. They live with a supervillain and used to be in the law’s bad graces. But right now, it looks so perfect and he has never had perfect. He would settle for something half as good as this, but that's impossible for someone like him.

Tommy sighs heavily, “Stop beating around the bush- I need to get going, so here’s your backpack along with this dumb fucking toy. I don’t need either of them anymore.”

“You can keep them,” Ranboo says easily.

He stares at the two of them incredulously, “We- we literally met up so I could return your fucking things.”

“We met up,” Tubbo pulls out a five pound note, “so I could pay you back for the bet I lost.”

I bet five quid you fail your first attempt at the claw crane.

“Oh,” Is all he manages to reply, clumsily accepting the money.

In Tommy's stupor, The Warden shuffles past them, phone pressed to his ear as he shrugs on a coat.

“Everything okay?” Ranboo asks him.

“Wa- oh, yeah. Yeah. The hospital just… called about Ponk so I’m gona- I’m gonna visit.”

Tommy watches as all their faces fall.

“I need to get going anyways, so you all make sure Dryad is doing okay.

Tubbo frowns, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, no worries,” He stands up, shrugging on the yellow backpack.

“This was fun. You should come over again sometime soon. Maybe we could watch a movie then?” Ranboo offers.

The bitter part of him never wants to come over again, to scream and shout at them. But- they never met Red Thunder. They’ve never been out on the field, and Tommy doesn’t hold grudges but he hates pity. They don’t pity him when they see him- they just see Tommy. 

“Sounds good, big man.”

————————————

“Let’s go spar, Red,” Dream says, voice thin and flat.

They’re both tense after a dumpster fire of a mission, and Tommy wants nothing more than to go to sleep. But there’s no arguing with Dream when he sounds like that.

“Okay.”

It starts off normal. They trade kicks and punches for a couple of minutes, take a break, and then start again. Short bursts of basic training, just to keep their senses sharp. No powers or weapons. It’s usually easier to do when he’s not sore from being tossed off a building.

He dunks away from a punch, swerves out of the way of a kick, and misses his own jab at Dream’s side. It’s methodical, easy. 

Then Dream sweeps his leg out in a low kick, effectively tripping him, and he gets a face full of sweaty floormat. He immediately moves to get back on his feet, but Dream kicks him square in the back, hard enough to wind him. He flops back onto the ground.

Dream’s boot pins his wrist with just enough pressure that he can’t pull it free. Tommy’s body is already protesting against him. His arms burn through and through from the amount of lightning he used earlier, so even when he pushes weakly at the ground he can’t muster the strength to get back up, or to free his hand. His nerves cry out in pain begging him to stop.

“Can we take a break?” He rasps.

Dream’s heel digs into his arm harsher, “You win, you’ve won Dream, I can’t get- I can't. I’m exhausted.”

He lifts his boot, giving Tommy a moment of relief before it comes crashing right back down hard enough that he hears something crack. 

He’s broken and fractured enough bones to know the pain takes a moment to set in. The human body numbs the area or blocks out the pain, probably some survival adaption so you can run from whatever broke your fucking bones. But there’s no running here. He’s like- he’s like a clueless frog in a pot as the water temperature rises, trapped like crab in a bucket clawing at everything unable to free itself, just a pathetic circus animal kept on ropes. He doesn't know how he ended up in this hot water and he doesn't know how to get out.

His wrist is numb from the shock, but it’s a pointless defense when Dream grinds his foot down again aggravating the fracture. Tommy cries out, eyes burning and arm aching with a sharp pain. 

“Get up.” 

He breathes in and out slowly, and in one swift movement tugs his arm free and scrambles back away from Dream. His wrist is screaming at him, burning and throbbing in pain, but he stands up. 

The rest of the spar is uneven, Dream too fast and tough, and Tommy is too tired and in pain to even properly dodge getting his ass beat. As quickly as he gets back on his feet, he’s slammed into the ground again. Dream holds his arm pressed against his back, so harshly his shoulder burns in protest. He thrashes trying to get free, but no amount of kicking or struggling deters Dream. Every movement aggravates his broken wrist as he claws at the ground.

“I can’t, I can’t- please, I give up!” He cries out.

Dream doesn’t budge, “In a real battle villains don’t stop because you want to give up.”

His eyes water- from frustration or pain, it all blurs.

“I’m sorry.” 

It feels like forever as they stay still, Dream waiting for him to knock him off. His whole arm starts going numb and his breathing is strained.

Dream sighs in disappointment. Then, he stands up, letting him collapse into the ground. 

“Let me grab a potion for your wrist," is all he says before he leaves to grab a healing pot.

He returns and hands him the bottle. Tommy chokes down the potion, relaxing a little when the pain in his wrist lets up. The swelling goes down for the most part but he’s still handed an icepack.

“You know why I do this, right?” Dream asks.

“Yeah.”

“You know I don’t want to hurt you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

Dream groans, “Say more than just ‘yeah,’ I’m trying to help you. Don’t be petty.”

“… I’m fine. I’m sorry. Thank you for the health pot. Sorry.”

“Good. We’re done sparring for the day. But don’t think you’re off the hook; you were slower than usual on your dodging. If I’d been trying harder, I would’ve been able to kill you.”

I think you’re going to kill me anyway.

“Okay. Thanks, Dream," he whispers.

“Of course.”

————————————

Maybe he’s grown more selfish since the fall. 

Tommy used to be- good. Good

He can’t be perfect, but he tried his best to be good. The world will take away everything you love, give you hell, and never reward you for your efforts but you have to try your best and be good. 

And yet he hadn’t even argued with Ranboo and Tubbo over keeping their things. Keeping Henry, who he keeps swearing to get rid of.

The last time Tommy kept a stuffed animal around was years ago when a fan gave him one at a meet and greet. Dream had found it in his bedroom and was pissed. He tore the thing to shreds before making Tommy clean the mess up. Dream explained he never had toys even as a small child, so Tommy could do fine without. After that point, he knew he was too old to have such toys or comforts. 

Well, he thought he knew.

Tommy leans the backpack against the window, unzipping it to display Henry. Next to him is L’Cactus, who still looks vibrant and green. He hasn’t killed the plant yet, so that had to be a good sign. Tommy can nurture things, let things grow.

He pulls out the keychain he haphazardly threw into his desk after the ice skating venture. The one from Magpie, of a raccoon. He’s no stranger to being compared to the critter. He’s been called a pest, a scavenger, a thief. It’s insulting, really, what Magpie is trying to insinuate about him.

Niki explained before that raccoons in German are called waschbären which means wash-bears. Because raccoons run their food in water or something. It’s endearing. Raccoons have their tiny hands that just deserve to steal things, they’re survivors. They thrive in cities where most other animal life has fled. 

Tommy thinks being raccoon-like isn’t inaccurate. Despite being called an inconvenience, an annoyance, he survives no matter what. 

He attaches the keychain to one of the zippers on the backpack. He looks them over, admiring the picture he’s created effortlessly. All his precious things, safe and together. 

Dream said civilians were selfish. They didn’t know the thin rope society balanced on, but the heroes would take the burden to cross the gorge and keep everyone safe. Heroes had to be selfless things. And the goal was to make a world safe enough so nobody had to be a hero or villain anymore- then they could all be as selfish as they wanted. 

He’d been convinced any modicum of peace would be impossible. Tommy found it more believable he’d die young before he’d see peace fall over the streets of L’Manberg.

There are no more heroes. The number of villain attacks has plummeted. Vigilantes- who Dream despised- are keeping the city safer than the HA ever did. 

Was this the world they wanted? If it is, why did Dream fight against it so much?

He stares into the dark window, his own forlorn expression staring back at him. The person staring back looks young- no more eye bags under his eyes or unnatural paleness from constant blood loss. His hair, which used to be kept short under HA protocol, has grown out to cover his ears and brush against his neck. He’s never looked so young in his life, never been so consumed by a need to hoard precious things. The burden of the world was lifted off his shoulders. There’s not a trace of Red Thunder reflected in him besides the scars that linger long after the battles passed.

Blue eyes brighter than they’ve been in years reflect back at him, “Who are you, even?”

————————————

Tommy devours a bunch of cookies Niki has given him in one sitting, which leads to the worst stomachache of his life. Was it worth it? Well, they were the best damn cookies he’s ever had so yes.

He feels more justified spending the whole evening in bed, holding a pillow to his chest and dozing off to some random documentary about moss. His phone’s ringing pulls him violently out of his nap, his screen displaying that Blaze was calling him. He clumsily accepts the call.

“Hello?” He mumbles.

“Hi, Tommy- did I wake you up? You sound kinda tired.”

“No, no, I’m fine. Wide awake. I could fucking- fucking sprint laps right now," he coughs to clear his throat to sound more awake.

“So I’m calling- I wanted to call to say sorry for missing out on your visit the other day. Karl's sorry, too.”

Ah. "It's okay. I was just there for the food, anyway."

“Yeah, Quackity’s cooking in the best…” 

“How did things go? There was- there was a fire or something, right?”

“Oh, I’d rather not talk about it. Not because anything super bad happened, just that- it’s nothing you should have to worry about.”

He groans in annoyance but doesn’t push it. It’s not like he’s dying to know what happened. It’s odd, though, that Sapnap of all people is out doing vigilante work. He assumed being forced to do so much hero work ruined it for the man.

After everything, Sapnap is still saving people. Tommy isn't, he should but he isn't sure he wants to, so what's the right answer?

Niki said she didn't miss heroism, but maybe Sapnap did?

"Do you ever wish... we were still at the HA? With Demon and Diamond. Totem. Manifold. Like, they were all annoying pricks, but..." he trails off.

"I think what I miss is them, not the HA," Sapnap says.

"But it was fun working together. The rush of adrenaline, the action, the calm that followed a successful mission. That was nice."

"Do you wish we were still working as heroes?"

"No, no. Obviously. I was asking you, since you and your husbands are vigilantes."

"One, we're not married yet and two, Quackity is a law student, not a vigilante." 

“Blah blah blah, you’re avoiding the question.” 

“I don’t miss it, no. I met some of the best people in my life as Blaze, and I wouldn’t undo that, but I’m glad we’re out. Are- are you okay, Tommy?”

“Just peachy. Just thinkin’ about heroes since Niki brought up doing a hero meet-up.”

“Oh yeah, she messaged me about that. I haven’t responded yet. I think it might be a little chaotic. I do miss Bad and Skeppy, though.”

“Yeah, I hear ya.”

The last time he’d seen Totem, his skull had been smashed in like a paper cup. Same with Dryad. Then Dryad’s arm got cut off.

-And Tommy’s kind of the reason they’re all lost their jobs. But that job sucked? So. Maybe they’ll thank him. Or be upset with him. Or just think he’s pathetic.

“Back in the day, didn’t you get into a fight with Karl? Like, hero versus vigilante?” He blurts out.

“Uh, yeah. That was a while ago now.”

“Did he hold a grudge? You burned him up pretty badly, and now you’re planning to get married. It’s unexpected, is all. Things are so complicated between us retired heroes, villains, and vigilantes.”

Sapnap winces, “Yeah, he was pretty reluctant to work with me at first. Quackity was like our mediator. Soon enough we learned we worked well together, and we had more in common than different, and I thought he was really funny. And he thought the same. So it all just- figured itself out.”

Tommy gags, “You don’t need to get into detail about it.”

Sapnap cackles at his misery.

“Are you worried someone is holding a grudge against you? Or do you have a bone to pick with someone?”

He laughs, “Nah, nothing that deep, was just curious. I… I went over to The Warden’s house, and it went okay. I thought he might be upset with me since I was Dream’s sidekick, but he was nice.”

“That’s good, that’d good. If he- or anyone- gives you trouble, make sure to tell me about it. The more I think about it, the more I hope Niki’s plans work out, I don’t think I’ve heard from any of the other heroes since Doomsday. It'd be good to be around them again,” Sapnap sighs.

“Has... George not called you recently?”

Sapnap goes dead silent.

“... Why would he?”

“I talked with George recently. I think you should call him, too, he seems like a lonely bitch.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a smart thing to do…” Sapnap murmurs.

"Why's that?"

"We- we don't know if we can trust him! It's not so simple."

"George? Like sleepy Gogy? Are we talking about the same guy, why shouldn't we trust him?"

"Dream and him were always closer," Sapnap says quickly, voice low. 

It's not entirely wrong. 404 and Daydream were known to team up often, the full trio only working together for major missions. But Dream had known Sapnap for longer. Their whole group was close, thought to be unbreakable.

"He sounded sorry about what happened.”

Sapnap groans, “He’s never sorry about things. He never cared about how fucked up the Heroes Association was or- you know he willingly became a hero. Just like Dream. George will never understand what it was like to be us, stuck and forced to do their dirty work like dogs.”

404 had been cold to Tommy at first. He was a quiet man who wasn’t seen much outside of missions. But while putting his opponent to sleep was a useful power for the hero, he was often teamed up with more offensive heroes- heroes like Daydream, Blaze, and Red Thunder. The man had warmed up to Dream, then Sapnap, and then Tommy. While Dream and Sapnap were meatheads who got distracted over arguing about who could beat the other in an arm-wrestling competition, George would just call them idiots and set them back on track. 

Sometimes when Tommy couldn’t sleep, they’d spar together until too much exposure to Georges's power would exhaust him. For someone like George, whose power could never turn off, what was he supposed to do besides turn to the HA? 

"Dude, you two were friends- you can’t just accuse him of being untrustworthy. He didn’t do something wrong just because he was a hero. Have you even talked to him since Doomsday? He apologized to me, he feels bad.” 

"No, we haven’t talked! I don’t want to talk to him. I just don't want him to hurt you.”

You hurt me. You hurt me. You hurt me.

"He couldn't hurt me if he tried, I’m a big man.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

Tommy scoffs, “What’s he going to do- make me fall asleep? Oh, that’s so scary.”

“It is! You’d be defenseless then. Just make- make sure to not meet up with him alone, okay? He’s tougher than he looks and-”

“No. This is George, I trust him. I don’t get why you’re being weird about it.”

“Because he doesn’t care about anything- not us, not the HA, not the Syndicate, not anything. On Doomsday, he didn’t pick a side. He just watched. And nobody has heard from him, seen him since then, so he could be planning anything. He could be planning to help Dream escape! If anybody would be bitter about the Heroes Association falling, it would be him.”

I’m bitter. I’m bitter. I’m bitter.

“Ok. Ok, man. Thanks for worrying about me, but I’m not about to do something dumb. They call me Tommy Careful Innit for a reason.”

Sapnap gives a small, forced laugh, “Nobody calls you that.”

“I am careful, I’m so careful, I treat everything around me so carefully.”

"Sure. Sure, Tommy."

Tommy buries his awful, acidic emotions and they continue talking, George's name being avoided. It burns.

————————————

“I can’t make it to the club today.”

“Oh, did something come up?” Clara asks, concerned. 

Tommy grimaces slightly.

He had woken up in pain that morning. He could barely fall asleep from his stomach tying itself in knots, and the cold weather made everything in him ache. Heroism really fucked up his nerves. He could throw a mean punch but struggled to button up his coat. And some days he just thoroughly ached. 

Tommy was tired and sore. His arms burn, from his shoulders to his fingertips. For years he’s been using his power almost daily, and no amount of natural resistance to electricity is going to protect him from that. He’s got long, ragged scars running down his arms from where his own lightning ran hot under his skin and burst his blood vessels. Most of the time the marks faded fast, some easily healed away with a potion. But there were some long and arduous days where he could feel his arms burning and tearing up- and he had to power through. That left a mark on him.

Clara is nice. She has no idea who he was except he was some unkept teenager. She helped him out when he had turned all his clothes pink in the wash. He wasn’t a hero, or an ex-corpse, or a source of guilt. She never pried into his business, but she always checked in with him on Fridays. 

Constantly aching was nothing new for him with the job he used to have, but after spending all his energy at the bakery he has dejectedly decided to stop by to tell Clara that he’d be MIA for the evening.

