Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Ace of Spades represents new beginnings and fresh starts. Of all the Aces in a deck, it is the only Ace that also represents an ending– a new beginning through a loss, removal, or release.

It is a reminder that no matter how dark things may seem, there is always hope for a better tomorrow.

Fingers drummed casually against the control panel of a spaceship, tapping along to the beat of a silent song. Five fingers, to be exact. Or, well–four plus an opposable thumb, if you’re one of those weirdos who refuse to count thumbs as regular fingers.

Stubby nails, too. No claws, no scales. Just blunt keratin, tapping merrily away against the ship’s dash.

“...You know, space is big. Like really big. It’s fuckin’ crazy when you think about it.”

Outside the viewport of the boxy cargo ship, a misty red planet slowly slunk away into the distance. One by one, the ships busily darting in and out of its atmosphere winked out of view.

“Billions of galaxies. Millions of stars in each one of those galaxies alone. There’s gotta be an unfathomable number of systems out there, with an uncountable number of planets with diverse life and species and all that junk.”

A few toggles were switched, and the ship’s engines blazed, pushing it further and further into the void of space.

“And yet–”

The pilot of the ship turned in his chair, looking over the back of it.

“Out of all those possible species, you’re scared to death of humans, of all things. Kinda stupid if you ask me.”

From their spot against the back wall of the cockpit, the rightful owner of the ship–a tied-up commercial delivery pilot–shot him a stony glare. The current pilot frowned, turning back around. Despite the lackluster response, he kept talking.

“I mean, I guess I get it. A lot of people are scared to death of things they don’t understand. Humans, too. They have this nasty habit of ruining things beyond their comprehension ‘cause of this weird, ingrained fear of change. Something like that.”

The pilot’s hands shifted on the yoke of the ship, easing it to the left to avoid a far-off scattering of slowly drifting rock and dusty debris. Stars flew by the viewport in peripheral streaks of pinprick light. Far, far off in the distance glinted the murky surface of another planet, barely distinguishable from the stars surrounding it.

“I pride myself on being better than that. Why be scared of new shit when you can learn about it and end up even cooler when you come out the other side? Growth, you know?” He nodded to himself. “It’s all about growth. Being better than you were before.”

He threw another glance over the shoulder of the pilot’s chair and was met with the same hostility.

“Aw, c’mon man, don’t be like that,” Tommy said, frowning, “I’m trying to connect here. Bonding through character building ‘n all that.”

The hostage spat at him in a language too garbled and furious for the translator nestled in his ear to properly decipher, even if it had been powered on. The alien thrashed on the floor, tail lashing wildly.

“Your manners are terrible,” Tommy commented lightly, “I’m just–borrowing your ship for a little bit. I’m even going to give it back.” He gave the console a gentle pat, still watching the furious prisoner. One of their eyes began to twitch. “Not a dent, don’t worry.”

Turning back to the front, Tommy toggled a few switches, pushing the throttle further, the ship picking up speed with a high whine of the engines. One hand still on the throttle, Tommy’s free hand flew, tapping away at the holoscreen display, driving extra fuel to the engines in preparation for a jump. Like revving a car. Probably.

He’d read about cars once. Found the dusty book tucked in the corner shelf of a blackmarket shop on some backwater trade moon, way back when he’d still been drifting aimlessly about the edges of the Human Zone. Funny things, cars. Imagine, only being able to get anywhere while in contact with the ground, burning oil-based fuel like the stuff flowed straight out of the soil. Unbelievable.

He kinda wanted to drive one, just once. Just to see.

How different would a car be compared to flying a ship, anyway? They both had navigation systems and yokes- or- what was it called… a steering circle? Wheel? Whatever. Same thing.

Not that it matters, Tommy sighed internally. Those kinda vehicles are long gone by now, and anything close to ‘em would be off limits. I mean, a challenge would be fun– He shook his head, dismissing the notion immediately. No. Not worth going anywhere near the Zone, no matter how cool the mechanics might be.

Operating solely on muscle memory, Tommy pushed the ship into light speed travel, simultaneously pulling up a few screens from the dash. He double checked the course on the navigation holo, punching in a few trajectories, doing some math on the fly. Not that he doubted his own piloting skills–self taught and brilliant as he was–but you could never be too careful. The one time you don’t bother to check and bam–your ship is in pieces and your frozen corpse has become another lovely addition to the drifting scrapyard of space.

“That place was a hellhole, really,” Tommy muttered to himself, dismissing the nav screen. There was a slight twinge in his chest at the thought of the Zone, but he shoved it down. There was nothing there to miss, never had been. Not for him. “Never going back there, only human this side of the galaxy or not.”

There was an annoyed barking behind him, and Tommy rolled his eyes, tipping his head back to look at the pilot. “Look, man. You should be more grateful here. Like, I’m literally giving you a free ride. You don’t even have to drive for like the next few hours. It’s your lucky day!”

The pilot’s face scrunched up, leathery skin creased along high cheekbones, needle-like teeth bared in anger. They spat out another word, technically indecipherable to Tommy, but he knew a curse word when he heard one.

“See, this is why you lost translator privileges,” he scolded, turning back around and kicking his feet up onto the console, careful to avoid hitting anything important. Absentmindedly, he fished a small metal disc out of his pocket. It was similar in nature to a large coin in shape and size, but after that, the similarities ended. What with the odd grooves and circles marking its surface, too sleek and well taken care of, it was too sophisticated to be a simple piece of practically obsolete currency.

“You’ve got no fuckin’ manners, man. Absolutely none.” Tommy shook his head in faux disappointment, rolling the disc between his knuckles with keen ability, feeling the familiar grooves and circuits inlaid in it. “I can’t fucking believe you’d fucking swear like that, you rude bastard. At me, of all people, your esteemed guest.” He pouted. “I’m hurt.”

There was a low groan behind him, followed by the sounds of the pilot settling against the wall, tail swishing angrily against the smooth floor. Apparently, they had given up on attempting to threaten him and settled for passive aggression. Smart choice. Tommy was far too good at his job to be intimidated by that sort of thing.

He leaned back into the padded pilot’s chair, letting himself get comfortable for the next few hours of the flight. Their destination was a decent distance away, even at lightspeed. Outside the window, the stars flew by, streaks of white and yellow light, blurred by the void and the speed of the ship burning through the middle of it. Distracted, the rolling of the coin-ish thing stopped, the calloused pad of Tommy’s thumb coming to rest lightly on the delicate carving in the face of it.

“They tend to ruin things,” Tommy muttered softly, watching the starlight bleed. He scoffed. “...Hypocrite.”

He rolled the disc into his palm, closed his fingers around it, and sighed.

—————————

Tommy Innit was a patient man.

In his line of work, you had to be. To pull off some of the jobs under his belt, one had to have nerves of steel, the attention span of a lifetime. Thievery–the sophisticated kind, not petty, everyday shoplifting–took planning. Took cunning and the willingness to take every outcome into account and then the ability to cover your ass when you didn’t.

Tommy had the patience of a god, simply put. He could watch paint dry for hours if he had to.

(That one was a lie. He’d rather die first.)

This, however? This was unacceptable.

“What do you mean she’s not fixed yet?!” Tommy screeched.

“I already told you, dude, it might take a while.”

“But I’ve been away for nearly a week!” Tommy whined, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He stared mournfully up at the hull of his ship and its missing panels, the interior wiring lying disemboweled on the ground. A pitiful sight, truly.

His ship was a sleek thing, on the smaller side, even for a cutter. She was built for speed rather than cargo space, more for ballsy maneuvers than intimidation. The main body was defined by sloping lines and curved wings, and a wide front viewport from the cockpit. A little dated in some places, sure, considering the age of the model, but he’d made repairs, polished her up. Kept her good as new.

The charming, speedy as hell Icaelo. His pride and joy.

His home.

Or, well– she was. Most of the time. About a week ago, some fucker that Tommy would bet a hundred good credits was drunk off their ass had decided to take pot shots at the Icaelo’s hull with a laser pistol a few planets over. He was occupied by a job at the time, and the asshole managed to get in a few lucky hits. The job he’d been running hadn’t been any fun, either, just another run of the mill, “I lost a bet because I have a massive gambling problem and also bet a prized possession for whatever reason can you get it back so I can lose it again?” type of job. Or maybe it was a package retrieval of some kind. Tommy honestly couldn’t remember. The regular jobs all kinda ran together at this point.

Either way, totally not worth the fact that his poor, beautiful ship was now busted. He’d been forced to resort to borrowing commercial ships and mild kidnapping just to get around.

“Stop whining, I’m trying to work and you’re getting on my nerves.”

“But Tubbo,” Tommy complained, flopping against one of the Icaelo’s landing struts in a dramatic attempt to hug the ship, “My darling is broken. Grounded. Waysided, left cold and alone in a shipyard–”

“It’s literally like, 297 degrees Kel right now–”

“But she’s so sad! Tubbo, look at how sad she is!”

The Apris mechanic crossed the top set of his fuzzy arms, glaring half-heartedly at Tommy from beneath the lifted shield of his plasma helmet. “You done?”

“Nope!” Tommy chirped, still plastered against the ship’s hull. “Just getting started, actually. Say, you ever want to come for a flight with me? You seem like you could use a little excitement, you’re even more of a little bitch than usual.”

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon–”

“Your ship is hardly functional right now, Tommy,” Tubbo helpfully pointed out, shifting on the scaffolding built up around the ship’s body to reach a section currently sporting a lovely point-blank blaster mark, burnt clear through the metal. Tommy was a good pilot, but flying back with the Icaelo in such a state was not an experience he was eager to repeat anytime soon.

“And you’d probably end up killing us somehow. So no, I’m not going flying with you,” Tubbo said, picking up a plasma torch with one set of hands and a square of reinforced metal with the other. “Besides,” the mechanic flipped down the shield of his helmet, “I’m busy.”

Tommy sighed, peeling away from the surface of the ship and flipping to lean his back against it instead. “You’re no fun, you know that? Little Bee Bitch, always a stick in the mud.”

A muffled snort came from underneath the helmet, the mechanic’s gossamer wings twitching in amusement. “Last time I agreed to do something with you, you challenged me to a sharp shooting competition and got your ass kicked. I think your feelings are just hurt.”

Tommy scoffed, sticking out his chin. “They are not.”

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

“Are too.”

“Are not.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“...You cried.”

Tommy let out an indignant squawk, pushing away from the ship. He jabbed a finger in Tubbo’s direction. “I did not! You’re a fucking liar!”

“Sorry, can’t hear you over the sound of your bitching!”

“Take it back!”

“Nope.”

“Tubbo!”

The mechanic fired up the plasma torch, a sharp crackling cutting out Tommy’s protests as the metal patch burned white-hot, sealing up the hole. Tubbo effectively ignored him, no doubt snickering under that helmet of his, the prick.

“Bastard,” Tommy muttered affectionately, watching his friend work. “Can’t believe I’m buddies with this guy. Can you believe it?” He looked up at the Icaelo, which sat silently aside from the occasional pop of plasma and metal. He gave her strut a loving pat, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, me neither.”

Tubbo didn’t let up on the welding, effectively ending their banter as he got back to the task at hand. Tommy looked away, blinking the bright spots out of his eyes. Damn, concentrated plasma was bright. He’d flown past stars less blinding than that. How Tubbo stared at it all day, he’d never know.

Then again, the guy was a mad man. A brilliant mechanic, but mad nonetheless.

With little else to do, Tommy set off for the market sector, calling a goodbye over his shoulder as he went. Tubbo just twitched his wings in response, focused on his work. Tommy didn’t mind– the faster the Icaelo was up and running again, the better. He was already itching to get back out there, tugged by the incessant lure of space, the wide–open freedom of the drifting nebula and asteroid fields, the endless distant shine of systems and stars and galaxies.

Pulling up his jacket hood and adjusting the scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face, Tommy stepped out of the shipyard and onto the street proper, checking to make sure the light fabric was secure. His fingers skimmed over the prosthetics clipped to the top of his ears, ensuring they hadn’t loosened at all.

The prosthetics were meant to mimic the long, pointed ears of a grounded Aviae species, neatly hiding away the rounded shape of his own. He lacked the feathers to truly play the part of an Avian, but the scarf and ears worked well enough. As long as the disguise diverted suspicion long enough for him to fold into a crowd, that was all he needed.

Bie’Dmedtra, the home planet of the Apris and other diverse, plant-dependent species, was relatively peaceful. With its mild climate and dual moons, you could squint real hard and perhaps imagine that it was the old human planet, Earth. Well– that was if you ignored the fact that the weather here was far less extreme, the atmosphere still inhabitable, and it was practically on the opposite side of the galaxy. Even this far out, most people knew of humans, had heard about them at the very least, read an article or two on this or that occurrence near the Human Zone on their holotabs, shrugged, and then moved on with their lives. Others obsessed over them, their seemingly odd culture, and their even weirder reputation as a species.

You see– humans, on a galactic scale, were a new development. They’d been around for thousands of years, sure, but had only bothered to leave the atmosphere of their own planet a few hundred years ago. Even then, it had taken them far longer to develop the technology to colonize the planets within their own system, and by then, their home planet had been rendered practically unlivable, even for such a hardy species.

Thus, they’d earned themselves a pretty shitty reputation, and a new name for their little system.

The Human Zone.

They’d only recently begun to try their hand at interstellar travel, spreading their sphere of influence to nearby stars and planets. Some drifted further, past Alpha Centauri and deeper into the reaches of the Milky Way, but most stayed close to home.

This far out into the galaxy? Coming across a human was practically unheard of.

Some species and societies were terrified of them and avoided humans at all cost. In Tommy’s opinion, that was a little over dramatic. Despite how nasty humans were rumored to be, there was far worse out there. Even he could admit that.

But the people of this planet didn’t care all that much about humans. Most people around here wrote them off as nothing more than another destructive exo-species, one still struggling to make up ground in the intergalactic space race.

Still, Tommy didn’t like to risk it. It wasn’t like it was illegal to be human around here–there wasn’t enough reason to even draft that type of law, much less to get Intergalactic Enforcement to uphold the rule. No one was going to try to snatch him and ship his ass back to the Zone, but revealing his species would draw all the wrong kinds of attention from all the wrong kinds of people. He’d learned the hard way what a pain in the ass being a human in space could be, and he wasn’t eager to learn that lesson again. So prosthetics and cryptic clothing it was.

Although–the getup did have its advantages. It was helpful to be constantly disguised when your official profession was crime. Tommy had to admit, it worked itself out pretty nicely.

He strolled through the vibrant market space with familiarity, confidence in his gait. There was something comforting about how well he knew these streets by now, the colorful buildings and worn sidewalks, always filled with the energetic buzzing of life. People darted between clapboard stands, perusing fruits and cloth under the light of the dual suns, attempting to haggle their way into paying a few less credits in dozens of languages.

A few stall owners recognized him, either shouting out a quick greeting from between mandibled jaws or shooting him a suspicious glare from multiple sets of eyes, the latter of which, Tommy had to admit, was warranted. He’d done his fair share of pickpocketing and shoplifting in this market. After making friends with Tubbo, the frequency of his trips to Bie’Dmedtra had seen a steady increase, and the locals had begun to notice his presence. It made stealing around here a little bit trickier, sure, but Tommy had never been one to back down from a challenge.

Besides, who didn’t like a little publicity? In his line of work, making a name for yourself was the aim of the game. Tommy always used his reputation to his advantage, good or bad.

Sidestepping a pair of hovering Apris and ducking under a spiced rack of dried meats, Tommy arrived at his destination. It was a grubby little pub, sagging and aged, even in comparison to the other homely buildings surrounding it. “Ale Pubé '' the dangling sign read in Common, other translations scribbled hastily around the edges, the letters obviously handwritten. Tommy smiled as he passed beneath it, shouldering open the door.

Immediately, he was hit by a cacophony of noise, hisses and chirps, the drone of machinery and unfamiliar laugher, all neatly interspersed with scraps of Common. A few patrons called out to him from the scattered tables, and he threw a salute in a couple different directions in lieu of a greeting. Tommy wove easily through the mismatched tables of the pub, which was even busier than usual at this hour, and plopped himself down on a seat at the bar. He leant forward on one arm, looking down the length of the counter. An android was tending it, wiping down glasses while chatting heartily with its occupants.

“Jack!” Tommy called with a grin, catching the android’s attention, “How’s life, my friend?”

The barkeep turned, blue and red eyes literally lighting up at the sight of Tommy. “Well if it isn’t my favorite criminal!” Jack called back with matching enthusiasm, making his way toward him. “You’ve been missing recently, thought maybe someone finally caught your sorry ass.”

“Awe, you worried about me?”

The android shrugged, “Maybe. Things would get boring around here if Enforcement stuck you on a prison barge.”

“Me? Nah.” Tommy waved a hand, dismissing the very idea. “Never.”

Jack leaned against the bar, grinning. “What, the infamous ‘Ace of Spades’ is above the law?”

Tommy winked. “Always have been, always will be, Jackie Boy. The IGE’s got nothin’ on me.”

Jack barked out a laugh. Tommy’s grin widened. Still chuckling, the android turned away to grab an empty glass. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. The usual, Ace?”

“That would be perfect, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Tommy tugged up his sleeve and tapped at the holopad strapped to his wrist, calling up the screen. He easily wired Jack a few credits, the price of the drink committed to memory. Jack used to insist upon giving him a drink for free, but after Tommy refused to listen enough times, the barkeep gave up on it. Tommy didn’t mind paying. Jack’s pub was a great place; it deserved to stay open.

“So,” Tommy began, dismissing the screen and spinning on the bar stool to face the crowded room, propping his elbows up on the counter. He fished his little disc out of his pocket, flipping it into the air and catching it in his palm as he scanned the crowd for any interesting faces or past clients. “Anything new around here? Business I need to attend to?”

“Not really,” Jack set down the glass, filled with ice and a fizzy citrus drink. He popped a small purple fruit onto the lip, some exotic food imported from the Vhodian planet three systems over. It was sour and didn’t agree with some species, but Tommy loved them. The android topped it all off with a straw, bright green today. “It’s been pretty quiet around here. Not much demand for your expertise lately, I’m afraid.”

“Damn.”

“Well,” Jack hesitated, eyes dimming, “...I shouldn’t say that. There was this one gig– I turned it down though, knew you wouldn’t be interested.”

Tommy frowned, looking at Jack over his shoulder. “Who says? Maybe I’m desperate.”

Jack shook his head. “One,” he said, holding up a finger, “We both know that’s not true. Two, it involved dealing with aristocrats and spending time in the Vhoidian Court, of all places.” Tommy stilled, the perpetual flipping of his disc coming to a halt. “Yeah, exactly. You hate any sort of work that gets you involved with politics like that.”

“It’s not so much the politics,” Tommy muttered, closing his fingers around the cool metal, eyes shuttering. “It’s the people.”

“Tommy, when I tell you to leave, you leave. Do you understand?”

“But–”

“We don’t have a lot of time. The summons will be here any minute–”

“No! That’s bullshit! They can’t do this just– just ‘cause you’re associating with another species or some shit. That’s not right!”

“I don’t have a choice, the Council–”

“Fuck the Council! I’m not letting them take my existence out on you. Bring me with you. I’ll– I’ll show them I’m not a threat! If you can learn to like humans, that means the rest of your people can too.”

“That’s not how this works, Tommy. I have to take Orders, you know this.”

“Taking Orders is going to get one of us killed!”

“Tommy, please–”

A knock sounded at the door, heavy and purposeful. A guillotine.

“Esteemed Knight of the Elder Council,” an impatient voice called, “are you quite finished?”

A moment of silence followed. Silently, Tommy begged. All he got was a slow shake of the head in return.

“...Yes, Honorable One,” came the flinty response, woven through with undercurrents of defeat that Tommy could pick out clear as day.

Glowing eyes bored into his own between the slits of a gilded helmet, filled to the brim with so, so much regret.

“...I am.”

Tommy was pulled out of his thoughts by the press of something cold against his arm. Jack nudged the glass again, and he took it with a grateful nod, thankful for more than just the drink. Jack gave him a small smile in return. Tommy stuck the straw through the folds of his scarf and took a sip, staring intently at the floor. The tart flavor was wonderful, although it only did so much for the bitter taste lingering in his throat.

Jack leaned across the bar next to him, watching his patrons. “Didn’t you just get back from a job, anyway?” he asked, attempting to steer the conversation in another direction. “What’s the rush?”

Tommy shrugged, taking another sip. “Wasn’t really a job, I was mostly just killin’ time until my ship’s fixed.”

“Working Tubbo to the bone, eh?”

“More like keepin’ him in business.”

“You’re such a kind soul, Ace.”

Tommy snorted. “Tell me about it.”

A customer further down the bar called Jack’s name, and the android left him with a gentle squeeze of the shoulder. Tommy stayed where he was, quietly nursing his drink and twirling the disc between the knuckles of his free hand, allowing himself to be one with the crowd. Just another faceless patron in Jack’s pub, another person with a story to tell and no audience to tell it to, even if he’d actually wanted one.

The pub became dense with people as the evening rush poured in, more so than should honestly have been possible. Someone took the bar seat next to him, but Tommy paid them no mind, too busy chewing on his straw and watching a bastardized game of alien checkers go down at a table a few feet away.

The person next to him awkwardly cleared their throat. One of the checkers players moved a piece in a triple jump that involved an interesting lateral move and a skipped square. The other player groaned at the lost pieces, antennae drooping, and Tommy hissed in sympathy. Tough play.

“So, uh–” the person next to him stammered, “You must be the criminal everyone around here was telling me about.”

It was said more like a question than anything, and Tommy had to resist the urge to laugh, stopping the twirling of his disc and catching it in his palm.

“There’s a lot of criminals around here, man, you’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“I think the name was the Ace of Spanes? S–Spades?” Tommy could feel their frown. “...That doesn’t sound right.”

Tommy slouched against the bar, very careful to keep his posture casual. No reaction, not until he knew what he was dealing with. Give nothing away. Never let them guess at what your hand is. “I’ve heard of him.”

The stranger perked up. “You have?”

“Mhm.” Prime, this dude is far too enthusiastic about this.

“Where can I find him?”

“That depends,” Tommy said around his straw, watching as the other checkers player attempted redemption, “Who’s asking?”

“I mean,” a quiet, nearly smug laugh, “I wasn’t really asking, but I guess–”

Tommy spat out the straw, yanking up the gap in his scarf with one swift motion and slamming his empty glass on the bar with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary. He spun on his stool to face the stranger, a shit-eating grin spreading under his scarf at the surprise on their face. The smile quickly wilted, though, when he took in their features.

A set of horns, one snapped off halfway up, sprouted from dark hair and deep purple-black skin. Peculiar white splotches spread across one side of the stranger’s face, like vitiligo, and two wide eyes stared back at him, one the typical green and the other an odd red. Enderian. A unique one, what with the mottled skin and eye colors, but very obviously Enderian.

“I thought Jack already told you I wasn’t taking your stupid job,” he snapped, glaring at them. “I don’t deal with royalty, much less courts with a reputation as bad as the one on Vhoid. So in the kindest way possible, take your threats and fuck off, man.”

The stranger blinked, put off by the sudden hostility. “...I’m not Vhoidian.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, gesturing at their distinct features. “You looked in a mirror recently?”

The Enderian shook their head. “I may be Enderian, but I haven’t set foot on Vhoid in years. Hate the place as much as you do.”

“Uh-huh. Real convincing argument there, buddy.”

“Name’s Ranboo,” they said, leaning against the bar, “His Awesomeness, at your service. You gonna eat that?”

Tommy looked at where Ranboo was pointing to the little purple fruit on the edge of his glass with narrowed eyes. “...Yes.”

Without hesitation, Ranboo reached out and plucked it off the glass, popping it into his mouth.

“Hey!”

The Enderian shrugged, a steely glint in his eye. Tommy scowled at him. “Couldn’t let good chorus fruit go to waste.”

“You,” Tommy snapped, “are a goddamn nightmare.”

Ranboo grinned. “Thank you.”

“Fuck off.”

“Nope,” Ranboo chirped, his shy demeanor melting away, swiftly replaced by a front of sheer charisma. It was baffling how quickly he’d switched. Tommy didn’t trust it one bit. “Can’t. I’m here to request your assistance.”

Oh, the nerve of this guy. First the threats, now he asks for help? He couldn’t even get his name right, the dick. Tommy’s hands twitched at his sides. No strangling allowed in Jack’s pub, he reminded himself. Remember, Tommy. No strangling.

“You come in here,” Tommy deadpanned, “steal my fruit, and then claim you want me to work a job for you?” Tommy scoffed. “Yeah, right. That makes total sense.”

Ranboo shrugged, grinning at him. “It’s one way to introduce myself, sure. Gotta make a good first impression.”

“Good is still up for debate,” Tommy muttered, subtly slipping his disc back into his pocket and standing up.

Uncertainty quickly flickered across Ranboo’s face as Tommy started to leave, nerves poking through the cracks of his confident grin. Tommy made to walk away, and in an incredibly bold move, Ranboo reached out and caught his wrist. Tommy froze at the sensation of claws against his skin. “Wait–”

“You have two seconds to let go of me, or you’re ending up on the ground,” Tommy growled, stiff as a board. Beside them, a few tables got quiet despite the overall roar of conversation, watching the interaction play out. The patrons of the Pubé knew Tommy well enough to know just how risky of a choice this stranger had made.

Noticing the number of eyes on them, Ranboo tentatively relinquished his hold, holding up his hands. “Sorry, bad habit. I, uh–” He let out a frustrated sigh, raking a clawed hand through his hair. Tommy watched, eyes flat, mentally taking stock of how long it would take him to reach the door in this crowd. “I can’t fail this mission. I can’t. It’s already going badly and I’m desperate. I was asking around for people who could help and your name came up–‘The Ace of Spane–Spades’, of all things. And apparently I was lucky for once and found you already here, so please just– just hear me out.”

Tommy stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, mercilessly stomping down the sympathy that was rising in his chest at the pleading look on Ranboo’s face. Put yourself first. Remember what happened last time someone took pity on you? He kept one foot pointed toward the door, but didn’t take another step. “...What’s in it for me?”

“I can pay you?”

“Already have a higher paying client waiting,” Tommy lied. “Do better.”

There was something more to this job, he could tell. It wasn’t some simple snatch-and-go operation, or a cut-and-dry heist situation. Whatever this Ranboo guy had going on, there was emotion behind it. And the moment you made things personal, shit got complicated, fast.

The last thing he needed in this life were more complications.

Ranboo sat silent, chewing on his lip. Debating something. “It would get you an in with my employer,” he finally said, hesitant, as if the words held a lot of weight.

“Oh yeah?” Tommy snarked, two seconds from rolling his eyes. “And who might that be?”

Figures, Tommy thought, watching with disinterest as Ranboo wordlessly reached up and flipped the edge of his jacket collar, He’s probably a gun for hire for some stupid noble, or god forbid, that stupider gang over on Lilikea–

His rant ground to a halt, stopped in its tracks as Ranboo revealed the small insignia stitched to the inside of the collar’s fabric. Tommy’s breath caught, eyes latched onto the coveted design: a white star cruiser with a red sword speared through the center, surrounded by two red and white rings.

The emblem of the Syndicate.

This bumbling motherfucker worked for the Syndicate.

“No fucking way,” Tommy breathed, frozen in place.

Ranboo let go of his collar, hiding the insignia away. “Yes, way. And if you help me out, I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you, Ace of Spades.”

Tommy blinked, hard.

A good word. With the Syndicate. The Syndicate.

The most notorious, well-run crime organization in the galaxy. The scope of their operations was rumored to be beyond comprehension, pulling jobs of all different kinds from simple thievery to hijacking ships, to government coups years in the making. And they weren’t horrible people, either. Sure, they committed crimes and tore down established regimes of power, but for good reason. They stole from gangs or rich fucks who exploited planets and their peoples, ripped apart monarchies that abused their citzenry, then relocated and provided for the refugees and lost souls that resulted from the mess they’d just made, all while sending an enthusiastic fuck you to the IGE.

Getting in contact with the Syndicate was no small task. Becoming a member even more so. They were a load of secretive, suspicious bastards, from what Tommy had heard, and he’d heard a lot. He lived for news of the Syndicate, just like every other lowlife, let himself daydream about owning that emblem for himself during long, tedious flights through dead zones and drifting space junk. Having a word put in for him by a Syndicate member– God, the wonders that would do for his reputation, his name.

It wasn’t even a question.

Without hesitation, Tommy stuck out a gloved hand. “Call me Ace.”

Slowly, like he was waiting for the hand to bite him or something, Ranboo took it. A tiny smile formed on his face. “Can I call you Spades?”

Tommy scowled. “Absolutely not.”

Ranboo’s grin widened, much to Tommy’s annoyance. “Spades it is.”

“I hate you.”

“Whatever you say.”

Unceremoniously, Tommy dropped his hand, spinning on his heel. Wanna be petty? Fine. Two can play at that game, buddy. Without another word, he marched out of the Pubé, leaving Ranboo behind as he checked to make sure his disguise was still in place, fingers dancing over his hood and scarf. There was a startled squawk from behind as the Enderian chased after him, trying not to trip over tables with his incredibly long and spindly legs.

Tommy stopped to lean against the pub’s wall, waiting with crossed arms. He fought down a laugh as Ranboo burst out of the door, looking around frantically. He let the Enderian panic for one more second before brushing past him with a clipped, “Pick up the pace, Ranboob.”

Ranboo startled, and as Tommy walked away, he caught a muttered, “...Yeah, I probably deserve that one.”

This time, he let himself laugh.

Chapter Text

You know, when I asked that shuttle driver if there was anyone around who would be willing to work with a Syndicate member, Ranboo thought, squinting in the daylight after the gloom of the pub, I wish he’d told me what I was getting myself into.

Ranboo followed the newly dubbed “Spades” down the street, struggling to keep up. The thief wove through the crowd with a practiced ease. He sidestepped pedestrians like it was nothing, cut between ramshackle booths and merchandise like it was second nature. At one point, Ranboo watched in awe as he slipped a hand out of his pocket and snagged a handful of chorus fruit from the stand of a clueless vendor and slipped away, smoke in the wind.

Ranboo couldn’t help but be a little jealous, clumsily ducking under awnings to avoid snagging his horns and awkwardly sticking a whole head or two above most of the crowd as he was.

Eventually, Spades bothered to glance over his shoulder and notice that Ranboo had fallen behind. He stopped in the street, allowing the Enderian to catch up, although he didn’t seem too happy about it. Ranboo wasn’t exactly sure what the guy’s species was, given that most of his features were hidden, but his body language transferred well enough. He knew a heavy sigh when he saw one.

“Would’ve thought with those legs of yours, you’d be able to walk a little faster,” Spades snarked, side-eyeing him from beneath his hood. He started to move again.

Ranboo let out an awkward chuckle, finally at his side. “Yeah well, they’re not as great as they look.”

Spades let out a small hum. His attention seemed to be split, had been since the moment they’d started speaking. It was something Ranboo had noticed when he’d first walked into that homely little bar, looking for someone odd enough to call themselves the “Ace of Spades”– whatever that meant. The thief was constantly aware of his surroundings, head either cocked and alert, or eyes flicking about like wild. Even when he was still, his gaze seemed distant, as if his mind was going a million miles a minute, all the time.

As if no matter where he was, part of him was still another galaxy away.

You may be a stranger, Ranboo thought, watching him, But I’d recognize that look anywhere, no matter what you’ve got going on. The question is, what is it?

“So,” Spades said, breaking him out of his musings. “What’s this job that you so desperately need my help with?”

“Ah,” Ranboo glanced around, wary of the crowd they found themselves in. Knowledge is power. One of the first things they taught him when he joined the Syndicate. He could practically hear Techno’s low rumble. Be mindful of who you’re giving that power to. “Could we maybe wait to discuss that until we’re somewhere… less public?”

Spades shrugged. “Fine by me. I assumed you would probably wait to fill me in until we were on your ship anyway. That’s what vague assholes usually do, anyway.”

Ranboo’s steps faltered. “...M-My ship?”

“Uh, yeah,” Spades gave him a funny look. “It’s your mission, innit? Your job, your ship on the line. That’s how this works.”

Something on Ranboo’s face must’ve given him away, because Spade’s unusually blue eyes went dark, expression falling. “Do not tell me you don’t have a ship.”

“I mean–”

Spades stopped walking, the crowd mindlessly parting around them. He groaned. “You gotta be fucking kidding me–”

“I did say I needed help,” Ranboo tried, twisting his claws together, “I just–never really specified how much.”

I couldn’t risk you backing out, is what he didn’t say.

I’m already on my last resort. I'm running out of time.

“You’re a member of the Syndicate!” Spades hissed, leaning in close, fingers twitching as if he was going to reach forward and yank Ranboo down by the front of his jacket. “I didn’t think it would be an issue!”

Ranboo just shrugged helplessly, picking at his claws.

Spades squinted up at him beneath drawn brows, aggravated. Ranboo just looked back, avoiding the direct eye contact that would make him uneasy and hoping for the best. He’d thought he’d made a decent impression at first. After all, Spades hadn’t stabbed him with the cyberknife stashed in the sheath on his thigh, so things could’ve gone worse from the start. Looking at the stony glare on the thief’s face, though, maybe he should be a bit more concerned about a future stab wound coming his way.

Placatingly, Ranboo held up his hands, palms out. It wasn’t a gesture his species typically did, but he’d picked it up after enough time around Captain Philza. Spades seemed close enough to an avian species, it would get the message across. Probably.

Hopefully.

“I may be a member of the Syndicate,” Ranboo said quietly, steady against the animosity, “But technically I’m not here on official Syndicate business. It’s more of a… personal matter type thing.”

Spades’ scowl remained unflinching. Ranboo swallowed.

They said you had a good reputation, c’mon. Please.

For a moment, there was nothing but stifling silence.

“Fucking knew it,” Spades finally muttered, dropping his glare and pulling away. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets, gazing off into some middle distance between the uneven rooftops of the buildings lining the street. “So what–you’ve just been wandering planets, hopping ships and using your little decal to bully people into helping you?”

“Kinda.” Ranboo smiled thinly, pulling back the edge of his jacket to show a glimpse of the blaster strapped to his side. “Sometimes it takes a little more than that.”

Spades’ eyebrows quirked, and Ranboo couldn’t help but feel a little proud at the hint of amusement caught in the look. There it is.

Win him over with that charm Phil always insists you have.

“How the hell did you end up here, of all planets?” Spades asked, nodding at the crowd bustling around them. “No offense to these guys, but this place is a bit of a dead end road for people like us. You’re either coming or going, and most often it’s going.”

And just like that, the split second of Ranboo’s pride vanished, replaced by a hot prickle of embarrassment. If this guy hadn’t written him off as stupid before, there wasn’t a whole lot of hope now.

“Well,” Ranboo began, grimacing, “that’s a bit of a long story.”

Spades stubbornly crossed his arms. “I have time.”

Ranboo cleared his throat awkwardly. This was definitely not how he’d wanted this to go. “So uh, basically, about a week ago I managed to get away from the Hub on this mission–”

Spades gave him a flat look. Right. Not a Syndicate member. Not everyone knows your slang. Get your shit together, Ranboo.

“Syndicate headquarters,” Ranboo explained, sheepish. Spades gestured for him to continue. “I waited until we arrived on site for said mission. Stuck it out until everyone in my crew was distracted and snuck away from my task leader. Found a relatively unattended section of the hangar we'd landed our ship in. Then I–uh, I essentially hot wired the bay door of a parked Ceepre transport vessel.” Spades’ brow ticked up in obvious surprise. “Got inside, hid in the cargo bay until they took off, then snuck into the cockpit once we were en route.”

“And you didn’t get your ass kicked?” Spades asked, the faintest note of admiration in his voice. “From my experience, Ceepres are the explosive type. Wouldn’t take them for the kind to be forgiving of a stowaway.”

“I can hold my own in a fight,” Ranboo defended, slightly miffed. He wasn’t a Syndicate member for nothing. “Besides, the details aren’t all that important. Long story short, I got them to let me off at a trade moon a system away, tried the same thing with another ship, and it was going pretty well until they took an unplanned stop on this planet and found me out a few towns over from here.”

“And then you got dumped.”

Ranboo hid a wince. Well when you put it like that– “If you want to call it that, sure. Then I got dumped.”

Spades snorted, a teasing light glinting in his eyes. Ranboo noted that some of the stiffness had left his shoulders. “Well, that’s embarrassing.”

Ranboo scoffed, miffed. “You know what, you try making it across two whole systems in the belly of a ship and try not getting caught.” Spades’ smile just widened. “What?” Ranboo insisted, trying to figure out what was so amusing. “It’s harder than it looks!”

At that, Spades completely lost it, his head and body tipping so far back from the force of his laughter that Ranboo fully expected him to tip over. That’s it, Ranboo thought, watching him wheeze, You officially suck, dude. He had half a mind to go back and smack the person who’d given him “the Ace’s” name when he’d first started asking around for any reputable underworld contacts. Surely, there had to have been some other option. Literally anyone slightly less rude.

“Sorry,” Spades finally choked out, wiping away some sort of curious liquid from his eye. He grinned at Ranboo. “Inside joke.”

“We’re the only ones here.”

“It’s an inside joke with myself.”

“Hilarious,” Ranboo deadpanned.

Spades just shrugged. “Listen,” he said, giddiness fading, “Since you’re apparently a fuckin’ deadweight, I’ll take you back to my ship and you can plead your case there.” He glanced around them at the thinning crowd, catching the eye of a few wary patrons. He lowered his voice. “We stand around here too much longer and they’ll call the local band of guards. Last thing I need is for Intergalactic Enforcement to start sticking their shitty little noses where they don’t belong.”

As if on cue, a prickle ran up the back of Ranboo’s neck, the number of hostile eyes on them finally making themselves known to his senses. They know something you don’t. They see right through you. Ranboo shook himself, trying to stop his skin from crawling. “Can’t argue with that,” he said, trying to stomp down the strain in the words and ignoring Spade’s analytical gaze. He tried for a smile. “Lead the way.”

—----------------

They ended up in a shipyard.

Ducking through the entrance–a concerningly crooked arch cobbled together with iron and stone–Ranboo found himself in a wide, dusty clearing. The area was blocked in by patchwork walls, a few shacks squatting at the edge of it, surrounded by overflowing piles of various parts tucked away under tarps and make-shift tents. A proper building stood at the far end, low and sturdy, partially blocked from view by the vehicles scattered throughout the yard.

A forest skimmer in one corner, a dated hoverbike poking out from behind one of the tool sheds, a partially disassembled low-altitude craft over there, the parts meticulously spread out in an organization that Ranboo couldn’t even begin to understand.

Spades easily maneuvered between the piles of scrap and ship parts, as if he was all too familiar with the space. When Ranboo’s eyes fell on the ship taking up the vast majority of the yard, though, he quickly understood why.

The blatant–and concerning–blast marks littering one side of the cargo bay aside, the ship settled comfortably amongst the chaos was old. Not ancient-relic old, but belongs in a museum wouldn’t be far off, in his opinion. To be fair, most of the ships Ranboo had come across had been on the newer side of things; Vhoid was a place of constant technological advancement. You couldn’t grow up there without encountering innovation at every level, no matter what the negative consequences of such progress were. Vhoid was built upon the backs of inventors and took no qualms about exploiting its people, their ideas, and their resources. And while the Syndicate may not be stupid rich like Vhoid, they kept their fleet up to date.

After all, Enforcement had some of the fastest ships in the galaxy. The Syndicate needed to be faster.

So watching Spades happily march up to a ship that was at least twenty orbits old was enough to send Ranboo’s eyebrows floating up to his hairline. No wonder the guy knew his way around the yard; the thing probably needed a repair every other week. He couldn’t say he was surprised, though. Something about Spades just screamed anything but shiny-new and pristine white. Begrudgingly, he had to admit Spade’s worn jacket, faded scarf, and scuffed boots fit right in with the ship’s antique look.

“Tubbo!” the thief suddenly hollered at the top of his lungs, stomping through the dust. “You still here?”

There was a loud clanging noise from one of the sheds, followed by a string of curses. Spades spun toward the sound. Another loud curse word came through the closed door, and Spades snorted, holding back a laugh as Ranboo came up behind him, hovering by his shoulder, unsure how to approach the situation. The door to the shed violently slammed open, making him jump.

Goddesses, what on Vhoid is happening–

“Queens, don’t fucking do that, you dick! I nearly crushed my foot, To–” The furious Apris, who Ranboo assumed to be the yard’s mechanic, stopped short. The arm wildly swinging a wrench froze mid-air. He squinted up at Ranboo with sharp eyes, the height difference between the two of them laughable. “...Who the fuck are you?”

Ranboo blinked, still taken aback by the sudden entrance. “Uh–”

Spades, apparently, took that as an invitation to do introductions himself. “Tubs, meet Ranboob–”

“It’s Ranboo–”

“My current business partner,” Spades finished, emphasizing the word with a clap on Ranboo’s back so hard he nearly stumbled. “Quite the funny guy, he is.”

“We’ve known each other for less than an hour,” Ranboo grumbled, shoving Spade’s hand off to massage his sore shoulder. “And I’m not funny.”

“No, you’re real easy to laugh at. That counts as funny.”

Ranboo glared. Spades just grinned at him, the sharp glint in his eyes giving away the fact that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Ranboo hated how little control he had in this whole situation, and he was sure the other two knew it. He was walking on borrowed time and hastily scraped together favors, and couldn’t do one single thing about it. Not if he wanted to go through with this. And he did.

Tubs–and boy, he’d thought Spades was an odd name–continued his squinting, narrowed eyes darting up and down Ranboo’s body, as if analyzing every inch of him. Ranboo resisted the urge to shuffle back, feeling as though this were some sort of test he instinctively knew he couldn’t fail.

Spades waited beside him, grin slipping as he watched his friend’s scrutiny with an expression growing more impatient by the second. “Tubbo, c’mon, enough with the analyzing shit–”

Reluctantly, Tubs– or well, Tubbo relaxed, dropping the arm still holding aloft the wrench and slowly crossing the other set. He didn’t stop staring at Ranboo, though. As such, Ranboo could easily see the smug look on his face when he announced, “How’d you find Syndicate all the way out here, Ace?”

Ranboo choked. How the hell–

Spades, entirely unfazed, just shrugged. “I’m an attention magnet, what can I say?”

“Sure, Ace,” Tubbo said, rolling his eyes. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

The thief just waved him off, ignoring the jab that Ranboo barely processed between the quiet panic in his head. “Whatever. My ship done yet?”

“You haven’t even been gone two hours, what do you think?”

“Damn. Fine. Thanks anyway, Big Man.” Unceremoniously, Spades turned away, continuing his march of glory back to his ship. When he realized Ranboo wasn’t following, though, he turned back around. Ranboo hardly noticed, still staring at the mechanic in open vexation. “...You coming, deadweight?”

“Yeah,” he replied, ignoring the insult in favor of catching Tubbo’s eye. The mechanic stared right back, unbothered. “In a second.”

Spades looked between the two of them, a hint of suspicion on his face, but ultimately let it go. “See you inside, I guess. Just head straight up through the cargo hold and down the hall. I’ll be in the cockpit.” He started forward again, only to pause again. “And don’t touch any of my shit,” he added, “or you’ll be flat on your ass faster than you can think.”

Ranboo nodded, only half listening. Still, it seemed good enough for Spades. He ducked under the belly of the ship, there was the groan of hydraulics as the cargo ramp opened, and then he was gone.

Tubbo watched him go with a faint shake of his head and a sigh. “He’s something else, Ace.”

“How did you know?” Ranboo cut in, forgetting about the anomaly that was his new ‘business partner’ for the time being. Be subtle, Techno’s voice rumbled, Don’t go around spilling all your secrets unless you’re getting something out of it.

Well, a bit late for that, isn’t it Techno? “I don’t have a visible insignia, how did you–”

A toothy grin spread across Tubbo’s face, wings twitching. “I have my ways.”

Ranboo’s irritation flared. He hated not knowing things. He hated it.

“That’s not–”

“You stand like you’re ready for a fight,” the mechanic lazily cut in, absentmindedly fiddling with the wrench in his hands. “And you are. But you’re not militant enough.” He waved a free hand in Ranboo’s direction. “Not stuffy enough for Vhoidian training– too scrappy. But you know what you’re doing. Your blaster,” he continued, even as Ranboo stiffened, left hand jerking at his side, “It’s contraband. Older model, but a good one. High rate of fire. IGE’s not fond of those. The way you have it hidden is unusual, too, I’ve only seen Nethre species bother to carry that way.”

“Fine,” Ranboo admitted, unsettled and prickly, “But you can’t actually confirm–”

“The embroidery on your jacket is done in red thread,” Tubbo stated, looking far too pleased with himself. A sliver of murky memory flashed across Ranboo’s mind, Niki gently showing him how to create the careful stitches for what had to be the third time, ignoring his stuttered apologies and tearful I don’t remember hows– “And,” the Apris finished, holding up a finger, drilling the final point home, “Ace wouldn’t have taken up a new job so soon, especially with the Icaelo busted. So you must’ve had a really convincing reason to get him to even consider working with you.”

“And what if I did?” Ranboo shot back, hating how quickly he’d been torn apart, how he’d had so little to stand on and yet still managed to get the ground torn out from under his feet. “Like you said–he’s working with me. So I don’t see why my background is any of your business.”

Ranboo loomed over the smaller mechanic, using his full height to tower over Tubbo, to trap him in his shadow. Tubbo rose to the challenge, wings flaring out indignantly. If looks could kill, the glower on the Apris’ face would’ve had Ranboo six feet under in seconds.

“It’s my business,” he hissed, voice harsh, “because that guy–” Tubbo waved his wrench in the direction of where Spades had disappeared into the belly of his ship, “is a friend of mine. A good friend. I don’t care what rumors you’ve heard, or how invincible you think your little membership–” the wrench jabbed him none too gently in the chest, “makes you, but know this.”

Tubbo leaned in close, wrench settling under Ranboo’s chin in a clear threat. He swallowed hard against the cool metal. “You fuck To– Ace over, and you’ll have made yourself a few very unpleasant enemies, myself included. Capiche?”

Ranboo’s trigger finger twitched, but he didn’t move an inch. Some instinct deep within him promised he’d regret it. He nodded the best he could, holding Tubbo’s gaze despite the way it made his head spin. “No betrayals, gotcha. Hearing you loud ‘n clear.”

The wrench moved away from his throat, and Ranboo let out a sigh of relief. His fingers stopped twitching. Tubbo stepped back, glancing over Ranboo’s shoulder at the Icaelo. The mechanic spoke again, softer this time, more calm. Apparently, he’d gotten most of the animosity out of his system with the threat.

How nice.

“He trusts a lot easier than you’d think. The hardest part is keeping that trust once you’ve earned it,” Tubbo said, crossing his top set of arms, thoughtful eyes tracing the shape of the grounded ship, lingering on the tinted window of the cockpit, “Given his history, some might find that surprising.”

Now that made Ranboo awfully curious, but he managed to hold back the questions that arose with Tubbo’s statement. He wouldn’t get the answers he wanted, not from Tubbo. At the very least, Ranboo knew how to read a room. Or– shipyard, in this case.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, following Tubbo’s gaze. The dual suns of Bie’Dmedtra glinted off the sleek body of the ship, bright and inviting. Beckoning. Briefly, Ranboo found himself missing the far more familiar light of the star that shone through his bedroom window back at the Hub.

“...And you?”

“Hm?”

“Do you find that surprising, I mean,” Ranboo explained. “The trust thing.”

Tubbo shrugged. “Not really. I haven’t known Ace for that long, all things considered, but he’s easy to get along with. Like I said, he trusts people more than he honestly should, even if he refuses to show it. When you break that trust though–” The Apris let out a low whistle. “Then you’re in for one hell of a shitstorm.”

Ranboo hummed. “The classic ‘easy to forgive, harder to forget’ type, huh?”

“Sure, you could call it that.” The mechanic cracked a smile, an honest one this time. Less teeth, more warmth. “Personally, I think ‘bad attitude and bottled trauma’ is a bit more accurate.”

“Ah.” Ranboo’s mind flashed back to breakfasts after a rough night, grouchy voices and snippy answers until everyone at the table had gotten the chance to wake up from their lingering nightmares. Even then, there was always someone with shaky hands. “I know the type.”

“Good,” Tubbo replied. “Means you’ll know not to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, too.”

Ranboo resisted the urge to be offended by that. As rude as it was, it was something he understood. There was a difference between being curious and being insensitive.

“I’m not here to hurt him,” he said quietly, trying to soothe the mechanic’s nerves. He could respect the need to look out for someone, to go beyond what others find reasonable in order to do so. He wouldn’t be standing here right now, mentally counting down the seconds until Philza caught up to his MIA ass if he didn’t. “I’m just trying to help a friend.”

Tubbo glanced at him. “That makes two of us.”

And just like that, they’d come to something resembling an understanding.

—---------

Tommy was lounging in the pilot’s chair when Ranboo finally found his way into the cockpit, watching the clouds drift by through the viewport. The disc rolled over the knuckles of his right hand, a fluid, thoughtless action. “Took you long enough,” he grouched, listening to the shuffling of Ranboo in the doorway. He could practically feel the guy’s awkwardness. “Take a seat.”

It was odd, how quickly Ranboo’s personality seemed to switch. One second, he was a charismatic spitfire, taking none of his shit, pushing back against every jab with a glare or witty joke. The next, he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, the fingers on his left hand twitching at his side.

Tommy silently filed the observation away for later. For now, he had an interrogation to do.

Once Ranboo had settled into one of the two passenger seats lined up along the back of the cockpit, Tommy dramatically spun around, pulling his feet from their propped position on the dash. “So,” he began, leaning forward against his knees, elbows braced against them. His right hand continued the fidgeting. “Convince me why I shouldn’t boot your sorry ass straight out of my ship and my life, Boob.”

Ranboo sighed heavily, closing his eyes. “That’s really not my name.”

“And I really don’t care. Listen man– I’m going to be blunt. I don’t trust you.”

An odd, strangled sound made its way out of Ranboo’s throat, a bit like a hysterical laugh. His tipped back against the seat’s headrest, face screwed up, mouth opening like he wanted to argue. Ultimately, he kept quiet.

Tommy’s head tipped to the side, appraising him. Ranboo stared up at the ceiling, looking very much like a man who had made a choice and regretted it now that the consequences of said choice had come knocking on his door.

“Look–it’s not personal, okay? If I actually made reliability a requirement for every deal, I’d never find another job again,” Tommy continued.

It was true–most of his clients were untrustworthy as fuck. That was just the way things were. But If they were going to be working together, if Tommy was going to be putting his identity at risk, opening up his ship, his home to this guy, he needed straight answers. He needed to be able to trust him, at least a little. You can’t make a bet on something you don’t have.

“You may be an arrogant dick, but at the very least, I admire the boldness you’ve got. Despite your few redeeming qualities, though, you’re still shifty as hell. And I can’t afford fuck ups.”

That, at least, seemed to capture Ranboo’s attention. His eyes pulled away from tracing the seams in the glass of the ceiling, focusing on Tommy with acute interest. “What, you got a rap sheet?”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed at the accusation in that statement. “And what if I do? You’re the one working for the Syndicate.”

“Maybe,” Ranboo shrugged. “But at least the only target on my back is one made of red and white stitches. I’m not on the run from Enforcement, not personally.”

“And who said it was the IGE I’m worried about?”

Ranboo leveled him with a look.

“Hey,” Tommy said, holding up his hands in surrender, “I’m a thief, prick, that’s my job. Of course I’ve got warrants. Everyone in this field has the IGE gunning for them– but that’s not what I meant.” His expression darkened, playful arrogance falling away into something quieter, more haunted. His eyes fell to the disc in his hand, watching the light play off of it, blurry. “I’ve got more than just prison time on the line here.”

An emotionless face peered down at him, wide and pale, like the surface of some distant moon. It made Tommy feel small– insignificant.

Helpless.

“Lesser Knight,” the face ordered, wide, curved mouth twisted in disgust. “Remove this abomination from our hall. Take care of it elsewhere.”

Frozen, Tommy felt as long, spindly fingers closed around his biceps, no better than manacles. He felt numb.

How had it all gone so wrong, so fast? They’d had a chance, only minutes ago, he was sure they’d make it out. He was so sure. They’d both been sure, both promised–

“And make sure to do the extermination somewhere easy to clean,” the Council member continued with a sniff, opaline noise crinkling. Tommy flinched.

From behind him, there was an angry, desperate shout.

"Don’t you fucking dare!”

It was followed by the sounds of a struggle, one that quickly became muddied, sluggish. The indignant cries were muffled.

The moon peered down at Tommy one last time, seeing nothing but a speck of dust, wasted earth.

“I’m sure this animal has left behind enough grime already. We don’t need another mess.”

Tommy blinked, hands coming back into focus. He took a breath, ignoring the slowly melting look of concern on Ranboo’s face.

“So tell me,” he asked, looking up, pushing away bleached stone arches and hovering moons and echoing cries of his name. “What’s so important that you decided to bother me, of all people?”

Ranboo’s oddly colored eyes dropped from Tommy’s face to his hands, still tucked between his knees. Tommy tightened them into fists, disc pressing into his palm, white knuckles fighting back tremors.

“Well, after getting stranded here, I realized that I needed better help–more specific help–than hitching a ride with any old spaceship would get me,” Ranboo said. “And from what I’ve heard,” he gave Tommy the teeniest smile, trying to cut through the sudden heavy air of the cockpit, “You’re pretty good at stealing things.”

Tommy huffed a laugh. “...That’s true.”

“I sought you out because I need your help with a heist, Spades. I need transportation, I need information, and most importantly,” Ranboo said, leaning forward. “I need someone with the skills to help me pull this off.”

Tommy sat back, mulling that over. His brow furrowed. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Follow up question,” he added, holding up a finger. “If you’re so desperate for support, why didn’t you get one of your Syndicate buddies to help you out? I may not be a member myself, but I’ve heard plenty about you guys. There’s no way there wasn’t already someone else with a similar set of skills.”

At this, Ranboo hesitated. He tangled his claws together, twitchy. Careful, Tommy. Push too hard and you’ll scare them off. He ignored the thought with a raised brow, waiting.

“I–you’re right,” Ranboo finally admitted. “However, that would’ve required me actually letting the Syndicate in on what I’m doing.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

Ranboo shrugged. “It’s more of a favor for a friend, than anything. He just…doesn’t really know I’m doing it.”

Why? Tommy wanted to shout, irritated, I mean I get the need for secrecy sometimes but for fuck’s sake–

“That doesn’t answer my question. Why doesn’t he know? Why doesn’t anyone know?”

The other boy glared at the ground between his feet, mismatched eyes lightyears away, staring someone down through the scuffed floor.

Tommy waited, fingers tapping his biceps. This wasn’t an answer he was going to back down from. He wasn’t getting involved in anyone else’s shit without knowing how deep it was. Going in blind wasn’t an option, should never have been in the first place. It definitely wasn’t going to be now, not even with two years and as much space as he could keep between him and those shapeshifting bastards–

“Because,” Ranboo finally muttered, drawing him back to the present once again. “Despite what they all say, they’ve already given up.” He shook his head, dark hair falling in front of his eyes. “But I’m not going to.” He looked up at Tommy between the strands. “I’m not.”

“Very inspiring,” Tommy drawled, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “You want to be any more vague while you’re at it?”

Ranboo’s determined expression wilted, replaced by a dead expression of annoyance. “My friend lost something important, and despite what he says–what everyone at the Hub says–he’s not over it. The loss is eating him alive, and I can see it. And I’ve had enough.”

“So you’re trying to find this thing he lost to make him feel better, is that it?” Tommy tilted his head, lips pursed under the scarf. Since when are criminals this stupidly noble? “And you didn’t think to try–I dunno–therapy first? Something less extreme than ditching your superior and hitchhiking your way through systems planet hopping?”

“Look, I’m not going to tell you everything, so stop pretending more insults are going to be what pries that information out of me.” Tommy scowled. “But this mission I’m on is important. I can’t jeopardize it, I can’t give up on the people I care about.” Ranboo paused, probably waiting for some sort of reaction to his new level of desperation. He got nothing.

“Fine,” Ranboo said, switching tracks. He jabbed a clawed thumb over his shoulder, pointing in the direction he’d come, back toward the shipyard.

“Imagine it’s Tubbo we’re talking about.” Tommy stiffened, just slightly. Hardly a twitch, a flinch. And yet, the Enderian’s sharp eyes caught the movement, locking on.

“Imagine it’s Tubbo out there,” Ranboo continued, voice softer than it had ever been, poking at Tommy’s guarded chest. “Imagine you come to visit him and he’s stopped fixing things. You ask why. He doesn’t give you an answer, just shrugs, but his wings are drooping. He’s got bags darker than the streets of Vhoid under his eyes, which do nothing but stare over your shoulder.” The uncomfortable image wiggled its way through Tommy’s crossed arms, wrapping itself around his ribcage. It squeezed.

“Now imagine you see this for weeks, months, and every time Tubbo says he’s getting better, he’s getting worse. He’s too tired to work, he spends all his time staring out windows or scribbling in notebooks, trying to hold onto something he hardly talks about. You don’t know why now, of all times, he’s spiraling, but he is. And no one but you knows how to fix it. And when you tell Tubbo’s clients, his neighbors, your friends down at the bar what you think he needs– no one listens. They write it off as a lost cause, as too dangerous.”

The look on Ranboo’s face burned him, the leftovers of a star already gone supernova. This quiet anger, this plea, Tommy realized, was just the fallout. “So you do the next best thing. You take matters into your own hands.