“Yeah, I’m just such a busy guy. I’ll be there next week, though," he grins lazily, shrugging his shoulders though they scream in protest. 

Busy- well, busy watching cute dog compilations on youtube, but she didn’t need to know that. 

She frowns, “Okay. We’ll miss your presence, but make sure you take care of yourself. You look tired, dear, try to take it easy tonight.”

“Of course. Thank you, Clara,” he waves as she closes her door.

He pulls stiffly at the end of his hoodie sleeve, gritting his teeth at the shakiness of his betraying hands. Yeah, he can’t imagine spending hours trying to knit something while he feels like this. He’d ruin anything he was making. And the other members would ask him why he looked like shit and he’d be too tired to come up with an excuse.

Tommy collapses into his bed when he makes it back to his apartment, trying and failing to take a nap.

After a couple of hours of alternating between playing a youtube video on his laptop, scrolling through twitter, and dozing off for a couple of minutes only to jerk back awake- he becomes restless. But it was too late to go to the knitting club; it’d be basically over by the time he made the trek over.

And then serendipitously, his phone dings.

He opens up his messages to look at the new text from The Angel, of all people.

Unknown

It’s Techno last night in town if you wanted to come over for dinner!

 Niki and the boys are going to be there as well.

No pressure of course. 

First of all- Tommy snorts. The proper grammar ages the Angel a thousand years, what an old man.

Then, Tommy considers it.

Call him crazy but- going over to The Warden’s place hadn’t been an awful experience. And free food is free food, right? Going couldn’t be that bad. Though a part of him wants to stay inside- to down a dozen painkillers and doze off to music blasting from his phone, all curled up in bed- Sapnap is kind of right when he says Tommy is a hermit. He can’t just hide from everything forever.

Despite what common sense would argue, Tommy sends a quick, single-word reply.

Red

sure

Chapter Text

Dream is still ranting hours after the article about him was published.

“-at first it seemed less targeted because it was about all of us heroes, but this is some - some smear campaign set to tear me down! There are so many worse heroes than me so why- I thought the Syndicate had some respect or, or tact but this is-”

Dream liked the Syndicate in the beginning. It would’ve been hard to guess that with how much he came to hate them, but he used to admire their work. It was in the early days when Tommy was still getting to know the man. Dream said that just as the heroes at the top have to bend to rules they don’t agree with, there need to be villains to do what the heroes legally can’t. A symbiosis, so crime can stay in check. 

Tommy hadn’t disagreed with him on that. The Syndicate did do some good things. (Like when they revealed a circle of famous actors and directors who were involved in a scandal for funding local criminal groups. It was all so they could continue to make movies about the hero fights that were caused by them. But people still protested, because the actors were well-beloved and everyone deserves a second chance, right?)

But for any good the Syndicate did, the HA was swift to remind people of the heroes who had lost their lives to the villain group, to the civilians caught in the crossfire. Most wouldn’t debate over the fact that the Syndicate was pure evil, but Dream had no bone to pick with them. 

… until Protesilaus crushed Daydream’s ass in a one-on-one fight and the media ridiculed him for months. Suddenly, Dream soured at any mention of the Syndicate, claiming they were criminals who needed to be apprehended first and foremost. 

“-there’s Vulcan, prime at this point it makes more sense to drag Totem’s name’s through the mud! He’s obviously colluding with Las Nevadas, while I’m trying to stop them! What do they think they’re fucking doing, trying to paint me as the bad guy- everyone knows I’m the good guy. Everyone knows I’m the hero. Everyone knows I’m going to save the world, they’re just- just- just being so fucking stupid!”

Tommy scrolls on his phone, pulling his thumb down and letting the page refresh. There’s a new article from three minutes ago titled ‘Daydream is Problematic and This is Why.’

He scrolls back on the dozens of articles being released to find one from the ‘The L’Manbergian Press’ which dropped at promptly six am and started Dream’s whole spiral. He doesn’t want to give the site more views, but it’s already been trending on twitter all day, so he reckons one more view isn’t going to change the tides. 

It’s obvious all the information in the article is from the Syndicate. ‘undisclosed source’ this and ‘anonymous informer’ that. But this isn’t some tabloid- this is the paper most people in L’Manberg read every morning, digital or physical, with their first cup of coffee. 

Some of it isn’t that bad. Just points claiming Daydream’s rise to number one was orchestrated by the people working within the HA. When it comes down to it, most people are aware the ranking in the HA is more of a popularity contest than anything. So what if there were behind the scene deals Dream made to secure his place? What mattered more was the good he did. 

But… there was more. Agreements with local gangs and villain groups to guarantee there’d always be hero-villain drama going on in L’manberg. People’s safety was threatened so Daydream could ensure a flashy headline about him or the other HA heroes. There were times when Daydream sabotaged other rising heroes to secure his place on the throne.

What hit the public the most was Daydream's attacks on vigilantes. The HA kept most of the missions private, kept the media’s eye far away because, while it was easy to make the public hate villains, people loved an underdog. People loved hearing about vigilantes, which is why the HA didn’t openly condemn them. They just cited the statistics that most vigilantes fall off the radar within a year or two, assumedly because of untreated wounds or because they quit. 

The sinister truth was that heroes like Daydream were bringing them in. Sure, Tommy knew that the man didn’t like vigilantes but he had no idea, even as his sidekick, that he had been hunting them down. And for the civilians, when it came to choosing between Daydream- a hero constantly being torn apart by the media- or the vigilantes who people sang praises for, they picked a side. 

This pissed Dream off to no end.

“I just don’t understand- why now of all times? Things have been normal. The Syndicate usually waits for important events or big fights to happen before they flood the news. This has never been their MO.”

Tommy shifts nervously on the couch, his ears ringing from the constant yelling. 

This might just be his fault- he’s not going to say that, not when Dream looks close to murder right now, but he’s pretty certain his chat with Magpie the night prior had some unwanted consequences.

He feels close to throwing up from the anxiety of it all. All of their missions have been postponed or handed off to other heroes until they can clear this over. Dream has always bounced back from any drama the media threw at him, but every time it filled him with dread that ‘this was it.’ This was the last straw and their careers were over.

It was never over. People loved Daydream too much, he was too invaluable to the HA to let go. He was charismatic, hardworking, and willing to let things slide. Finding a good fit for the number one hero wasn’t easy- the public had to like them, they had to be marketable, and they had to be strong. Dream almost didn’t get the position because of his non-powered status, but he always proved his doubters wrong. Tommy admired that about him. It humbled him about his power. It taught him that relying too much on his electricity would hinder him. 

This couldn't be the beginning of the end, no. Because that would mean Tommy really fucked up.

“-ommy! Tommy? Are you listening at all?”

He sits up straight, eyes darting over to Dream’s face, “What was that?”

Dream, face flushed red in rage and eyes wild, looks ready for violence. For a moment, Tommy is certain that he’ll suggest they “have another training session to let off steam” but Dream doesn’t say a word. His shoulders sink and he runs a hand through his hair.

“Nothing. Nothing, don’t worry about it. There’s nothing we can do right now that’ll fix things, so it’s just a waiting game. Sorry for taking my frustration out on you, I just feel... powerless. Heh, well, more powerless.”

“No, it’s okay. This is some pretty serious shit.” 

“Let’s just… not talk about it for right now.”

Daydream was admired by all. The other heroes looked up to him for guidance, the civilians looked up to him as a pillar, and villains cowered in fear of him. That was how the world worked. To turn against Daydream was to turn against the world. That’s what the HA would have everyone believe, anyways.

Dream would bounce back from this. He never had to know what Tommy said to Magpie.

“Okay, Dream.”

————————————

Tommy’s text to The Angel was met with enthusiastic response as he was given the details of when and where to show up. They lived further away than Sapnap or The Warden did from him, but the forty minutes of walking in the cold air was relaxing. It numbed any panic he might’ve felt rising up. Any panicking part of his brain that insisted he should’ve stayed home and walled up in his apartment for the whole weekend, went away with the breeze.

By the time he sees the house come into view, it’s too late to chicken out.

He knocks at the door with his left hand. It swings openly quickly, warm air blowing in his face.

“Tommy, hello! Come in, come in, welcome to the Watson household!” The Angel greets, stepping aside to gesture into the house.

He feels kind of dumb. This is the equivalent of a sheep walking into a wolf den- but he’s not some lame sheep, he’s tough. He’s retired from heroism but that doesn’t mean he’s suddenly lost his touch. 

Tommy steps into the house, making sure his gait is steady and even. He’s not a lamb, he’s a raccoon picking a fight with a family of crows. They can bite and claw at him, outnumber him but he’s got street smarts, too.

Maybe someone else would have thought it dumb. A hero visits the house of three Syndicate leaders, oh what is bound to happen? But it’s not like this has to be a big deal. He’s just bored and restless, and kind of curious what the home of three supervillains looks like. Just the outside looked like a quaint suburban house, instead of a terrifying mansion with gargoyles and spiked arches.

It’s nicer than he thought it would be. Cozy, even. There are no skulls hung on the walls or bloody trophies kept above the fireplace. There is a massive fucking piano tucked in the corner of the room. It’s a deep, glossy black color that doesn’t have a spec of dust on it. The Angel keeps a clean house.

“Where’s everyone else?” He asks, noticing the quiet. If he knew anything about Magpie, it was that he loved causing a ruckus. 

“Wilbur and Techno are out shopping, and you’re the first guest to show up. But people usually start streaming in by seven.”

“Cool," he says distractedly, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up on the coat rack. 

The two of them stand in the doorway awkwardly, neither of them sure of what to say.

The Angel coughs into his hand, “Why don’t I give you a tour?” 

He raises a brow, “Of your… house?”

“Yes! You’re welcomed here whenever, so it’d be good for you to know your way around.”

Tommy bristles. He knows it’s the normal platitudes of “oh of course you can come over whenever“ and not a real invitation, and it stings. He hates how- how nice The Angel acts. The man doesn’t know the empty words he says are devoured by Tommy’s greedy heart, and if the boy doesn’t school himself, he’ll take more than he deserves. 

He looks into expectant eyes that have no clue of what kind of thing he’s invited in. 

“Sure. Just to kill time.” 

The Angel smiles and starts showing him through the house.

It’s not necessarily a neat place. He can see papers and magazines hastily organized on the coffee table, and all the pillows and quilts on the couch look old and well-loved. There are boxing gloves shoved into a bowl of apples, matching in their bright red appearance. He spots a weird blue smudge on the ceiling. 

It looks like a house that’s been thoroughly lived in, in a way that apartments never look. Everything has a story painted in love or family.

Instead of having some evil laboratory or a weapons of mass destruction room, they have a music room. The Angel’s office looks painfully normal. Even their fucking bathrooms are nice, with those jars with sticks that made everything smell nice. One of the hand towels has a bunny pattern on it.

Prime, if his younger self knew he’d one day be toured around The Angel’s house, he would’ve freaked out. And then so disappointed by the mundanity of it all.

“-And over here is Techno’s old room,” The Angel explains, pushing a wooden door open and walking inside.

“Am I allowed in here?” He peeks his head inside, not crossing through the doorway.

Protesilaus is someone he doesn’t want to piss off, and bedrooms are supposed to be private spaces.

“Of course you are. He’s moved out, so it’s not technically his anymore. This actually would’ve been your room if you had decided to move in with us.”

The Angel had been strangely insistent during the entire apartment hunting process that Tommy could skip all the hassle and just take a room in his house. But that’s not what the man really wanted. It’s just a misplaced sense of culpability, like what Sapnap feels. Except more permanent. He firmly declined every offer he got.

Tommy walks in slowly, taking in the decor.

“Would’ve I also gotten all the stuff?” The room is a juxtaposition of bedsheets with cartoon pigs on them, and a wall covered entirely by swords. It's weird, knowing this is where the most dangerous villain in the country used to sleep.

“Sure,” The Angel shrugs.

“Swords and all?”

“If you wanted them. These are the ones he’s left at home. The full collection is at Techno’s farm.”

“Full collection? How many swords does one man need?” 

The man laughs at that, “He really likes them, what can I say?”

Tommy has a moment of weakness as he presses his hand to the duvet on the bed. It’s criminally soft. Maybe it’s made of fucking silk. It would make sense for a bunch of villains. His covers back home are old and deflated, but he didn’t see the need to get more when they worked fine.

 He could probably get a normal night’s sleep with such soft blankets.

He pulls his hand back, “Neat room. Let’s go see more,” 

Tommy exits, The Angel following behind. He gently closes the door behind them, “Well, this is always open if you ever need somewhere else to stay.”

“And what if Protesilaus is in town?” He says, mostly joking. He would never consider imposing more on the man.

He waves his hand dismissively, “He can take the couch, then.”

He laughs. Their couch is big enough to sleep on, but the mental image of the blood god curled up sadly on the couch amuses him.

They finish up the tour- quickly glancing over the rooms used just for storage- and loop back to the kitchen, where The Angel sets a pot of water on the stove. The soles of his feet ache, so Tommy seats himself at the kitchen island.

“Do you want something to drink or eat? Something to snack on? I’m making myself a cup of tea.” 

“I’m good.” 

“It really isn’t a bother. And I’m not sure when everyone else will arrive, so I’d rather not starve you,” The Angel grins.

“I’ll, uh, have tea, then.”

“Wonderful.” 

The pot heats up, steaming and whistling. The Angel sets out two cups and pours water into them.

He sets one of the mugs in front of Tommy, “So, how are things at your place? Have you run into any issues? How has your landlord been? I can have a talk with him if he hasn’t been accommodating.”

Tommy grabs the steaming cup, “It’s been good, big man. I don’t see my landlord most of the time. But everything has been… chill.”

It’s not the whole truth. He avoided doing laundry for weeks because the washing machine scared him. And the first time he clogged the toilet- he doesn’t want to remember it. Ugh. And cooking for himself is a pain. But he hasn’t killed himself yet, living alone, so it is fine. It’s fine.

“I’m glad. And if you ever need help with anything else, you can always ask me. It doesn’t just have to be apartment hunting.”

“You’re so nice, man,” he blurts out, immediately blushing from embarrassment. “No- fuck- like, I just meant- you were like, the coolest hero when I was growing up. And you’ve helped me out so much with my apartment, so, what I mean is- you’re a respectable dude. The only man ever.”

The Angel’s shoulders shake, taking Tommy’s statement in stride, “Well, I did promise to help you," he repeats once again. 

I want to help you... you look like you need it.

He raises a brow, “It wasn’t exactly a promise. And you had no- no obligation to. I don’t get what you think is so different about me from my old coworkers.”

The Angel hums, thinking, “You were a good hero. The HA upheld a system that took good people and made them bad- greedy, selfish, violent. But you weren’t those things. And you helped Wilbur out so much.”

“I… did?” He asks, genuinely confused.

Sure, he freed the guy from the cell he was being kept in, but that was long after the Angel had first tried reaching out to him. Besides that one time, he never saved Magpie’s life in a fight or helped him skirt past the law.

“Yes. Also, I didn’t know you were sixteen, but I could tell you were young. And you have such a bright spark that was being strangled by those around you. I wanted to help you, like how I wanted to help Niki.”

Help him... like Niki. 

Ranboo has called The Angel a collector of strays back at the ice rink. 

It wasn’t personal. Ok. There wasn’t something special about Tommy, he could’ve been anyone and The Angel would be doing the same things. 

There’s nothing special about this.

That shouldn’t sting as much as it does.

He takes a large sip of his tea. It’s gross. It’s been sweetened with sugar but has a leafy-bitter aftertaste. He takes another drink from it.

In the quiet, he looks to The Angel. He’d already retired from superhero work by the time Tommy official debuted as Red Thunder, so they never worked together on the field. The Angel doesn’t look like an old hero or a supervillain. He’s got crow's feet around his eyes, wispy blonde hair, and carries himself loosely. He doesn’t hold himself with the same tension warriors tend to.

He just looks human.

The front door swings open loudly. He startles, some tea spilling onto his hands, but the Angel just sighs. 