“You may call me extreme, Spades,” Ranboo finished quietly, lacing his fingers together, a lingering ache in his voice, undercut by the bite of solid steel, “But don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same. I may not know you yet, but I understand you better than you think.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, Tommy let out a low whistle, ignoring the way his skin felt raw, exposed. A shy, stuttering mess, a charismatic bastard, and now a fuckin’ poet, apparently. Can this guy just pick a personality already? Or am I going to be blindsided every time he opens his mouth again?

Although, Tommy had to admit–albeit begrudgingly– that Ranboo had a point.

He loved his friends, the few that he was willing to nudge into that category. If it were one of them on the line, well...Ranboo was right. He couldn’t say he would act any different.

He'd already lost too much for that.

Tommy sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He honestly couldn’t believe he was doing this, but– “I–You know what? Fine. Fine. I’ll give you that. You’ve got me listening, at least. What kinda job do you have in mind?”

Curse his stupid bleeding heart.

Ranboo’s face broke out into a relieved smile. “You ever heard of the Museum Véteris Culturæ?”

Tommy’s face scrunched in consideration. Not what he'd been expecting, but something he could work with. It’d been a while since he’d targeted curated artifacts, but those were always exciting jobs nonetheless.

“I’ve heard of it, once or twice. Orbits a gas giant about a dozen stars from here. A few days by warp speed,” his words dipped into teasing, unable to resist the urge to poke at Ranboo, tenuous alliance or not. “Why? Want to go on a weekend trip? Read some plaques?”

“Ha ha, very funny. No,” Ranboo shook his head, “They have a book that I need. And trust me when I say you can’t get it anywhere else.”

Stealing a book, huh? All this secrecy, all this stubbornness over a measly book. Call his interest piqued.

“This book the thing your friend lost?” Tommy asked.

It wouldn’t be surprising if that was the case. Between interstellar conflicts, corrupted Enforcers, and the endless rage of time, preserving the history of certain cultures could become a dire struggle. If Ranboo’s friend at the Syndicate was from a dying world–one of the few left of their species, even–it would make sense they wanted to have some part of their people with them. Humans weren’t the only ones who got homesick for the past.

Ranboo grimaced at the question, tugging at his jacket sleeves. He peered up at the sky through the tinted roof. “Not…quite. But I’m hoping it’ll get me closer.”

And that’s not vague at all, Tommy thought sarcastically. Despite the lack of an answer, he shrugged. He’d pried enough–Ranboo wasn’t going to give any further. “Whatever, man. If this is what you want, I’ll do it.”

This was the type of proposal Tommy was familiar with. This was what he knew: find your objective, know your target, and strike. A pattern practically more familiar than the back of his own hands. Tommy’s blood began to thrum, the adrenaline of a prospective heist already nipping at his veins.

“Alright then, if we’ve settled things–” Tommy said, sitting up. His arms spread, encompassing the space of the cockpit and the ship that lay beyond. “Welcome aboard the Icaelo, Ranboo.” He grinned, sharp. “It’s gonna be a pleasure working with you.”

Chapter Text

It took two more days until Tubbo was able to finish fixing the Icaelo. Normally, Tommy wouldn’t mind the extra down time. He would scout out jobs, stock up on supplies, use it to annoy Jack, even. But as he quickly found out, it’s much harder to casually go about your day when you have a seven-foot-tall shadow following you around.

“Dude,” Tommy complained, stepping out of a small corner-store bakery, Ranboo close behind, “You’re freaking people out, looming over my shoulder like that. Go back to the ship already. Or, you know what? Just fuck off somewhere. I don’t care.”

The Enderian just blinked at him with half-lidded eyes, unbothered.

Tommy groaned. “Come on, you don’t need to follow me everywhere. Stay back at the Icaelo for once.”

“And never leave the sleeping quarters ‘cause you banned me from half the ship?” Ranboo drawled. “Yeah, no thanks.”

Tommy scowled. It wasn’t half the ship. Just his room and the cargo bay and anywhere within five feet of the cockpit’s control panel. You can’t blame a man for wanting to protect his shit from a known criminal, alright? And yeah–he was a criminal too, but Tommy was familiar enough with his own bullshit, thank you very much. Having to wear his scarf and prosthetics in his own home was already bad enough.

“There’s the shipyard too, you know.”

A scoff. “Yeah, and that’s so much better. I love getting stared down by a murderous man with a wrench any time I get too close to his tools,” Ranboo said sarcastically. “Double no thanks.”

Okay, maybe Ranboo had a point with that one.

“Whatever,” Tommy grumbled, straightening his jacket and starting down the street. Ranboo, as expected, didn’t hesitate to follow.

“What’s in the box?” he asked, nodding at the delicate pastry box held in Tommy’s hands. “I was busy looking at cakes.”

“None of your business, bitch,” Tommy snarked automatically. He got an unimpressed look and returned it with a sigh. “...Fine. It’s sugar cookies. They’re for a friend.”

“Won’t they go bad by the time you can deliver them?” Ranboo asked, a hint of confusion in his voice. He ducked under an awning, Tommy’s careless gait pushing him nearly up against the walls of the buildings they passed. “Even if the Icaelo is done today like Tubbo said, this job is going to take a while–”

“Oh, I’m not waiting until after the job is finished.” Tommy cut in. “We’re bringing them to him now.”

Ranboo stopped dead, nearly causing the people behind him on the sidewalk to run smack into him. Someone cursed him out, but he paid them no mind, too busy staring Tommy down. “...You’re kidding, right?”

Tommy stopped too, frowning. “Of course not. I wouldn’t have bought them otherwise.”

Ranboo let out a noise of disbelief, ears flicking back against his head. “Spades, we don’t have time for that! Who knows how long it’s going to take my Superior to figure out where I am and drag me back to the Hub, you can’t just–”

“Fuckin’ relax, alright?” Tommy eyed the way the Enderian’s tail whipped back and forth, the twitch of this left hand. His frown deepened. “We were going to stop by anyway, I need to see him if you want to pull off this job. He’s where I get my floorplans ‘n shit from.”

The look of panic on Ranboo’s face dissolved, wild lashing of his tail slowing down. “...Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Jesus, man.” Tommy started walking again. “Could you be any more high strung?”

They wandered back to the shipyard from the market, conversation falling away as Tommy got lost in thought. So he’s sure there’s people looking for him, huh? The crowd began to thin, and the sloppy arch of Tubbo’s place poked out between the buildings at the end of the road. You know it’s one thing to stay ahead of the IGE, Tommy watched Ranboo out of the corner of his eye, But it’s a whole different level of delusional to think you can stay under the Syndicate’s radar for long.

At the very least, Ranboo had a point. If they wanted to pull this off, they didn’t have a whole lot of time to do it.

Ducking through the arch, Tommy couldn’t help but grin at the sight of his ship and the beautiful lack of scaffolding around it. The metal patches had all been welded on, blaster marks buffed away. He laughed, giddy.

Thank fuck Tubbo works fast.

—----------

“All hands inside the vehicle, keep your belongings in check, and absolutely no bitching.”

Tommy tapped at the display in front of him, locking down the exterior doors, kickstarting the engines. A low, rumbling hum spread throughout the ship, machinery’s purr. He grinned over his shoulder at Ranboo, who was strapped into the righthand passenger seat behind him. “And thank you, dear customer, for choosing Icaelo Airways."

“You’re welcome,” Ranboo deadpanned, slouching into the seat. “Can we leave now?”

Tommy huffed, turning back around. He placed his hands on the yoke of the ship, typing in one last command. The purr turned into a roar. “You’re no fun, you know that?”

“So you’ve said.”

The engines blazed to life.

Tommy whooped, pulling back on the yoke of the ship, angling them toward the sky. The dual suns glinted in his vision, bright and golden as the engines roared, sending them heavenward. Tubbo’s shipyard fell away behind them, tarps flapping wildly in their wake.

The ship rattled as they pushed through the misty atmosphere, Tommy pushing harder on the throttle as they blasted away from Bie’Dmedtra’s gravitational hold and into the endless sweep of outer space. The swirling bluey-green planet fell away behind them, sinking into the dark smog of the void. Tommy reached forward with one hand, calling up a nav screen and punching in a set of coordinates, not that he really needed them. He knew this route by heart at this point.

“So,” Ranboo piped up, reaching for his straps as Tommy typed another command, moving them into warp with a tug. “Who the hell is this guy we’re going to see?”

Tommy shrugged, dismissing the nav screen and pulling up another to activate autopilot. Once done, he took his hands off the yoke, the ship safely nestled between the streaking stars of hyperdrive. “Just another fellow criminal, you know the drill. Us lowlives gotta stick together ‘n all that.”

He unbuckled, spinning around in his seat. “Known him for a while now. Outstanding guy, for someone who deals in the black market.”

Ranboo stood, stretching. “You got a name?”

“Wilbur Soot,” Tommy replied, copying the movement. “Although, sometimes I wonder if that’s even his real name. With the amount of shit he forges and gets himself into, it’d be a miracle if he’s kept his real identity this entire time.”

Ranboo squinted at him. “You have quite the odd group of friends.”

“Alright, Syndicate Boy. Whatever you say.”

Tommy moved past him, ducking out of the cockpit and wandering down the short hall to his room. Ranboo was staying in the identical space across the hall for the time being, which felt weird. No one had ever stayed there. The room had only been used to store loot and other junk overflow from the cargo hold below. Already, Tommy was looking forward to him being gone. He hated tiptoeing around his own damn ship.

“We’ll be there in a handful of hours,” Tommy called, typing in the passcode to his room. The door hissed open. “I’m gonna take a nap. Don’t fuck with the controls, find something else to do with your time.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Ranboo called back. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Sure you wouldn’t,” Tommy muttered, stepping into his quarters and letting the door slide shut behind him. The door’s lock moved into place with a muffled click and he slumped against it with a sigh. He reached up and tugged down his hood, slipping the scarf from his face. The prosthetic ears came with them, his ears tingling in relief from the pressure.

Man, this was going to be unpleasant long term.

He was used to staying in disguise. But this? Even in the safety of his own ship, he was forced to stay paranoid, stay vigilant. It had only been a couple days and the strain of it was nipping at his nerves already.

Not to say that he wasn’t paranoid as fuck all the time anyway. For good reason, too. Getting too comfortable before had cost him. But this was more of like, paranoid squared.

Tommy shuffled toward his bed, tossing his disguise on the protruding wall panel that acted as his side table. He toed off his boots and sunk into the bed with a groan. He hadn’t really intended to take a nap, it was just an excuse to hide from Ranboo’s prying eyes for a bit. But honestly? A nap actually sounded real good right now.

A nap couldn’t hurt. It was a way to kill time until they got to Wilbur’s, at the very least.

—-------------

A moon was falling.

Tommy stared up at the sky, paralyzed as it swelled, eating up the horizon. The grimy buildings around him wavered under its weight, blurring into fog and back out again. A pristine white palace speared the horizon behind them, its spires framing the moon.

The moon grew. Tommy’s legs finally unlocked and he began to run, but it felt like sprinting through syrup. He couldn’t go fast enough, not even when he pumped his arms and legs harder and harder. The moon blotted out the entire sky, the buildings kept melting into fog.

Tommy’s foot caught on something nameless and he fell, skidding along the pavement. The grit of the street dug into his skin, catching onto his clothes. He rolled onto his side, staring up at the moon with wide, terrified eyes. It took up the entire sky. He blinked, trying to clear the fog creeping at the edges of everything.

The moon blinked back.

Tommy watched, frozen, as great rifts appeared in the vast stone surface, caving open into swirling, glowing pits. A wide, smiling mouth appeared as a crumbling fissure, one that quickly dipped into a scowl.

Human, the moon hissed, landslides on its cheeks. Glowing eyes narrowed into slits, locking onto him. I found a human. A filthy, mangy human!

Tommy gasped, scooting backwards along the pavement as the moon began to shrink, falling from space faster and faster until it was right in front of him, hovering above him. It spat in his face, snarling. Tommy gave a wordless scream, scrabbling across the ground in a frantic backpedal. The moon followed.

His back slammed into something behind him.

Tommy whipped around, palms flat against the street. Another set of bright eyes peered down at where he cowered on the ground, blinking from within the depths of a bone-white helmet. Polished armor, spotless down to the greaves Tommy had just run into.

The helmet studied him for a second.

You know, I’ve always been a fan of humans.

The moon behind Tommy was forgotten, ignored as the man crouched down beside Tommy, reaching out a hand for him. Tommy sat frozen in disbelief.

I’m not gonna to hurt you.

Something burned in Tommy’s chest, squirming up his throat, pricking at his eyes. His breath hiccuped.

He blinked again, hard, trying to clear the fog that creeped over everything, swirling the pavement and the brick and his body. His eyes widened. The moon was back, hovering behind the man, looming over his shoulder. He choked on air.

The man kept reaching for him. The helmet over his face glitched in Tommy’s view, like a dozen different pictures laid over each other. Blurred, indecipherable. A gentle smile broke through the tangled mess of images, familiar laugh lines, a patch of stubble.

The moon’s furious eyes burned, crumbling bits of stone sloughing off its face as its mouth split open, wider and wider. The void behind the man grew, preparing to swallow him whole.

Tommy tried to scream out a warning, but the sound was trapped in his throat, suffocating him.

The moon continued to grow.

—--------------

“...Spades?”

Ranboo cautiously rapped on the bedroom door again, knuckles thumping hollowly against the metal. “The nav system’s beeping, we’re getting pretty close to the set coordinates.”

There was a low groan on the other side of the door, a shuffle. He waited for the door to swing open, to be met with another signature scowl.

Nothing.

Ranboo knocked again, a little more forceful this time. He was not about to let them overshoot their destination just because Spades wanted a few more minutes of beauty sleep. “Spades. Dude. Get up–”

A short cry filtered through the door, cutting him off. More shuffling followed. Ranboo frowned, hand falling away from the door. His brow creased in concern. Another groan.

Slowly, the light bulb turned on. Nightmare. He’d heard the telltale sounds of one a hundred times over by now, bunking with his crewmates, watching over their thrashing and turning, a particular pair of bright eyes staring up at him, glazed over and heartbroken–

A hiccuping sob. Ranboo bit the inside of his cheek. Spades had explicitly told him to stay the fuck out of my room or so help me God, but what was he supposed to do here? Let Spades keep on crying while they sailed right past Wilbur’s moon? No.

Ranboo turned to the panel beside the door, poking at the buttons. An input for a passcode popped up. He typed in a few random combinations, claws clicking, hoping for the best. Red errors flashed across the screen, locking down the keypad. Unsurprising.

He could still hear the nav system beeping in the cockpit.

Closing his eyes, Ranboo sent a quick prayer up to the Goddesses, hoping that they would be merciful on his soul when Spades woke up and decided to boot him out of an open airlock. Heading back into the cockpit, Ranboo crossed the forbidden boundary of the five foot zone and reached for the console. Flicking aside the alert from nav, he cued up a screen for the security system, paging through a few commands. He found one that looked promising enough, muttered another plea for mercy, and selected it.

A sharp alarm blared through the ship, much harsher and grittier than the ones he was used to. Ranboo cringed, covering his ears. If that didn’t wake Spades up, he didn’t know what would.

Sure enough, not a minute later and the door to Spade’s quarters hissed open, spitting the haggard thief out into the hall. His scarf was all tangled, eyes wide and bleary as he charged into the cockpit.

“The fuck is going on?!”

Ranboo backed away from the dash, but not before Spades was shoving him out of the way. Spades blinked down at the screen pulled up on the console, foggy look clearing as he recognized what was going on. With a quick command, the blaring alarm shut off.

Ranboo swallowed.

Spades turned to him, braced on the dash with murder in his eyes. “What the hell did I say about not touching the controls?”

“The nav was sending out an alert,” Ranboo replied, forcing himself to hold his ground. Sure, he hadn’t listened, but it was for good reason. Screw letting Spades ream him out for a right decision. He tilted up his chin, staring the other down. “You were having a nightmare and wouldn’t wake up when I knocked. I tried the next best thing.”

Spades squinted at him, fried nerves still lining every visible inch of his face. “...Fine,” he finally admitted, turning away to sit in the pilot’s chair. “But if you pull that shit again, I’m locking you in the cargo hold.”

Ranboo shrugged, letting his defiance slip away. Fair enough.

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, Spades pulled up the nav holoscreen, turning off the destination approach alert. He peered at the coordinates, muttering calculations to himself. He blew out a breath. “Might want to take a seat. I’m gonna pull us out of warp.”

Ranboo listened, shuffling over to his chosen passenger seat and falling into it. The ship lurched, the stars outside slowing their sprint.

The cockpit remained silent until the Icaelo’s landing struts touched down on the dusty soil of Wilbur’s moon. The only sounds were the tapping of Spade’s fingers against the holoscreens, the puttering of the engine as it powered down.

As the dust cloud settled, Ranboo finally broke the silence. “Look, I’m sorry–”

“I don’t need to hear it,” Spades cut in, eyes still fixed on the dash. The holoscreen in front of him was blank. “I’m assuming you’re familiar with nightmares?”

Ranboo gave a rueful smile, reaching for the straps of his seat. “Familiar enough.”

“Then you know why I snapped the way I did. Don’t take it personal.”

Spades dismissed the screen and unbuckled, getting up out of the pilot’s chair with stiff movements. He rolled out his shoulders, popping them in a stretch. “C’mon,” he said, moving past Ranboo and out of the cockpit. “Let’s go see Wilbur.”

—------------

“A little warning,” Spades said, hand on the front door of what had to be the sketchiest looking building Ranboo had ever seen. The pastry box was tucked underneath his other arm. “Wil can be– well. You’ll see.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Ranboo muttered, watching as Spades shoved open the door.

It swung violently inward on crooked hinges, flying open so hard it crashed into the inside wall. A second later, a weak, static chime sounded from a speaker somewhere inside the shop.

Well, shop might’ve been a strong word. Hoarder’s nest was probably a more appropriate description of the blocky building shoved in this back alley.

Ranboo stepped into the space after Spades, taken aback by the sheer amount of stuff on the shelves. There were ship parts piled high in a tub on the floor, circuitry poking out in a spray of wires, pipes and odd metal ends scattered around it. Both gutted and brand new holoscreens over there, stacks of books and magazines here, ratty street clothes and silken jackets, racks of gaudy jewelry, utensils, tools– and that was only what was visible from just inside the front door. Another door opposite him led into another room, this one filled with the same baffling amount of stuff.

Curiosity drew him from his place in the doorway and he stepped further inside, already ignoring whatever Spades was doing in favor of poking through the merchandise. He approached one nearby shelf piled haphazardly with books, pulling one off the shelf at random. Its previously glossy cover was yellowed with age, cardboard corners splitting at the edges, the plasticky coating flaking off. Intrigued, he flipped it open to a random page, blinking down at the unfamiliar text.

There was a map of some section of a planet he didn’t recognize, surrounded by labels in a foreign language, one he was surprised to find he was familiar with. Not to brag, but Ranboo prided himself on how many languages he knew. It was something he’d buried himself in once he’d first come to the Syndicate, adrift and wanting to fit in with his new crew mates. On top of the additional research he’d done in preparation for this mission, it was fair to say he was well versed in information on other cultures.

The book was written in English, one of the Human languages, of all things. Probably a map of their old planet Terra, based on the age of it.

Gently, he closed the book and set it back on the shelf, amazed. No wonder Spades came to this guy for information. If he had enough resources to keep Human books just lying around–

Man, Ranboo thought, taking a step away from the shelf to get a better look at the sprawl of books, their varying colored spines, sizes and thicknesses, what Techno wouldn’t give to have access to all this stuff…

The thought of Techno quickly sent a pang of guilt through his system, and Ranboo turned away, looking to see where Spades had gone off to.

The thief was nowhere in sight, but the box of cookies sat open on the front counter beside a heavy-looking, antique till. What that was for, he had no clue. Very few people bothered to do non-digital transactions anymore. Even more surprising though, was the unfamiliar man standing behind the counter, leaning on it with one hip. Staring at him, cookie in hand.

Ranboo blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t even heard the man enter, or picked up on him watching. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket, left fingers twitching.

The man raised the cookie to his mouth with blue-tinted fingers, taking another bite with needle-pointed teeth.

“‘Sup.”

Cookie crumbs tumbled down the front of his sweater, clinging to the collar of the grimy-looking trenchcoat thrown over top. Ranboo raised a brow.

“...Hi?”

The man took another bite without breaking eye contact. Ranboo noted his slit pupils and semi-translucent skin, bones peeking through when the light hit a certain way. Phantom species, then.

No wonder Ranboo hadn’t heard him coming. He’d probably popped out of a wall somewhere. That, at least, was a relief.

Ranboo took a few steps closer. “Are you…Wilbur?”

The guy broke out into a bright grin, eyes lighting up in delight. “The one and only. Say, you’re here with Ace, right?”

“Yeah.” Ranboo shrugged. “We’re working a job together.”

“Huh.” Wilbur shifted, popping the last of the cookie in his mouth and leaning over the counter, bracing on his elbows. His eyes narrowed, squinting despite the rounded glasses on his face. “So he really managed to get in with the Syndicate, then?”

Ranboo jolted, tangling his horns in the row of coats dangling from the ceiling beside him. He ducked out of the way.

Wilbur’s smile only widened further. “What, not expecting me to recognize you? C’mon, man. Any no-good scoundrel worth his shit can clock Syndicate in a second.”

“I know,” Ranboo grumbled, shoulders hiked up near his ears, thinking of Tubbo and his wrench. Doesn’t mean I like it though.

Wilbur studied him for a second with wide pupils, waiting for something. Ranboo just stood there, unsure what else to say. Suddenly, the man burst into laughter. Ranboo bristled.

Now what?

“I’m just messing with you, man!” Wilbur wheezed, eyes crinkled up. “Ace messaged me before you two arrived, told me he had a new business partner. Besides,” the man pressed a hand to his chest, peering over the top of his glasses. His happy grin turned devilish. “I am a gentleman. I leave the title of scoundrel up to you lot.”

Ranboo gave him an awkward smile, Wilbur still grinning at him. When the man said nothing more, he cleared his throat, trying to still the twitch in his left hand and shuffling closer to the counter. Curiosity kills the cat, after all. “How do you know him, anyway?”

“Who, Ace?” Wilbur laughed, straightening up to fish another cookie out of the box. “Oh, he and I go way back–”

“Two years is not way back, dipshit!”

Ranboo jumped, turning and craning his neck to try to see where Spades’ voice had come from. He couldn’t spot him among all the shelves, too much junk in the way. Wilbur just scoffed as Ranboo turned back to him, rolling his eyes.

“See, this is what I get for befriending my customers. You lot are the worst.”

“What’s he doing over there?” Ranboo asked.

“Looking for files. Blueprints, schematics and the like.”

Wilbur set his cookie aside for a second and crouched down behind the counter. There was a brief scuffle of wood and some frustrated grunting, and then the Phantom popped back up again, lugging a large hologram projector with him. He dropped it down on the counter with a slam before giving it a loving pat.

“I’ve got hundreds of schematics and blueprints, any kinda of file you could ask for. A lot of ‘em are on burned chips or drives, so I keep this thing around to read them.”

That perked Ranboo’s interest. He’d separated himself from his home planet years ago, but the temptation of new information was something engrained into his bones since birth. “Really? Have you got anything on Vhoid’s labs? The manufacturing sector? Oh! What about that floating city that recently got built– I think it’s in the upper atmosphere of the Put’ulean gas giant?”

Wilbur’s eyes lit up. “You mean with the one with the slow-burn ion engine used to keep it in orbit? You know, I have heard of it. Incredible technology, really. Don’t think I’ve managed to get my hands on anything, but now that you mention it, I might have to–”

They were interrupted by a bang from within the maze of shelves, followed by a loud clatter of cascading plastic, an avalanche of drives and chips sliding over each other. A loud curse sounded. Wilbur let out a heavy sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, double set of ears drooping. “Ace, you better not be fucking up my organization again!”

“What organization?” Spades called back, snarky. “Your system back here is shit. You label your files with masking tape, Wilbur. Masking tape!”

“It's easy to find and easy to write on! ” Wilbur shot back. He took another bite out of his second cookie. “Sorry you can’t be bothered to figure it out.”

“Oh, fuck off!”

Another rockslide of plastic casings. Ranboo was starting to get concerned. Wilbur, based on the slight smile creeping at the corners of his mouth, was not. This must be a regular occurrence, then. Wonderful.

“So,” Wilbur asked, gesturing at Ranboo, having dismissed Spade’s rampage through his store. “What’s his target this time? Shipping yard? Military base? Ooh–Royal treasury? I figure with Syndicate in tow,” his eyes lit up with mischief, “it’s gotta be something good.”

“My name’s Ranboo.” Another crash. Ranboo winced. “And, uh, we’re trying to go after the–”

“Ah-HA! Found it!”

A loud thump as something was dropped on the floor. Plastic skittered across the ground, drives clattering as Spades stumbled out from behind the shelves, marching back over to the front counter with a hand held triumphantly above his head. There was a smug grin on his face.

“Despite your shitty layout, Wil, I managed to find the right file,” Spades bragged, shouldering past Ranboo. He reached across the counter to tug the beat-up projector to their side of it. Both Ranboo and Wilbur watched on in interest as Spades crammed the sought-after chip into the port on the projector’s side. He jammed his thumb into the “on” button. After a second the thing flickered to life, a blue-tinted and distorted image floating above the counter.

“Here,” Wilbur offered, placing his cookie between his teeth and reaching out for the battered machine. Spades slid it over to him. “Sometimes this stupid thing fritzes out, you just need to–” He gave the projector a few solids smacks with his palm, the image glitching out. One final hit, and the hologram stopped wavering. “There,” Wilbur said, grinning around the cookie, “Good as new.”

“Incredible,” Spades commented.

“Now,” Wilbur looked down at the image. He pinched the hologram, zooming in on a section of the floor plan with a curious squint. “Seems like you two fellows are bold enough to be going after…the–”

The cookie fell out of his mouth, tumbling to the floor. Wilbur’s eyes swung up to look at Spades, wide with shock behind the lenses of his glasses. Spades let out a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling.

“The Museum Véteris Culturæ? You’re shitting me!”

Spades just shrugged, motioning for the projector back. Wilbur slid it over. “It was Syndicate Boy over here who had the idea,” he said, jerking his head in Ranboo’s direction. “Not me. But you know me, Wil. I don’t back down from a challenge.”

Wilbur shook his head, a disbelieving grin on his face. He leaned over the counter, poking at the image with a breathy laugh. “Ace, this isn’t a challenge. This is a one way ticket to spending the rest of your life rotting in prison.”

Spades scoffed, smacking the man’s hand away. “Oh ye of so little faith, Wilbur.”

“Is it really that bad?” Ranboo wondered, leaning in to peek at the schematics. The basic floorplans he’d found when researching before hadn’t seemed that daunting. Sure, there were your usual security features, security guards to avoid, sensors, cameras, not to mention finding a way in–but it really hadn’t seemed that dramatic to him. Not anything more than you’d already expect from an institution like the Museum.

“Nah,” Spades replied, tapping away at the hologram, pulling up different features with practiced ease. Ranboo watched, fascinated, as the walls of the building rose up out of the previously flat floorplan, columns and windows materializing before his eyes. Spades activated another function, and suddenly sections of the hologram were highlighted a bright red. Spades hummed. “More security than I expected, though. I mean, c’mon–”

He zoomed in on one room, littered with little red points, and waved a hand at it. “Who really needs that many cameras?”

Wilbur snorted. “Someone who wants to keep idiots like you out.”

Ranboo watched in disgusted fascination as the man bent down to retrieve his fallen cookie from the floor, briefly dusting it off before taking a bite. Fellow criminal, indeed. Goddesses.

“I mean the cameras aren’t too big of an issue, if you think about it,” Spades mused, setting his chin in the palm of his hand. Ranboo turned his attention away from Wilbur and his weird habits. “I could probably find a way to loop ‘em before we even get in there. Done it a hundred times, that’s nothing. The main issue would be getting past security.”

Ranboo leaned his hip against the counter, considering it. “You’re right. In the research I was able to get from public files, the Museum is kept well staffed. They’ve got easily a dozen conservationists on staff, tour guides at the top of every hour, and that’s not even counting the security guards themselves.”

“Not surprised,” Wilbur commented. “That place holds some precious artifacts. It’s not the forefront of ancient culture conservation for nothing. The last thing they’d do is give someone the opportunity to walk out the door with the last surviving documentation of a dying civilization.”

“Which is why we need to make one,” Spades mumbled. He zoomed in on a quadrant of the museum, built into the left wing of the building. Little prisms popped out of the holographic floor, display cases. He pressed another button on the projector, and little numbers popped up. “You know which of these displays has the book you’re looking for, Ranboo?”

Ranboo leaned closer. “There,” he said, pointing to one near the center of the room, a part of a cluster standing free from the walls. “Number 58.”

Spades hummed, zooming in on it. “It’s not in a terrible spot, I guess. Could be right by the entrance, which always makes things tricky. And at least it’s not jammed in a corner, so a quick in-out type deal could be possible…”

“What kinda book is this anyway?” Wilbur asked through a mouthful of crumbs, finishing off his second cookie.