Tommy gets up quickly to see who was possibly breaking into the house, but there standing in the doorway are Magpie and Protesilaus with shopping bags hanging from their arms.

“Tommy! I didn’t know you were coming over!” Magpie shouts the moment he sees him, dropping all his bags onto the ground. Protesilaus lets out a quiet “bruuh.”

Magpie ambles forward, full of energy and with arms wide open. At the last second, he stops, recomposes himself, and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“Welcome,” he greets, his voice quieter now.

“Hi?” 

The Angel steps between them, “Hi boys. How was your outing?”

Protesiluas grumbles from behind them, “Horrible. Wilbur got lost for twenty minutes at the mall.”

“In my defense, that place is designed like a maze.”

The Angel laughs, tugging at his son’s scarf, “Again? At this rate, we should just start tying a bell on you before you leave the house.”

Magpie complains as he gets teased. The three of them are so comfortable with each other. They’re family. He stands off to the side, feeling like he’s witnessing something he shouldn’t.

He shuffles on his feet, feeling the cold air blow in from the open door. 

The Angel corrals the two inside, finally shutting the door. “Go put all your stuff away. And did you get any updates from our guests today? I’ve been busy.”

Oh. Busy dealing with Tommy. His frown deepens.

Magpie answers, “I haven’t heard from Niki if she’s still coming, but Quackity said his group wasn’t going to, since they have plans already. And uh- and Sam says they’re on their way.”

Tommy stands up straighter at that. That means Tubbo and Ranboo will be coming. He wasn’t excited, but they were his age and they weren’t complete pricks. They’d make things more tolerable, is all.

Around him, the Watsons move to set things up. He sees The Angel go to the kitchen to probably set up the food, Protesilaus is stuck hauling all the bags Magpie dropped, and he spots Magpie walking towards the dining room.

“Lemme help-” He trails behind him.

“No way. You’re a guest, Tommy. Sit down and let us deal with everything,” Magpie sets his hands on Tommy’s shoulders, guiding him to the couch.

He sits down reluctantly, glaring at the man. But instead of moving to help his family with putting things away and setting things ups, Magpie sits on the armchair across from him.

“Shouldn’t you be helping?”

“Techno and Phil can handle it themselves. I wanna talk! I didn’t know you were coming today! I thought you usually had your club to go to on Fridays.”

“I didn’t go today, so I had the time to gift you guys with my amazing presence.”

Magpie taps his fingers on the armrest, “Huh, I see. Did Phil pick you up or…”

“I just walked, man.” 

“You walked here? In this weather?”

“It isn’t that cold. And you know I can’t drive so. Yeah. I walked,” he huffs, leaning back into the couch.

“Phil should’ve picked you up. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, seriously, I don’t know what he’s-”

The Angel appears behind him, setting a hand on his son’s shoulder, “You’re slacking off, mate. Go help your brother set the table.”

Magpie whines in complaint, but gets up from his seat.

The Angel looks to Tommy and in one swift motion, he grabs a blanket and wraps it around Tommy’s shoulders. “To stay warm," he explains. 

The house wasn’t cold, but there was a chill that hasn’t left him since he entered the house. It’s soothed by the soft quilt, and he tugs it closer. 

The Watsons have a lot of blankets hanging around the house. It adds to the comfiness of everything. It’s weird, but he’s not complaining. If his hands didn’t give so much grief for it, he would’ve knitted a hundred blankets by now.

Magpie yells from down the hall, “Phi-il! Niki canceled- she says she has a date with Puffy.”

“She’ll be missed, but I’m glad things between them are working out,” The Angel says.

He had no idea Niki was seeing somebody- nobody named Puffy has visited the bakery before. Of course, it was normal that she had a life outside of their workplace. But he was excited to have a familiar face there tonight. Someone he knew from before the fall.

The Angel gives him another cup of tea. He doesn’t even pretend to try and drink it- one cup of the stuff was bad enough. But he turns the mug in his hands, holding onto the warmth. Winter is the worst time of year.

The Angel murmurs, eyebrows knitted together, “Sam should’ve arrived by now.” 

“I’ll send him another text. Maybe traffic is bad right now?” Magpie offers.

Tommy feels slightly out of place. He gets a feeling The Angel gave him too early of a time, because he’s stuck watching as the three of them set up for dinner when no one else has arrived. He’s content enough to play a game on his phone while curled up on the couch, but it’s weird. 

A hand on his shoulder makes him jolt, and he turns to face Protesilaus. He's the last person Tommy would expect to want to see him tonight.

“Let’s talk,” he gruffs out.

What? What the fuck? 

The villain starts walking down the hall, not even double-checking to see if Tommy was following. He sighs and slides off the couch, walking down the hall. He wasn’t a pussy, and he wasn’t going to chicken out of some- well, whatever Protesilaus wanted from him. Maybe some sort of interrogation.

He gulps. 

The villain leads him to one of the back rooms that’s full of boxes. It was just some storage room he’d looked over for a few seconds before moving past- but it was incredibly dark. The curtains were thick, obscuring all possible light that could pour in through the windows. The hallway light weakly glows from behind him as he joins Protesilaus. 

“Hi… what’s up, big man? I’m doing- doing poggers. Absolutely pogchamp," he asks.

Protesilaus doesn’t answer.

“Not one for small talk- yeah, I get that. I hate it, too. You won’t believe how many people I’ve asked ‘Hey, what’s up?’ only to be told ‘fuck off hero! I’m trying to rob a bank!’” He laughs, feeling a little manic. 

The man clears his throat, “... You know, family means everything to me. I don’t let just anyone near them. And Phil and Wilbur are going to go through all these efforts in welcoming you, so I’m going to as well.”

Okay... was this some weird shovel talk. Tommy can deal with that. As long as it doesn’t turn into a fight- he’s the toughest guy he knows, but Protesilaus did beat Dream.

“Try saying that again with less pain on your face, maybe I’ll believe it," he grins sharply. 

Protesilaus hates heroes. Tommy used to be one. The villain probably hates his guts, wants him dead. But he’s not going to be afraid. He can’t be. The great Red Thunder takes no shit.

He prepares to be berated, scolded, yelled at- but Protesilaus's face melts. His eyes look- well, call Tommy crazy, but he looks worried.

“That’s not-,” Protesilaus sighs, “you saved Wilbur. Prime knows what the HA would have done with him if he had stayed in their custody longer. I want you to know that I owe you something impossible to repay.”

And then Protesilaus kneels down on the fucking ground, head titled downwards. 

It’s an intimidating sight, as the most powerful villain in L’manberg is knelt in front of him.

“What?” He asks, voice shaking.

“I owe you. I pay back every favor I receive, and you helped my family. That’s the most important thing to me, so you’ve done me the biggest of favors.”

“Woah, woah, this is- is a lot, man-”

“That’s all I had to say. I’m sure you’ve gotten earfuls from Wilbur and Phil about being welcomed here, so I won’t make you have to hear it again. But if you ever need me for anything, don’t hesitate.”

This- this isn’t right.

This is the villain he’s seen tear down whole groups of heroes. He should hate Tommy. He thought he fucking despised him. 

Red Thunder never faced Protesilaus directly on the battlefield. He was weaker than Daydream, and Daydream couldn’t beat the villain so it was useless to put them against each other. 

But during one mission, Protesilaus and The Warden had snuck up on a group Red Thunder was leading and they squashed them like ants. An errant explosion had slammed Tommy into a wall. The disorientation had him uselessly scrambling to get away the moment he noticed the blood god approaching him. He thought he was staring at his death when his eyes met crimson ones.

Tommy’s a fighter. Always has been one. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight, even concussed and bleeding. He stood up shakily, shifting into a fighting stance.

Protesilaus could take him down in one swing of his axe. It was a finely crafted weapon, glimmering enchanted netherite embedded with emeralds and other gems. He was aware many heroes have fallen before him to that blade.

They’ve never fought just the two of them. He didn't stand a chance. 

Fear manipulation was an incredibly useful power. Fear could mean death for a hero. Fear meant freezing up during a mission or messing one up. Every day had the very real threat of death, so they couldn’t be afraid 24/7. At one point, you literally just stop processing the fear. 

On the field, Red Thunder was fearless. Maybe he’d go to bed shaking some nights, some nights he couldn’t fall asleep at all. Sometimes it took months after a fight for it to kick in. (Like when Tommy had found rotted oranges in the back of the fridge that smelled just like some weird acid a villain used to almost burn his legs off. And then suddenly he was panicking.)

Protesilaus was so dangerous in that regard. Heroes work so hard to conquer their fear, and Tommy had it trained out of him, but the piglin could freeze seasoned heroes just from sheer terror. And he took those windows of opportunity to tear them down. He wasn’t afraid to maim, tear off limbs, kill someone. He left a bloody path in his wake. 

Protesilaus was terrifying, but Tommy didn't know how to fear him. The scariest things about him were his battle prowess, his ability to make fear, and the swift way he knew to send someone to their grave. Tommy didn't have enough self-preservation to fear those things.

The two stood face to face, the air heavy with the scent of blood. Even with the infamous power of forcing fear into his enemys’ minds, Tommy didn't feel scared at all. He imagined death so much it felt more like a memory.

Instead of fighting him, Protesilaus turned around, leaving him behind in the carnage. 

Tommy has never been able to forget that encounter.

“That’s all I wanted to talk about,” Protesilaus repeats, walking past him out of the room.

“I didn’t help Magpie for a fucking favor!” He shouts into the air. If the villain hears him, he doesn’t acknowledge it. What the fuck?

Protesilaus feels indebted to him and he’d rather the man didn’t. He doesn’t even know what he’d ask of the man. He was the toughest villain in the city, but Tommy could fight his own battles. 

Wait- yeah, what did Protesilaus even expect for him to cash in? They were civilians now, even if that sucked. It’s like getting an extra queen after the match has ended. Was this some weird way to threaten him? Maybe. Who knows. 

He groans into his hands. What a weird fucking family.

————————————

Dinner is prepared, but the four of them wait for The Warden and his group to show up. Tommy goes back to his spot on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. The air only gets tenser the longer they are without news from them. No news is good news except when everyone you know are heroes or villains.

The four of them had settled in the living room, killing time, when they receive an update.

Looking at his phone, Protesilaus says, “Ranboo just texted- he said there was an emergency with Ponk, so they’re going to wait at the hospital and to go on without them.”

The Angel frowns, “Oh, I hope everything is okay with him.” 

“Ponk will be fine. He’s a tough lad,” Tommy says.

He stretches out on the couch, trying to break out of his fog. Any longer and he would’ve passed out then and there. 

“Well, ‘and then there were four’- which means I made way too much food, but it’s just more for us,” The Angel says.

Tommy looks around.

Oh.

Oh, it’s just him and the Syndicate leaders. That’s not great. What was that bullshit about “having people streaming in” and “always having tons of guests?” This isn’t what he signed up for.

He still stands up with the rest of them, trailing behind to the dining room.

The table has been set, barring any food that would go bad just sitting around. But there are large, porcelain plats with utensils wrapped in napkins by every seat. Everything is set up for seven people, but Magpie quietly clears out the extra seats.

The man settles down as The Angel brings out the food from the fridge. They all settle down into their seats, ready to eat.

“So, what all you two get up to exploring town today?” 

“We visited the new shop down by…”

It’s all very formal. At least, compared to dinners Tommy has had by himself. Sometimes he just microwaves ramen and eats it in bed. This was the polar opposite of that, with the four of them sitting together. He feels a little out of his depth. He’s never been a part of a “family dinner.” Not a nice one like this where there are bowls of food with giant spoons to give yourself portions and jugs of water to pour. There’s even a tablecloth with designs sewn into it and a vase full of red spider lilies. 

The closest he’s gotten to this is when Dream would buy tons of takeout to pass around. Plastic forks and a styrofoam container sitting on his knees as they watched American football. They were both shit cooks, so there were no homemade meals. 

The food here tasted good, actually. He’s been boiling pasta and cooking rice for the past months. Simple stuff, bland and uneventful. 

“How was your day, Tommy?” The Angel asks, dragging him into the conversation.

“Eh, didn’t do much besides go to work. A bee got stuck inside so I had to let it out. One of the customers was screaming for like, ten minutes straight even when it was gone.”

“Ah. The joys of customer service.”

Tommy snorts. “Luckily, I don’t have to deal with customers that much. Just cleaning or grabbing shit from the back.”

“Do you like it at Nikis?” Magpie asks, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Yeah. Niki is a great boss. Not that I have a lot of bosses to compare to her- but she gives me cookies, so that automatically makes her the best.”

“She is the best,” he agrees.

Tommy watches wordlessly as Protesilaus pours him a cup of water. Condensation builds up on the glass, but he doesn’t reach for it.

The Angel asks, “Are you perhaps considering continuing your schooling? I know I never got further than a college education because of my contract with the HA and I regretted that.”

“I dunno,” he shrugs. 

Going back to normal school again sounds like a nightmare. His tutors at the HA always got fed up with his “bad work ethic” and everyone else there would be so normal. 

“It’s still an option if you ever want to. I’d pay for whatever school you’d want to go to.”

“You mean, whatever school actually accepts me," he scoffs. He doesn’t exactly have any grades to show any colleges.

The Angel smiles, “I don’t think that’ll have to be a concern of yours.”

Tommy laughs, shocked. Villains are a different kind of people. 

“There's no pressure, of course. You can do whatever you want.”

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do next. The future used to be a single path he had to follow. He never faltered, never strayed from it, but now the road had divided and split into hundreds of possibilities. It’s a lot. Too much, even.

It’s intimidating. He can’t imagine himself as a twenty-something with an established life. 

“I’ll think about it. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

He looks around the table to everyone’s still half-filled plates. Is it rude to eat too fast? Is that a rule he was supposed to follow?

Tommy doesn’t want to accidentally break some rule of etiquette he’s never learned. He sees The Angel finally moves and place more food on his plate, closely followed by Protesilaus. He holds his breath and slowly counts, waiting until- until Protesilaus is loading up more food onto Tommy’s plate. 

“You need to eat more, Red. You’re tiny.”

“I’m not tiny, you’re tiny,” he grumbles.

“Oh Tommy, please don’t be nervous about taking too much, we have plenty to go around,” The Angel says.

“Fuck you, I’m gonna eat all your fucking food,” he growls, shoving a fork full of potatoes into his mouth.

“Good! It relieving to know I’m feeding my kids enough.” 

His kids.

He chews so violently that he bites his tongue. 

The bitter feeling returns at seeing a home so perfect. There are dozens of photos of the three of them together, the house almost cluttered by the number of trinkets and decorative items floating around. He’s bitter, because they have their lives put together in such a perfect way that he’ll never have- 

That’s untrue, though. He can have it. 

The Angel has opened his door to him, almost insistent that Tommy knows he’s part of their family now. He has a room open to him, a place at their table. And the Angel never hesitates to say Tommy is his kid. Magpie didn’t hesitate to call him brother. Protesilaus doesn’t hate his guts, but feels indebted to him. 

“Yeah, yeah… I appreciate it. The food, I mean.”

The Angel hums, “You know you’re welcomed over anytime, not just for dinner, right?”

“I know, you keep saying so. I didn’t think you’d already be suffering from dementia, old man.”

There’s a choking silence that scares the shit out of him. It was probably rude to jab at the host or something. Not that Tommy cares, but he’s messed up, he’s messed up, he’s messed-

Magpie starts laughing, “Yeah, old man, do you think we need to check you into an old person’s home at this rate?”

“I’m- I’m not even forty! What the fuck?” The Angel squawks. 

“I can start calling retirement homes if you want to start packing his things up, Wil?” 

“What? Boys-!”

The buzzing leaves his skin as the focus shifts off of him. Prime, he really never learns to just shut up. What was he thinking? That he fit in? Don't be ridiculous, Tommy.

The rest of his food tastes like ash in his mouth. 

He stays out of the conversations for the most part. He answers any of the mundane questions they ask him, but he’s hitting a wall. It’s late, he’s nauseous, and he’s been at this house for hours at this point. He’s so tempted to just crash in Protesilaus’s stupidly soft bed instead of walking the long, cold trek back to his place.