“Some sort of religious text,” Spades answered, focused on the hologram, brow furrowed. “Not sure. Ranboo over here loves being vague.”

“My explanation was more detailed than that, you just don’t listen to me,” Ranboo huffed. “But that’s close enough.”

“Interesting,” Wilbur leaned back, drawing out the word. “Interesting. And you’re stealing a sacred text because…?”

“I need information,” Ranboo said, thinking about long nights spent in Techno’s small office. Secretly rifling through the filing cabinets and calling up every contact, only to come up empty handed, utterly frustrated.

He’d been ready to dump the last of the papers back in the drawer and resign himself to another day of scraping the far corners of the web instead when a crumpled piece of paper caught his eye. Interested, he’d set aside the stack of files and fished it out. It was a business card, deep maroon, gilded letters, probably crushed and forgotten in a fit of anger. Gingerly, he unfolded it and peered down at the number barely legible on the front. He gave it a call.

The other end picked up. Ranboo asked a question, and finally, finally, someone gave him a chance at answers.

“A client was willing to tell me what they knew in exchange for the book. I’m not sure what the book is, not exactly. All I know is that it’s in Case 58, some sort of holy text, and something I can trade for what I want.” Ranboo shrugged. “That was good enough for me.”

“I mean, I’ve stolen other shit on less,” Spades admitted. “Wouldn’t be the first time I barely know my target.”

“Still,” Wilbur said, a pinch between his brows. “Seems risky.”

“Says the man selling contraband blasters out his back door. You’re a damn hypocrite, Wil.”

Wilbur gave a sheepish smile. “Touché.”

Spades poked another button on the projector, sending the picture into a lazy spin. “Back to strategy here. Cameras I can handle no problem. The main concern is drawing staff attention away from this section of the museum. We’ll need a distraction.”

His eyes flickered up to Ranboo, Wilbur’s attention following. Ranboo frowned, crossing his arms. “You want me to act as bait?”

“You said it yourself, man. You need my skills to actually steal the damn thing. That leaves you on crowd control.”

“But…bait?”

Spade leveled him with a look. Ranboo sighed.

“I– fine. What are you thinking?”

Spades hummed, tapping his fingers against his scarf-covered lips. “We can’t just make a loud noise or force an evacuation, they’d shut the whole place down. Fire alarms, false alarms– it’s gotta be more subtle than that. We need to draw attention, but not too much. Too much and people panic.”

His eyes narrowed, thinking. Ranboo waited, considering his words. Spades had a point– this had to be delicate. Ranboo was too used to going in guns blazing, something the strength in numbers security of the Syndicate allowed for. Now, it was just the two of them. The numbers were not on their side.

Wilbur fished another cookie out of the box.

“Ranboo,” Spades began slowly, “How good are you at impersonations?”

“I mean,” his brow pinched, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his jacket sleeves. “I can lie well enough, in a pinch. But I’m not sure what you mean by that.”

“I mean, if you had to pretend to be someone else for an hour, could you?”

“You mean try to impersonate a staff member or something?” He considered the idea. “Hypothetically, sure. But even I know that I don’t blend in well.” The cracked horn on his head felt a little heavier, nearly scraping the low ceiling of Wilbur’s shop. The skin on his face itched. “I’m not a Draemon, Spades, I can’t just shapeshift and pull that off so easy.”

Spades’ fingers stuttered on the projector, the rotation of the image faltering for a second. His mouth opened, then closed again with a shake of his head. “I know that, Ranboo, I’m not fuckin’ stupid. I– you don’t need to shapeshift. We don’t need one of those pasty, white assholes for this, we need you. An Enderian.”

Confused, Ranboo glanced at Wilbur, who was watching Spades with a pinched expression.

Okay then.

Spades straightened up, pulling away from the projector. His hand crept to his right pocket, the one where he always stashed that little metal disc of his. “The Museum Véteris Culturæ is a public institution, technically, but we all know they cater to certain patrons more than others. Status speaks, and so does money. How do you think they’d react if a member of the Vhoidian court strolled in, asking to see their displays?”

Ranboo blinked. “...You want me to impersonate a court member? Do you know how insane that is?!”

“Oh come on, you can be snobbish enough. I know you can!”

Ranboo glared at him. “I don’t even look the part. I can be as much of a dick as I want, but that’s not going to fool anyone if I’m just standing around in a Syndicate jacket and giving orders with my nose in the air.”

“Well obviously–”

“You’re right,” Wilbur chimed in, catching their attention. His devilish grin was back. “Lucky for you, I think I can help with that.”

He nodded at the ceiling behind them and both boys turned, looking up at the dangling racks of silken coats. “You want to look the part, Ranboo? There’s your answer.”

A slow grin crept over Spade’s face, and even Ranboo couldn’t help but feel a spark of eagerness. This– this had potential. Stupid, risky potential. Anyone with a second of experience with the actual Vhodian court would peg him as an impostor in seconds. But anyone else–

“Wilbur,” Spades said, the excitement back in his voice. “You glorious bastard.”

—-----------

“Tommy.”

Tommy weighed two pairs of earrings in his hands, considering. Ranboo had said that the Vhodian court was big on adornments, hell– the guy had multiple ear piercings, despite claiming to want little to do with his native planet. The gold and purple ones looked nice, with elegant swirls in the shape of them, but the green stones in the others matched the jacket they’d found a little better…

“Tommy.”

He sighed, setting both pairs back on the shelf in front of him. “Yes, Wil?”

Ranboo had gone back to the ship with the finery they’d found and the chip with the Museum’s info on it. Tommy had stayed back, offering to pick out some jewelry for him before saying goodbye to Wilbur.

“You’re not getting too far in over your head, are you?”

“Who, me?” Tommy turned, leaning back against the shelf, elbows propped up between the bins of junk. He grinned, head tipped to the side. “What, you doubting me Wilbur?”

Wilbur frowned at him, leaning against the front counter with arms crossed. “I’m not saying you’re incapable, but be honest here. You’re taking on a massive job with barely any prep time. I know you realize how risky that is.”

Tommy let out a huff of air, eyes drifting up to the ceiling. The thing was, he did know. Even with so many jobs under his belt, he’d never tried a heist this complicated with such high stakes in so little time. He hadn’t been caught yet, sure. But no one is invincible. Tommy was many things, impulsive, paranoid, cocky, even– but he’d grown out of stupidity already. He knew full well how many ways this could go wrong.

“I already agreed to help him, Wil. I’m not just going to back out now.”

“What’s your time crunch, really?” Tommy pulled his gaze away from the ceiling, catching Wilbur’s furrowed look and concerned eyes. “Be honest with me.”

Tommy sighed. “I give it a week, tops. Maybe less. He’d already been missing for a few days before I picked him up.”

Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose. He did that a lot. Exasperating Wilbur was one of Tommy’s special talents. “Jesus, Tom.”

Tommy threw his hands in the air. “What did you want me to do, say no? An in with the Syndicate isn’t something you just turn down, Wil. Besides,” his voice got quiet, thinking about twisted claws, nervous smiles and determined eyes. “He needed the assist.”

He would’ve killed for backup, two years ago, any kind of back up. Who was he to force someone else into the same corner he’d had to claw his own way out of?

“At this rate, your ‘in’ with the Syndicate is going to be them blasting your ship out of the sky.”

“Oh, come on– now you’re just being dramatic. I’m not a fuckin’ kidnapper or some shit.”

Wilbur leveled him with a look.

“It was like, one time!” The look didn’t waver. “Okay, fine. Three times, now. But that’s not proving your point.”

Wilbur shook his head. “You’re playing with fire, Tommy.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my life,” Tommy scoffed, slumping further into the shelf. His right hand drifted to his pocket.

Wilbur pulled away from the counter, ears flicking. In this lighting, his skin seemed even more translucent, the bones peeking from under his cheeks mixing with the sharp worry lines on his face. “Just don’t get caught, please. That’s all I’m asking.”

Tommy couldn’t help but smile at that, eyebrows ticking up. “That’s my job, innit?”

“And who said you were good at that?”

“Oi!”

Wilbur laughed, coming closer as Tommy floundered in indignation. He was scooped up in a hug, still spluttering as Wilbur tucked his face into the hair poking out of Tommy’s hood.

“Bitch,” Tommy muttered, returning the gesture.

“Gremlin,” Wilbur shot back, squeezing him a little tighter.

Tommy had been the one to teach Wilbur about hugs. It wasn’t a gesture unique to humans; there were other species out there with their own forms of embrace. But bear hugs weren’t exactly common with more delicate species, and Tommy had always made sure not to squeeze back too hard.

It was always tricky, forgetting his own strength. You never really realize how much you take for granted, being surrounded by others like you, until you're alone.

With a final pat on the back, Wilbur pulled away to give Tommy a careful tap on the sternum, right over his heart. Tommy returned the gesture, a Phantom’s own way of saying everything a hug was meant to.

“Trust me Wil,” Tommy said, giving him an extra tap. “I’ll be okay. We’ll be in and out before anyone even realizes, and then I can ship Boo Boy right back to the Syndicate. Easy.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Tommy.” Wilbur gave him a small smile, laced with something a little sad. “It’s just sometimes I worry that you don’t trust anyone, not even yourself.”

”Don’t worry. We’ll take one of the ships from the hangar, my codes will let us in. No one will even notice until we’re already gone.”

The hands on his shoulders squeezed, eyes as close to human as you could get met his.

“We’re getting out of here together, Tommy, I promise.

“Trust me.”

Tommy smiled too, a touch bitter. “We both operate solely in a world of criminals and dickheads, man. I think you should be more concerned if I did.”

Wilbur huffed out a laugh. “Fair enough.”

Tommy stepped away, turning back to scoop the green earrings off the shelf. He held them up. “You cool if I take these?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Sure. They’re either fake or stolen. Either way, I’m not gonna miss them. Won’t even charge you.”

Tommy slipped them in his pocket as Wilbur turned away, returning to his place behind the front counter. He let his thumb graze over the surface of his disc, feeling the initials carved onto the surface.

“Oh, and Tommy?”

He pulled his hand out of his pocket. “Yeah?”

Wilbur leaned over the counter on one arm, a shit-eating grin on his face. “You don’t have to pay for the purple ones, either.”

“Oh, good,” Tommy said, backing up toward the door. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, laughing as Tommy saluted him, the second set of earrings dangling between his fingers.

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Wilbur called as he pushed open the door.

“You tell me every time!”

“Be careful out there! Play it safe!”

“Don’t worry!” Tommy shouted back as the door slammed shut behind him. He stood on the pavement outside, lifting the earrings in front of his eyes, watching them catch the light. A smirk pulled at his lips. “...I won’t.”

—-------------

Ranboo looked up as he entered, lounging in his passenger seat, holotab open in his lap. He dismissed the comm screen that was pulled up as Tommy walked in, straightening up in the chair. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Tommy replied, moving through the cockpit.

“I have a question.”

“Really? That’s surprising.”

Tommy glanced over his shoulder, expecting to be met with another of Ranboo’s unimpressed stares. Instead, he was met with simple curiosity. Perhaps a hint of disgust. He huffed out a breath. “Alright, shoot.”

“Do phantoms usually have such a thing for cookies, or…?”

“Nah,” Tommy laughed, dropping into his seat. “That’s just Wilbur. Says he likes ‘em ‘cause it's the closest thing he can get to eating sand, or something. I still don’t understand it.”

Ranboo blinked. “That’s…somehow worse, actually.”

“He’s a bit of a weirdo, Wil is.”

“Right. Should’ve guessed that.”

“What,” Tommy spun around in his seat and leant forward on his knees, “The hoarding of contraband and freakish height and constant staring wasn’t enough to clue you in?”

“Hey,” Ranboo sat up. “Watch it. Some of us can’t help being freakishly tall.”

“Yeah, you’re right. You should work on that.”

Ranboo raised his brows. “Care to explain how I should do that?”

“Simple. Get shorter, bitch.”

They stared at each other.

Ranboo snorted.

Tommy burst into laughter, and a grin crept across Ranboo’s face. After a few seconds, Tommy managed to catch his breath, wheezing. He spun himself back around and cued up another screen, prepping the engines. Typing in commands with one hand, he glanced up at the viewport, catching sight of Ranboo’s distorted, shadow reflection. He could still make out a hint of a smile on the other’s face, a flash of white fangs in warped obsidian skin.

Huh, he thought, looking back down at the dash in front of him. Huh.

With a press of a button, the engines roared to life.

Chapter Text

His communicator was pinging. Again.

Groaning, Tubbo set down his pneumatic wrench, rolling out from beneath the corpse of the forest skimmer. He stood up, working out the pinch in his neck, and swiped a hand across his forehead, oblivious to the new smear of grease he’d just created.

The annoying, high pitched chirp sounded out again.

Scowling, Tubbo fished the stupid thing out of the bottom of his toolbox, tossing out screwdrivers and fine-tip plasma cutters and random bolts. By the time he got it out, the current ping had stopped. He stared at it.

Chirp chirp.

He had half a mind to stomp on the thing and throw it across the yard, far, far away from his ears. Tommy was always bugging him to get a holotab anyway, claiming that he was sick of Tubbo’s antique comm fritzing out on him. A phenomenon definitely not caused by him disconnecting Tommy’s calls on purpose ‘cause the dumbass insisted on pinging him when Tubbo was in the middle of something. And nothing against holos, but this comm had his business number in it, and swapping all that info over without compatible systems–

Just the thought of it made him tired. No. Definitely not worth it. Even if it meant the thing would shut up–

Chirp chirp.

“Fuckin’ hell–” Tubbo snapped open the comm’s case, pressing it to his ear without even bothering to check the number. “Sorry, I’m not taking any more clients right now. The yard’s full. Call back another time. Preferably in a week.”

He waited for a response, the usual pissed-off buzz of an inconvenienced customer. Perhaps an insult or two, a kind suggestion as to where he could put his wrench.

Look–it sounded bad, he got that. But honestly, when you decide to settle down and open a business on the backwater outskirts of a city notorious for being overrun with criminals and lowlives, you tend to get used to it.

Instead of the usual threats, though, he was met with a low and gravelly, “Tubbo. Took you long enough to pick up.”

Instantly, Tubbo’s face fell. His empty fists clenched. He glared out at the open yard, eyes scanning the entrance, any hidden points, any exits, looking for lurking shadows. The fact that he found none didn’t make him feel any better. “...How the fuck did you get this number?”

“It’s a business line, not that difficult to dig up. You really think I’d have trouble with something like that?”

“Kiss my ass, Technoblade,” Tubbo snapped. “The fuck do you want?”

A deep sigh came over the line, prickling at the edges with static. “Look, I get it. You hate my guts, and I don’t like you either. Mutual understanding, whatever you want to call it.”

Tubbo scoffed, picking up a wrench with his lower set of hands. He glared at that, too. “Your little crime group fucked over my old life, Techno. There’s nothing goddamn mutual about it.”

“And you sabotaged a good chunk of my fleet and nearly got a decent portion of my crew stranded in a wasteland,” the Syndicate leader shot back. “I think I’d call that even.”

Tubbo didn’t respond. The casing of the comm began to creak, his white-knuckled grip on it straining the plastic.

Techno sighed again. “You know I wouldn’t be callin’ if it wasn’t necessary, alright? I need a favor.”

An incredulous laugh ripped out of Tubbo’s throat, echoing throughout the yard. He tipped his head back, eyes squeezed shut against the suns. “Like hell! Your piggy little brain must be rotted if you think I’m stupid enough–”

“Tubbo–”

“I don’t do that shit anymore, and you know full well why, Technoblade.” He laughed again, high and reedy, incredulous. “The fucking nerve you people have–”

“Tubbo. Please.”

The laughter died off. Tubbo paused, caught off guard. Please? He pulled the comm away from his ear, blinking at it. Since when did Technoblade, of all people, say please?

“Tubbo?” Techno’s tinny voice sounded out, pushing through the speakers.

Hesitantly, Tubbo held the comm back up to his ear. “...I’m still here.”

“Listen, all I need is information. That’s it. I’m running low on contacts and I’ve only got so many on your side of that system.”

Tubbo didn’t bother to yell at him and ask just how the hell Techno knew where he was. That, after all, was the least surprising thing about this conversation so far.

His eyes narrowed to a squint. “...What do you need to know?”

There was a creak of a chair, a low breath. Relief. “Have you seen an Enderian anywhere in your area? Tall, lanky, got two different eyes and an itchy trigger finger?”

Tubbo barely managed to avoid sucking in a breath. Ranboo. Queens, these guys worked faster than he remembered.

“I know it’s a long shot,” Techno continued, oblivious to Tubbo’s inner thoughts, “But I know that the commercial port isn’t far from you and that android’s bar in town is one of the biggest hotspots for interstellar criminals on the entire planet. If he was ever on planet, there’s a good chance it was in your area.”

Tubbo chewed his lip. Normally, he wouldn’t even hesitate. He’d rat out Ranboo in a heartbeat, block Techno’s newest burner number and forget this ever happened. But this wasn’t normal. Normally, Ranboo wouldn’t be riding shotgun on his best friend’s ship.

“...No,” he finally answered, the lie slipping off his tongue like water. “I haven’t.”

For a moment, there was silence on the other end of the line. Tubbo waited. For what, he wasn’t sure. For Techno to see through him, maybe. To call him out. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“...Alright,” Techno finally said. “Thanks, I guess. I owe you one.”

“Take your favor and shove it up your ass. Leave me alone.” With a click, Tubbo ended the call. He pulled the comm away from his ear, holding it in his palm. Stared at it.

He hoped Ranboo was as good at covering his tracks as Tommy was. It didn’t matter if Tommy and Ranboo were working together; despite what they preached, the Syndicate cared less about collateral damage than they claimed. Not if you got in the way of their ideals, and definitely not if you got in between them and the safety of one of their members.

Tubbo didn’t trust Syndicate any further than he could throw them, and having four arms didn’t mean shit.

—-------

“Careful. If your eyes bug any further out of your head they’re gonna fall out.”

The low sound of the ship’s engines rumbled around them, steady with the guidance of the autopilot. Although a comfortable white noise, the sound wasn’t loud enough to cover up Ranboo’s half-assed scoff.

“Oh, shut up,” he complained lightheartedly, shifting even closer to the clear wall of the cockpit’s viewport. His nose nearly brushed the surface. “Don’t act like you’re not secretly gawking under that ugly scarf of yours.”

“Am not.”

Tommy’s grumble was met with an airy laugh as Ranboo raised a hand to the glass, still too preoccupied by the view. Tommy pouted.

“And my scarf is not ugly, either,” he continued, offended. “You take that back.”

“I mean, come on. Compared to this?” Ranboo said, nodding in the window’s direction, “Everything is.”

Tommy huffed out a breath, leaning back in his seat with crossed arms. He turned his eyes away from Ranboo and looked out at the scene spread out before them. To be fair, it was rather impressive.

A massive planet eclipsed the view out of the front of the ship, a semi-circle set starkly against the deep black background of space. Currently, they found themselves on the far side of it, the light of the local system’s star blocked by its bulk. Despite the heavy shadows, though, one could still make out the cream-colored clouds of billowing gas swirling along the surface, streaked with long bands of rust and umber. Spots of bright blue mixed in with the earthy tones, vibrant storms of hydrogen drifting through the atmosphere.

The Icaelo cruised alongside the planet in a loose, high orbit. Below it, a set of dusty rings encircled the gas giant. They shone pink and brown and gold in the glow that barely crested the distant edge of the planet, a fiery, blinding slice of light illuminating the outermost edge of the wispy atmosphere. The little spaceship skimmed along the rings’ surface, traveling their curved path like an ancient, celestial highway. Fine dust and ice crystals kicked up in the Icaelo’s wake, forming a shimmering comet’s tail that glinted in the blue light of the engines, scattering into the darkness behind them.

“Quite the starrise, huh,” Tommy remarked quietly. The breath caught in his chest as the ship’s orbit brought them just far enough around the planet’s curve for the system’s star to truly peek over the edge, washing the cockpit in a blaze of orange light. Ranboo hummed in agreement, fingers pressed to the glass.

The sight was truly awe-inspiring. By now, Tommy had spent weeks upon weeks, months traveling through space, visiting places and planets he’d grown up only being able to imagine. He’d drifted through the foggy outskirts of nebulae, navigated the tumbling swathe of asteroid fields, even passed through the freezing tail of a comet, once.

And yet these views, these moments, still made it feel like he was seeing the whole wonder of the universe again for the first time. The way they made you feel so small in the face of such majesty, and yet so incredibly awed to simply bear witness to it all–it never failed to steal his breath away.

Abiti-C3, Tommy’s mind recited as he squinted into the bright light, dredging up the information he’d memorized throughout the trip there, An orange dwarf star. Home to three exoplanets, the furthest of which is the gas giant Creus-14. Although the planet itself is uninhabitable on the surface, civilizations have made ready use of the more than a dozen moons that orbit it.

Ranboo let out a quiet warble, a distinctly Enderian noise Tommy was still getting used to hearing. His eyes darted over to Tommy for a second before focusing back on Creus, tail flicking behind him in a way that Tommy had learned to read as nerves. “We haven’t got much further to go, right?”

Tommy leaned over to tap the dash, cueing up a holoscreen. He zoomed in on the nav screen, rotating the holo’s projected view of Creus to show a small moon just beyond the edge of their visible horizon. He tapped on it. A small tag popped up. It read: Piallene–Treasured Home of the Museum Véteris Culturæ.

“A couple hours at most,” Tommy replied, squinting at the readout. “I’ve got us in a decently quick orbit, we’ll cover the distance in no time.”

A breath of tension left Ranboo’s shoulders. “Good.”

“I mean, not that it really matters. We’re not robbing the place until tomorrow anyway.”

Ranboo sighed. His ears twitched, nose scrunching in irritation. “I know. I just– we’re running low on time, is all.”

Tommy swallowed back the irritated growl building in his throat. He knew why Ranboo was nervous. He understood why the guy was so worried about wasting time. If the Syndicate was hunting down his ass, he would be impatient too.

But they were a mere handful of hours out from the beginning of what would be probably the riskiest heist of his career, and frankly, Tommy would really enjoy it if Ranboo would hurry the fuck up and get his shit together already.

“Listen man,” Tommy said, choking down his irritation and doing a last minute check to ensure their orbit was steady, before pushing up out of the pilot’s chair. “I’ll dock the ship in a couple hours, case the place real quick, and before you even know it, it’ll be show time.”

He clapped Ranboo on the shoulder, forcing the Enderian to look at him. He held his gaze for a moment, as long as the other would allow. “I know what I’m doing, alright? You have to trust me on this. You don’t want to hear it– whatever, I get it. Nerves n’ shit. But believe me when I say that there’s only so many corners you can cut before you find yourself deep in a hole you can’t get out of.”

“...Fine,” Ranboo grumbled, breaking eye contact and shrugging Tommy’s hand away. He crossed his arms, claws tapping on the leather sleeves of his jacket. The orange light washed over his skin, turning it a shade of deep brown, highlighting the crease to his brow. “Fine.”

Tommy pulled away. “I’m going to go gather some of my gear,” he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “Gimme a shout if we get close and I’m not back.”

Ranboo nodded.

Tommy left the cockpit, heading down the hall to the cargo space where he stashed his tools. With his back turned, he didn’t see Ranboo pull his holotab from his pocket, nor did he note the grimace on the other’s face at the number of missed notifications littering the screen, all from a handful of different names. He missed the way that Ranboo froze up at a new set of messages, interspersed within the older missed calls.

please be ok, the first one read, glaring up at him from the screen. Tentatively, he tapped on it, bringing up the string of texts.

please be ok
i swear to xd if you went and got yourself hurt over my shit
if that’s what this is, i told you to drop it
i’m fine, man
it's been years, it's not worth all this
just come back to base, phil and techno are worried out of their minds
no one has heard from you in rotations, they’re contacting literally everyone

Ranboo
dude

just
be safe. please.

With a heavy sigh, the holo was shut off, disappearing back into the depths of Ranboo’s pocket. He recrossed his arms, still stubbornly stationed at the window. To an outside observer, he might have seemed more statue than person, entirely motionless except for the set of claws softly tap, tap, tapping– at his arms, and the gentle swish of his tail against the floor.

—-------------

“Alright, I’m headed in. Keep an eye on the video feed, I don’t want any surprises.”

“Will do,” Ranboo’s voice said, playing through the wireless comm nestled in Tommy’s ear with a slight crackle of static. He could hear the faint and gentle hum of the Icaelo’s electronics system in the background. “Anything I should watch for in particular?”

Tommy shrugged, strolling up the flawless walk that led to the Museum's main entrance. Finely trimmed bushes in exotic reds and purples lined each side of the stone path, strange metal sculptures sticking up out of them at odd, no doubt artfully tasteful angles. They shone bright underneath the light filtering through the artificial dome overhead, splintering the orange glow of Abiti-C3 like the prismed roof of a gigantic greenhouse.

“I mean, if you see someone trailing me with a blaster or some shit–”

There was huff of laughter over the headset. “Sure, I’ll make sure to let you know if you’re going to get shot.”

“Thanks Ranboo,” Tommy muttered good naturedly, making his way up the massive stone steps to the front doors. “Really appreciate that.”

The Enderian broke into genuine laughter, static crackling in his ear. Tommy tried not to wince, mentally cursing the distance between the hangar located outside the dome and the Museum itself. Sure, it was a pretty smart system overall. The location worked great for easy, smooth landings and takeoffs without jeopardizing the carefully curated atmosphere of the dome, but still. It fucked with his radio. Not cool.

He gave his head a little shake, trying to clear it, and stepped through the oversized front doors.

The lobby of the Museum was just as extravagant as he expected. The carved stone ceiling sailed high overhead, antique-looking brass-like fixtures dangling from it between large circular skylights, lighting up the airy space. Highly polished tiled floors swirled intricate woven patterns across the floor, trailing away through archways into the wings, continuing on into the exhibits. More exotic plants lined the edges of the room. A broad, wooden reception desk stood directly in front of him, with two workers behind it. A spread of brochures littered the countertop.

“I’ve already got visual on you,” Ranboo said quietly in his ear, and Tommy’s eyes briefly jumped up to the camera tucked behind one the large stone pillars flanking the entrance. “Act natural.”

In response, Tommy winked at the camera and strolled deeper into the lobby.

“Spades–” Ranboo groaned.

“Oh, don’t get all huffy with me,” Tommy breathed, barely audible. His lips hardly moved, even with the scarf over his face. “I know what I’m doing. Just sit back and enjoy the show.”

Reluctantly, the comm channel went silent.

The lobby was fairly full, which wasn’t surprising for this time of day. Good. The more people he had for cover, the better.

Tommy sidled up behind a group of visitors clumped in front of the desk. A family, he guessed. They all shared the same reptilian tails and scaled feet. One of the receptionists was chatting to them, gesturing about the Museum with enthusiasm, no doubt giving the usual spiel about their incredible collection of antiquities. The other receptionist’s eyes slipped over to Tommy, their brow raising at the sight of his run down coat and unusual, boldly striped scarf.

Tommy didn’t falter, coming right up to the desk with a swagger and a false, bright smile.

“Hello,” he greeted smoothly, eyes flitting to their name tag. “How’s your cycle been?”

“Fine,” they replied, curt. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Nice weather out there, innit?” Tommy asked, ignoring both the question and the sounds of Ranboo complaining over the headset.

The receptionist’s mouth opened, perhaps to respond, perhaps to tell him to get the fuck out before he broke something, but was cut off by the ring of the desk comm machine. They held up one of their two fingers, telling him to wait, before turning around to press a button to answer the call.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, observing the way they turned their back to him completely, their insect-like wings fluttering in irritation at whatever was being said on the other end of the receiver. He glanced down at the spread of brochures in front of him, eyes skimming over the titles. Inching around the desk, casual, so as not to drag either receptionist’s attention back on him, he set a hand on top of one advertising a map of the exhibits in bold lettering.

In the same movement, he leaned over the counter, eyes scanning the documents posted along the false wall framing the desk, where something resembling a calendar was hung, surrounded by other notes and posters, lists of events or ads for new exhibitions.

“What are you doing?” Ranboo’s voice hissed in his ear, “They’re going to recognize you when you come back tomorrow if you wait around too much longer, you can’t just stand there–”

Tommy ignored the nervous ranting, squinting at the calendar. Satisfaction settled in his gut when he caught sight of a blank box under tomorrow’s date. Beside him, the family of lizard-like beings thanked the other receptionist and began shuffling away.

In one smooth, swift move, Tommy slid the brochure off the counter and strolled away from the front desk, following behind them. The second receptionist’s eyes slid right past him and his group, alighting on a new patron entering in through the front doors instead.