Once again, they don’t allow him to help clean up. He’s kinda glad since he’s so exhausted. He mostly offered to seem like a better guest.

He survived the evening, though! It didn’t go the way he thought it would- with no buffer between him and the Watsons and Protesilaus dropping that bomb on him, but he made it through alright.

The Angel walks by him to the door.

“I do mean it when I say you can come over whenever you want- you don’t even need a reason to. This is just as much your home as it is mine.”

Whoever said “never meet your heroes” fucking lied. The Angel lives up to his name of being the best man ever. 

The bird in his head rears its ugly head for a moment, so violent his back spasms, as it screeches for him to reach out and take. 

He keeps his hands locked into tight fists, “... Gotcha, Big Man.”

As Tommy is pulling on his coat, the Angel says, “I can drive you home, y’know. The weather is supposed to be horrid tonight.”

“Nah, I can walk. It’s not too far away,” he shakes his head. He can't bother the man ever more than he has.

Tommy pushes the front door open, peaking out to the sky. It’s gotten dark fast. He always forgets how quickly night falls during the winter. The walk back to his place is going to suck, but he’d rather do it than make a nuisance of himself.

He waves, “Thanks for the food! Good night.”

Everything moves in slow motion as he steps out the door- he takes a single step, still half in the house, when The Angel's hand snaps out to grab his wrist. It catches him so off guard he stumbles over the doorframe. They stand still for a moment, caught up in the suddenness of it all. 

“... Is there something you need, big man?” 

The Angel’s face is blank before he laughs sheepishly, letting go of his hand. “Sorry, my bad. You didn’t leave anything behind, did you? Your phone, your apartment keys?”

He blinks. 

Did he seriously stop him just for that?

Slowly, he pats at his pockets, and everything is where he left it. “Yeah, I’m good. Have a good night. Again.”

The man’s smile relaxes, “Yes. Good night, Tommy. Stay safe.”

The door shuts behind him, and he’s left extremely confused.

What the fuck was that? Did he annoy the man so much he was going to tell him to never come back again? He looked upset- angry at the end there. Maybe it was a mistake to go. He was the only person who ended up showing up; didn’t he basically just crash their family dinner? 

Regret and humiliation wash over him- prime, he should’ve realized just because he was being invited, didn’t mean they wanted him there.

The walk home is cold, and nothing can quell his storming thoughts. 

————————————

Routine is what keeps his life together most of the time. His old routine used to be spending late evenings working, crashing into bed in the early morning, and waking up sometime past noon to eat or train. Sometimes they had day missions and those threw off his internal clock. He spent a long time being essential nocturnal. Like an owl.

The past months since Doomsday all lacked routine. He spent a lot of that time laying despondently in bed. A lot of the responsibility for the legal shit that went down was passed onto other people since he was still a minor. He didn’t mind, he didn't want to have to worry about all of that stuff.

He had declined to make any statement against Dream.

Routine, now, is waking up in the morning. Even on a gloomy Saturday morning, he wakes up naturally before the sun has even risen. Working at Nikis has instilled that habit into him, even when he spent most of the night a nervous wreck.

He goes through the motions of changing his clothes, brushing his teeth, and fixing up breakfast. He eats his sandwich while scrolling through his phone- for any new messages or just to see what’s new on instagram. Twitter used to be one of his favorite social medias. Red Thunder didn’t have the same kind of following as Daydream did, but he still liked seeing what fanart or posts were made about him. It used to be a big ego boost. Now he's afraid of what he'll about himself.

The next step of the routine is to check up on L’Cactus. He curls up by the windowsill, staring at his plant. He’s still small, round, and green. He sticks a finger into the dirt; it feels dry.

Tommy fills up a small cup with water and carefully pours it into the pot. It slowly sinks into the dirt, turning it dark brown, and he grins. The flower buds look bigger. They need a lot more time until they start blooming, but he’s certain they’re going to be beautiful. 

It feels good to take care of something. Something is growing because of him. This was his work. 

He checks his messages again- there are a few from The Angel that he’s ignoring because of the disaster that was last night, but there’s also a new one from Sapnap. 

He rings him up, sitting and basking in the sunlight streaming in.

“Hey man. What’s up?” 

“Hey Tommy, just checking in. Do you have any plans next weekend?”

“Nope,” he says, cringing. Sapnap usually makes a big deal over Tommy’s hermit-like ways, and it’s too early for a lecture.

Instead of a lecture, though, Sapnap says, “Then– if you want to– you should come over to my place again. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, we should hang out. Or, if you want, I can come over to your apartment-”

“No no, let’s do your place.” He interrupts. “And are you sure it’ll be us hanging out- or just me and Quackity again?”

“I swear I won’t miss it for anything. It’ll go perfectly.”

“... I guess I can. I expect to be cooked for.”

“Of course, Quackity loves showing off his cooking skills. I can text you the details!”

“See you then," he says, 

“See you then,” Sapnap ends the call. 

Tommy has been a social fucking butterfly this month. Between the bakery, the Watsons, The Warden’s family, and the fiances- he’s the busiest he’s ever been beside his hero work. Those days were busy, but these were a different kind of packed. Talking with people, eating with them, doing things with them is exhausting, but satisfyingly. It’s fun. It’s worlds better than getting punched on the daily.

Maybe this is civilian life. Talking with people, getting to know them. He could get used to this.

Tommy takes a deep breath, looking to L’Cactus and Henry. “Boys, things are looking up for us.”

————————————

Dream has been staring at him 

“What? Do I have something on my face?” He jokes.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen your wings, Tommy,” Dream says slowly.

He winces, “I guess. I don’t know the last time I took them out.”

“I was afraid of that. I bet it’s been ages since you even preened them.”

He curls into himself a little. “Maybe so.”

Dream stares at him. He stares back, sweating.

“Let’s do it now, then! Not like we’re busy with anything, “ Dream explains, voice slightly bitter.

Their suspension was supposed to end today. The two of them had gotten prepared for a day of missions when they got a call giving them the day off. Just another day, they’ll definitely be back by the end of the week, though. But people are furious with Daydream, and the media situation keeps getting worse. 

“Right now?” 

“Right now.”

Tommy slowly shifts on the couch as Dream settles behind him. He breathes in, focusing on the strange feeling of letting his wings out. Maneuvering them is usually a pain because most of his clothes don’t have a way to open the back, but he’s still in his undersuit from when he thought he’d be working today. So, unzips it enough to let his wings spring out, loose feathers flying in every direction.

What made Dream different than most, was that he always respected that Tommy was an avian. It wasn’t even a grudging acceptance, but an active appreciation. He mourned Tommy’s grounded wings, helped him preen, and held his hand through every molt. He's the reason why Dream donated so much to hybrid organizations and was very vocally against hybrid discrimination. He thought Tommy’s wings were an amazing part of him, and he was sorry that they had to stay hidden. 

Tommy had squashed out all of his annoying bird instincts a long time ago, but whenever they reared their ugly head, Dream took it in stride. 

Preening was something he could do completely on his own, but Dream always wanted to help. Insisted on it. The last people who cared that much were his parents. Tommy was horrible with wing care and paying attention to his hybrid needs. He spent so much of his childhood accepting meat and other animal products that would hurt his stomach that he still, to this day, doesn’t pay close enough attention to what he eats. He doesn’t stretch or exercise his wings nearly enough because most people got annoyed by all the feathers he dropped. And there were many details about avians he just doesn't know or understand because there were no other avians in his life. 

Tommy doesn’t see the point in fixing up his feathers. Sure, they get kind of nasty when he ignores them for too long, but it’s not like anybody sees them. What’s the point in rearranging bent feathers when he isn’t going to use them to fly? He could, it’s not like he was banned from flying. He was allowed to take them out as his civilian self, just not Red Thunder, but… he’s always had a complicated relationship with his wings.

Preening, in his head, was at the very bottom of the self-care checklist. Even further below flossing. And doing the laundry.

But Dream took care to notice. He always brought up wingcare and offered to preen his wings. So, while Tommy couldn’t care less about the upkeep of his feathers, preening together was their thing and he’d never usually say no to it.

He used to get excited about it.

Ever since the scar on his back healed up ugly and jagged, he doesn’t like it as much. 

Dream reaches out, starting on some random patch near his shoulder, and he winces. 

“Ow, be careful,” he whines.

His wings don’t look nice. They never have. They looked even worse when he was younger and just tried forgetting he had them at all. Dream has helped salvage them a little- they used to be pitifully small, stunted in their growth, with patches of missing feathers. And his back always used to burn in pain from going months without paying attention to them. 

He’s been ignoring them on purpose recently, repeating the same lack of self-care his younger self had.

“Sorry, sorry- but, this wouldn’t be an issue if you just took care of your wings better.”

He hums miserably, un-tensing at the feeling of his feathers being straightened out, “You’re wrong.”

“Wrong about what- you needing to take care of yourself? How is that wrong? I’m literally just saying the truth,” Dream argues.

“Because you’re always wrong. You’re old and dumb and wrong.”

“Well, you’re young and dumb and you’re wrong.”

“No, you are.”

They dissolve into laughter. It’s forced, but it’s much more welcomed than the tension that sat heavy in the air.

Preening is always a painful experience for him. He always gets old feathers lodged uncomfortably between newer ones and scabs from where he itched at them. As careful as Dream works, he’s always sore by the end. But he’s methodical and determined as he goes feather by feather. One by one.

Dream says quietly, “I still don't understand how things ended up like this. I thought the Syndicate was smart enough to understand I do what I do for a reason. I do the jumps and hurdles the HA gives me, so I can continue to use my position for good.”

Tommy frowns, staring at the couch cushion in front of him, “I know, Dream. You do the things you do for a reason.”

“Is it not enough for them? Why do they get to demand perfection from me? They don’t understand what I go through to just- is it not enough? Am I not doing enough?” The hands running through his feathers shake.

“You do so much. We’re going to change things, right? That’s what you told me when we first teamed up. We’re going to change the world. You can’t falter now, we’re so close,” he says placatingly. He doesn’t know how much of his own words he believes, but Tommy knows what to say to calm him down. That’s all that matters.

Fingertips brush between his shoulder blades, and he flinches away from them. 

Dream sighs, hands dropping into his lap, “I’m sorry… I know all this drama isn’t easy for you. I should be doing more. They’re right, I am not doing enough! The world is still twisted, and the longer I take to change things the more everyone is suffering. The world is suffering, Tommy, how do I fix things? How do I help you?”

Tommy turns around on the couch to face Dream, “It’s okay, you’re doing all you can. You’re just one guy, like you said.” 

“Can I call myself a hero when I can’t even help us? You’re not even allowed to tell the world you’re a hybrid, I can’t say I have no superpower. I just want to make a world where everything is fair. Imagine all the kids who’d be inspired by us.”

“Things won’t stay this way, don’t worry. Forget what the stupid Syndicate says- you’re a great hero. The best hero. Everyone knows you’re the best hero.”

Dream nods, “You’re right. Thanks, Tommy. You’re right! I’m the number one hero.”

He doesn’t turn around again. His wings lay limp behind him, away from Dream’s hands.

They’re interrupted when Dream’s phone dings from a text message. He turns it on, checking the text, but angling it away so Tommy can’t get a peek at it.

“What’s up?” He asks, laughing weakly.

He doesn’t respond. 

“Dream?”

The man stares long and hard at his phone, “... Someone was just bothering me. If you don’t mind can we- can we continue this later? I gotta discuss some stuff with another hero.”

‘Who?’ He wants to ask, but Dream would've just said upright who it was it he wanted Tommy to know. 

“Okay, yeah. Sounds good,” he smiles. 

“Thanks for understanding. Maybe try preening yourself while I’m gone,” Dream speaks, standing up and slipping his mask into his bag.

He watches Dream leave their apartment. It feels wrong, like he should’ve argued with him over it. He should’ve thrown a whole fit over how the press literally just crushed his name into the dirt. Wouldn’t it be best just to stay inside? And if it was Blaze that texted him-

 He doesn’t say a thing as the front door closes behind the man.

Tommy doesn’t preen his feathers. He pulls at them, sitting in dread of something he’s not sure of. 

That was the last time he brought them out before everything went to shit.

————————————

“Woah, a frog,” Tommy points out.

Niki pauses from organizing the window display, “Huh, where? Or- you mean my tattoo.”

He nods, “I didn’t know you had one.”

“It’s recent. I got matching ones with my friends,” Niki moves forward to show it off more.

“That’s so cool,” he breathes out.

It’s a little frog. A little guy playing the guitar. Looking in the light, he also notices metal peaking from above her sock. Dark grey and inlaid with diamond- “Is that fucking netherite?”

Niki kicks out her foot, “Yeah! Techno made my prosthetic for me, and he’s a perfectionist, so he wouldn’t settle for less.”

“That’s so badass. You’re the coolest woman alive, Niki. Besides the Queen, of course.”

She nods, “Thank you, what a high honor.”

He observes as she makes her way behind the front counter again. “I was wondering- you weren’t there on Friday for dinner. Wilbur said you were on a date.”

“Oh, everyone seems to have heard about that. Is it so surprising for me to have a love life?”

“Nah, I just-” just missed you, “thought you would’ve made things less boring. I had to sit through Wilbur talking. That’s worse than corporal punishment.”

Niki laughs, “Well, sorry I left you alone to suffer.”

Heroes never had big social lives outside of their job. For as much as Tommy joked about Demon and Diamond, and Dream and George, he’s never met a hero who was actually dating someone.

He messes with the strings of his apron, “How did you meet them?”

Niki looks away from him, glancing around the shop, "Oh. Oh, well, it's complicated, but..."

"But?"

"But... I already knew her?” 

“What?”

She clasps her hands together, “You know how I mentioned I met up with The Captain recently?"

He nods, "Yeah. Wait- The Captain the dude or The Captain the girl?"

"The Captain who is a girl, Tommy, I've never met the old Captain before, come on. You know her, she has split-colored hair. She's super funny and charismatic and-uh, we might've started- started talking. As civilians. Things got a little complicated for a second there, but now it’s been smoothed over."

"That's wild... can I ask how?"

Niki runs a hand through her hair, "It's funny, really, it was a couple of months ago and I- I didn't know she was a hero when we met. And she didn't know who I was, either. We were convinced the other was just a civilian until we realized the truth. And I was still Nemesis then."

"Oh. Ohh. Yeah, that’s awkward," he winces.

Niki slumps down, "Tell me about it."

“Well, I'm glad you guys sorted it all out.” 

She smiles softly, fondly, “Me too.”

Nixie and The Captain- two heroes who never interacted much. Nixie was a hero who worked in the heart of the city, who was in the leagues of heroes like Blaze, Demon, and Totem. The Captain preferred to work in more rural areas, keeping a low profile and thus never hitting top ten on the charts. The Captain wasn't as supported by the HA but she was still a civilian favorite. Tommy thinks they teamed up once or twice and the public went wild, but their different areas of work kept them seperated.

“I gotta do a short run to buy some more milk, will you be alright manning the shop by yourself while I’m gone?”

“I’ve got this handled, Big N,” He knocks his fist on his chest, smirking.

————————————

Things are quiet and calm. There’s a sense of wrong in being in the bakery by himself, like when a teacher steps out of the classroom to take a call and it’s just the students. Nothing catastrophic happens, no matter how uneasy he feels. 

Tommy doesn’t usually man the cash register, but he manages to help the few customers that arrive. 

Someone new enters, and he does a double-take. The man who walks through the bakery door is Magpie.

“Oh, Tommy! Hi! I honestly forgot you worked here,” The man looks at him with wide eyes. 

“Hi,” he greets slowly. He could’ve sworn Wilbur was the one who brought up his job on Friday, but his memory could be failing him. 

“Where’s, uh, Niki?” The man asks, futzing with his leather jacket

“She’s had to go buy something at the market.”

“Ah. I see.”

He looks around for a couple of minutes, looking over the pastries in the display case. He picks out a muffin to buy, and Tommy rings it up. But instead of moving to leave after paying, Magpie lingers.

“...Is there something else you want?” 

“Actually, um,” Magpie hisses through his teeth, “Can I ask about- you can kick me out or- you don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to but- hm. Sapnap texted me saying I should give you more space since you might feel uncomfortable, and I was worried I did something wrong?”

His eyes widen, “What? What the fuck, no, he’s just a worrywart, I’m fine. I don’t know what he expects you to do, sing me to sleep? Give me a headache with your annoying voice? If you pulled any shit I’d just punch you.”

“So, you’re ok? I’m making you uncomfortable by doing… this? Talking with you?”

Magpie has always enjoyed bantering with Red Thunder. In their first skirmishes against each other, he easily made sharp quips about the hero. Then things changed, little by little, until somehow Tommy looked forward to their chats. He kept a sign up in his brain always reminding himself that Magpie was a villain who could be using him- but he had nobody else in his life who would just listen.

There’s nothing to gain from Tommy now. He’s just a civilian, a useless teen who doesn’t know a thing about the real world.

“Why do you keep talking to me? I'm nobody.” He asks.

Magpie looks up, confused. He seems to pick up on the serious air, “You're not nobody, don't say that. And honestly? I’m worried about you. You’re all alone, and Doomsday was never supposed to happen when and the way it did. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

He scowls, “So it’s a pity thing. I’m so fucking tired of people looking at me like I’m a giant pity project to work on. I’m not some key to alleviating your guilt. I don’t blame you for what happened- newsflash I don’t blame anyone for it! So get off your high horse and-”

“It’s not just that. It’s not pity, it’s-“

“It’s?”

“Well, we knew each other before it went to shit. We used to talk so much. Now… you won’t even look at me normally," Magpie’s face scrunches up like he’s been punched in the gut. Like he’s hurt. Tommy’s chest tightens uncomfortably.

“That-that didn’t mean anything, though. You were trying to worm information out of me.” 

Magpie frowns, “Not really. Do you think that’s all that was? Whenever we hung out, did you really think it was just some- some diabolical plan to use you?”

Sure. Sure, even if it didn’t always make sense. They never talked about anything important, most of the time it wasn't even hero/villain-related things. But nothing has made sense for a long time. If Dream said one plus one equaled three, then he expected Tommy to believe it. Magpie was more cryptic. He’d say the answer to a problem he didn’t understand yet and make him try to reverse engineer it. 

He can’t make heads or tails or what any of it meant. How much was real, and how much wasn’t?

Tommy withers, “... You’re not dumb. I know that much about you- even if you’re fucking ridiculous. So, getting Daydream’s sidekick as an ally makes sense in theory, but having Nixie on your side should’ve given you enough insider information. If your plans had gone wrong, I would have just spilled everything to your number one enemy.” 

Magpie laughs, “Oh, and what big secrets did you know about the Syndicate?”

He shrugs, “I could have easily caught you in a trap. You were always buggin’ me and shit.”

“So, what’s confusing you? You just explained why trying to trick you wouldn’t be an efficient strategy. I just liked you, so I talked to you. There was no underlining trick.”

What didn’t make sense?

He can think of one thing.

Tommy’s heart beats painfully under his ribs as he says, “I don’t understand why you did the media drop with Daydream. It was sudden, unexpected, and I know there was that whole driver’s license talk-”

“The what talk?” Magpie asks.

“Y’know, when I finally told you the HA wouldn’t let me get a license and you got all upset about it.”

“I don’t- I don’t remember this?”

Tommy lets out a frustrated breath, “The talk we had the night before the news article on Daydream was published? I told you I was too young to go to the DVLA by myself and you got all weird about it. Then you got all weirdly upset and then the whole thing with the media happened, I know the two events are connected so don't try to act like they weren't.”

“... You thought I was upset because you couldn’t get a license?”

“I was upset about it! You seemed upset, too… I thought you were," he pouts.

Magpie tugs at his hair, “I mean- yes, yes it was wrong of them to prevent you from driving but- but I wasn’t just upset about that. I was upset that you were sixteen and basically a veteran in the hero field. You said- you said Daydream abused you.”

“Hey! Don’t go throwing the a-word around me like that. He just- it wasn’t abuse. He was just-”

“Violent? Hypocritical? Abusive?” Magpie sneers.

“No! Prime no, he just had issues. Really big issues. Us heroes have lots of issues.” 

Magpie looks on, unconvinced, but Tommy doesn’t budge on his stance. 

The villain sighs, moving on, “... I’m not over this, you still thought I got righteously upset over your right to drive over your admission of being a child soldier?” 

“Yeah? It made sense to me. Honestly, I’m surprised more people didn’t know I was a teen, it’s not like I did a great job hiding it. The Warden knew.”

“Sam knew?” The man practically screeches. He crushes the bag with his muffin in a tight grip. Oh-seven, muffin.

Tommy shrugs, “He’s heard my voice before, so I assume he knew.” 

“Why didn’t he ever- oh, we’re going to talk later.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong. I think a lot of people knew- you were just dense.”

Magpie’s face twitches.

Tommy continues, “So if you really didn’t care about the license thing- why incite Doomsday? Surely you knew when it was revealed that you were the one tearing the number one hero’s reputation to shreds, there’d be consequences. You were fucking with the most powerful agency in the world. You were signing your own warrant.” 

Dream had been right when he said that releasing the article when they did just didn’t make sense. The Syndicate usually moved methodically, planning ten steps ahead of when they moved a piece on the board. But the fiasco leading up to Doomsday felt like a novice’s rush of moving whatever pieces they could. 

“Why do you think I ran Daydream’s name through the mud?”

Tommy frowns, “I don’t like mind games, big man.”

“Just humor me.”

“…Because it was the best way to topple the HA?” He guesses, and Magpie shakes his head. “Uh… you… hated him? And have a sore spot for child abuse or something?”

“Well, that’s true but we’re not going to delve into that- the whole debacle with The L’Manbergian Press was, admittedly, an impulsive decision. Phil didn’t like my idea one bit, but I was deadset on doing it.” Magpie picks at his hands, “But I had to do something because… he was hurting you. You’re- well, you’re one of my only friends. Most people are too scared to talk to me, especially once they, uh, know my power.”

“Whoever is too scared to talk back to you doesn’t know to aim for the knees. But I am smart and cool enough to know this. Your height will be your downfall. Literally. I’m gonna kick your knees out when you least expect it and you will hit the ground hard.”

Magpie laughs like he’s said the funniest joke he’s ever heard. Tommy smiles.

Dream’s laugh was quick and whistle-y like he was trying to expel all the air from his lungs in one go. Tommy’s own laugh was similar, from how much time they spent together. A wheezy screech meant to last only a few moments. But this laugh is deeper, and it continues beyond a few moments, holding a weight that fills his chest with something light. It’s pleasant. 

He likes making someone laugh. He likes being able to make Magpie laugh. He wants to hear the sound again and again until it becomes unforgettable to him.

Once his laughter dies down, Tommy mutters, “We’re friends?” 

“… We don’t have to be, if you don't want to. I shouldn't assume so much. But I thought the knitting club was fun, so I might show up again even if you tell me to fuck off.”

Magpie looks at ease even under his glare, grinning mischievously. The bitch was annoying- with his annoying voice and his annoying hair and his annoying glasses and his annoying sweaters-

“Do whatever you want.” 

He can’t stop the smile growing on his face. 

“Sounds good. I really should get going now, though. Tell Niki I said hi!” 

"Sure. See you later, Magpie," he waves goodbye.

The man stumbles and laughs, "Sorry, it's- sorry, that's so weird. We're just two civilians now. You can call me Wilbur."

Magpie was a villain that Red Thunder knew to a degree. But they both wore masks, and only met in dark corners to hide from any journalists or paparazzi. 

He’s seen him now, with his smile brighter than the sunrise. 

"Then see you later, Wilbur."

Tommy liked using nicknames like Big Man, Big T- because he's used to referring to others by an alias for a long time. Dream had always just been a nickname for Daydream. That's one secret nobody, not even Tommy, knew. It's why he's been using 404, The Angel, the Magpie, Nixie, and even Red Thunder for himself. He didn't think he knew them well enough for names, it's weird.

He has a mouth that knows how to use aliases over real names. He has a mind that was centered around battles, fighting, and bloodshed. He knows how to be Red Thunder better than he knows how to be Tommy. But Magpie was a villain he used to fight. The man who gave him a raccoon keychain after his first-time ice skating, who bought him a cactus because he showed interest in it, the man who cared genuinely about his wellbeing was Wilbur. 

He thinks he could get used to saying his name.

————————————

Why did Red Thunder help Magpie? 

He kind of doesn’t know himself, why he did it. It felt so impulsive and yet planned at the same time. He agreed to Protesilaus’s request, he helped Magpie out of the building. He knew he wouldn’t get away with it. If Sapnap hadn’t caught him, the HA would’ve been able to figure it out in time. He did it knowing there’d be consequences.

The whole situation was a mess.

Monarch had betrayed the Syndicate. They explained that the article released on Daydream did not mirror their own beliefs on the hero. It was a dirty move that they couldn’t condone, and Dream had made them an offer they couldn’t refuse: They could be a real hero. Create real change, not from within a criminal organization but with the elites. A villain turning hero was unheard of, and so it was too tempting to say no to. 

Tommy doesn’t know a lot about Monarch. He doesn’t know why they joined the Syndicate or why becoming a hero was so appealing to them, but it happened. Monarch made a deal with the HA and led Magpie into a trap as proof of their new loyalty.

Then Protesilaus had asked him to help break out the villain. He knew the two were close. 

But Tommy didn’t feel like he owed it to any of the villains. It wasn't a debt to pay. The Syndicate had suffered an internal failure and it was their issue to deal with- not Tommy’s. Magpie was dumb enough to get captured, and Protesilaus was dumb enough to beg him for help. 

Tommy had nothing to gain from helping out the Syndicate.

But he has, for most of his life, been a passive viewer of his own story. He was too powerless as a kid to speak up for himself and he was powerless to fight against the HA. While he considered himself strong, he wasn’t a fighter. He isn’t full of passion and fury and fight like Magpie. There’s a fire burning in the man’s eyes, an inferno that wants to change the world. He’s heard the man go on dozens of rants about power discrimination, the corrupt system, and the horrible men in charge of it. He’s so similar to Dream in that way. They both want to fix things- but while Dream bends the knee to the HA, Magpie carves out his own path, makes his own rules to follow. It’s dangerous. It’s dumb.

Tommy doesn’t believe things can ever change. He believes he’s going to die like this- as a hero, bloated and sick from his own inaction. There’s a part of him that believes he isn’t going to live to be eighteen. 

Maybe Red Thunder won’t get the happy ending, he won’t see the system be torn down, he won’t get to be the hero. He’ll die the same person he’s always been. Maybe he’ll be dead before the year is up- but he believes in heroes again. Not like Dream, or George, or Schlatt- but Magpie. If anyone is going to change anything, it will be him. Anything has to be better than how it is right now. 

So he, against all reason, breaks the villain out.

Maybe he saved Magpie because he did feel some sort of weird debt to the villains- or perhaps it was because Magpie wasn’t all that bad beneath his annoying antics. Maybe he respected Magpie as his hero. Maybe he thought himself too lost a cause to have any self-preservation left. Maybe he couldn't let a hero die by his own inaction.

Maybe it was fear, maybe it was faith. 

————————————

Sapnap didn’t lie when he promised to be there for Tommy’s visit. Tommy is greeted by three smiles instead of the tension that had welcomed him last time. All three of the fiances are there, laughing and smiling. 

It makes him feel a little like a fourth wheel to a tricycle, but it was always fun to hang out with them.

Quackity looks over the games they have, “We’ve got jenga, sorry, monopoly, scrabble-”

“Who even plays scrabble? Old people?” Karl giggles, leaning heavily over the avian.

“You’re just saying that because you’re illiterate.” 

Sapnap continues, “Let’s play monopoly- I can kick all of your asses in monopoly.”

“The last time we played it took four hours,” Quackity argues.

“I can beat you fuckers in half that time. Gonna speedrun you all into bankruptcy,” Tommy insists, slamming his hand on the table.

“You heard the kid, monopoly it is.”

Tommy has never played monopoly in his life. He’s the smartest man ever, so he’s not afraid of being bad at it. He doesn’t really understand what properties he should get, or why he has to pay taxes, but his little character is a dog. Everyone should have to pay taxes to dogs. Dogs don’t deserve to go to jail. The others don’t agree with his amazing counterpoints.

“Karl, it’s your turn,” Quackity says. The game had been flowing pretty well- it was getting close to two hours and Tommy was closest to bankruptcy out of all of them- but Karl hasn’t moved his character out of jail even though it was his turn again.

“Karl?” Sapnap asks.

Karl sits up, staring wide-eyed and uncomprehending at Sapnap, “You can’t be here, you- you’re Blaze. Get out of my apartment!” 

Tommy looks on in fear and horror. Nobody else looks surprised, though.

Quackity moves to calm Karl down. He’s shouting, pointing at Sapnap like he- like he doesn’t recognize him. Tommy watches on, confused.

Sapnap lightly grabs his arm and guides him out of the apartment.

In a blur, they’re stepping into an elevator, and then they’re outside. He shivers, his coat left behind. The sky overhead is grey. Tommy's apartment doesn't have an elevator.

“Karl isn’t okay,” he breathes out, looking back to the building as if it’d give him answers.

Sapnap shakes his head, “He's okay, don’t worry. I’m sorry you had to see that. It’s just when he overuses his power… his memory gets a little fuzzy.”

“He’s been overworking himself then. Isn’t there anyone helping him? How much crime has been going on that he-”

“You don’t have to worry about any of that. It’s a problem we can manage, Karl just doesn’t know when to stop.”

“I can help, though!” He shouts frantically, hands gripping tight into his shirt.

“But I’m not going to let you!” Sapnap yells.

To his credit, he looks upset right after yelling, but Tommy’s heart is already set ablaze.

“And why do you get to tell me what to do?”

“I- I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that- that I don’t want to see you get hurt. If the situation in L’Manberg ever worsens, people like Phil or The Warden would pick up the slack. So, please don’t worry about it.”

“... Whatever," he mumbles, kicking at a rock. He’s not over the outburst, but he doesn’t want to linger on it.

Sapnap checks his phone, but there doesn’t seem to be any new messages.

“How- how has your week been?” Sapnap asks, trying to lighten the mood.

“I spent Friday evening with the Watsons," he immediately bites back, knowing it’ll upset the man to hear.

He went behind Tommy’s back to tell Wilbur shit that wasn’t true. That's still messing him up. Wilbur thought Tommy was uncomfortable around him and Tommy thought it was the other way around. They almost broke apart because Sapnap just has to meddle.

Sapnap nods, “Oh yeah, they do those big dinners. Who all showed up?”

“Just me," he grins, “Everyone else had things to do. I think Ponk had some complications with their-”

“Excuse me, wait. You were alone with them? With a bunch of ex-villains?” 

“Wasn’t it you who said the villains were all retired, we could be all friends and buddy-buddy now?”

“Yeah- with Phil, or Sam. Not Wilbur and Techno.” 

“And what makes them so different?” He asks, the air thick with tension. They both know why it’s complicated, but he’s not going to say it.

Because bringing up the Syndicate will lead to bringing up Doomsday.

“I don’t trust them,” Sapnap says curtly. 

“Then you don’t have to hang out with them. You’re not my babysitter, I can hang out with whoever I want to.”

Sapnap has been going through his over-concerned arc. He had his paranoia about George and he messages Tommy daily about what he’s doing. And while most of the time it’s not that big of a deal, this is getting annoying. Even if it comes from a place of concern.

“I’ve never trusted Wilbur, okay? Techno and him are bloodthirsty. I don’t know if they had any good intentions working as villains. They’re the reason I hated the Syndicate for so long.”

“That’s just not true. Wilbur cares about helping people.” 