There was a heavy sigh of relief from Ranboo. “You’re going to give me a heart attack, I swear to god–”

When he was out of sight of the front desk, Tommy split away from the family, who peeled off into one of the side exhibits, chattering excitedly to themselves in their native language. Behind the reception desk, the majority of the main lobby space was taken up by a massive holographic projection. Creus-14 floated a foot above the ground, easily fifteen feet wide in diameter, not including its rings. Around it orbited each of its moons, proportional in size to the planet. Little labels drifted above each body, rotating through a series of languages every couple seconds.

Tommy watched, amused, as a small child ran up and poked one of the moons, giggling as it drifted out of orbit and back again. Their guardian came up and gently pulled them away.

“Honestly,” Ranboo continued, ”I feel like this really isn’t worth the risk. I didn’t want you to have to expose yourself like this–”

Casually moving away from the entrance, located on the south end of the building, Tommy circled around the projection toward the East wing. He unfolded the brochure with a snap, like one would a newspaper. He projected an air of keen focus as he moved, pretending to use the map to navigate. The layout of the Museum had been committed to memory days ago.

“...Hey Ranboo?” he asked sweetly, once he was clearly out of earshot of the front desk, face buried in the brochure. Even then, his voice hardly reached above a whisper.

“...good enough with the info we have–What is it?”

“Is there someone pointing a blaster at me right now?”

Tommy could practically hear the confusion as Ranboo clicked through the camera views linked to the Icaelo’s dashboard, unsure as to why Tommy was asking. “Uh, no? Not that I can see. Why?”

“Really? Not a single one?”

“...No?”

Tommy fought hard to keep a scowl off his face. “Then stop fuckin’ prattling at me over the headset.”

He stepped through the northernmost archway into the East wing, looking very interested in reading the map as he passed by the security guard posted at the entrance. His eyes flicked to their belt, taking inventory in a split second.

Standard issue blaster, most likely plasma. Could be retrofitted for tase charges. Flashlight. Long-range radio comm, by the looks of it. Holopad on the wrist.

Tommy floated on without even faltering for a second.

He moved through the Museum with ease, stopping to read a plaque or two with easy feigned interest, nodding appreciatively at the centuries–old mining tools of this or that civilization, gasping in delight at a horrible display of art that honestly looked like a toddler’s finger painting, but somehow considerably worse.

Hey– he just stole the stuff. Tommy never claimed to be particularly interested in any of it.

Finally, he slipped through a smaller archway and into the room titled “Codexes, Manuscripts, and Tomes: The Literary Works of A Hundred Planets” on the map. Quite the riveting title.

Tommy carefully folded the brochure, holding it politely in front of him as he wandered through the exhibit, accompanied by a few patrons milling about the room. He kept an eye on the entrances, taking his time as he circled the space.

He walked past Case 58, not even sparing it a glance, despite another indignant noise from Ranboo in his ear. Instead, he wandered to one of the display cases along the edge of the room, scanning over the case with acute interest.

Relatively thick, no doubt sensor-imbedded glass. Typical. Safety glass no doubt, meant to protect the item in case of breakage. Makes one hell of a mess, though.

He leaned closer, pretending to try to read the page of the opened book before him, something scribbled in a language he could care less about trying to decipher.

Shooting a quick glance out of his peripheral, he confirmed that none of the other visitors were paying him any attention. He shuffled to the side, orienting his body in a way he knew would block the camera posted in the corner of the room, nearly directly overhead.

With a quick, fluid motion, he ran his hands around the seam where glass met stone pedestal, searching. Once he found what he was looking for, Tommy pulled away from the case, a carefully hidden smile on his face. He slipped out of the exhibit and into the hall beyond.

“I’m coming back to the ship,” he breathed, giving a polite nod to a patrolling security guard, who returned it and continued on in the opposite direction.

“That’s it?” Ranboo asked, incredulous. “You didn’t even glance at Case 58!”

Tommy shrugged, passing through the archway from the East Wing into the main lobby, drifting past the hologram. He flicked one of the moons as he went by, lips quirking at the way it bobbed. “Don’t need to. Between this and Wilbur’s files, I’ve got everything I need.”

He high stepped it out the front door, giving a cheery little wave over his shoulder to the receptionists. They ignored him. Rude.

In the blink of an eye, Tommy was down the marble steps, the line of tension unnoticeable to an outside observer leaking out of his shoulders. He buried his hands in his pockets, his right inevitably finding the little disc buried there, spinning it between his knuckles in time with each step.

“I’ll be back to the ship in five,” Tommy announced, glancing down at the holopad on his wrist, “We’ll debrief, get all our shit together, and tomorrow morning, it’s go time.”

“Alright,” Ranboo said, reluctant. “See you in five.”

—------------

The next day came quickly. As the local star poked above the horizon of the small moon, the dusty orange light found the two boys in the Icaelo’s cockpit, preparing for the final stage of their plan.

“So,” Ranboo said, ruffling the lace-lined collar of his coat, “How do I look?”

“Like you’ve got the galaxy’s biggest stick up your ass,” Tommy responded, not even bothering to glance up from where he was situating a collection of tools into a small messenger bag.

“Oh. Perfect then.”

Tommy snorted, shoving the last of his gear into the bag and snapping it shut. “Think that highly of the Vhoidian court, eh?”

“Trust me, there’s nothing worse than nobility.”

Tommy snorted. “Amen to that.” He stood up, shouldering the bag. “Alright, I’ve got my gear and my disguise, you’re all dolled up–”

Ranboo raised an eyebrow, gaudy earrings jangling as his long ears flicked. “I’d hardly call a change of clothes for you a disguise.”

“And why not? That’s what we did for you, innit?”

“Well,” Ranboo said, gesturing down at his outfit: the silken coat, pressed slacks, golden caps placed to hide the jagged edge of his left horn, “I’m playing the part of a bratty aristocrat. That’s the whole point of all this finery. You just put on a sweater, a decent jacket, that terrible hat, and swapped your scarf for a polycarbonate face mask and called it a day.”

Tommy shrugged, turning away to pull up a few blank screens on the Icaelo’s dash.

“I just don’t get how they’re not going to recognize you after you spent so much time in there yesterday,” Ranboo continued, voicing the worry he hadn’t shut up about since Tommy had made it back to the Icaelo.

Leave it to him to manage partnering up with the galaxy’s biggest fuckin’ worrier in entire history of worriers, ever.

“Word of advice?” Tommy glanced over his shoulder, “Never underestimate someone’s tendency to only look for what they expect.”

He focused back on the screens, booting up the program that Ranboo had been using to access the Museum’s cameras yesterday. The software had originally been his own shaky work, serviceable, but inefficient. It used to short out sometimes, dropping the loop, shutting down the feed entirely rather than doing what it was meant to do. That was until Tubbo got his hands on it.

One offhand comment, and Tubbo had buried himself deep in the code, shaping it up into cybersecurity risk worthy of intergalactic panic in a mere handful of hours. It was incredibly impressive to watch. Hacking into cameras, tapping feeds, forcing loops? A walk in the park for him, now.

…Tubbo scared him, sometimes.

“Okay, this is pre-programmed to start looping the cameras in the Literary exhibit once you execute the command. Wait to press it until you’re on your way out of the ship. The less time they have to notice something might be off, the better.”

Tommy straightened up, adjusting the newsboy cap pulled over his hair, dusting off the front of his second-hand blazer. His neck felt oddly exposed without the familiar weight of his scarf. “Your earpiece still working?”

“Yup,” Ranboo tapped the small device, sending a slight crackle of static into Tommy’s own ear. “Everything’s online.”

“Great.”

He turned around, giving the cockpit and his partner one more critical once-over. He eyed Ranboo’s fancy outfit, the way that he held his head high, already attempting to get into character. Tommy had to admit– to an outside observer, the sight was pretty convincing.

“Alright then!” Tommy clapped his hands, adrenaline already humming in his veins with anticipation. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

Ranboo let out an excited whoop!, eyes bright. Tommy held out a fist, leaving it in the space between the two of them. He waited for the response, frowning when Ranboo just stared at the outstretched hand in bewildered confusion.

“C’mon man,” Tommy urged, giving his hand a little wiggle, “Fist bump. For good luck.”

Hesitantly, Ranboo raised his own hand, balling up his four fingers, holding it in the air. The idiot still didn’t complete the gesture, staring down at their fists with a furrowed brow.

“...I don’t get it.”

Tommy huffed, grabbing the other’s wrist with his free hand and pushing their fists together, gently. “Like this, see?” Ranboo watched, brow furrowed in concentration. “Fist bump.”

Tommy released his wrist. Carefully, Ranboo bumped his fist again, and then a second time, a smile breaking out on his face. He grinned down at Tommy, eyes crinkling up at the corners. He did it again. “For extra good luck.”

“Yeah big man,” Tommy said, eyes locked on their fists. His voice was unusually soft. “For extra good luck.”

—-----------

Tommy strolled down the walkway to the Museum’s main entrance, humming under his breath. The grand steps loomed before him, more daunting than they’d felt the day before, the intricately carved pillars boxing in the door like prison bars.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He needed to be sharp. Focused. There was never room for mistakes, not for him. Especially not this time, with someone else on the line.

Subconsciously, Tommy’s hand slipped into his right pocket, where the little disc had been transferred from his usual coat. He rubbed a thumb over the surface of it, twirling it between his knuckles.

”...Don’t you act like you can steal for shit, kid. You’re bragging to the guy who caught you red handed and should’ve had you arrested.”

“Pft–” Tommy waved him off. “I was having an off day. That doesn’t fuckin’ count.”

The familiar helmet titled curiously, a grin peeking out between the mandible-like bottom of it. “Really? That’s the excuse you’re going to stick with?”

“Oh, definitely.” Tommy’s face split into a shit eating grin, pulling his hands from where they’d been innocently clasped behind his back. A standard, Council-issued blaster dangled from his fingers. Tommy tipped his head to the side, mocking, as the knight’s jaw fell open. “Got sticky fingers ‘n shit, don’t I?”

“Wha–” The knight patted down his holster, eyes going wide when it turned up empty. “How the hell did you– give me that!” The gun was snatched from his hands as Tommy cackled. “You annoying little child.”

“C’mon,” Tommy said, still fighting back giggles. He nudged the knight’s shoulder, pulling the disc from his pocket and flipping it in the air. “Let’s go play cards. I’ve remembered another human game I can teach you.”

“Fine.” They started moving down the hall, the knight glancing over his shoulder as they went. Tommy didn’t pay it any attention. “But you better stop taking the cards and hiding them under the table this time.”

“I thought you said I couldn’t steal for shit?”

“...Shut up.”

Tommy sighed, dropping the disc back into his pocket and pulling his hand away. Now was not the time for him to wallow in past bullshit. This job was counting on him keeping a clear head, and he needed to do it.

“Alright, I’m at the steps,” Tommy whispered over the comm, beginning the climb to the front door. He glanced at the holopad strapped to his wrist, taking a quick mental note of the time. “Call reception sixty seconds from now. Remember: the moment I’m through that door, comms are for emergency use only. We can’t have either of us distracted.”

”Number is dialed and ready to go through the burner system,” Ranboo responded, still in the cockpit of the Icaelo. For now, at least. “And I know. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself this time.”

“Love to hear it. How’re the cameras?”

“Loops are in place, the program is running perfectly. You said that Tubbo made this?”

Tommy couldn’t help the twinge of pride in his chest at the mention of Tubbo’s work. “Damn straight.”

Ranboo let out a low whistle. “Man, that’s impressive.”

“He used to be a hacker or some shit, I think. I dunno, he doesn’t like talking about it.” Tommy had reached the top of the steps. All that stood between him and the start of the riskiest job of his life was that wooden door. “I’m at the top. Heading in.”

A faint smile spread across his face, fingers twitching for the tools resting in the bag at his side. Show time, motherfuckers. “Godspeed, Boob Boy.”

Ranboo’s eye roll was practically audible, but he still chimed back, “Goddesses with you, asshole.”

“Aw–and here I thought you weren’t the sentimental type.”

With Ranboo’s laughter in his ear, Tommy was through the front doors.

Chapter Text

Tommy needed to go to the bathroom. Like, actually.

That was their plan, as stupid as it sounded.

The breakdown went like this: Tommy would enter the place first and vanish off into the grand halls to find an innocent and inconspicuous place to hide. This, they had decided, would be the bathroom just outside the main lobby, facing the East Wing. A minute after Tommy entered, Ranboo would call the front desk, and in his best prissy-bitch voice, demand a private tour of the Museum. Emphasis on private. Hopefully, with a few good, subtle threats, maybe even some hints at lining some pockets with the Vhoidian royal coffers, and security would start clearing the exhibits of any patrons.

Tommy’s first job was to get the hell out of the way and wait out the purge. Then Ranboo would arrive, start a big fuss, and take the staff in the opposite direction of the East Wing. With the Museum sufficiently cleared, Tommy would be free to sneak his way over to the Literary Exhibit, entirely unimpeded. He’d break out the book, place it in the bag with his tools, and slip out a side door. Once clear, he’d give the signal to start their exit. By the time Ranboo finished with his theatrics, Tommy would be securely on the Icaelo, engines up and running for a quick, clean escape.

In the end, The Museum staff would be none the wiser until they were far, far gone from Piallene. Ranboo would have his book, Tommy his bragging rights, and everyone would ride happily ever after into the starset.

Of course, that was assuming that the plan would work.

And it better. Tommy hadn’t spent the past however many days busting his ass with Ranboo trying to come up with a way to rob this place just for it all to go to shit at the last minute. If anything went wrong, he was blaming the Enderian.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his nose, grounding himself. Careful to keep his steps measured, Tommy moved away from the entrance, approaching the front desk. The path to the bathroom would take him right past the receptionists, and despite the confidence that came with his experience, a pebble of anxiety couldn’t help but sit heavy in his gut.

Pasting a friendly, calm look on his face, he strode toward the right side of the lobby. The rock in his stomach grew heavier when he recognized the insect-like person manning one side of the desk. The same receptionist from yesterday. Fuck. That was unlucky.

Their eyes drifted over to him, alighting first on the dated, newsboy-esque cap hiding most of his curls, slipping down to the worn tweed jacket and the messenger bag. C’mon, Tommy thought, forcing his steps not to falter. Fall for it. Why would some obnoxious guy like me ever wear nerd shit like this?

After a second, the receptionist’s gaze drifted away, focusing back on whatever work they had scattered on the desk. Tommy sucked in a quiet breath, relief blooming in his chest.

See, you do what Tommy does for a living long enough, and you pick up on a few things.

One, people are far, far less observant than you think. The moment you start paying attention, you learn just how little everyone else does. Two, when people do bother to look, they tend to see what they want to see. Like he told Ranboo earlier– never underestimate someone’s tendency to only look for what they expect.

As much as Ranboo had bitched about the risk they took in the place yesterday, Tommy had acted the way he did for a reason. This job would be impossible to do without knowing what type of security measures those cases had, and to do that, he needed to go inside. But if he went inside, as Ranboo had so kindly and constantly pointed out, Tommy ran the risk of being recognized.

The solution? Tommy had aimlessly strolled in here yesterday, shabbily dressed, suspiciously dressed, with an eye-catching scarf on to boot. He’d greeted the receptionist loudly, confidently. He’d taught them to expect someone grubby, someone in-your-face the next time he walked through those doors.

This time, though, he was in neutral, drab colors. Hair combed, a nice, dark mask to cover his face. Quiet manner, unassuming, moving through the space with a purpose.

As a result, their eyes slipped off of him like water.

This was the importance of prep work and knowing your shit. Ranboo could get him as much info on staff counts and camera locations and display case numbers as he wanted, but few people bother to keep track of who is going to be working when. One small oversight, too much focus on seeing the staff as a collective enemy and not each member as an individual problem, and they would’ve been caught the moment Tommy stepped through those doors a second time.

In conclusion: if Ranboo had attempted to pull this off by himself like he’d originally intended, he would’ve been so utterly fucked, it was barely funny. Man, that idiot really owed him.

As Tommy moved past the desk, preparing to turn into the East Wing, the distinct sound of the comm system ringing floated through the lobby. It drifted up to the high, elaborately carved ceiling, echoing about the room. Tommy grinned, knowing full well who was on the other end of that line.

No going back now. They were committed.

He beelined for the bathroom door he knew would be a few paces down the hall, the thrill of it all thrumming under his skin.

Their heist had officially begun.

—---------

Ranboo felt like he was going to throw up.

This, in fact, was rather unfortunate, considering he had approximately twenty-seven seconds left before he needed to make the most important phone call of his life so far.

“Deep breaths,” he told himself, resisting the urge to fidget with the earrings dangling heavy from his ears. His tail repeatedly wound and unwound itself around his calf. “Just like Captain taught you. In and out. Steady. Focused. You can do this.”

The bright “call” button on one of the Icaelo’s dashboard holos glared up at him. He began to sweat. Goddesses, maybe he should just comm Spades and tell him to scrap the mission because honestly that was sounding like the better option at this rate–

No. No.

Ranboo shook his head, trying to clear it. He couldn’t go talking himself out of this.

They were here for a reason. Ranboo was not going to give up, not this close. Not with so much at stake. He’d been set on this path for a year now, and he refused to choke in the home stretch. Not when he’d spent so long trying to find the right answers, trying to figure things out, not ever since–

”Ranboo,” Captain Philza said, pacing in front of his desk, Ranboo’s eyes skittishly tracking the movement, “I want–” he sighed, weary, before correcting himself, “No, I need to ask a favor of you.”

Ranboo’s fingers twitched, tail curling with nerves, wrapping around the legs of the wooden chair he’d found himself in, seated in the Captain’s office. He’d woken up a bit groggy today, mind scattered even more than usual. It was hard to think.

“A favor, Captain? What for?”

Philza smiled at him, although the look was a little strained. “You know you can just call me Phil, remember?”

Ranboo didn’t. His mind had too many holes in it right now. He nodded, though, pretending. Phil, he recited in his head. It’s Phil. Not Captain, not Philza. Phil. Remember that. Remember remember remember–

“Alright. Good. Look, I know this is a lot to spring on you at once, but Tech just got back from a mission with a new member. It’s– well, I suppose you’ll see for yourself soon. The guy is a bit of a mess, if I’m honest. We’ve already cleared him to join the Syndicate, even without the usual precautions. Special case.”

“Like me,” Ranboo murmured, used to the sound of those words. Special case. That was him.

“Like you,” Phil parroted, feathers ruffling, “We need a space to put him. You’re currently our only full-time on-base member without a bunkmate, and–well. I think it would be the best choice.”

“You want me to room with a random stranger?” Ranboo chirped, sitting up in alarm. “Philza– I mean– Phil, I can’t– I don’t know if–”

“Ranboo,” Phil leaned over the desk, fixing him with a firm, but empathetic gaze. “I understand your hesitation, but I’m going to be blunt here. He’s a planetary outcast, like you. But not by choice. He didn’t just leave, he escaped. It’s not easy giving up your home, and I know you understand that better than anyone.”

Phil straightened up, pity etched on his face as he looked at Ranboo. He wasn’t quite sure who it was for: him, or the new guy. “Who knows what else he’s lost. If anything, he’s going to need your help the most.”

Ranboo’s hands gripped the armrests of the chair, claws digging into the wood. “I don’t know, Phil. I–”

A shrill alarm tore him out of the memory, the sixty second timer depleted. He startled, scrambling to shut it off. Ranboo swallowed, turning back to the dreaded call button. A strong sense of determination was brewing in his chest, and he focused in on it, using it to fight back the anxiety creeping up his limbs. He could do this. He had to do this.

With a deep breath, Ranboo jammed his finger into the button.

The comm system rang. And rang. Ranboo began to sweat again, the repetitive run of notes grating to his ears.

Finally, on the third ring, the call connected.

“Greetings from Paillene, home of the treasured Museum Véteris Culturæ, the galaxy’s finest collection of art, artifacts, and antiquities. You’ve reached the Museum’s front desk, how may I help you today?”

Channel your inner asshole, Ranboo, he told himself, sticking his nose in the air, You’ve got this.

He sniffed haughtily into the mic, pitching his voice up a bit. “Took you long enough to answer. What kind of operation are they running down there these days, hm?”

There was a split second of silence on the other end of the line, the receptionist no doubt caught off guard by his attitude. “I– excuse me?

“This is meant to be a well organized establishment, is it not?” Ranboo scoffed, eyes going wide with surprise at how naturally the words slipped out, “If you’re going to go about claiming you house the ‘galaxy's finest collections’, you might as well act like it.”

“I’m sorry, sir– how might I help you today?”

“That’s Lord to you,” he snapped, tossing his head, feeling the earrings jangle, “And I would like to request that you prove such an impressive claim to me today.”

“L-Lord?” The receptionist stammered, and Ranboo would nearly feel bad for stressing them out like this if he weren’t too busy trying to keep his own head straight, “My sincerest apologies, my Lord. Might I- might I politely request what planet you hail from?”

“Vhoid,” Ranboo replied, so full of false pride the word tasted like golden dirt in his mouth, “I presume that you know it?”

It was a dumb question. Everyone knew of Vhoid. When the ruling nobles of a civilization had a collective ego bigger than the planet they inhabited, the topic tends to become hard to avoid.

“Of course! How could we not. It’s an honor, my Liege, truly.”

“Wonderful,” Ranboo drawled, sugar-sweet and faker than hell, “With that in mind, I’d love to grace such a fine establishment as yours with my presence. I’m sure I’d find your collections up to my standards?”

The receptionist painted a thin veneer of polite patience over her words. “I’d surely hope so. If you’d like to come for a visit, we’re open for public viewings from–“

“Well that won’t do.”

The receptionist trailed off, perplexed again. “I’m sorry?”

“Public,” Ranboo repeated, sneering. “As much as my interest has been piqued, I refuse to share my patronage with the common riff-raff. Absolutely not.”

“But, my Lord–“

“Clear it out!” Ranboo demanded. “I want it empty. I want privacy, you understand?”

“Yes, but really–“

“Wonderful! I’m glad you’ve figured it out” He clapped his hands, smiling now. “I’ll stop by today. I look forward to enjoying such a sophisticated establishment as yours.”

Please just agree, he begged, Please just go with it.

The receptionist cleared their throat, and Ranboo’s heart sank. Goddesses damn it. “I’m sorry, your Lordship, but I cannot just order everyone to clear out of the building due to the fact that you’re requesting the Museum to yourself. That’s not policy. If you’d like, I can schedule a private visitation for a future date?”

Ranboo sighed, hoping the sound came across as irritated rather than the rushed exhale of a held breath that it really was. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I apologize.”

“Hm.” He leaned back in the chair, fiddling with his claws. “And you cannot possibly make an exception?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“And what if,” Ranboo sat back up, leaning close to the holoscreen and its mic, “the Museum were to receive a– well, let’s just call it a generous donation on behalf of the Vhoidian Court in the next couple of cycles? What then?”

There was a pause on the other side of the line. Ranboo’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon–

“…If that were to be the case,” the receptionist said, slowly, “Then I believe I would be allowed to grant an exception to our policy. But only if.”

Ranboo’s face broke out into a smile, a true grin this time. “I’m glad you’re smart enough to see things from my perspective. For a moment there, I thought we might have been struggling. Now please, get about clearing out the Museum. I’d like to visit soon.”

“Of course my Liege. I’ll contact the other staff to begin preparing for a private viewing.”

“Good. My ship shall be landing in the next ten minutes. Expect me in fifteen.”

There was a strangled noise of alarm on the other end. “I–fifteen? But–Your Lordship–!”

Ranboo slammed his hand over the end call button, abruptly cutting the receptionist off. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he slumped back in the chair, groaning. Goddesses, he hadn’t even gone inside the Museum yet and he already wanted to be done.

He glanced at the holoscreen, noting the time. Three minutes to breathe, and then he had to move.

Ranboo scrubbed a hand over his face, collecting his frayed nerves. This wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot. It was one thing to keep up a character over a brief phone call, but doing it in front of a group of people? Now that was an entirely different story.

Well, he was just going to have to suck it up, wasn’t he? Ranboo straightened up, dusting off his jacket. He caught a hint of his reflection in the viewport’s glass, and jutted out his chin, staring himself down over the bridge of his nose.

His friends back on base always said that he could be intimidating when he wanted to be. Those comments always went dismissed, waved off by Ranboo’s sheepish hands. Now though, he tucked those vague memories close, using them to fuel the nasty fire he’d set ablaze in his own eyes.

Glancing at the time again, Ranboo jumped to his feet, straightening the lacy collar of his shirt. He paused for a second, peering at the knuckles of his hand, feeling the phantom press of Spades’ rough, busted fingers against his own.

A wry grin appeared on his face. He had double-good luck on his side. This was nothing. Spades had said so.

He held onto that thought, doing his best to shake off the last remains of his anxiety as he made for the ship’s cargo ramp.

Briefly, he wondered how Spades was doing. Hopefully, with all his experience, the thief was faring better with the nerves than he was.

—---------

Tommy was, in a lack of better terms, shitting bricks.

Considering the fact that he was currently standing on a toilet seat, the metaphor seemed appropriate.

Outside the bathroom door, he could hear the static buzz of a security guard’s comm, the guard himself encouraging people to move along, an undercurrent of impatience in his barking tone. He was planning to check the bathroom next. Tommy had heard the one sided chatter over the radio, hence the fact he was inside a locked bathroom stall, feet on the seat, and breathing as silently as possible.

He’d known it was a possibility they’d check the bathrooms. Obviously, if they were emptying out the building, they’d search the place. He’d just hoped, perhaps naively, that with only fifteen minutes to clear the entire complex, they’d be less thorough.

Apparently not. Just his fuckin’ luck.

The door to the bathroom creaked open, heavy footfalls following. Fuck– he really hoped that whatever species this guard was, it wasn’t tall enough to see over the stall door. He tried to slouch a little more, holding utterly still as the comm radio crackled again with unintelligible speech.

Tommy held his breath.

“Yeah, just checking the bathrooms while I’m over here.” More garbled language. “…East Wing.”

The guard’s footsteps carried further into the room. Tommy’s muscles coiled up, impossibly tense, as the shadow stopped directly outside the stall door.

Prime, if this was the way he finally got arrested– He cringed at the thought. Once he broke out, he would never be able to show his face around Jack’s place again.

“Looks clear,” the guard reported. “I didn’t check the stalls yet though. Should I–”

More staticky noise. A grumbled, “Yeah yeah, only a few minutes left. I got it, okay? I’ll go check the back hall.”

The shadow disappeared, footsteps retreating. Tommy didn’t start breathing again until he heard the door swing shut.

He checked his wrist again, noting the time. Ranboo was scheduled to arrive in the next couple of minutes. After that, Tommy had to give it another ten minutes or so until he could be confident that the tour guides had taken the visiting “Court Member” over to the West Wing and he would be safe to emerge from the stall.

If anything with the timing or otherwise went wrong, they’d set up a number of code words that could be used to alert each other over the comms. As long as his earpiece stayed quiet, he was in the clear.

Listening carefully for the sound of any activity outside the bathroom door, Tommy hopped off the toilet on silent feet. All things considered, a bathroom wasn’t the worst place he’d hidden during a job. Vents, contrary to popular belief, sucked ass. So did wooden crates and industrial freezers.

…Don’t ask. Ignorance is bliss.

Tommy pulled his messenger bag around front, flipping open the top and peering down at his collection of tools. It was a nervous habit of his, always double and triple-checking if he’d packed everything, despite knowing for a fact he had.

Paranoia squared, right?

He sighed, glancing at his holopad again, fingers rhythmically tapping at his thigh.

The minutes crawled by. When the designated time hit and all that came from the earpiece was radio silence, Tommy unlocked the stall door. He crept out of the bathroom, ears straining for the sound of footsteps.

None came. The hall was empty.

Tommy took off for the East Wing.

—--------------

“Your Lordship?”

At the call of his faux title, Ranboo turned from where he had been admiring the large hologram in the center of the lobby, watching with hidden wonder as the moons slowly orbited around Creus in real time.

He stuck his nose in the air, back ramrod straight as a woman approached him, her two sets of heels clacking against the stone floor. Four critical eyes surveyed him, taking in his coat and ruffled collar, the earrings brushing against his jaw. He stomped down the urge to flinch away from the gaze.

Goddesses, he felt see through.

“I’m the curator of the Museum Véteris Culturæ,” the woman introduced herself, straightening one of the pairs of cat-eye glasses perched on her long nose with two fingered, clawed hands. Kinda looks like Techno’s hooves, Ranboo thought, before the reminder of Techno made his stomach squeeze again and he stopped.

“We are very appreciative of your patronage,” she continued, smiling with far too many pointed teeth for his liking. “Do you have an interest in any works in particular?”

Ranboo sniffed, straightening the sleeves of his coat. “Well, your receptionist so kindly informed me that you claim to house the galaxy’s finest collection of art within these drab walls.” He glared at the carved stone, the deep shadows cast by the warm light shining through the large, rounded skylight overhead. The craftsmanship was beautiful. “I would be very appreciative if you could prove it.”