Wilbur is annoying as fuck. He can spend hours ranting about the changes he’d bring to the government if he had a say in it all. He cares so much about power laws and the inequality that comes from them. He cared so much about the unfairness Tommy was subjected to.

He doesn’t treat Tommy like he’s some poor Victorian peasant child dying of the flu. And Techno, while intimidating, has been nothing but sincere and nice to him. Phil always offers a helping hand and an open door to go to. They treat him like he wants to be; softly, but with respect. Without pity, that which fills Sapnap's eyes.

“Listen, Sapnap, if we all hold grudges from our work as heroes and villains we should all be at each other’s throats. Protesilaus almost killed Wilbur when they first met, The Warden literally cut off Dryad's arm and now they live together. I’ve electrocuted Niki and now I work at her bakery.”

“That’s not it. Yeah, we were on different sides, but can’t you tell that something is off with him? With his whole family? They view other people differently than they view themselves. How do you know you can trust them not to treat you like an object to possess?”

“You know, you’re getting so weird about me wanting to talk with Wilbur and Techno and even George- you’re literally just trying to control my life! You’re undermining my autonomy, not them.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe, that’s what I’m doing. I know you well enough to know you’re too reckless to care of yourself.”

“How much do you really know about me, huh?”

He’s got wings. Wings he could use to fly far, far away from all these annoying fucks. And nobody knows it. Nobody knew but Dream.

“I know you’re still young.” 

“I’m not some dumb kid who needs your help! I’ve made it this far because I knew how to survive,” Tommy throws his hands out in frustration.

He was so tired of grown-ups getting to tell him what to do. He was sick of people pitying him like he’s weak. He isn't so pathetic as to need their pity. Everyone is seven years too late, that kid he was years ago wanted someone to coddle him and take care of all his pains. But he grew up, he realized no one was going to give a shit about him if there wasn't a profit from it. 

“But you don’t have to do it alone. I could live a solitary life doing everything independently but I know I have Quackity, Karl, and friends to fall back on. It’s not pity, it’s- it's compassion. It’s about getting to live instead of just surviving. I want you to be safe and cared for. I want to care for you because you're my friend, and that's what friends do.”

He snarls, lip pulling back, "Oh, cut the bullshit. We know what this is really about. You don't think I don't see the guilt in your eyes? You feel obligated to help me from some misplaced sense of guilt. Guess what, I don't give a fuck about what happened on Doomsday!"

"Then why don’t we ever talk about it? You never want to acknowledge that Dream hurt you! At least I’m trying to make up for- for Doomsday.”

“You wanna talk? Fine. You blabbed to Dream and it lead to my murder! Because of you, I know what it’s like to have my brains outside of my fucking skull. Because of you, my best friend is in jail. ”

Sapnap shifts. The anger fades away into something softer, “I just don’t understand why you don’t hate Dream. It’s a good thing he’s in The Vault.”

Tommy gestures wildly, “I don’t understand how you can. We were a team. We fought and bled and trusted each other- and you gave up on that. You fought on the Syndicate’s side that day knowing what would happen.”

“Yes, because I knew from Karl that Dream had tried killing him. The Dream I knew years ago would never do that. He changed, in some sinister way beneath all of our noses. I don’t understand how you can forgive him for- for killing you. How is that my fault?”

“Dream changed because of m- you should ha- I'm sor- I- I wish everything was still normal! I want to wake up and put on my armor and my mask and go out into the world to protect it. I was so useful as a hero, and Dream always knew what to do. He had all the answers. He promised to change things. I believed in him. It’s your fault that all changed!”

Sapnap laughs bleakly, “You really do miss it. You miss being a hero. You never want to admit it, but you do.”

He groans in exasperation, “I miss Dream. I don't miss anything else, but I miss him so fucking much. He used to be everything- we lived together, ate together, worked together. I thought we’d die together, too. You don't understand what you took from me.”

“That’s messed up, Tommy! This is why I’ve got to look out for you! I knew how you were with Dream. You depended on him for a lot- and now you’ve found Wilbur. Is that what he’s going to become for you? A new leader to follow to the ends of the earth? Just someone new to hand your leash to?”

He steps back, burned and teeth bared.

“I’m not a fucking dog- and Wilbur has done so much for me! We’re friends, and he wants to help me. He’s done more than you.”

“This is what you do- you latch onto other people and I just want to- to let you grow on your own for once! I’ve tried to help you so much and you don’t even care, you’re willing to throw it all away for a villain.”

“What, then, have I annoyingly latched onto you for too long? Do you want me gone? Or do you hate that it’s Wilbur I turn to instead of you?

Sapnap's eyes sharpen, “No! I’m saying it’s unhealthy to depend on someone so much! It’s like you like being helpless!” 

“I’m not helpless- I never asked for anyone’s help. I don’t want your help, I don’t want anyone's help!”

Soundlessly, a few raindrops plop onto the ground.

“So, what are you gonna do? Lock yourself away in your room rotting away until you finally decide to suck it up and face the real world like the rest of us?” Sapnap yells.

“At least I don’t project my own issues onto some kid I barely know!” Tommy screams back.

“Prime, you always do this- we’re friends, I care about you, too, but you just love to push everyone away. You do this thing where you either idolize someone or you try pushing them away!”

“Well, why didn’t you do anything? Why didn’t you stop him? When- when Dream hurt me. If you cared so much.” Tommy jabs, knowing his words will hurt.

“What could’ve I done, how was I supposed to know? You never told anyone what he was doing.”

He shakes his head, “People knew, they just ignored it. Niki knew, George knew. You just didn’t want to see it because he’s your friend.”

“You can't keep treating Dream and mine's friendship like something evil if you blame me imprisoning your best friend. You're being hypocritical! I honestly didn't know, you should’ve told someone, you should reach out to people instead of clinging onto Wilbur.”

“Oh yeah, you really think if I told someone, anything would’ve changed?”

“Yes! If you came to me-”

“I think you just want to control me. Like Dream did. You know I’ve got a fucked up brain, you’ve already compared me to a dog. Sure, yeah, I don’t like independence, and that just attracts every fucker with a god complex around me! And you can’t control your own fucking life so why not control mine!”

Sapnap growls, “I’m- I’m not like Dream, I don’t want to control you- I literally said I’m trying to help you be more independent.”

“I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t want that, I don’t want to listen to you!”

“Do you even hear how- how you sound right now?”

“I don’t care if I’m being immature! Dying didn’t change that about me.” 

Sapnap recoils. 

Tommy is breathless. Months worth of anger, guilt, and grief have just poured out of him and he feels vile. The light sprinkling above them grows heavier, water droplets collecting on the ends of his curls and dropping into his face.

Sapnap has been such a paranoid mess, and Tommy doesn’t need that shit in his life. He doesn’t need anyone except Dream. Civilian life has been this giant joke he thought he could understand, but he’s always been made of tragedy over comedy. Nobody will ever understand Tommy like Dream did, nobody can fix the mess he is. Tommy is so fucking tired of this whole farce when he should be six feet down below right now. None of this ever had to be his problem and now it is, it painfully is and he doesn't want that responsibility.

He turns and runs.

————————————

Patrol by himself was usually fun. He didn’t have to worry about Dream hovering over him and keeping them on a strict schedule. Solo patrols meant he usually slacked off and tried sniffing out where Magpie was. Some days he hated being bothered, but sometimes it was fun.

Today, he sorely needed the company.

He didn't trust any villain, and he usually avoided the Syndicate like the plague- but, well, humans aren't the best at avoiding the plague.

Training with Dream had been harder earlier that day, and now Tommy is sporting a sprained ankle. Early into patrol, he admitted defeat and curled up on the roof of a building sat in between two taller ones, hidden from sight. Unable to be seen easily except from above. 

Magpie ends up finding him like he somehow always does. The villain was like a real-life magpie. Loud and annoying. 

He has less energy when they start bantering. Tommy makes his usual joke about having to turn the villain in, Magpie laughs him off. It’d be kind of funny if one day he just goes through with the threat, but he’s not in the mood for that kind of mayhem right now. 

While laughing at Magpie’s dumb rant about anteaters, he winces. Shit, Dream might’ve fractured a rib from all the kicking he did.

The sharp hiss of breath catches Magpie's attention, unfortunately.

"...Are you hurt? I thought your patrol had been uneventful today," Magpie asks him, voice flat. 

He curls up, frightened. Weakness is death and he's next to one of the most dangerous men in the country. His voice refuses to come to him, no excuse ready in his mind.

"Red? What's up?" Magpie asks, sitting down on the ledge next to him.

His tongue burns with a secret nobody else knows. Because Dream is- is good. He's a true hero. Dream is going to save the world. Dream is the person who has helped him the most.

But sometimes he got so terrifyingly angry. Tommy can’t help but think it’s not fair.

Everyone- including 404 and Blaze- is under the impression that Dream is a cool-headed and methodical man. To tell anyone would just be useless complaining. Either they would tell Dream, which would make him angrier, or they'd separate them. 

And no one else cares about Tommy like Dream. 

But... what is a midnight confession to a villain who probably doesn't give two shits about him?

That's his logic, at least, when he whispers, "It was just Daydream. He- he gets kinda, uh, angry. Like, red in the face and spit flying kind of angry. And it's... usually me he takes it out on."

Once the words come out, they don't stop. Like a broken dam. He talks about Dream's intense training sessions, the apologizing, the promising to never hurt him again but it's always a lie because he always does so again. 

Dream is a liar. 

And Tommy speaks, spewing out every ugly thing he's been hiding for- for forever. Magpie isn't going to care, this is just water off a duck's back to him. Breaking News! Daydream sucks, that isn't new for a villain to hear. 

He speaks without consequence and devolves into other things, like the guilt trips. Dream twists words and incidences into an unrecognizable mess, so he isn't sure what he was trying to say in the first place. But their arguments always end with Tommy apologizing with a pang of heavy guilt in his chest.

Dream says he’s helped Tommy so much, but he's still stuck working as a hero. Because he doesn't have a choice, he never had a choice, so did Dream really save him?

Magpie is silent the whole time. 

"-And I know I'm being a baby, complaining about nothing, and Daydream's under so much pressure. He's the number one hero, he's got a lot to deal with so sometimes he just- has to let it out on someone. And I was asking for it anyway, for bothering him so much."

Magpie hums lowly, “I thought Daydream was supposed to be one of the decent heroes."

"He is. But that’s just how- he just deals with his problems differently. Working as a hero is very hard business.”

“... see it like this: Would you do the same to him if the situation was reversed?”

“That’s different. I’m younger, I'm less talented, I'm a hy- it's different. Different.”

Magpie leans forward, “No, seriously, if you're under a lot of stress, would you hit someone?”

"Well... no. But I was being annoying. Y'know me, Red Thunder, the great annoyer," he laughs weakly.

"I don't think being annoying warrants violence."

He punches the villain in the shoulder, "It does when it's you, prick. You go meh, meh, meh I'm Magpie, I talk so much because I'm a bald bitch who can't take a punch myeh, meh."

"C’mon- Red, I can say with certainty that you haven’t done anything wrong."

He drags his hands down his mask, "Ugh, you don't get it though. I just can't shut up about getting a driver's license even though Daydream has heard nonstop about it, and the HA won't permit it anyway and-"

Prime, Nixie was right. Heroes need therapists because he's dumping all his issues onto a villain he barely knows. 

"Wait, wait- this fight was over something any basic teen can get? Why does he get any say on it?"

"I can't just go up to the fucking DVLA without an adult, they'd turn me away. Pretty sure the HA destroyed my birth certificate, too," he explains nonchalantly.

"Are you still a kid?" Magpie asks with a high trill at the end.

Fuck.

"Uh- what?"

"Like, are you under eighteen? Because that sounds like-"

"Wait, well uhh, no?"

"No?"

"No. Actually, let's drop this conversation-"

"You've been in the hero business for- for years at this point. Wait- you're seriously- I assumed you were like in your twenties- Daydream's sidekick is seriously a kid?"

"I'm not a fucking kid! And- and why would it matter anyway, if I was? It doesn't change jack shit, I'm still stuck with the fucking HA and I'm still fighting every day and-" His voice dies in his chest. He can't see Magpie's face, but the weight of his gaze still digs into his skin.

"... how old are you, Red?" There's no compulsion when he asks, just a quiet tone that sounds like… genuine concern or something equally as stupid. 

There's no force behind the villain's words, but he can't find it in himself to lie.

"I'm sixteen," he shrugs listlessly.

Magpie's shoulders tense exactly how Dream's does when he's pissed. The usually chatty man is dead silent once again, and Tommy's certain he's fucked up in some way he doesn't understand. Story of his life at this point, pissing off people for reasons they won't explain. He's made a mistake- this isn't some nobody who'll keep his secrets, this is a supervillain who could exploit this information. 

He suddenly feels too exposed. He's definitely said way too much, and to a Syndicate member no less. Magpie reaches a hand out and Tommy instantly stumbles a step backward.

"I've- I've got to go," he stammers before running off. 

Magpie cries something out, but Tommy slips away. His feet hit tiles of roof, sheets of metal, and concrete, each kick-off fueled by panic and adrenaline. Every time he lands too rough, his sprained ankle sings out in pain, each deep breath stinging in his chest. 

That night, he rushed back to the apartment after stopping by the HA headquarters. Dream was still awake, sitting on the couch. 

He approached Tommy and apologized like he always did, offering him a healing pot and promises that he'd never hurt him again. They felt flatter, the same note he's heard been played before. Fuck, he sounded like he meant it every time, but it never stopped. And Tommy's the fool who's always going to believe him. 

A part of him wished that Magpie had just laughed and made fun of his complaining. That he’d laugh away his age, all his grumblings about unfairness as if the world wasn’t always unfair. 

But instead, he was left feeling small. 

The next day, the article was published. There was leaked information from the HA about various heroes forging fake reports that make casualties and damages appear less severe. Statistically, it made heroes appear better to have lower casualty rates. There was foul play behind the scenes on faulty contracts, of heroes who weren’t allowed to quit. The HA had millions of pounds owed to the public from fabricated reports. All sorts of horrible and illegal shit.

And at the top of the list of offenders, sat Dream's name. 

It hadn't dawned on him then that Magpie's rage was for him instead of at him. 

————————————

The rain has long soaked through his jeans and his t-shirt. It’s the kind of rain that’s so cold it feels like knives digging into your skin. He’s fucking freezing, but he doesn’t stop running.

Tommy used to have Dream and that was all that mattered. The world wasn’t fair and he was helpless to others greater than himself, but he had Dream. And the man knew the rules of the game, and he’d spelled them out clearly to Tommy. The world made sense under his lens. 

Attachments are a weakness. Do not trust the villains or vigilantes who claim to do good. Never show your face or say your name. Make yourself invaluable so you cannot be thrown away. Pain teaches the best lessons. 

He’s spiraling and grasping for anything- anything, anything. Anyone. Niki is already stressed about running the bakery and Puffy, she said herself she wasn’t acclimated to civilian life either. Quackity and Karl were going through memory loss bullshit. George- George always gave shit advice- he was probably asleep right now, too. And Sam, Ranboo, and Tubbo have to worry about Ponk who’s still recovering from losing his arm. And the Watsons- 

He can’t trust them. He can’t. That’s a disaster waiting for him like every semblance of peace he’s ever had. They’ll act nice and welcoming and accommodating until they get annoyed with him, and then he’ll lose it all again. Nothing good stays good. He should be happy with what little he deserves and fuck off.

Tommy is alone, he’s always alone. And he’s so cold.

He could run. Run north, until his toes froze and the air bit at his cheeks. Maybe he’d find peace. Maybe the ending for Red Thunder has always been a snowy, unmarked grave.

That sounds nice, compared to the other violent ends he’s imagined.

Then, he spots Wilbur at the end of the sidewalk.

“Tommy! Everyone’s worried, Quackity called me and-” Wilbur reaches out for him. His hands are so warm they burn at his skin.

“Fuck off," he growls, struggling out of the man’s grip. How did he even find him?

“What’s going on? What happened- I can help if you need it?”

“No, fuck you Magpie!” 

Wilbur makes a hurt sound, but his resolve doesn’t waver, “I heard from Quackity you got into an argument with Sapnap. If you want to talk about it-”

“Oh my god, you don’t have to act like you actually care,” he pushes back the wet hair in his eyes, glaring at him. 

“Okay... you seem frustrated right now,” Wilbur backs up.

“What gave that away?” He sneers.

Wilbur breathes in slowly, “I’m here to listen if that’s what you want me to do. I can try and help you out with what happened. I can go if you want me to go. But I do want to make sure you’re not out in the rain the whole night, I’m not budging on that.”

“You,” he points harshly, “make no sense.”

“I want to help. I’m worried about you. I’m not lying. I wouldn’t lie to you like this.”

He grinds his teeth, frustration burning in his veins hot enough to keep away the cold, “You- you got inside my head and got me to betray my only friend and then he- he- y’know. You’re bad for me! You make things complicated! Dream was like- Dream and me were like a forest fire. Except I was the forest and he was the fire, and there was never anything I could do to stop him from burning and burning. His rage would be my rage, his hatred my hatred. His fears, mine. He made me a worse person whenever he was around me, but when he was there I felt better. At least when he was there, things made sense. You’re- you’re- you’re just confusing. I don’t know why I broke you out of the HA holding cells.”

There’s something acrid and rotten in Tommy, something that makes him want to hurt everyone around him. If he can claw and bite and scream loud enough, maybe everything will finally disappear and he can be at peace. Alone. 

Look at how sharp I am. I will cut you if you keep trying to reach out. His heart is guarded and he’s starved of niceness, but he’s too afraid to accept it. 

Like a cactus, he thinks a little deliriously.

“Is that what you want right now? Do you want an explanation? Is that what you want from me?” Wilbur asks.

“Yes!” He grits out.

“You have changed my life. Saved it in more ways than just breaking me out,” Wilbur smiles sadly. "I know it's hard to understand, but I care about you because you have cared about me. A year ago I... really hit a depression bump. Nothing too serious, my emotions tend to swing around like that. But I was pessimistic about The Syndicate's work and if we were changing anything at all. I grew apathetic about all the things I cared about- my music, my friends. But meeting you was like- well, it made getting out of bed easier. And it made the mission more personal- because yes, the goal was always about dismantling the hero system, but then it became about helping you. Because you helped me. I was your enemy but we joked around and you listened to me. You weren't scared of my power. You confided in me, you put your trust in me and I didn't want to lose it. I’m so sorry about Doomsday, I am. I just thought that… that, y’know, that you trusted me. You told me about Daydream, so I assumed you were asking for help.”

Tommy swallows past the phlegm building up in his throat, “Why did you care about that? I told you because I thought you wouldn’t.”

"What, wouldn’t care?”

“Yeah. Why would you?”

“Because we’re friends. I thought we were friends. I thought… I thought we were best friends.”

And oh, Tommy knows this song and dance. He knows “Oh we’re best friends, Tommy” and “Can’t you see I do this because I care about you” and the “I’d do anything for you so you should do anything for me.” 

“You just want to hurt me.”

“Why would I want that?” Wilbur asks, voice breaking.

“I don’t know. People always want to hurt me.” 

Wilbur steps closer, and Tommy doesn’t step away.

“Ever since Doomsday, it’s been so hard watching you pull away from me. You’re hurting, darling.”

Magpie is lame. Extremely lame. He wore dumb costumes that weren’t practical for battle, all fluttering capes, and that dumb yellow sweater he always wore because “he was too lazy to change his outfit from his vigilante days.

The man has never been off-putting, but best friends?

Nobody wants to be friends with Tommy. Only Dream cared about him. So- so all of these people, saying sorry or trying to express concern over his life choices or the dumb people trying to “talk to him more”- it’s all got to be pity. It’s got to be pity, or some sick joke to play on him because Dream was his only friend, and he turned on Tommy. Everyone does. 

And Tommy can't suffer like that anymore. His heart would break from it all.

“Of course I’m hurting. I don’t know why Dream murdered me. I thought we were friends! But he didn’t even fucking hesitate. Nobody has ever cared about me before, and he promised he would. He promised so much and kept so little- and I don’t hate you, Wilbur. I really don’t. I know the Syndicate members all want to help me, and Phil genuinely wants me to feel welcomed, and that Sapnap is worried about completely normal things. But I don’t want another Dream. Soon enough you’ll- everyone will turn. I can’t handle that again.”

He stares up at Wilbur’s eyes. He doesn’t look angry, which fills him with relief. 

“Tommy… I never knew Daydream well. I never liked him, but I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear. But I do know you, and you’re like pure sunshine. Every time I see you, the world lights up. You’re sweet and so funny. You somehow always have energy, and go on the weirdest tangents.” He laughs fondly. “So, I can only guess as to why Daydream acted the way he did. I don’t want to speculate on that. But I do know that he had no right to tell you that no one cares about you. Nobody deserves to be hurt by someone they trust, but you definitely didn’t. You deserve the whole world, and I want to give you that.”

Slowly, Wilbur steps closer and drags him into his arms. Tommy accepts the embrace like a dehydrated plant to water. His hands curl into the wet fabric of his coat, gripping tight. Wilbur holds back just as tight, resting his chin over Tommy’s head. 

It’s nice. He can’t remember the last time someone hugged him like this. It was definitely Dream, he thinks, but he can’t recall when. A year ago? Two years ago? 

He listens to his heart beating in tune with Wilbur’s. Both of them breathe slightly out of sync. It’s the only sound he can hear. His sweater is warm under Tommy’s frozen cheek. He’s- alive. He made it out alive.

He hasn’t felt alive in months.

Tommy feels his heartbeat finally start to slow down from its frenzy. He breathes in slowly.

Wilbur’s voice rumbles above him, “You’re freezing. Do you want to come back to my place? Phil and Techno are also worried sick about you.”

Tommy tries to find the words- he really does. There’s the lingering anger burning in his gut, like acid. But he also feels- he also feels- 

Sapnap knows where he lives and he’ll have to deal with the quiet and the loneliness and the stupid part of his brain that’ll start saying that everything would’ve been better if he just had stayed dead. He doesn’t want to go back to his place feeling like he does.

So he nods.

He didn’t think he’d take the Angel’s offer on “coming over whenever he wants” so soon.

————————————

“Doomsday is a bit of a dramatic name, innit?” He jokes, hopping into step by Dream.

“Tonight it is the Syndicate or us- of course it is fitting. Doomsday is the end of all things, and if you’re religious, it is a time of judgment. All the villain’s sins will be punished accordingly after today.”

“Okay. Still sounds dramatic, but okay. What's the game plan?"

“404 will be looking out for The Angel and Nemesis to try and knock them out while Manifold hunts for The Warden. We’ve been sent to take down Protesilaus. He’ll be aiming to kill us, so we can’t hesitate. 

He stumbles over his next step, “Protesilaus? We can’t beat him! That’s suicide, Dream.”

“Well, we were planning to do negotiations with him with Magpie as our hostage, but he was somehow freed.”

His heart lurches in his chest, “Y-yeah, that sure was… unexpected. The Syndicate is sure full of slippery people.”

Dream stops dead in his tracks. His shadow looms long behind him and Tommy squints to see him past the evening sun. Dread fills his stomach like ice. 

Stay calm.

"I talked with Blaze before the mission."

"Yeah...?" 

“He said some interesting things.”

Oh. Oh no.

“He said you're the one who freed Magpie.” 

It isn’t a question. Sapnap had broken their fucking deal. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone what he saw! 

“Dream, he- it isn’t what it looks like. You don’t-” 

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing, nothing important just-"

"You know so many secrets about me- if the world knew Daydream had no power, people would riot. People are already demanding the HA fire me. What if the villains knew your real age? They’d ruin your life. And you're dumb enough to trust them when they just want to find out my secrets- hah, what- did you think they were your friends? They’ve all killed countless people. They don’t care about you. They’re criminals only invested in their own desires.”

“And you aren't?” He snarks back. 

He instantly tenses, seeing Dream wound up like a spring, bringing his hand back-

 -and his cheek burns.

Dream has never hit him on the job. It's happened plenty of times in private, but they're only a dozen or so meters out from the heat of the fight, and Dream has never lashed out so publically. Could be caught by paparazzi and all that. 

"I am nothing like that scum. I am the number one hero, a paragon of good. I'm going to save the world- he's trying to destroy it. I've spent years dedicated to trying to fix a monster, but it seems like you never learn when to respect those better than you. All you have ever been is ungrateful for all you were given!"

Dream lashes out again, punching him hard in the gut. He scrambles backward, realizing this isn't like any of the other times. Dream isn't just pissed. 

He's reminded of a man from seven years ago, pulling a knife on him. The terror is the same.

Tommy is afraid for his life.

He moves back a couple of feet before Dream socks him in the jaw hard enough for him to lose his footing, tripping over a kick from the masked man. Tommy flails out, trying to get away but he’s stomped on like a bug. He waits with dread with his back pressed to cold concrete. Dream looms over him, seething with fury. And then the hits keep coming. 

His mask doesn't protect his nose from breaking, and there's coppery blood dripping into his mouth making it hard to breathe. 

He spits out pink-tinted saliva and gags at the aftertaste. Dream is furious- and he was out for blood.

“You want to keep fucking talking back to me? Do you know how idiotic it is to trust The Syndicate? You're such a fucking dumbass, you never learn your lessons!”

He begs Dream to stop but he keeps hitting him until he’s certain his jaw is broken or dislocated, maybe other things broke. His eyes burn and tears are mixing into the mess of blood and spit. And then a hand grips his hair and slams his skull into the ground. 

His head cracks open, like an egg. There goes his reputation of being ‘hard-headed.’ Ha.

Bone fractures and blood pools, warm and sticky underneath him. He can’t speak anymore without it hurting, but a strangled scream tears out from his throat. 

Everything is spinning. He’s going to be sick.

This is when Tommy knows he’s going to die. Dream above him, fists bloodied and merciless. He's had moments before where he was convinced he was going to die, but this is different. This is his friend, and nobody is coming to save him. He used to think he go down swinging, but he can only helplessly claw at Dream’s armor as he continues to hit him.

And living up to his moniker, The Angel comes crashing onto the roof, tackling Dream off of him. The Angel has finally come to save him, just like he used to imagine he would as a kid.

Warm hands cup his face and he’s staring into emerald eyes in a daze. His eyes burned, so he shut them. Each breath shuddered in his chest like a breeze through leafless trees. His childhood hero is out there, fighting his mentor. The world is ending. It really is Doomsday. 

He hadn't been aware enough when Magpie rushed over, frozen behind Dryad. 

No, he kept his eyes closed and breathed out one last, shaky breath before fading away.

everything is dark. 

there is no sound, no light. no feeling. 

he is Alone. truly alone. more alone than he’s ever understood of the word. there is Nothing. True Nothing. tommy is nothing. how long has it been? hours? days? he cannot tell. 

he has no feet, no hands, no eyes, no heart, no brain. 

there is nothing. Nothing. he is nothing. he is dead, he is dead, he is dead, he is dead-

Then- a burst of green and gold. Hands reaching out, pulling him upwards-

And suddenly Tommy is shuddering awake. He is alive.

He coughs, jerking away from whoever is touching him. He scrambles into a sitting position, wheezing. His lungs are fine now, no longer blocked by blood, but he’s panicking.

Things get fuzzy from that point on. Totem said getting overwhelmed after dy- getting overwhelmed after revival was a normal reaction. He’d broken countless bones in his life, been bloodied and bruised before, but pain hurt worse in his newly revived state. The sun shined too bright, the concrete under his hands and the cloth of his outfit burned against his skin. Everything was so much after he experienced so much nothingness. How long had it been? Was Doomsday still happening?

There was so much noise, so many feelings. Dream had- Dream really had- shit. Fuck. There was still the fight- the villains were going to- it was his fault- the press- the HA- Dream-

He can’t breathe, still. He’s alive but he can’t breathe.

Dream killed him. 

Tommy is certain that the world is ending because Dream was his friend, killed him, the one who helped him come so far, killed him, and was the closest person he had to family, killed him. He mourns, because no one will ever love him again. The only person to ever love him has killed him. He’s dead, he’s always going to be dead. Why did Totem even bring him back?

Doomsday ends for him, not with an epic battle or dramatic speech, but with a panic attack. 

Chapter Text

The world is blurred. Tommy leans heavily into Wilbur’s side, trusting that he’ll guide them back to safety. He focuses on the small things instead of their surroundings. His shoes squish with every step. He can’t feel his fingertips, bright red from the cold. His chest hurts, like someone is inflating a balloon inside of it and the pressure keeps building and building up with no release. Rainwater keeps getting in his mouth. 

And then he’s being ushered through a familiar doorway. He cringes as water drenches the welcome mate. Huh. He doesn’t have a welcome at his place. Maybe he should get one?

Phil and Techno are there, too, like they were waiting.

Though the piglin is in dry clothes, his hair is wet and pulled back into a messy bun. He’s never seen Protesilaus out of a braid. Prime, did they go looking for him just because Quackity called? Who all knew? This was- this was kind of embarrassing. 

He sheepishly stays half-hidden behind Wilbur.

“Aw, come here nestling,” Phil coos, opening up his arms.

The man doesn’t know it, but the bird in him is delighted. With delicate control, he tells the bird to shut the fuck up.  

Tommy shakes his head, replying weakly, “I’ll get you wet.”

Phil frowns but doesn’t press on it. Instead, he says, “Then I’ll grab you boys a change of clothes- are you okay with borrowing some from Wilbur?”

He nods.

The floor is dark brown wood. It looks rough, like someone cut it and laid it down themself. Old and imperfect, yet perfect for the Watsons. Everything in their house feels handcrafted, purposeful, cherished.

He shudders, extremely aware of the water dripping down his back and legs. Wilbur is also soaked to the bone after their trek through the rain. Time has escaped him so he doesn’t know how long they were walking, but Wilbur’s coat is cold and heavy in his hands. He holds onto it and leans further into the man. Wilbur doesn’t move away, bearing the extra weight.

What a mess. He’s got to change, and then he has to call Sanap- or Quackity- to clear things up and apologize. And if they yell at him, because he’s been so dramatic about something so small, that’ll suck. Was Karl okay? Or did he really make the evening all about himself? What about-

A warm hand presses against his cheek, startling him. He looks up to see Techno. Red eyes scan over him, analyzing. He makes a confused noise.

“Quackity said you got into a fight.” 

“It wasn’t a physical one,” he doesn’t pull away.

Piglins are warm, and Techno is burning to his icy skin. It's nice. When he curls his toes in his shoes, he can’t feel them. 

Techno pokes at his creased brow, “You looked uncomfortable.”

“I’m- I’m drenched, of course I’m uncomfortable,” he tries biting back, but it comes out quiet.

Wilbur takes his hand, tugging him forward slightly, “Here, you can slip your shoes off and we can move to the bathroom.”

They’re both creating a mess of water by the front door. Tommy follows along. He stares at their hands intertwined.

They go into the bathroom with the bunny-patterned towel. He reaches for it as they walk by, snatching it off of the towel rack and holding it in his hand. It’s soft. He doesn’t even use it to dry his hands off, which have wrinkled at this point. He just runs his thumb over it.

 Wilbur doesn’t say a thing, just leads him over to the toilet seat to sit down.

He’s grateful to finally get off his feet. His ankles burn and there are definitely blisters forming on them. He collapses down heavily on the porcelain. Behind them is a trail of puddles left on the tile. 

In the bright fluorescence, everything is washed out. Wilbur’s face melts away into peach-brown colors and his voice sounds underwater. He’s saying something. Maybe Tommy’s ears are full of rainwater?

He just shrugs. 

The man moves to the cabinet to grab something, and pulls out a giant, fluffy towel. It’s plain white, like the ones in hotels or gyms. His one at home is bright red. Red is a solid color, 10/10 would always red. 