The curator straightened, eyes narrowed. “I see. Well then.” She brushed down the front of her already immaculate blazer. “Let’s see if our collections hold anything fine enough to impress the nobility of Vhoid, shall we? I like to think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

The holotab tucked in his breast pocket buzzed silently against his ribcage, thrumming through his chest. The alarm he’d set had gone off. Time was up. Spades should be ready to move into the East Wing by now, which meant he had to clear out the lobby sooner rather than later.

Ranboo’s smile widened into the disdainful look he remembered so well, from broadcasts and news reports and parades on the street where the cheers of the crowd had always sounded more like screams to him. “Let’s hope so.” He tilted his head, towering over the curator, using every inch of his height to cast her in shadow. His fangs split his lips as his smile turned dark, creeping up to his cheekbones. Unsettling, he knew.

“I always hate to be disappointed,” he purred. “Don’t you?”

She peered back at him from behind those glasses, four eyes unblinking. Ranboo had to give her credit– this lady had one hell of a spine. She hummed quietly, turning away from him.

“This way, your Lordship.”

The curator set off, hands tucked behind her back, the sharp rap of her heels against the floor echoing in the near silent lobby. Ranboo followed, mirroring the action. His knuckles pressed against the tail of the finely made coat, feeling the hard lump of the blaster tucked into the back of his waistband. A comfort.

Without any patrons to attend to, the now aimless tour guides and security guards drifted along behind them, always at a distance.

—----------

Tommy strolled through the East Wing on silent footsteps, heading for the archway leading into the Literary Collection. He didn’t bother staying close to the walls or trying to duck around corners; if someone was in this area to see him in the first place, they had bigger problems. Besides, he was trusting Ranboo’s acting skills to keep the staff occupied, and never once had he doubted Tubbo’s programming when it came to the cameras.

Soon he had made it to the exhibit, striding through the doorway and making a beeline for Case 58.

Slipping his messenger bag off his shoulder, he knelt in front of the case, humming idly under his breath. He could feel any residual nerves settling under his skin, the faint trembles in his fingers stilling. A flare of excitement went off in his chest, creeping up his throat as he pulled the tools from his bag.

This was what he was good at. He knew it, everyone else knew it, and he couldn’t fucking wait to see the look on Ranboo’s face when they pulled this shit off the way Tommy had promised they would.

Like he had the day before, Tommy reached up and ran his hands along the seam between the glass of the case and its stone base. Just as he’d thought– all the cases were identical. Thank god.

He fished out a jumble of different metal rods on a ring, some with crimped ends, others with odd wiggly shapes, some straight and to the point. Lock picking equipment, a collection that he’d specialized and perfected over the past two years.

Masterfully, Tommy sifted through the rods until he found the right one. Craning his neck, he peered at the bottom edge of the metal plaque that sat upon the front face of the case. The plaque sat halfway embedded into the glass, the other half hovering over the stone base. It was an elegant, simple design, the slightly recessed maker’s mark stamped in the corner of the plaque. Most people wouldn’t expect the little metal piece to contain the locking mechanism for the case itself.

Lucky for them, Tommy wasn’t most people.

He’d encountered similar technology before, and most cases of this type operated the same way. They contained electronics that allowed them to be accessed using a highly secure holopad. Each case would have its own access code, and would require jumping through a near ridiculous amount of hoops just to open it. This would be more problematic if they hadn’t also contained a carefully hidden manual release.

After all, you couldn’t risk an electronic malfunction or some sort of software breach locking a preservation team or curator out of accessing highly sensitive and fragile artifacts. The last thing a museum would want to do is risk damaging something if they were forced to smash a case as a last resort. As a result, you got a manual release.

Tommy squinted up at the underside of the plaque, searching for the near invisible seam that would allow him access to the delicate electronics inside. It was nestled up against the front face of the base. Taking a razor thin tool in his left hand, Tommy wiggled it up into the seam, creating a slightly wider gap. He teased a second tool in his right hand into the space, hooking the curved edge around the thin panel. In one quick, sharp movement, he yanked downward, wrenching the panel open.

It popped out of the plaque entirely, and Tommy caught it in swift hands, setting it off to the side.

He examined the innards of the locking mechanism before turning back to his messenger bag.

All there was left to do was to fry the electronics enough that the lock would be forced open.

While such an operation seemed simple enough, the trickiest part of this maneuver was to not set off the alarm. The manual release was designed to be used when the case had been disconnected from the overall alarm system, or with the system itself temporarily turned off. One slip, and Tommy would burn the wrong section, resulting in a shrieking alert and ending in disaster.

Out of the bag he pulled an inconspicuous black box, two thin wires dangling from it, each tipped by a miniscule, claw-like appendage. This was followed by a small, pen-like object that ignited with a pinpoint tip of plasma when it was briefly turned on.

He set down the box next to the case, picking up the wires. Tubbo may be the more tech-savvy one out of the two of them, but Tommy could pull together a feat or two of engineering when he needed it.

In the simplest of terms, the box was designed to pump an electrical current through the two wires at an adjustable amplitude. It wasn’t the most sophisticated trick, but when clipped to a device such as the one in the plaque, it allowed him to keep the alarm system running while he fried the shit out of the rest of the electronics.

He’d built it out of various bastardized parts of other machines he’d picked up along the way, and it hadn’t fucked up anything major up yet. Tommy liked to see that as a win.

He pressed his cheek to the case, staring up into the thin slot with narrow eyes. Steady hands inched the two wires into the space. Transferring the wires into one hand, he shuffled his lock-picking tools around, selecting the correct one by touch alone. Gingerly, he used the tool to pin the wires into place inside the plaque, freeing up one hand to reach down and press a button on the box. There was a faint click, and the wires delicately attached themselves to the right places.

He pressed another button, glancing down at the box to note the voltage as he turned a little dial, making sure not to overdo it. The last thing he needed was to accidentally surge the thing and fry all of it at once.

With the box in place, Tommy sat back for a second, giving the device a moment to run. When there was no immediate alarm, he picked up the compact plasma torch.

It was barely thin enough to fit inside the slot, but Tommy managed. Brow furrowed in concentration, he placed the tip of the tool in the right spot. He closed his eyes to avoid blinding himself, and with bated breath, flicked it on for a mere fraction of a second.

A slight crackle met his ears, the sizzle of electronics melting into super-heated blobs of plastic and metal goo. He pulled the torch out of the space, waiting.

A second later, the glass lid of Case 58 unsealed from its base. There had never been a sweeter sound than that click and soft hiss of air.

Tommy grinned.

—------------

A lump sat deep in Ranboo’s throat, suffocating him as he followed along behind the curator, doing his best to nod politely at numerous sculptures made of every material one could think of and then some.

Amorphous blobs of metal, limbs sculpted of melted and molded silica, carved images of flora and fauna and carefully crafted deities of all shapes and sizes lined the exhibit they were working their way through. It was somewhat of a pity, the fact that Ranboo had to spend most of his energy on not throwing up all over his immaculately shined shoes instead of appreciating the artworks around them. Some of it looked kinda cool.

“...And this collection of forms off to your right was generously donated by the Arachiad peoples of W’du.” The curator inclined her head, adjusting her glasses. “My ancestral home, in fact. But being a member of such a high ranking court as you are, you obviously know about the planet and its surrounding system, so I won’t bother you with the usual trivial details I tend to share with our other guests.”

Ranboo gave her a strained smile.

She gestured at the collection of sculptures. “These works are thousands of years old, the oldest of which date back even tens of thousands of orbits.”

Ranboo peered down at the spindly shape in front of him, impressed by the way the light shined on the delicate metal, but little else. He gave a quiet hum, trying to remain focused on her constant presentation while also desperately listening for Spades’ signal.

Regretfully, no sound came over the earpiece carefully hidden by a section of his hair. The longer this went on, the more he silently begged Spade’s voice to crackle through the comm, telling him to get back to the ship.

At his rate, he was almost starting to miss the thief’s stupid jokes. Not that Ranboo would ever admit that, even to himself.

He bit back a sigh and followed the curator through the remainder of the exhibit as they methodically moved their way back toward the hall. After what already felt like an eternity of bland facts and keeping his face as impassive as possible, they left the gallery of sculptures and moved toward the next room.

The earpiece remained silent. Ranboo’s left fingers began to twitch from their position behind his back. He readjusted his right hand’s grip, crushing the nervous tic into submission.

Not now.

Unprompted, the curator paused outside the next exhibit’s archway, forcing Ranboo to stop as well. She glanced back at him with four inscrutable eyes. “...May I ask a question, your Lordship?”

Ranboo sniffed, knuckles turning grey with how tight his hands were wound together. The edge of his blaster pressed against his right wrist. No you absolutely may not.

“I suppose so.”

“What inspired such a trip out here? You have rather diverse galleries back on Vhoid already, do you not?”

Ranboo swallowed. “Why, of course. But I–”

“I mean, forgive my intrusion, but I can hardly imagine this was an efficient trip for you, coming all this way. It strikes me as peculiar.”

Ranboo’s heart was pounding in his chest, a trapped bird, wings beating against his rib cage. Oh Goddesses– His lips curled up in a manufactured sneer, fangs poking out. “Is that so? I find nothing odd about it. I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”

The curator shrugged. “I’m just familiar with how the populations of Vhoid, Enderians in particular, prize efficiency.” She turned back to the archway and stepped into the exhibit beyond, heels clicking against the floor in a rhythm that chipped away at Ranboo’s composure with each sharp tap. “This type of visit was hardly efficient for you or our staff, and yet you insisted on it.” She peered over her shoulder, scrutinizing him one more time. “As I said: peculiar. That is all.”

With that final comment, she floated away into the open gallery space beyond, leaving Ranboo struggling for air, the distant gazes of the trailing staff members searing into his back. He swallowed hard, trying to clear the doubts balled up in his throat, and followed the curator through the arch.

The room opened up into a far roomier space, free-standing walls arranged along the floors, dividing up the expanse of tile with pristine white blocks. Paintings of all sizes and mediums decorated the gallery. Even what appeared to be frescos of some kind had been cut out of their original locations and propped up in a display on the far side.

Ranboo followed obediently behind the curator as she continued seamlessly into the space, lecturing about the paintings. He made sure to nod at the proper times, offering a sharp comment or two when needed, mind still reeling.

The curator had to be on to them, right? There was no other explanation for that conversation. Unless, of course, she was just calling his eccentric behavior out as a general insult toward Vhoid and their Court? That he would understand, a general dislike of the planet was common, expected, even. But if that was the case, then why did it feel so terrifying when she looked at him like that?

Ranboo’s drifting thoughts died out as a particular painting across the room caught his eye. It was tucked near the back, half hidden behind one of the false walls and the gaudy paintings displayed upon it.

He stopped, staring at the work, perplexed. The painting looked nothing like any of the other works in the room. Ranboo couldn’t help but subconsciously drift toward it, blind curiosity carrying him forward. He stopped in front of the large canvas, squinting up at it.

The curator was still carrying on behind him, apparently obvious to the movement of her guest. He cleared his throat loudly, and the speech cut off.

“What’s–” He waved a nonsensical hand at the painting. “This? It’s rather…unusual.”

He wasn’t sure how to describe it. He wasn’t even sure what it was.

“Oh, that piece?”

The curator’s heels clacked against the floor, coming up behind him, and Ranboo resisted the urge to wince. She stopped beside him and hummed, rather disinterested. “I’m surprised you even noticed it.”

Head tilted, Ranboo studied the canvas, trying to make sense of the smears and drips of paint. Nothing came to him.

The curator continued. “It’s something called a Pollock. Human artwork. Centuries old, by now.”

Ranboo jolted in surprise at the word. Human. He blinked, suddenly staring at the mess of colors with new eyes. “You keep Human works?”

Human things rarely found themselves this far out into the galaxy. Ranboo knew that for a fact. Sure, Wilbur had that book in his shop, but that was a blackmarket vendor. Everything eventually found its way through shitholes like that.

But this? In the Museum Véteris Culturæ?

It was unbelievable.

How did you even get it? He wanted to ask, the question itching at his throat. Do you have more? Have you met one? Have you–

“Oh yes,” the curator replied airly. She gave Ranboo a tight-lipped smile, “Patrons are always fascinated to find that we house such primitive art.”

Ranboo had to fight to keep his aloof expression intact. He returned the look. “I’m sure.”

“We try to be representative of all cultures, after all. Like you said earlier, your Lordship, only the finest collections. We take pride in the work we do.”

Ranboo stepped closer to the painting, still enamored by it. Not the actual subject of the work, of course. The painting meant nothing to him. It was just splatters.

“It’s ugly,” he commented, rather honestly. He wasn’t all that surprised that humanity had been willing to part with it. From what he knew, they’d created better, both before and since.

It was just the novelty of it, the idea behind it, the proximity. The fact that after all his research and time spent looking, he’d found so little– only the barest connections. It was the reminder that for every second he stood here, masquerading as one of the very people he’d grown up resenting, Spades’ work on the other end of the building brought him closer to his goal.

“Yes, well,” the curator laughed lightly. The sound was condescending. Ranboo had to fight not to bristle at it. “One can only expect so much from such a careless people. You know, I’ve heard a few remarks over the years wondering at how they even found time for art in between poisoning their own mother planet. I can’t help but ask myself the same thing.”

Ranboo pursed his lips, tail curling against his leg, wrapping around his ankle. “Perhaps they weren’t all at fault for that.”

He didn’t actually know. No one had bothered to keep much track of what the inhabitants of Terra had been up to a couple centuries ago. They hadn’t cared enough, not until the Humans abandoned that wasteland of a place and the galaxy was actually forced to pay attention.

But Ranboo grew up on Vhoid. He knew better than anyone what it was like to spend each day watching ordinary people struggle, hoping they found whatever scraps of beauty they could in a world driven into the ground by the illusive idea of progress.

The curator gave him a wry smile. They both knew she didn’t agree with him.

“Perhaps.” She took a step back, turning away from the Pollock. “Come. There is more to see.”

Reluctantly, Ranboo followed.

—----------

Tommy lifted the lid from the case, shuffling back a step to set it on the ground, safely out of the way. Turning back, he stopped to study their prize for the first time.

It was a relatively unassuming book, all things considered. It was bound in what appeared to be a material similar to leather, the corners protected by triangles of finely embossed gold. The spine was gilded in the same metal, studded with delicate, pearly white stones. It contained no title, none that he could see, anyways.

In fact, now that he was looking at it, there appeared to be no writing on the cover at all. Just decoration.

Careful not to disturb the plaque in any way, Tommy reached into the case, sliding his fingers under the book. He lifted it with a surprised grunt; the sucker was far heavier than he’d been expecting.

What the fuck was this thing?

Like seriously, what could be so important about such a relatively plain looking book that Ranboo’s buyer was so desperate to get their hands on it?

He couldn’t help it. Tommy, by the very nature of his being, was curious.

That’s what being human meant, when it really came down to it. Hell–when he’d still been in school, those handful of years that he’d managed to get, he’d been taught about these things called “rovers” in history class. Little robot guys that humanity had used to explore the other planets in their Solar System, back when they’d still been living on Earth. He remembered one named Curiosity.

Humans were creatures driven by the need to know things, and had been for a long time. That was just a fact.

When you thought about it that way, no one could really blame him for what he did next. No one, except perhaps his future self.

He flipped open the gilded cover of the book, itching to get a glimpse at what was inside, some idea of what made this book so valuable.

Flowy, beautiful calligraphy met his eyes, so flawless it almost seemed clinical. The ink looked to be silver, but glimmered with an odd, purple hue when the light hit it just right.

His gaze drifted carelessly over the top of the page, skipping over the small, carefully penned words in a vaguely familiar language to land on a larger symbol taking up the bottom half of it. When the elaborate image registered to his adrenaline-high brain, all the color drained from his face.

He knew that symbol.

”It’s human!” One of the Council members roared, as a dozen eyes fell on Tommy’s exposed face.

Even the others kneeling on the ice-cold floor beside him, as trapped as he was, cringed away in disgust.

Tommy’s stomach lurched. He stared with wide eyes up at the Head Council, her pearly white face flat and formless as the moon, but he could recognize the revulsion swimming in her eyes easily enough.

“Kill it!” Another member shrieked, shooting to their feet. “How did it get here? What brought this filth upon us–”

Tommy could feel his presence, stationed at the edge of the dais, just out of view. He didn’t dare look, didn’t dare risk even a flinch in his direction. His eyes were still locked on the face of the Head Council, frozen in fear.

When her searing green eyes caught his, though, he ripped his gaze away, focusing on the banner hung above the set of thrones. The holy symbol of XD burned itself into his vision as he knelt below it, trembling.

Tommy violently recoiled away from the book, trembling hands flinging it away from him on instinct. He watched, mind lagging, as it fell to the floor with a deafening smack of leather against the tile. The sound rang in his ears, mingling with the sounds of furious shouts rattling around in his brain.

He stared at it, chest heaving.

“He’s done nothing wrong! Hey– Get off me! Listen!”

“Somebody shut that Knight’s mouth,” another Council member hissed, claws cutting into the armrests of their throne. Tommy watched helplessly as two other Knights peeled away from their stations, crossing the dais.

“You’re wrong about humans! You’re all fucking wrong! They’re not some–some thoughtless animals, they’re not some insect for you to crush, they’re god damn people!”

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut as a shadow fell over him.

“Don’t you fucking touch him–!”

Tommy blinked, shaking his head. Not now. He couldn’t deal with this shit right now. He was–

He’d been doing something. He was in the middle of something very important and–

”Make sure to do the extermination somewhere easy to clean–”

Tommy surveyed the room around him, thoughts and movements sluggish. Cases. He was surrounded by display cases. He wasn’t in the Hall. He was in a museum–The Museum. Which he and Ranboo were currently robbing.

Right. He was in the middle of a fucking job, which meant he had to get his shit together and focus instead of standing around like some helpless fucking idiot.

His eyes fell on the book again.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

He needed that. The book– he needed that.

Tommy staggered forward, eyes locked on the book, reaching for it.

He was so focused on getting his limbs to work, however, that he failed to remember the box sitting at his feet until he was tripping over it. Eyes wide, Tommy crashed into the ground, twisting to watch as the wires connected to the plaque’s electronics were wrenched out of place.

...Oh shit.

His stomach sank.

A hair’s breadth of a second later, the alarms started to blare.

Chapter Text

“Note the remarkable texture of this work,” the curator continued, pointing at a rather vibrant, rather lumpy looking piece. “The painting medium used by this particular sect results in a thick but luscious consistency, and as such, you may notice that the uneven quality of the brushstrokes gives the impression–”

Ranboo, whose attention had begun to drift about three civilizations and a dozen paintings ago, was suddenly snapped back to reality. His ears perked up, and he stiffened, brow furrowing slightly as he tried to determine what was wrong.

Then he heard it.

Faint, but steadily growing louder, came the high, bright warble of an alarm. The sound was a second delayed, echoing in each room as the signal traveled through the system, emanating from the East Wing.

Ranboo’s stomach hardly had time to fall through his feet before the alarm was blaring, unmistakable, inside their gallery. In front of him, the curator’s lecture halted, words dying on her lips as the sound rendered her momentarily stunned. Already, the guards that had been silently tailing them were barking orders at one another, the crackle of their comm radios sandpaper to Ranboo’s ears. Their hands rested heavily on their blasters.

He swallowed hard. ...Oh goddesses.

The curator turned to look at him, all four eyes narrowed to slits behind her sharp glasses.

Shit Spades, what the hell did you do?

Ranboo quickly straightened, trying for a haughty sniff. It fell flat, drowned out by the alarm’s screech. His ears twitched, his sharp hearing cowering away from the loud sound. He tried to hold his act together, but with the anxiety already tearing at his throat, it was incredibly difficult.

“What on Vhoid is that racket?” he snapped, bristling, “Do you and your staff truly not have any, uh–” The curator’s eyes narrowed even further, if that were possible, and his voice broke. “...S-Sense of respect? I mean honestly–”

She took a step forward, and he flinched back, haughty look faltering. “You must understand that I–”

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Her heels struck the floor, each step a death knell echoing over the wailing of the alarm. Ranboo met her pace for pace, struggling not to stumble as anxiety rocketed through his veins, stammering.

He waited for Spades to chime in over the comms, to give him a signal, anything.

The earpiece remained horrifyingly silent.

The curator said nothing, her clawed fingers flexing at her sides. He glanced at her face, trying to read the expression there, and shriveled as he accidentally caught her gaze.

By the look in her eyes, Ranboo knew. She already saw right through him. She’d already suspected him, and the cacophony of noise ringing around them only proved her right. Trying to keep up pretenses now would be a fool’s errand.

Mind running a million miles a minute, feet shuffling against the tile floor, he tried anyway.

“You– I cannot believe–”

Clack, went her heels. Step, as Ranboo tried not to trip over his own feet.

Clack, step.

Clack, step–

Thump.

His back hit one of the faux walls, gilded frames rattling around him. Trapped. “You are making a grave mistake,” he continued, jaw set. His hands were still behind his back, pressed up between the silky material of his jacket and the wall.

Slowly, he began to inch his left hand down toward the split in the back of his suit jacket, continuing his rant. “I swear, when the Court hears how you have dishonored one of their Own–”

If he could just reach–

“I sincerely doubt that,” the curator drawled, stopping a few feet away. She smiled, all cold, sharp teeth. “But it’s a nice sentiment, isn’t it? Security!”

His fingers brushed the waist of his pants.

A few guards who had not gone rushing in Spades’ direction answered her call, crowding into the room. She pointed a clawed finger at Ranboo, glowering.

His claws skimmed cool metal and finely, beautifully molded polycarbonate.

“Take him into custody,” the curator sneered, “I want him out of my museum.”

For the briefest of moments, the nearest guard hesitated, still fearful of Ranboo’s flimsy cover story. Their eyes flickered back and forth, jumping from Ranboo’s shining horns to the curator’s snarl.

It was all the time Ranboo needed. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

The curator had lost her patience. “I said to grab him! Now!”

The guards snapped out of their doubt at that, blasters swiftly drawn from belts and held at the ready. For a second, sheer panic flooded Ranboo’s veins at the sight, expecting plasma and the horrible scent of burning flesh. It was washed away by relief, though, when the weapons were powered up, barrels humming a crisp whitish-blue.

Tase charges. Painful and utterly incapacitating, but not deadly. At least, not for him.

He then recalled the fact that while charges were nonlethal to most species, they weren’t safe for all of them. Ranboo had no idea what Spades was. He really hoped the thief was something hardier than his tall, lanky frame suggested.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on this worry, though, before the guards were rushing him. One on each side, intending to pin him against the wall. Lightning quick, Ranboo whipped the blaster out from behind his back.

The guards were fast, sure, but not fast enough. Ranboo had earned his place as a member of the Syndicate for a reason.

He kicked off of the wall, picture frames rattling. Two quick shots. One, squint, pivot– two. The nearest guards’ weapons went flying out of their hands, blasted out from between their fingertips with twin shouts of curses.

Ranboo didn’t hesitate. He sprinted forward as the curator began to screech like a madwoman, yelling at the guards who were scrambling to retrieve their tasers. A third guard, who still held their weapon, lifted it and aimed for Ranboo’s head. Fired–

…and missed as Ranboo dropped into a slide, finely pressed pants gliding across the tile floor. He kicked the third guard’s feet out from under them, rolling to the side to avoid being crushed against the ground as they fell. Before anyone could blink, Ranboo was on one knee, squinting down the sights of his blaster.

Crack.

The guard who had just recovered their weapon howled in frustration as it went flying out of their hand, skittering away into the depths of the gallery.

Crack.

This time, the second fallen taser exploded in a small fury of blue light, an apparent flaw in the casing unable to take the heat of Ranboo’s shot.

Crack Crack Crack–

All three of the comm radios on their belts exploded into pieces, shrapnel spraying as the guards yelped, twisting away from the heat.

A toothy grin spread across Ranboo’s face, blaster smoking. He fired one last time, and watched with satisfaction as the guard he’d taken down lost hold of their weapon, just like the two before.

Triumphant, he began to push to his feet, a terrible quip that Spades might’ve been proud of bubbling at his lips–

Only to be slammed into the ground, head bouncing off the floor.

He hissed, vision swimming, and blinked up in near shock at the sight of the curator pinning him down with two of her feet, fangs bared, eyes blazing.

“I knew it,” she crowed, and Ranboo bucked, trying to get away from her, gasping as her heels dug into his stomach, his ribs. “I knew you weren’t what you claimed, you filthy, no good criminal–”

He managed to free an arm from where it had gotten pinned underneath him, and in a wild swipe of his claws, slashed one of the legs pinning him down. She cried out, flinching back, and Ranboo kicked up at her, throwing her further off balance.

“You,” she seethed, catching herself. “You people disgrace this Museum, these treasures of history. You disrespect my work, these cultures, try to ruin what I have so carefully built–”

Ranboo kicked at her again, and she caught his foot in one hand, claws piercing the skin of his ankle.

“Enough,” she hissed, and raised her free hand, claws bared. Ranboo twisted, wrenching out of the hold on his ankle, throwing himself to the side. He gasped as her hand raked his back, shredding through the flimsy silk of his suit. Wildly, he threw his blaster behind him and fired off a warning shot, aiming for the ceiling.

It must’ve been enough. The curator gasped and let him go, fleeing from the threat. Ranboo pushed to his feet, gritting his teeth as movement pulled at the cuts stinging on his back.

He glanced over his shoulder to see the curator glaring at him, holding a hand to the wound on her leg. The guards had mostly recovered, one on the way to retrieving their scattered weapon. He took that as his cue to leave.

Ranboo quickly backed toward the arched gallery entrance, blaster raised high. One of the guards picked up the nearest dropped taser and leveled it at him. Without blinking, Ranboo fired off another round of shots, carefully aimed, that scorched the tiles at their feet. They shouted and staggered back.

He whirled around and fled the room, refusing to look back.

Outside in the hall, the alarm was still ringing, loud and clear. Faintly, he could hear the shouting of commands, guards calling back and forth, and the sound made his heart crawl up his throat.

Shit–Spades.

He broke into a run, free hand coming up to press at his comm.

“Spades, come in! What on Vhoid is going on?!”

Nothing but the prickle of static came through.

Ranboo ran faster.

—-----------

The croaking warble of a dying siren echoed down the hall. He could taste the faint smell of smoke on his tongue, wayward dust creeping through the air and down his throat despite the worn scarf hastily thrown over his face.

The hall was empty.

Watery silver light dripped over the stark white walls, the blank floors. A spray of shattered glass glinted off to his right, winking at him. He swallowed nervously at the sight of broken windows, the shrapnel.

He took one tentative step, then another, eyes flicking back and forth down the empty hall, waiting for a shadow of any kind. The clanking of armor, the sight of shifting limbs, blasters gripped tight. Back pressed to the wall, Tommy crept away from their now abandoned room, ducking away from the pale daylight.

Which way to go?

Away from the fighting, or toward it?

Break a promise, or keep it?

The acrid scent of smoke got thicker, wafting down the corridor.

Boom.

The floor rumbled under his feet. Tommy ducked instinctively, covering his head, curled up in the shadows, bracing for a hit. No glass rained down. It was already spattered across the floor, rattling with each aftershock.

After a second, he peeked between his arms, staring down the hall. Still empty.

He let out a shaking breath.

The alarm wailed on, mourning.

Someone was shouting.

“–ades, c–– in! What on Vhoid ––– on?!”

Tommy blinked, dazed.

Cold tile pressed into his elbows, shoulder smarting with an ache that promised a decent bruise. He shook his head, once, twice, trying to clear the haunting cry of the Complex’s sirens from his ears. It didn’t help.

Shit, had he fallen? Tripped? He had to get up, if any of the Knights found him here–

He pressed his palms to the floor, hard, trying to ground himself in the chill. There was a squeeze in his chest, a pressure at his sternum that taking a greater gulp of air would not alleviate. Tommy blinked a few more times. His legs felt numb.

He had to get up, had to find him, had to escape before they lost everything.

But how was he supposed to do that when the goddamn alarm was too loud to even let him think–

He stiffened.

The alarm.

That wasn’t the Complex’s sirens. It was too loud. Too bright, too urgent.

Tommy gasped, surfacing from the memory like a drowned man breaking for shore.

That was the Museum’s alarm.

And he’d set it off.

“Oh fucking shit–”

Tommy scrambled to his feet. The cables tangled around his boots nearly tripped him again, and he ripped them away, still cursing under his breath.

“Oh shit. Oh god, oh my god–”

His hands scrambled for his forgotten messenger bag, crouching down to grab the scattered tools and shoving them inside without a second thought.

Who knew how many precious seconds he’d spent lost in his own mind? Stuck in the past, wading through memories because he was startled by some stupid symbols on a page. Fucking– symbols. Really Tommy?

He mentally kicked himself for the thousandth time that second, jittery hands cramming the wires of his box into an open pocket in the bag. Of all the idiotic things– tripping over the wires? What kinda amateur stunt was that?

The alarm continued to blare overhead, grating on his ears. With gritted teeth Tommy shoved the last of his tools inside and stood, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He scanned the area, checking for anything that he’d missed.

His eyes fell on the book lying innocently on the ground a few feet away, gilded cover shining up at him. He nearly slapped himself.