“Can I dry your hair off?” Wilbur asks. 

He nods.

 Wilbur shuffles back over to him and runs the towel carefully over his hair. His hands gently squeeze out the rainwater from his curls. Tommy would’ve just violently scrubbed away at his scalp until it looked dry enough, but Wilbur never tugs too hard or works roughly. He works meticulously and delicately. Wilbur even presses the towel against his forehead and cheeks to wipe away the water left there.

Phil drops by at one point, leaving two piles of fresh clothes. He smiles at them, but it’s strained. If he were more present he’d be worried, but he honestly doesn’t have enough energy to let his anxieties take over. Any other day he’d feel guilty about imposing on such a generous family, but today has been too much. 

“You can take a shower if you want. Or you can just change, whatever you’re up for,” Wilbur says in a hushed voice. Even then, it seems louder in the echoey bathroom.

He nods.

Wilbur leaves with his clothes in hand. Then Tommy is alone. There’s something in him that wants to call out again, cry that he’s lonely, he wants someone there, don’t leave him like this- but it’s dumb. He can handle spending a few minutes alone. He’s got to change, he can’t spend the whole night in his wet clothes. 

(If he had returned to his apartment like this, empty and quiet, he would’ve collapsed into bed without a care. Sure, he would’ve woken up in musty clothes and itchy skin, but no one would be there to scold him about him.) 

He should probably shower. City rainwater is gross or something. He’s pretty sure he watched a documentary about it. The smog or chemicals ruin it, so he’s probably covered in all sorts of grime. It would be nice to let warm water wash away all his tension, but he just shrugs on Wilbur’s large clothes. The man has a couple of inches of height on him, and probably a decent amount of weight where Tommy is aware he’s all bones and skin. It’s not purposeful, but he’s lost muscle weight since retiring from heroism. That, and he forgets to eat half the time.

He used to have Dream to keep him accountable. Even then, it’s not like he hovered over Tommy making sure he did basic things like eating or showering or taking care of his wings. He’s so ill-suited for civilian life.

Tommy looks in the mirror, examines how the sweater sleeves go past his fingertips. He doesn’t look big, scary, or powerful.

He just looks like a kid.

Tommy is tired. Tired in a way he’s never felt before, because he’s been sleeping okay. He has. And he hasn’t been doing any extraneous activities. But his heart is like a lead weight in his chest making walking, breathing, living harder than before. Just existing wears him out, makes him want to scream out in frustration. Everything looks and feels wrong, he just wants to be dry and in his bed.

Tommy folds all the towels–including the bunny one he snatched– and then he’s ready to go. He opens the bathroom door and shuts off the lights. The buzzing noise from the fluorescence goes away, making everything go quiet. Quiet.

Right outside the door is Techno. It catches him off guard, but he falls right back into apathy. It’s like the argument with Sapnap opened a hatch to all his congealed emotions and dumped them all out on the street, revealing the festering mess in his heart and emptying it at the same time. 

It doesn't feel like he’s let something go. He still feels the weight of it all pressing against creaking bones. But he also feels hollow.

“Hi, Techno,” Tommy waves. Is it weird waving to someone in their own house? They’re expected to be there. He’s the guest.

“Hey, kid,” he rumbles.

He shuffles under the piglin’s gaze. 

Techno’s ear twitches, “... Your hair is messy.”

“Oh.” He tugs at his still-damp curls. “Yeah.”

They both stand in the hallway, quiet.

Pushing off the wall he was leaning on, Techno tilts his head to the right, “C’mon, then.”

Tommy trails after him. He kind of wants Techno to take his hand, just like Wilbur did. It’d be warm. But he doesn’t reach out, and Tommy doesn’t either. 

He’s led to the room Phil declared “his to claim,” Protesilaus’s old bedroom.

Phil is already there, messing with the blankets and seemingly tidying the room up even if it was in pristine condition the last time he visited. 

“I’ll just, uh, be off then. You’ve got this, Phil?” Techno says, lingering in the doorway.

“Yeah, mate. Thanks.”

He watches detachedly, like viewing the world through a camera lens, as Techno leaves. He’s left alone with Phil, whose feathers are all bristled up. Phil kept his wings out constantly. Tommy doesn’t know a lot of avians, but he’s pretty sure most of them don’t do that. Wings are just an inconvenience in small places or crowds. But at the cafe, while visiting his apartment, during dinner, and even now- Phil has them out. And he takes very good care of them. His feathers shine in the low light and his wings are the biggest he’s seen on anyone.

Phil breathes out and smiles, “Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat or drink? It’s gotten quite late.” 

He shakes his head. He’s nauseous- close to throwing up, actually. His stomach lurches and burns with something hostile. Any food eaten would most likely come back up, which would be just one more shitty thing to happen to him today.

“Do you want to go lay down, then? Today’s been a long day for you.”

And fuck, it’s been a long couple of months. Life just keeps going and going at him at full force, not giving him a moment to breathe. Doomsday was like ripping the seam off a scarf, and every thread has been unwinding and unraveling since, leaving him with a mess that used to be something structured. There's just too much to keep track of and control. It’s impossible to fix. 

Even in the dim light, he can catch glimpses of the swords on the wall. They’re all polished and pristine, well taken care of. How heavy were they? Some of the swords were as long as him. Protesilaus had a lot of physical strength, he could probably swing around any weapon with ease. 

What the fuck is his life right now? Isn’t this ridiculous- isn’t he being ridiculous?

For a moment he floats, unsure if he's even allowed onto the bed, like every nice gesture so far was just general hospitality and they were finally ready to kick him out. 

A hand lightly lands on his shoulder and he leans back into the touch. He is slowly led to the bed, and that’s all the permission he needs.

He pulls up the covers and lays down. His head is heavy, like a snow globe. Like a snow globe that’s been cracked open and patched up, but all the glitter and floating stars have flooded out leaving a plain, boring landscape.

The duvet is so much nicer than the one at his place. It’s like a big, giant, marshmallow-y hug. It feels like a crime to even have him laying in the bed, messing up the perfectness of the room. His skin is still a little damp and the water rubs off onto the sheets, but he finally relaxes, body melting into the bed. His whole body buzzes. It’s similar to the days after a long mission, where everything felt sore and he was bone-tired. And after spending so much time confined in his bed or working at the bakery, his strength isn’t what it used to be. His little stint of running across town aches in his shins, his thighs, hell even his arms are sore. 

His eyes burn, eyelids begging to close. They droop down, yet he can’t ignore the little warning bell in his brain that’s screaming “Not Safe, You Cannot Sleep.” What the fuck brain, he’s literally laid in bed ready to pass out.

Quietly, the door creaks open. He hears a quiet, “Thanks, Tech,” and the door shuts again.

Faint footfalls grow closer, and Phil says, “Here you go. You don’t have to drink it, but it’s something warm. You look half-frozen, dear.” 

Tommy watches as Phil sets a cup down on the bedside table. It makes a soft thunk as ceramic hits wood. 

He looks it over. It’s not the tea he found gross, thankfully. The scent of rich chocolate wafts over. He sits up in the bed, wrapping the covers around him snugly.

He reaches out for it and sniffs, his mouth watering from the smell of hot chocolate. Then he takes a sip. The taste is heavy and sweet on his tongue; there is cocoa, cinnamon, and cream. It's completely unlike the pre-packaged shit he gets for himself. That tastes like water and carboard.

Do normal families consist of fathers who give their kids hot chocolate? 

He can’t recall ever getting some from his birth family. One time, their family drove out to a farm and they got fresh strawberries. On the drive back his mother kept scolding him for sneaking more berries to eat. It’s one of the few things he remembers of them.

Strawberries. The sun. The smell of grass and hay. The rumble of the car engine. His heart had felt light as a cloud back then. Now it’s a shipwreck, lost at sea. 

The hot chocolate is nice, even through his nauseousness. He likes the feeling of warmth it gives him. He’s happy that Phil is here to give him hot chocolate. It’s… maybe a small thing, but it’s like a cushion to fall onto after this long nightmare of just falling. 

It’s all so tender. He should be sucking it up and dealing with his issues- he’s almost an adult!- but it’s so nice to just… let the tension go. Like this, he doesn’t have to worry about what he has to do next, especially when any thought of talking to Sapnap sends a dark curl of dread into his gut. 

Don’t think about it.

For now, he’s okay with just laying at the bottom of the river, letting the water flow over his head. 

He takes a sip of the drink, feeling warmth run down his throat and into his gut, unwinding the knot that’s been tying itself there. He sighs in contentment.

Eventually, he finishes his drink and sets it back on the bedside table. With a blanket wrapped around him and a warm drink, he feels ready to pass out.

The anxiety and dread of the day feel distant, and he shuts his eyes. It’s dark and quiet, but it’s not oppressive. He can hear the quiet hum of the heating system, down the hall music is playing, and there’s Phil. Phil hasn’t left the room, and he finds he doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have someone there as he falls asleep. He doesn’t need protecting, but it’s an extra bit of comfort being offered to him.

While he’s dozing off, he hears Phil get up from his chair and- and he can’t be going! He can’t leave Tommy alone! He can’t!

He reaches out in his half-awake state to grab for anything. His fingers catch Phil’s wrist, and he slides down to grab the man’s hand. 

Phil’s hand is rough, calloused and wrinkled from a long life of hero and villain work. Tommy’s isn’t much better, with thick, branching scars running through his palms and down to his elbows. 

These are hands that could immobilize him. One touch from The Angel and he’d be defenseless. It’s okay, though, it’s okay. This is someone he can be defenseless in front of. 

He grips the hand tighter.

“You’re such a sweet kid, you know that?” Phil laughs.

He whines, “No ‘m not.”

Phil shifts, settling down in his chair again. “... I used to sit here with Techno, too. And most nights Wilbur would crawl in here to join us so he wouldn't be left alone.”

He makes a sound in acknowledgment. Phil brushes the back of his hand with his thumb.

“... Truthfully, I don’t like letting my little birds fly from the nest. It’s a horrible feeling. I want to know where they are at all times, to make sure they’re safe. But I know that it’s much more satisfying to see them flying instead of staying by my side. And you’re all so clingy, so I know you’ll end up back here eventually. Back when Wilbur was a teen he used to sneak out...”

The words jumble together into white noise, and Tommy falls asleep to the soft cadence of the Angel’s voice. 

————————————

Tommy didn’t cry at the first funeral he went to. It was for his grandfather. He was young– just a child– and his father had been sobbing next to him in the pews. Tommy still lived in that gray area of youth where he did not understand what ‘death’ was. He understood he’d never see his grandfather again, and that the motionless body in the coffin was going to be buried. But he didn’t know why it happened, had never seen it happen, and most importantly, he did not understand that death happened to everyone. 

He patted his father’s shoulder to comfort him. Still, no tears fell. The sky was a screaming, rageful red. 

The next funeral Tommy can remember is that of his own parents. He’d been a little older and understood more about the world. He’d experienced the death of pets, neighbors, and distant relatives. He watched the news and saw heroes and villains duking it out, leaving carnage in their wake. He knows fully well his parent’s hearts have stopped for good.

(He had a nightmare the night after he lost them. It was a fanciful thing, where he’d gotten his hands on one of those defibrillator machines and restarted their hearts in a spark of electricity. They celebrated his heroism and were a family again. 

He woke up alone.)

Tommy doesn’t cry at that funeral, either. Somewhere in his head, he tells himself he has to stay strong. If he cracks now, he’s going to completely shatter. 

And the sentiment is proven true, when the world presses down its fingers into his eyes, trying to split his head wide open. Moving in with shitty foster parents, developing a hostile power, training under the HA- his entire life has been him clawing at hands he couldn’t stop, trying to keep his wounds from bleeding. And Dream had been a respite, a fresh breath of air. Dream lifted the sky until it looked blue again instead of red. His hands weren’t gentle, but they never sought to tear his head open until everything was red. 

After years of keeping his shit together– persevering through every hurdle and blow– Dream struck the hammer into the nail one final time and shattered everything open. His brittle bones snapped, never strong enough to defend him. Blood, crimson and vibrant and still warm, painting the sky red once again. 

Screaming, coming from someone.

Death is first truly understood by him in a blackout. In a spark of adrenaline and fear, Tommy had electrocuted his foster parent. He died. It was so easy. All he had to do was throw his hands and the force of nature bent at his fingertips. 

People die so easily. One hit too hard on the head, a cut that ran too deep, a simple accident on the highway. 

And then he knows death intimately. The nothingness haunts him, different from the betrayal he can’t conjure himself to feel. 

He wonders when the sky will be blue again.

————————————

Somebody wakes him up. 

Tommy isn’t a light sleeper, but he’s got killer instincts when there’s another person in the room with him. He used to live in a dorm full of super-powered bastard children, after all.

His eyes dart open, adjusting to the darkness. There’s no one in front of him, so he turns- 

“Oh, are you awake? Sorry-”

“Fucking hell, Wilbur, what’re you doing?” He shouts in surprise.

His heartbeat slows down after the initial scare, and he focuses on the man standing at the entrance to the room. It’s still pitch black outside, and silvery moonlight shines onto Wilbur’s face.

“I- I was just checking up on you. To see if you were alright.”

“At-” he squints at the clock, “-three in the fucking morning?”

Wilbur grimaces, “Yeah?”

He sighs, readjusting himself and freeing his arms from the tangle of blankets. Wilbur sways, teetering between crossing the threshold and staying outside the room.

He groans, “You look dumb just standing there. Just come in already.”  

That breaks Wilbur out of his stupor, and he slowly slides into the chair by the bedside.

He’s kind of upset that the Angel decided to ditch him. His memory is fuzzy from before he passed out– honestly, most of the day before was just a blur– but he recalls asking him to stay. Or maybe he reached out? He’s a little embarrassed his half-awake self would do that, so maybe it’s good he woke up alone. 

But it stings. Just a little. 

Wilbur sags forward in his seat, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. What were you doing awake, anyway? 

“I was just checking up on you. Sometimes… sometimes I get scared,” Wilbur sighs.

“You get scared?” He teases. 

Instead of biting back, Wilbur nods. “Yeah, that you’re not okay. I get nightmares. And then I wake up, and I’ve got to tell myself that you’re fine, but I still can’t sleep. So… it’s nice, getting to do this. And your sleeping face is so adorable. You’re like a little kitten.”

“I’m no kitten, I’ll fuck your shit up.”

“Of course, of course,” the man laughs quietly, shoulders shaking.

He scowls, but he's too tired to defend his case. He's the biggest man, like a lion. Or a tiger. Or a panther. Not a kitten.

Tommy smiles, too.

There’s something about the middle of the night that makes conversations feel less real. It was late into the night when he talked to Magpie about his driver's license, the brutal training with Dream, and his age. He confessed those things thinking there’d be no consequence.

And then there had been consequences. Huge ones. 

He still finds himself feeling strangely candid. 

“Don't worry, sometimes… I wake up scared, too. I don’t dream or get nightmares, and that’s the worst part," he grits his teeth, “There’s just nothing. I don’t like it. The quiet, the dark, without sight or sound. I just need a reminder that- that I’m okay.”

A reminder he made it out alive. 

He hasn’t told anyone what it was like to die. There wasn’t much to say, it was an absence of everything and the quiet nothingness still chills his bones. It wasn’t horrifying, it was just nothing. And when most of his nights are full of nothingness, he wakes up uneasy and confused. 

“I can stay if you want?”

Yes, yes, stay, stay, stay forever- “Sure, whatever. It’s your house, Big Dubs.”

Wilbur looks up from where he’s slouched onto the bed. He reaches out toward Tommy and runs a hand through his hair. It’s unexpected, but he doesn’t draw away. Long fingers snag on a couple of tangles, but it’s nice.

“You’re so clingy,” he scoffs.

“Hm,” Wilbur acknowledges, more focused on his hair.

Revival didn’t leave a scar. There’s no physical proof left of what happened- except for the white streak left in his hair. It freaked him out when he first noticed it. He visibly was never going to escape the fact that he- yeah. It was a new addition to his collection of scars.