“You idiot,” he hissed, jogging over to pick it up, heartbeat thrumming in his fingertips. He scooped it up off the floor. “Yeah sure, break into a place and leave without the target, why don’t you. Fucking hell, what is going on with me right now–”

He reopened the bag and placed the book inside, more carefully than his tools, and quickly closed it up again. Glancing down at the holopad on his wrist, he cringed. They were already past the planned exit time. His heart rate kicked up even further.

The security guards could track him down any second, and he had no idea if Ranboo was even–

Tommy stopped.

Ranboo.

He pressed a finger to the comm in his ear, wincing at the split second screech of feedback. “Ranboo? Ranboo, are you there?”

Hisssss– click.

”Spades!”

Relief surged through him, breaking open the knot of worry in his chest. “Oh, thank fuck–

”What the hell is going on?” Ranboo shouted between labored breaths. ”Did you trigger something?”

Guilt swamped his stomach, but he shoved it away. He’d explain when they were back on the ship and safe. “Look, we can discuss this later, alright?”

”But–”

“Later,” Tommy interrupted, reaching down to pull out the knife hilt he’d stashed in his boot. “Are you able to get out?”

Ranboo sighed, the sound crackly with static, but plenty exasperated. ”I think so, I’m basically at the lobby, I think I can just–”

His words cut off, replaced by a shout of surprise.

Tommy’s heart soared into his throat. “Ranboo?”

Scuffling. A blaster shot. A yelp.

“Ranboo!”

”I’m fine!” Ranboo shouted back, panting. ”I’m fine, there was another staff member, I sent them a warning shot. It’s fine.”

“Je-sus man, get the fuck out of there–”

”The hell do you think I’ve been trying to do?”

Shouts outside the gallery drew Tommy’s attention. Barking orders, radio chatter. He cursed.

Out of time.

“Guards are here,” he relayed, edging toward the far entrance, the one closest to the side exit he’d memorized as his escape plan. “Get back to the ship. Try not to get tailed, and for the love of god, don’t get shot.”

”Oh wow, I hadn’t thought of that,” Ranboo snarked. Tommy could hear the slap of his footsteps as he ran down the hall, the startled cry of the receptionists as the Enderian finally reached the lobby. ”What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Tommy said, watching as the first security guard burst through the entrance to the gallery, cutting off his exit. They had four arms, like Tubbo, and a blaster was gripped tightly between two of them. He dug his finger into the switch on his knife hilt, and the weapon blazed to life, blade humming with electric blue energy. “I’m an expert, remember?”

Ranboo made a noise of alarm, realizing what he was about to do. “Spades, don’t you dare–

With his free hand, Tommy reached up for his comm, bracing his feet as a second guard rounded the corner, blaster also raised. They stared him down with six blinking eyes, clawed fingers flexing.

“See you in five, Ranboo,” he said.

“Hey!” The first guard shouted, taking aim. “Drop the knife!”

“No– Spades!”

Tommy shut off the comm.

“I said drop it!”

He smiled at the guards, shark eyes and teeth. He adjusted his grip on the knife, other hand bracing the bag at his side.

“Make me, bitch.”

–––––––––––

Ranboo’s footsteps faltered as static played through the comm, frozen up in the middle of the lobby. Had he really just–

“...Spades?”

No response.

“Spades?”

Behind him, he could hear the receptionist he’d fired the warning shot at calling down the hall for assistance. Still nothing from the comm.

Ranboo cursed, picking his sprint back up, aiming for the looming front doors with a snarl pulling at his lips.

“I'm gonna kill him.”

—---------------

Four-arms called his bluff. Tommy stifled a yelp as he ducked behind a nearby case, the spidery bullet of a tase charge streaking past his nose.

He grit his teeth, peeking through the glass of the case. Another guard had joined the first two, this one lizard like, with a lashing, scaly tail. All stood with weapons drawn.

“Well fuck me,” he hissed, mind racing. The guards systematically drew closer, falling into a tight triangle formation. He needed a plan, and fast.

His eyes darted around the room, looking for something he could use to his advantage. An additional weapon, an excuse–any last ditch feat of bullshittery that could get him out of this mess. His frantic gaze fell upon the open case sitting a few feet away, pedestal empty. His heart jumped in his chest.

…Maybe he had one last ace up his sleeve after all.

Tommy fumbled for the clasp of his messenger bag, drawing out the book once more. Book in one hand, knife in the other, he got a really, really stupid idea.

Tommy couldn’t help but crack a rueful smile. After all, stupid ideas were his forte.

“Oi, you fucks!” he shouted, shuffling forward.“I’m coming out, don’t shoot!”

Through the glass of the case he was hiding behind, he saw the security pause, glancing at each other. After a moment of silent debate, Four-arms at the front gave the others a slight nod. Good.

“Come out, then,” Four-arms ordered. “Try anything, and we’ll shoot.”

“Loud and clear, fellas. Loud and clear.” Slowly, Tommy emerged from his hasty hiding place, hands held high. Knife in one, book in the other.

“Set down the artifact, gently.”

“What,” Tommy questioned, amusement playing at the edge of his lips, “You mean this one?”

He gestured with the book, letting it creep toward the whirring blade of his knife. He hummed, watching as their fingers tightened on the triggers. “Seems a little flammable to me, doesn’t it?”

“You wouldn’t,” another of the guards, the lizard-y one, said with horror in their voice. “Do you know how valuable that is?”

Tommy tilted his head, letting the knife blade dip closer to the delicate pages. “Do I?”

“Enough,” the third guard seethed, cocking their blaster. Tommy’s stomach dropped. “Hand over the artifact, or face the consequences. Now.”

“Alright, no need to get all pissy about it. Here,” he said, “catch!”

Tommy hurled the book at them. There was a cacophony of curses as the guards scrambled to catch it, the clattering of a taser as it was dropped in their panic. Using the distraction to his advantage, Tommy lunged at them, knife at the ready.

The first guard yelped, moving his blaster to block the first swipe in a clash of turquoise sparks. His other set of arms reached for him, catching on Tommy’s jacket. Tommy ducked, dipping around them to slam an elbow in their back, wrenching the cloth out of their grip. Four-arms staggered, and he moved toward the next guard.

Lizard Guy was standing behind Eyeballs McGee, the book clutched in their hands. Eyes had their blaster leveled at Tommy’s face.

With a wide swipe of his blade, Tommy smacked it to the side, quipping, “Watch where you point that thing, dickhead, someone might get hurt,” before coming in with a punch to their stomach. Eyes stepped back, dodging the blow, swinging at him with the hilt of the blaster. Tommy caught their wrist with his free hand, using it to drag them forward, off balance.

They snarled at him, swiping with their other hand, and Tommy staggered back. The claws snagged on his upper arm and he hissed at the sting.

He retaliated with a kick that hooked around the back of their leg, knocking them to their knees. An arm grabbed him from behind, wrapping around his throat, two more grabbing each of his arms and holding him tight. The cuts on his right arm burned. Tommy bucked, jerking himself forward with the force of his entire bodyweight. Four-arms, who was apparently considerably lighter than him, went flying. They slammed into the ground with a groan next to Eyes, who was already staggering to their feet.

Tommy ignored them, locking in on Lizard, who had slowly begun to back away from the fight.

The book was still in the guard’s hands. Tommy glanced at the exit. With the other two still recovering, he had a chance. He could make a break for it. Say fuck it and ditch the book, break it to Ranboo that it just didn’t work out, sorry.

For a split second, he genuinely considered it. But then Eyes was beginning to take aim with his blaster again, and Lizard was glancing back and forth, unsure what to do, and the creeping sense of failure that was swimming in Tommy’s gut as the alarms wailed on in the background made up his mind for him.

He took a few steps back, Eye’s blaster beginning to track, and started to run. There was a shout as he jumped over Four-arm’s wheezing form. A crackle as Eyes shot a tase charge, the bolt whizzing through the air. Tommy dropped, sliding along the floor, the shot sailing over his head. He popped back to his feet, lunging at Lizard, who began to backpedal, trying to get away.

Tommy lashed out with his blade, a cut across the guard’s hand causing them to yelp and pull their arm away. Tommy lunged for the book, grabbing onto it with his open hand, starting a desperate tug-of-war as he slammed into the guard, throwing his weight around.

The book began to come loose in Lizard’s hands, and triumph roared in Tommy’s ears. He adjusted his grip, prying it away–

And was wrenched back by the strap of his messenger bag, choking as it dug into the base of his throat. Wildly, he thrashed, one hand on the book, the other gripping his knife, trying to pull away from whichever guard had a hold on him. As their pull grew stronger and his grip on the book slipped, Tommy reached up with his knife and sliced the strap, wincing as the blade dug into his chest.

Surprised by the sudden lack of tension, the guard behind him fell back, and Tommy reached for the book again, attempting to tighten his grip. His fingers reached for the glossy cover, tightened around the spine, and he yanked.

And thank fuck, Lizard lost their hold, and Tommy had it back. He had it.

He made a blind break for the exit, already mourning the loss of his bag but too close to freedom to justify going back for it. He had nearly made it there when there was the crack of blaster fire. Metal prongs dug into his shoulder blade.

Pain.

Searing pain as electricity coursed up and down his body, frying his nerves. Tommy gasped, crumpling to the floor. The book fell from his hands, his knife clattered to the ground, and he lay trembling, muscles locked tight against bone. A cry ripped out between his clenched teeth.

Footsteps approached. Clawed hands reached for the book. Radio chatter.

After what felt like an eternity, the charge shut off.

Tommy lay motionless on the ground, cheek pressed against the floor, gasping for air as the last spikes of pain worked their way out of his system. He carefully flexed his limbs, relief coursing through him when they responded.

Above him, the guards were speaking to one another anxiously, trying to determine what to do next. He cracked his eyes open, peering up at the three of them. No one was looking his way. Four-arms and Eyes were arguing, hands waving, and behind them Lizard was speaking into their radio, book safely back in their grasp.

Not a single weapon was pointed at him.

He knew humans had a decently higher pain tolerance than many of the other species out here, but was it really expected that a single tase charge would put him down for the count? What kinda idiots didn’t check to make sure the suspect was actually incapacitated? Tommy flexed his fingers, shoulder itching with the prickle of metal prongs still stuck into it.

Once again, Tommy was left with a choice.

Go for the book, or go without it?

He could feel the timer ticking down in his mind, knew he was already overdue at the Icaelo by now. No doubt Ranboo was pacing by the landing struts, waiting for him to get back and get them the hell out of there. Who knew how long it would be before the Museum contacted Intergalactic?

Fuck.

He glanced at Lizard again.

He couldn’t risk IGE. Knowing how big of a clusterfuck this heist had become, how prominent the Museum was…if they were caught here, it would be a pretty public trial. They’d reveal his face. His species.

Humans were rare around here. Too rare. IGE would broadcast his face. The Council would know. They’d know instantly.

His breathing began to pick up, ribs struggling to keep up against the cold tile beneath him.

They’d find him. Without a doubt, they’d find him.

Fuck the stupid Book of XD or whatever the hell it was. Fuck Ranboo’s friend. He’d apologize later. He’d drop Ranboo off at Syndicate headquarters, even, if that’s what the guy wanted.

But he wasn’t risking anything more for this one. He was drawing a line in the sand, here and now. That’s it. Wilbur was right; he was in over his head.

Slowly, careful to not alert the guards, Tommy drew up his limbs, getting his hands underneath himself. One hand crept forward, inching toward the handle of the dropped knife.

He eyed the exit. It was empty. Good. Above him, the security guards still weren’t paying attention, too busy with their own shit to notice.

“Three,” Tommy soundlessly whispered to himself, “two.” He took a deep breath. “...one.”

Tommy pushed himself off the floor and like a bolt was off and running. There was a chorus of surprised shouting behind him, but he didn’t look back. Didn’t even risk a glance.

He tore through the halls, shining tile flying by beneath his feet and desperately tried to ignore the familiarity of it all–the panicked rush to escape, the echoes of enraged shouting, the stinging of the torn skin on his arm, sluggishly oozing blood.

The creeping vines of guilt crawling up from his stomach, winding their way through his rib cage, waiting to eat him alive.

—--------

Tommy crouched around the corner of an inconspicuous tourist trap, catching his ragged breath.

A few yards away was a side entrance to the tunnels that led out of Piallene’s protective dome into the system of hangars outside. Through the crystalline barrier, Tommy could see the structure in which the Icaelo was parked not far away. He’d made sure they’d have a relatively quick exit. Unfortunately for him, local enforcement, the city security guards–whatever you wanted to call them–had already locked the place down. No doubt they moved into place the moment the Museum’s alarm had been triggered.

He cursed quietly, peeking around the wall of the shop. The enforcer stationed outside the entrance had one hand on the hilt of their blaster, scanning the area with rapt attention. The only lapse in their vigilance came with a slight tilt of their head, no doubt tuning into whatever status report was being relayed over the comm system the local enforcers had.

“Shit,” he muttered, ducking back, “Shit, shit, shit.”

He had to get himself and Ranboo out of here, and they had to get out now.

The community surrounding the Museum wasn’t very big, mostly a handful of shops selling kitschy trinkets and souvenirs, a few upscale restaurants, hotels and the like. Locking down the entire bubble of Piallene wouldn’t be difficult at all. If he and Ranboo didn’t get into those hangars before the Museum guards relayed the message that both of them had made it outside the building, they would be completely, royally, and utterly fucked, no doubt about it.

Fuckin’ hell, Ranboo was not going to be happy.

Biting the bullet, Tommy reached up and turned his comm back on. There was a slight crackle of static, and then nothing.

“...Ranboo?” he tried, tentative, “...You there?”

Man, he thought, please don’t let him have been arrested already. That would really suck–

“Spades?!”

“Ranboo! Thank fuck– I’m out of the Museum, I’m by one of the exit tunnels. We need to get to the hangars before they lock this entire place down–”

“Why the hell did you hang up on me? I swear to the goddesses I’m going to–”

“Okay okay!” Tommy cut in, pushing back the building tidal wave of guilt. It was like trying to bail out a sinking ship with a spoon. “Save the piss fight for when we’re back on the ship, alright? Can we focus on getting out of here please?”

“You–” Ranboo muttered something to himself in a dialect too strangled for the translator in Tommy’s comm to decipher. He assumed it contained at least one curse on his name and a handful of unique Vhodian swears. ”Fine! Fine. I’m already in the hangars, I managed to slip through one of the entrances before they had a chance to close them all off. Where are you at?”

Tommy described the area.

Ranboo hummed. “I’m not far from there, I’ll come get you. Are there guards around?”

Tommy peeked around the corner again. “Just the one. I think I can take him.”

“Do whatever. I’ll be there in roughly two minutes. Just make sure I don’t get shot.”

“Will do.”

Taking a second to steel himself, Tommy reactivated his knife. The cuts on his arm stung and his whole body ached, muscles sore and prickling from the tase charge. The charge itself dug into his shoulder blade, itching. He tightened his grip on the hilt.

If he could just get through this last obstacle, he’d be at his ship. He’d be free. Safe. Or at least, the closest thing to it.

Tommy pressed his free hand to the wall behind him, steadying its faint tremors. Ranboo needed him to take out that enforcer so he could open that door.

He swallowed. Ranboo needed him.

Counting down in his head, Tommy gave himself one last second of hesitation before he burst around the corner, running straight at the enforcer. They startled, caught unawares, and barely had time to react before Tommy was upon them.

He leapt at them, catching the arm they used to reach for his knife between his forearms, grabbing and twisting it. They shrieked at the motion, unused to someone of Tommy’s physical strength, and dropped their shoulder, probably trying to avoid getting their arm ripped out of place. Following that momentum, Tommy swung around behind them, pinning the arm to their back. Holding steady against their thrashing, he reached up with the hilt of his knife and slammed it against their temple, careful to not use too much force.

The last thing he wanted to do right now was accidentally cave in somebody’s skull.

The enforcer went down, crumpling to the ground in a heap. Shutting down his knife, he tucked it into the belt around his waist. Then Tommy reached down and snatched the blaster out of the guard’s holster, tossing it away from them and down the street, out of reach. He didn’t need to make the discovery that this person’s species recovered from head injuries especially quickly by getting shot in the back.

He stepped over the guard’s prone form, ducking into the small alcove surrounding the entrance to the access tunnel.

“Just dropped the enforcer outside the door,” Tommy relayed, “You should be in the clear.”

”Good,” came the huffed reply. Tommy could hear a tinge of echo to the sound, the patter of Ranboo’s feet against the floor ricocheting off tunnel walls. A great sign.

He tucked himself further into the alcove, back pressed against the door. Distantly, he could hear shouting winding its way through the streets. He bit his lip, trying to hold back the instinctual panic.

“Any minute would be great, Ranboo,” he said nervously, glancing at the body not far from his feet.

There was a muffled clanking behind him, the hiss of pressurized air and hydraulics. He turned to see the door slide open, Ranboo’s anxious face on the other side of it. His suit was torn in places, and he had his blaster gripped tight in his left hand.

“How about any second?” Ranboo replied, his voice doubling in Tommy’s ears, slightly delayed through the comms. He quickly shut his off, moving past the Enderian, who shut the access door again.

They set off down the access tunnel together in a jog, both scanning the way ahead, paranoid of side doors or figures hidden in maintenance hatches. The tunnel was gloomy and low, Ranboo’s horns nearly scraping the ceiling, their shoulders bumping in the narrow space. Coppery lights were set in the walls at intervals, but they were dim, casting long shadows as they ran.

Tommy could feel Ranboo’s frustration at his failure to explain what the hell was going on clouding the air, but he resolutely pushed it away, pretending not to notice the tension lining the Enderian’s long limbs.

“So much for your nice suit,” Tommy puffed out, trying to break the stony silence. “Where’d you get those claw marks?”

Ranboo glared at him out of the corner of his eye, rolling the afflicted shoulder like he’d forgotten about the injury. “I thought you said to save it for when we were back on the ship.”

Tommy grimaced. “Yeah, well…”

They’d reached the end of the tunnel, another sealed door cutting off their exit. Ranboo ignored him, elbowing past to get to the control panel set into the wall. He punched a few buttons. They waited, trying to catch their breath. The door didn’t budge.

Ranboo tried again, typing in the sequence with extra care.

Still, the door stayed shut.

Ranboo cursed. “They must’ve only shut down access going into the hangars. That worked just fine on the way out.”

“Let me try.”

Ranboo growled as Tommy scooted around him to peer down at the panel. “If it didn’t work for me, then why on Vhoid would you think–”

Tommy reached for the knife in his belt, flicked it on, and plunged it into the center of the array of buttons. The panel sparked, wiring shorting as it came into contact, the plastic melting into a foul-smelling pile of goo.

With a hiss and a clunk, the door unsealed and slid back a fraction.

Tommy flashed Ranboo a smile, pulling the blade out of the mangled panel. “Abracadabra.”

Ranboo’s eye twitched, but he turned away without a word. Wriggling his claws into the new gap in the door, he pulled it open. The door’s mechanisms complained as he forced an opening big enough to slip through.

He was about to step through it and into the hangar when Tommy caught his wrist.

“Wait,” he said. A dreadful thought was beginning to form as he considered Ranboo’s words. They must’ve only shut down access going into the hangars. The access doors were sealed shut, sure, but the tunnels weren’t the only exits. “Don’t go out there yet.”

“Why?” Ranboo questioned, annoyed. “I can literally see the ship from here, Spades. It’s right there. We’ve got a clean break.”

“No, we don’t. You think they’d lock down all access tunnels into the hangars and not close off the hangar itself?” Tommy pointed at the silver of the hangar’s ceiling they could see through the gap in the door.

Like most hangars built on a planet or moon without a habitable atmosphere, the vast majority of the roof consisted of a semi–permeable forcefield, one barely strong enough to maintain a reduced number of atmospheres inside the hangar itself, but engineered to allow ships in and out of the building at the same time. Don’t ask him how it worked, ‘cause he had no damn clue.

The normally hazy-blue forcefield had darkened into a deep sapphire, nearly opaque.

“If we try to fly through that right now, I can guarantee the Icaelo would smash right into it, leaving the two of us flatter than a fuckin’ pancake.”

Ranboo shook off the hold on his wrist. “Then what do you suggest we do? ‘Cause we’re kinda running low on options, if you couldn’t tell.”

Tommy coughed out a short, humorless laugh. “You’re gonna resent me for this.”

“You’re assuming I don’t already,” Ranboo huffed.

“I need you to reduce that field. The control station is down that way.” He jerked his thumb to the left, pointing. “Near the main entrance. If you can get down there and fuck with the controls, I can get to the Icaelo and get a launch sequence started.”

Ranboo glanced out at the ship, weighing his options. His ears flattened against his head, clearly unhappy, but he let out a resigned sigh. “Make sure you have the ramp open.” He tightened his grip on his blaster. “...I have a bad feeling about this.”

Tommy reached up to clap him on the back, but stopped upon noticing the violet–black of Ranboo’s blood wetting the shreds of his suit coat. He swallowed. “You always do.”

The joke fell flat.

Ranboo glanced at him. Tommy dropped his hand, letting it fall limp against his side. The silence between them felt immeasurably heavy.

Tommy jutted out his chin, gesturing toward the door. With a shake of his head, Ranboo slipped through the crack and disappeared.

Chapter Text

Tommy only gave himself a few seconds of hesitation before he ducked through the doorway and into the hangar. Ranboo had already vanished from sight, lost in the jungle of landing gear and jutting wings and fueling stations.

His eyes fell on the slouching form of the Icaelo docked a short distance away. All he had to do was make it there. Easy.

Tommy crept forward into the light. With a quick glance to the right and left, he darted beneath the low belly of a sleek sports ship, hiding in the shadow cast by its glaringly bright chrome wings.

He waited for a second, ears peeled for the scuff of a shoe, the hum of a blaster primed to fire, radio chatter.

When nothing came, he dashed forward to hide behind the clunky landing gear of a visiting cargo ship. The Icaelo sat only a few yards away, the familiar sight sending a wave of relief through his bones. So close. They were so close to getting out of here.

Cautiously, Tommy inched out of his hiding place, approaching the ship. He quickly circled the Icaelo’s landing gear, scanning the hull for any obvious signs of tampering. Sabotaged parts, a planted tracker– anything out of the ordinary. He found none. It seemed that they’d had some luck after all.

He moved toward one side of the ship, pulling up a command on his holopad. There was a clunk, and a small panel in the ship opened up, revealing the controls to the cargo bay. Tommy winced at the noise and the way it seemed to echo through the abandoned hangar.

He steeled himself, knowing that it was only going to get worse from here. Fighting against the instinctual need to stay hidden and quiet, he pressed the button to open the cargo ramp.

The hydraulics groaned, aged mechanics creaking as the ramp lowered. The sound felt like the equivalent of a bomb going off.

Shouts started up in the distance. His heart rate kicked up.

Before the ramp had even reached the floor, Tommy was pulling himself up through the opening. He quickly scrambled up the ladder and out of the cargo hold, running down the hall to the cockpit. Sliding in front of the pilot’s chair, he craned his neck to peer up through the viewport at the forcefield above.

It was still dark.

“Come on, Ranboo,” he muttered, anxiously tapping his fingers on the dash. “You gotta get that thing cleared up, man.”

The shouting grew louder, drawing his attention. Tommy tore his eyes away from the forcefield to see the swinging beams of flashlights on the far end of the hangar, concentrated near the main entrance. Worry for Ranboo prickled in the back of his mind.

Something in the distance popped, followed by a brief flash of light.

He glanced at the forcefield again.

It flickered.

Hope flared in his chest, watching as the deep sapphire color drained, slipping into cobalt, then cornflower, and finally landing on a misty, light blue.

His relief didn’t last long, though.

That first pop was shortly followed by a series of high-pitched, spattering whines. More flashes of light lit up the end of the hangar. The sound of blasterfire made his stomach churn, nausea crawling up his throat as the shouting increased in volume.

His hands gripped the dash, and he swallowed back bile, rattled. Tommy stared down at the controls, trying to comfort himself in their familiar wear, the blinking holoscreens, the press of the pilot’s seat against his calves.

Everything about this shitty mission–the guards, the white stone halls of the Museum, the sting of claw marks on his skin… Prime, it all just felt like he was right back–

Wham!

He jolted, blinking up at the rapidly cooling scorch mark marring the glass in front of his face.

Tommy dropped back into his body. His attention slipped past the mark, eyes going wide at the sight of Ranboo sprinting toward the ship at full tilt, ducking and weaving around landing gear as a barrage of plasma beams rained down around him.

Well, shit. Having the engines running would be no help if the ship was overrun by enforcers before they even got off the ground.

Tommy abandoned the cockpit and sprinted back the way he’d come, jumping down the hatch and into the cargo hold. He darted to the wall, punching in the command to close the ramp, starting up its slow ascent.

He hovered outside the opening, poking his head out to see Ranboo only a few yards away, still running for his life.

He quickly dropped to his knees on the closest side of the ramp, gripping the wall of the bay with one hand, reaching under the hydraulics with the other.

“Ranboo!” Tommy screamed, “Here!”

The Enderian saw him and poured on the speed, sprinting toward the ramp as it inched closed. Tommy stretched out his hand, holding onto the frame for dear life as blaster fire began to sing through the air around them.

Ranboo stuffed his own weapon into his waistband, lunging for Tommy’s proffered hand. Tommy grabbed onto him, yanking them both up and into the cargo hold, Ranboo scrabbling to gain purchase and get inside before the door shut. They fell back onto the floor in a heap, breathing hard.

Tommy began to push himself upright, prepared to haul them both to their feet. A shot whizzed right past his ear. He yelped in surprise, falling back as the beam of plasma missed by inches, melting a hole through a storage crate behind them.

Ranboo didn’t hesitate. He rolled away onto his stomach, drawing his blaster. Squinting one eye closed, he raised his left hand, firing off a single shot. A distant howl of pain ripped through the air. It was cut off as the cargo ramp slammed closed, sealing into place.

“Up,” Tommy panted, rolling to his knees. There was a shake to his voice. “We gotta get up.”

He managed to stand. Ranboo followed suit as they both made a mad dash for the ladder. The sharp ping of metal echoed throughout the cargo bay as volleys of blaster fire rained against the Icaelo’s walls.

They popped up in the main hallway. Tommy first, who scrambled to his feet and sprinted down the hall. The cockpit was awash in odd bursts of light as he burst through the door, plasma beams splattering against the viewport. Metal began to groan. Tommy grit his teeth, heart rabbiting in his chest as he pulled up a holoscreen and booted up the idle shields.

Ranboo appeared a second later, eyes already locked on the hangar outside. A sharp hiss escaped between his teeth. “Goddesses above.”

There was a low hum as the shields activated. The shots quieted. Tommy glanced at the screen, scowling at the low bar indicating how much juice the shields still had. Considering the amount of damage the Icaelo had likely already taken, they probably had a minute of safety, max. Without the engines on and the main power source unable to fuel the shields, they were sitting ducks until Tommy got them in the air.

Ranboo tore his attention away from the security gathered outside the ship, taking in Tommy’s state for the first time outside of the gloom of the access tunnels. His eyes narrowed, chest heaving as he worked to catch his breath.

“Wait–” he said, stepping forward, “Wait a minute– Spades, where’s your bag?”

Tommy grunted, focused on trying to get the engines to start. “Lost it.”

“...Lost– What do you mean, lost it? Where’s the book?”

Tommy bristled, fingers flying over the dash as he began the rest of the ship's start-up sequence. “Really? We’re about to get our sorry asses shot and that’s what you’re worried about?”

“Yes!” Ranboo snapped, “Considering it’s the reason we’re currently being shot at!”

A growl built in the back of Tommy’s throat. “I got it out of the case, is that what you want to hear?”

“That doesn’t answer my question and you know it–”

A shrill alarm blared through the cockpit, the holoscreen displaying the status of the shields flickering red. Shit.

Tommy shoved Ranboo out of the way, pushing him toward his usual passenger seat.

“Hey–!”

A steady rumble began to build below them as Tommy pushed a sliding switch along the dash, firing up the engines. They awoke with a reluctant purr. The alarm wailed louder, Tommy cursed rapidly under his breath as the shields began to fail.

“Spades!”

Tommy risked shooting a scathing glare over his shoulder. “Sit down!”

Ranboo glared back at him, ears pinned back, tail lashing. “What the hell did you do?!”

“I said, sit the fuck down!”

With a final screech of the alarm, the idle shields flickered and died. Another round of blaster fire peppered the ship, drumming against the hull like hail.

“Shit!”

Tommy slammed the switch forward. Screw a proper ignition, they were moving, now. In the belly of the ship, the engines groaned, sputtering, before blazing to life.

Tommy fell into the pilot seat, Ranboo following suit as he scrambled for his own chair, diving into it. Tommy yanked the straps over his chest. The furious shouts filtering through the front viewport were drowned out by the cacophony of the engines, but the blasterfire didn’t let up, pelting them relentlessly over the roar.

“Hold on!” Tommy shouted, grabbing onto the yoke and yanking it back. The nose of the ship jerked skyward. The Icaelo shuddered, engines sputtering, but they pulled away from the ground, gaining speed. The primary shields kicked in as the landing gear retreated, sheltering them from the worst of the shots that came from below.

The hangar’s forcefield rapidly approached, looming above them. Tommy muttered an anxious prayer under his breath as the nose of the ship reached the dusty blue field. He really hoped Ranboo had cleared it. Becoming a human pancake would be such a shitty way to go.

His worry was for nothing. In the blink of an eye, they’d slipped right through it, indifferent.

Both occupants heaved a sigh of relief.

Clear of the hangar, Tommy pushed the throttle as far as he was willing to go. The engines screamed. He grit his teeth, a strangled yell ripping through them as he pushed the Icaelo upward. The yoke strained in his hands, the ship fighting against the steep descent despite the relatively thin atmosphere.

The security guards must have managed to fuck something up with all their trigger-happy tendencies. Damn it all.

Another alert blared through the cabin.

“Fucking hell,” Tommy gritted out, “What now?”

Ranboo leaned forward in his seat, squinting at the readout. He snarled, fangs bared. “We’re being tailed.”

“Shit. How many?”

“Two at least, a third fast approaching.”

“Shit. Okay.” Tommy sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm the quiver in his white-knuckled grip. “Okay.”

Their daring escape had just escalated to a potential dog fight. Great. Just– great.

The stolen ship’s engines roared, drowning out the distant booms of leftover explosives and the rattling sobs spilling out of his chest. It rocketed out of the atmosphere, unsteady under Tommy’s inexperienced hands.

He’d never flown alone before.

Tommy shook his head rapidly, trying to clear the creeping panic, the fog of memory. Not now. I cannot deal with this right now. One episode for the day is plenty enough, thank you very much.

“Fourth approaching,” Ranboo announced, voice tight with nerves. “What’s the plan Spades?”

Balancing the yoke with one hand, Tommy blindly reached out with the other, slapping a few buttons on the dash. There was a loud ka-chunk from beneath the floor of the cockpit. He briefly glanced behind at Ranboo, watching as a holoscreen projected from the armrest of the passenger seat.

“You know how to shoot?”

A scoff worked its way out of Ranboo’s mouth. “Are you kidding? ‘Course I do.”

“Good,” Tommy said, turning back around. The radar began to beep in earnest. “‘Cause we’re dead meat otherwise. Hold on!”

The Icaelo banked a sharp left as a round of shots skimmed past their starboard side. The ship sped along the outermost wisps of Piallene’s thin atmosphere. The drag pulled at them and the tailing ships following behind grew closer.

Tommy could hear the machinery of the mini-turret whining as Ranboo fiddled with the controls, getting familiar with the targeting system. He glanced down at the dashboard’s shield readout and grimaced at the state of it.

“Left side!” The Enderian suddenly shouted, and Tommy wrenched the yoke to the right on instinct, swerving to avoid the small ship that went flying past them and into deeper space in a poorly executed attempt to cut them off. The radar beeped again, three other ships falling into tight formation behind the Icaelo.

The ship they’d dodged banked a U-turn, coming back to barrel straight at them. They were attempting to pin him down with the other ships at their back.

Nice try, dickheads–

Tommy punched them into a nosedive, gravity tugging them down as the Icaelo plunged back toward the moon below. The security ships chasing them clumsily followed suit.

...but not today.

“If you get a shot, take it!” Tommy yelled, banking out of the dive just in time to avoid a volley of shots from above.

Behind him, Ranboo hesitated. He could feel it.

“Ranboo!”

“They’re just doing their job, Spades! I don’t want to kill anybody!”

The Icaelo whipped to the left again, Tommy swinging them wide to avoid another divebomb as the remainder of the ships poured on the speed, blasting right past them and dropping back into formation. Another spray of fire was sent their way as the ships rattled by. One beam skimmed the ship, and Tommy cringed as a list of alerts popped up on the dash.

“They’re going to kill us, did you forget that?”

“Oh yeah?” Ranboo bit back, strangled, as they started climbing back up again. “And whose fault is that?”

“For fuck’s sake–”

On the radar, a gap formed in the four security ships’ formation as one swung wide, hoping to catch them off guard with a horizontal sweep of blasterfire and herd them back toward the moon’s surface. Tommy took the opportunity, slamming down the throttle to push them up and through the gap, out of the atmosphere, eyes locked on the open space waiting beyond.

“I’m not going to shoot someone down over a book we don’t even have–”

”He’s done nothing but exist in your kingdom! Nothing! Why is that suddenly a death sentence–”

Tommy clenched his teeth, banking again. More blaster fire. Swerve left, right.

All they had to do was make it into deep enough space and he could push them into hyperdrive. Security wouldn’t be able to catch up, not in those small ships against a cutter the size and power of the Icaelo.

If he could just get out of range of their speeder ships, he would make it out alive. Fuck– he didn’t know how to drive this thing. It was foreign– white, sterile. Made him want to gag.

Tears clogged his vision, mixing with the blood dripping from gashes across his nose and jaw.

It stung.

Tommy sucked in a strangled breath, blinking away the vision of white seats and unfamiliar controls. The well-worn yoke of the Icaelo felt heavy in his hands. “At least return fire, will you? If you can’t hit them, then drive them off.”

“And how–” Ranboo snapped back as the Icaelo swooped again, “am I supposed to do that when you won’t fly straight for more than three damn seconds?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was under the impression I was currently keeping us the fuck alive!”

“Well at least I’m not the one who’s responsible for getting us caught and killed in the first place!”

“Oh, fuck off!”

”I’m just trying to protect you.”

“Don’t you get it? If not now, it’s going to be the next time. And if not then, when? I’m sick of pretending like we can make it out of this by pretending something will just– come along! We can’t rely on luck to get us out of here. You know that.”

“I have to take Orders, Tommy.”

“...You’re a broken fuckin’ record, you know that?”

The radar screeched, and Tommy blinked, screaming along with it as the Icaelo came head-on with two of the ships. He tried to swerve, to avoid the pinch, but it wasn’t enough. One ship clipped the left wing of the Icaelo. The horrible grinding shriek of shredding metal echoed through the cockpit as they were flung to the side.

The ship was sent into a violent spin. Piallene hurtled past the viewport in brilliant flashes as they were whipped around, Creus looming in the distance. Dark. Light. Dark, light, dark again–

Tommy gasped, struggling for control as the yoke fought against him. The straps across his chest grew tight with the centripetal force, squeezing the air from his lungs, flattening his ribs. Based on the strangled sound coming from behind him, Ranboo wasn’t faring much better.

His stomach crawled up his throat, guilt eating at him like acid. God, not again. I can’t do this again.

He refused to fail this time, business partner, acquaintance, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it–

Another shot nicked the ship, red lights flashing along the dash in a frenzy of panicked software.

Ranboo was not dying because of him.

Straining, Tommy dug himself out from where the force of the spin was crushing him into the seat. He tightened his grasp around the yoke, white-knuckled, and with everything he had, started to pull.

“C’mon–” Tommy grunted, forcing the yoke, the inertia of the ship fighting for every inch. “Please, c’mon–”

The ship groaned.

“Fucking– come on!”

The engines shrieked as the ship began to right itself, Tommy’s shouts devolving into a steady yell.

The furious flash of Piallene before them painstakingly slowed to a steady blink, the security ships darting in and out of view. Easing into it, Tommy felt as the yoke gradually stopped struggling against him. The pressure on his chest lessened, and he heard Ranboo take a needy gasp of air from behind.

Finally, finally, he felt a quick jerk under his hands as the thrusters overcame the spin, launching them forward. A strangled whoop of joy tore itself from his throat. Ranboo made some unintelligible, guttural noise in echo.

The victory, though, was short lived. Beneath them, the ship shuddered, and Tommy’s eyes narrowed to slits, glancing down at the radar readout. All four ships had already corrected course to follow their wobbly track. He set his jaw.

They were making it out of this, one way or another.

“Ranboo,” he called, pulling back on the yoke to send them shooting upward again, two of the tailing ships skidding by beneath them, a hairsbreadth too close for comfort. “If you don’t start shooting, I will!”

“What?” Ranboo shouted back.

“I said–!” Tommy grit his teeth, pulling back even further. Piallene crept into the upper edge of the viewport, the ship curving high, higher. “If you don’t start shooting, I fucking will!”

They reached the top of the curve. The Icaelo, still within the barest range of the moon’s weak gravity, began to fall.

Tommy reached out with one hand, pressing the command to drop the turret on the left-hand side of the ship. The machinery groaned in protest, most likely damaged when they got clipped, but the mechanism still released. A holoscreen popped up from the arm of the unoccupied passenger seat. Tommy stretched, tapping another button. The holoscreen transferred itself to the pilot’s seat.

Directly above them, all four security ships curved around in wide arcs, falling into a diamond formation. A second later, they began to dive.

“You’ve got three goddamn seconds Ranboo!”

“Are you serious–”

“Three!”

Tommy grabbed hold of the yoke with both hands.

“Two!”

“Spades!”

The security ships closed ranks, screaming toward them, blasters locked on and ready to fire. Tommy tightened his grip as the gap began to close.

“One–!”

Ranboo let out a howl of frustration. There was a grinding of gears as the turret spun below them, taking aim. Tommy bit back a sour grin. He really hoped Ranboo was as good a shot as he claimed, or his conscience was going to be a lot heavier after this.

Out the viewport, their vision was filled with metal as the radar began to wail. The ships were right on top of them.

“Now!”

A high pitched whine sounded as Ranboo fired. A streak of light shot from the Icaelo, hitting one of the ships. Another piercing shriek– a second shot. Both went intentionally wide, cutting through wings or skimming underbellies.

The second they hit home, Tommy wrenched on the yoke and the ship jolted. The engines blazed, halting the Icaelo mid-fall, rescued from its deadly plunge toward the moon’s surface. Another crank on the yoke and they twisted, shooting out from beneath the dive bombing ships. Two of them spat flames as they plunged past.

Tommy let out another whoop of excitement, slapping the dash. “That’s what I’m fuckin’ talking about!”

He slammed on the throttle, launching them forward and out of the last dredges of Piallene’s atmosphere. Immediately, he cued up the hyperdrive. He really hoped the Icaelo wasn’t too damaged to make a jump, or they were well and truly dead.

“They still tailing?” he asked, breathless, focused on trying to keep them steady and punch in nav coordinates for the nearest survivable planet at the same time. Other than the groaning protest of the battered Icaelo, he was met with nothing but a stony silence.

“...Ranboo?”

“No,” the Enderian finally ground out. “The untouched ships must’ve followed the others to guide them to the ground. All were intact when we lost sight of them.”

A small knot of dread unraveled in Tommy’s chest. Thank god.

He cleared his throat, trying to wrangle his frayed emotions back under control. “Good. Hold on, I’m putting us through a quick jump to one of the other planets in this system. I don’t think the ship can make it much further than that.”

He finished inputting the planet’s coordinates, picking a spot that seemed relatively remote enough to avoid detection. In less than a few hours, the whole system would be swarming with IGE reinforcements. They needed to hunker down out of the way, and fast.

Coordinates complete, Tommy launched the hyperdrive, throwing them into deeper space with a gut churning tug. In mere milliseconds, Piallene and her mother planet dropped out of view for the final time.

Good riddance.

Tommy slumped back in his seat, autopilot kept off. He didn’t trust it, not with the amount of knocks they’d taken, even if the last thing he wanted to do right now was keep flying. “...Fucking hell.”

Peeling one hand from the controls to scrub at his eyes, he blew out a shaky breath. His fingers were trembling. He swallowed, staring at them, trying to bite back the nausea and anxiety sitting heavy in the back of his throat.

A scream built in his chest as the stolen ship shrieked around him, bleeding smoke.

He frantically checked the radar over and over, bile building at the back of his tongue.

It was empty. He knew it would be. He’d seen the lucky shot land, seen the onslaught of their weapons cut out, seen the silent fury of flames licking over the wings–

Tommy’s breaths came out in hard, gasping pants. His knuckles were white on the yoke as the ship drifted uneasily, shuddering around him. Carefully, he reached for the hyperdrive with red-smeared fingers.

Tommy blinked down at his shaking hands, expecting blood. A warped laugh fell from his lips. There wasn’t any. “...Bit of a close call there, ‘eh?”

A scoff. “You’re unbelievable.”

Tommy’s shoulders tensed back up, a pinched mess of emotion swirling in his gut. He turned slightly, putting Ranboo in his sights as much as possible without losing track of the controls.

“...Excuse me?”

Ranboo glared at him, eyes flinty and dark.

“I told you I didn’t want to fire on them, and you still–”

Tommy bristled. Seriously? “I didn’t have a goddamn choice! We both know damn well what would’ve happened if I’d tried to make that shot. What, did you want me to just let us crash and burn? Is that it?”

Ranboo growled. “Of course not!”

“Oh, good! ‘Cause for a second there, I thought I’d somehow ended up with the only Syndicate member stupid enough to kill himself before resorting to firing on a pursuing ship.” He laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Goddesses, you insufferable–”

The nav system chirped, indicating that they had gotten within range of the planet. Tommy quickly dropped them out of hyper drive, grimacing. “Quiet for a minute, don’t need you biting off your tongue while I try to land this thing.”

There was an indignant noise from Ranboo, who probably would’ve kept right on snipping at him if it weren’t for the fact that they had reached the edge of the atmosphere of their new destination. As they dipped toward the planet’s surface, the Icaelo began to rock violently, turbulence on steroids as Tommy tried to navigate. The ship cut through the sky, sparking, shaking, rattling like rocks in an empty tin can.

Tommy’s teeth chattered inside his clenched jaw. He could see heat wicking at the corners of his vision through the viewport. Not great.

The ground swelled up to meet them, lush and overgrown, beautiful under a foreign dusk. Tommy attempted to slow their descent. Succeeding–but only just. The thrusters coughed and spluttered, engines straining right alongside them. Really not great.

“H-hang on,” Tommy managed through the turbulence, “Th-this is gonna be r-rough–”

The landing gear released with a heavy thunk and groan of hydraulics. Tommy dragged the yoke back, muttering a nonsensical prayer under his breath as the landing gear skimmed the grassy plants below. A second later, they made contact, and the Icaelo’s struts dug into the dirt. Tommy and Ranboo were jerked around, bruises forming under straps as the ship slid forward, carving ruts in the ground as their momentum finally died.

The ground rose up to meet him, the ship shaking like a leaf as the lights flickered. Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to the controls, waiting for the inevitable impact.

Maybe he’d survive it. Maybe he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

In a breath, Tommy did his best to bury the memory, staring out at the foreign landscape filling the viewport. His hands were still wound tight around the yoke.

“Prime,” he muttered, prying them off, one stiff finger at a time. They were still trembling, even worse than before.

“Am I actually allowed to talk now, or is that still too much for you to handle?”

The question was coated in acid, spit out with a vitriol he hadn’t realized Ranboo was capable of possessing.

Slowly, he swiveled the pilot’s chair around, catching the Enderian’s furious glare. His left hand was twitching, claws of the other dug deep into the armrest of his seat.

“What do you want me to say, Ranboo?” Tommy asked, a deep ache pulling at his bones. His hold on his nerves was still dangerously fragile, and he could feel the exhaustion creeping in. “That I fucked up? Botched the mission? Is that what you’re looking for?”

Ranboo threw his hands up. “Yes! Don’t you get it? You told me you could pull this off, Spades!”

“And I did my fucking best!” Anger was starting to stir in his ribcage, a deadly cocktail when mixed with the anxiety still scrambling his stomach. He didn’t want to fight right now. He couldn’t handle it. And yet–

“Do you even understand how big of a risk I took taking you up on this shit in the first place?‘Cause it sure as hell doesn't seem like it.”

Ranboo’s face contorted. “I almost got shot in there because of you–”

“Oh yeah? Well join the fucking club!”

“This isn’t some game, Spades!” Ranboo shoved the abandoned turret holoscreen aside, ripping off his restraints and launching to his feet. “I nearly killed someone because of you and your stupid ego! I told you. I told you I didn’t want that and you forced me into it–”

“We were going to die!”

“No we weren’t!” Ranboo snapped back, tail lashing. He began to pace in front of Tommy’s chair, a deep, unsettling warble building in his throat. “The Icaelo would’ve held up long enough for us to land back on Piallene just fine, if we’d had to. You know that damn well. Just because you’re too scared to face the consequences of your own actions doesn’t mean you get to just– toy with people’s lives like that!”

“I wasn’t toying, you stupid bastard–”

“Enough with the insults already!”

“You fuckin’ started it!”

“I just–” Ranboo let out a frustrated, alien shriek, reaching up to bury his claws in his hair. “Goddesses damn it, I needed that book Spades!”

Tommy swallowed the nausea in his throat, already choking on the guilt. “Yeah, well, I hate to break it to you, but you don’t have it, do you?”

And whose fault is that, huh?

Can’t do anything right. Can’t help anyone.

Ranboo whirled on him, snarling. “Oh, you selfish piece of–”

“You shouldn’t have been after that thing in the first place!” Tommy shot back, clutching the armrests of the pilot’s seat. It grounded him, held him down as he felt himself starting to drift away. “God, the Syndicate of all people should know better than to get wrapped up in Draemon shit–”

”Kill it!”

“...extermination–”

Bombed out corridors. Acrid smoke. Blank faces, soulless words, and white, white, white–until all that white turned bloody.

Ranboo scoffed. “Oh, and what would you know about the Syndicate, huh?”

“I don’t need to know anything about your dumb little club to tell you to back off. You act like you know what you’re getting into, but you don’t. You being in the Syndicate is meaningless to a race like them.” Tommy scoffed, choking air out through a tight throat. “If you want to think otherwise, then you’re just plain stupid.”

“Oh, because you’re such an expert, is that it?” Ranboo sneered, throwing his words back at him.

Tommy glared. He opened his mouth to retort, but closed it again, shaking his head.

Ranboo paced closer, jabbing a clawed finger in his direction. “Honestly, it’s no wonder that you’re usually a solo act. You can’t play nice with anyone. You hang up the comms on me, you don’t listen, you refuse to let me call any shots–” Ranboo paused, looming over him. Tommy remained silent, frozen in the pilot’s seat. Pinned.

“You know what Spades?” Ranboo said, voice low, “One of these days, you and your recklessness is gonna get someone killed.”

His breath hitched in his chest. Tommy closed his eyes against the sting, jaw clenched tight. If he opened it right now, he was only going to say more things to regret.

”I’m sorry,” he croaked, standing above the empty crater. The ship’s wreckage had been cleared out a while ago, leaving little behind but a deep rut and the occasional loose screw. He’d had the parts auctioned off to the highest bidder, the rest dragged away to be sold as scrap.

Finding buyers hadn’t been difficult; after all, it wasn't often that Draemon technology ended up on the market.

Tommy’s lips trembled.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, the words lost to the open air.

The sound of blaster fire still rang in his ears.

“But hey,” Ranboo barked out a harsh laugh, an edge of hysteria to it, “Don’t be so down–now that you’ve crashed us here, you might still get the chance!”

There were things growing in the roughed-up dirt, now. The harsh edges of the wound the downed ship had torn through the earth had softened, crumbling.

Stubborn violet grasses poked out of the dirt, interrupted every once in a while by scrubby flowers. The last time Tommy had worked up the courage to come back here, the petals were closed up tight.

Now, the plants were in full bloom, boasting snowdrop white blossoms with delicate, cherry-red centers.

Tommy stood at the edge, a small disc clenched in his fists.

It was as close to a grave as he was ever going to get.

Tommy swallowed hard, trying to push the memory away. He could barely feel the armrests beneath his fingers.

“Ranboo,” he tried, but his voice was faint. He didn’t even know what he was planning to say. “I’m–”

Sorry. Didn’t mean it. Didn’t mean to hurt you.

He felt like he was floating, untethered in the void, unable to find which direction could possibly be up.

Ranboo continued, either not hearing, or not caring, “But what do I know, right? I’m just some naive, pathetic deadweight.”

And just like that, gravity slammed him back down.

“Will you shut up?!”

Ranboo recoiled, taken aback by the sudden outburst. Tommy’s chest heaved, his eyes locked on the shock slowly melting off Ranboo’s face. He swallowed, already choking on the words. Fuck.

Ranboo’s eyes narrowed to slits. The corners of his lips peeled up into a snarl, fangs peeking out between twisted lips. “You,” he hissed, “are the most arrogant, immature person I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

Tommy bit his tongue, unable to form the words to snap back, not with the way those eyes were pinning him to his seat, crushing him. The straps around his chest felt like a cage closing him in.

The straps. He needed those off. Maybe if he got them off he would just be able to breathe–

“I just don’t get why you don’t understand–“

Tommy scrabbled at the straps over his chest, fumbling with the clasp as his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Out. He needed out.

“I needed that book Spades! That was my last lead, and now we’ve just entirely–”

Oh, miracle of miracles, the clasp fell open in his hands. Tommy shot to his feet, unable to endure another second trapped in that chair, cornered, like an animal.

“...and the least you could do, you know, would maybe be to give me a freaking explanation for why it all went wrong in the first place! Goddesses, you’d think–” Ranboo faltered again, noticing that Tommy had gotten to his feet. His rant died out, perhaps deciding this meant Tommy was going to start actually responding.

Tommy opened his mouth.

Out, his mind screeched, Now. Get out.

Any rebuttal died on his tongue, shouldered aside by a desperate, “Let me– I need out. I need–”

He shoved past Ranboo, ignoring the furious screeching that followed.

“Don’t just run away, where are you– Spades!”

Tommy staggered from the cabin, slamming his shoulder against the doorframe on the way out. He righted himself, dazed, hand slipping from the wall.

“Get back here!”

They were right behind him, shouting, trying to drag him back.

“Gotta get out,” he muttered to himself, blinking rapidly as the familiar, aged metal hall of the Icaelo stretched, washed in brilliant, lifeless white. His breath came out in short, quick pants, tangling up in his ribcage and refusing to leave. Faintly, blasterfire rang in his ears. “...Need– to escape. Escape. I need–”

“Hold up, we’re not done yet, you can’t just–”

A hand caught his wrist. Long, boney fingers, tipped in claws that pricked at the exposed skin between his sleeve and his gloves.

Hands dug into his arms, seeping cold into his skin through his thin shirt. He shivered, hardly able to feel the impact of his own feet against the ground as they marched him down the empty hall.

Behind them, the sound of yelling echoed from the Chambers, growing in volume. They picked up the pace.

Tommy stumbled, and their progress faltered. The grip tightened, trying to yank him upright.

A whisper of an idea formed in the back of his head. A foolish, desperate one perhaps, but as Tommy stood hunched, half-dangling, he came to a decision. This was his chance. Maybe his only one.

Swallowing down the deepening fear in his gut, Tommy sucked in a sharp breath, cutting his eyes over to one of the Knights escorting him. Their glowing, acid green ones glared right back.

“Move,” the Knight hissed.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. They wanted him to move? He’d fucking move.

He burst into a flurry of motion, thrashing in their grip. Limbs flailed wildly, kicking out, as he tried to wrench his hands away, a desperate snarl mingling with the startled shouts of the Knights. Ignoring the ache, how he knew it would bruise if he lived long enough to see it, Tommy twisted one hand free, swinging it in a sloppy arc at one of their stupid, ugly fucking helmets.

A massive hand caught his wrist, practically crushing it in their grip. Tommy tried to wrench his arm free, to go for another swing, but gasped as he felt the fingers morph into talons, digging into soft flesh. He froze entirely when the ice-cold muzzle of a blaster pressed against the underside of jaw.

“I’m not going to ask again,” the Knight behind him growled. “Move”.

The punctures in his wrist stung. He moved.

Ranboo gave a slight tug on his arm. “Spades–”

Tommy ripped his arm free, turning and blindly checking the Knight grabbing at him. He stumbled back, clutching his wrists to his chest. “Get– get the fuck away from me!”

He blinked, heavy, breaths dragging through his throat in a wheeze, pressed up against the wall of the hallway. The vision of glowing eyes and boney helmets wavered, and he caught a glimpse of Ranboo sitting up from the floor, staring at him with wide eyes.

Shit– he hadn’t meant to–

“Fuck,” Tommy wheezed. “I–”

He shook his head, trying to clear it, trying to get the words out. Why couldn’t his throat work right?

Something new flashed across Ranboo’s face, different from the roiling frustration of before. Confusion, maybe? Concern? That didn’t make any sense.

They’d just been screaming at each other. Ranboo was furious.

He was reading it wrong.

Tommy backed up another step. His heel caught on the open hatch leading to the cargo bay and he stumbled. A noise of alarm sounded from Ranboo, and the Enderian made an aborted motion forward, as if to grab him. Tommy caught himself on the wall, flinching away from the touch. He glanced down.

“...Sorry,” he whispered. “I– I’m sorry.”

Ranboo’s brow furrowed further, and he slowly got to his feet. “...Okay, you know what, that’s– Spades, let’s just pause for a second, alright? Let’s, uh, go back to the cockpit, I think you should sit down or something.”

He sat alone in the cockpit, blinding white.

White. Why was it always white?

Blood from the raw claw marks dripped down his chin, splattering on the floor, smearing on the controls. He’d put the ship on autopilot, knowing that if any one else had managed to follow his jump, there was nothing he could do until hyperdrive spit him back out anyway.

Still, he couldn’t get his shaking hands to let go of the controls. He couldn’t move.

If he did, he’d see the empty seats. He’d be alone.

Ranboo wanted him to go back to the cockpit. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back there. He couldn’t– he needed to get out.

“I’m not sure what’s going on, but I won’t shout like that again, I promise.”

Tommy’s attention was locked on the ladder sitting at his feet. Ranboo seemed to follow his gaze, the way Tommy’s whole body had tensed, pulled tighter than a wire about to snap, chest heaving silently.

Ranboo lifted one hand, slow. “...Spades–”

The tension broke. And Tommy… well. He did what he always did best.

He ran.

—-------------

The world in which the Icaelo had practically crash-landed was beautiful. The local star was out of sight, casting the sky a deep forest green. The landscape itself, however, was anything but dark.

The leafy ground cover in which the ship had touched down was lit up in shifting shades of turquoise and green at the disturbance, bioluminescent waves of light swaying in the powerful winds of the engines as they wheezed, powering down. A wide meadow extended to each side of the ship, curling along the shores of a flat, calm lake. Any breeze sifting through the rolling expanse of grass set off a ripple of blue-green glow, like the Earthen Aurora Borealis had sunk into the ground itself and gotten stuck there.

In the far distance, thick trees loomed, towering and ancient. Faint lights drifted through their branches, mimicking the stars floating high above them, peppering the sky.

The majesty of such a landscape, however, was entirely lost on Tommy, who came tripping out of the Icaelo’s ramp before it even had time to fully open. He jumped the remaining gap to the ground, falling and catching himself with one hand. A flare of light shot up around him, blooming from his palm, but he just squinted through it, pushing back to his feet. He stumbled on. Breath came to him in short, quick pants, one fist clutched in the front of his now claustrophobic outfit.

A shadow cut though the golden block of light streaming from the open hold of the ship. Ranboo, leaning through the gap, clutching the wall. Shouting after him.

Tommy ignored the sound. He kept on running, kept on moving, like it was the only thing he knew how to do. Because god, it was, wasn’t it? It was. It was.

”We’re making it out of here, together. Trust me.”

Tommy’s fingers flew over the unfamiliar ship’s controls. The other seat in the cockpit sat glaringly empty.

“Spades! What on Vhoid are you– Spades!”

The clank of hurried boots against the ramp as Tommy tore through the swaying grasses, light bleeding out after him. Calls of his name.

Hands around his arms, dragging him away, kicking and screaming as the others raised their blasters–

The stolen ship’s engines roared, drowning out the distant, muffled sounds of shouting.

Tommy stumbled out of the whispering grass and brush, feet hitting soft sand and scattered, water-washed pebbles. He staggered over the soft surface, drunk on panic, and his pace only slowed when the tips of his shoes hit the edge of the lake. Gentle waves lapped at his boots, foam bubbling up blue light.

”Why? Why did you let me off the hook? Your people hate humans, I know they do. I hear them in the halls. Filthy fuckin’ animals, they call us. So then why, huh?” Tommy shoved him, hands slamming into that infuriatingly spotless white chest plate. “Tell me!”

The brush of wind across his exposed neck, the pounding of footsteps through the shimmering grass behind him, following his glowing trail. Tommy stood there, shoes soaking up water, heels dug into the sand. His fingers flexed at his sides.

“I guess, when I look at you, I don’t really see human first, you know?”

Mindlessly, he bent down to pick up a pebble with stiff fingers.

The frantic chase behind him slowed. The sand crunched under Ranboo’s feet as he tentatively stepped out of the grass. His words were timid, a stark contrast to the spat-out vitriol of only a few minutes before. “Hey, man, I’m just– Are you… are you okay?”

”When I found you there, in that alley looking wild, I just–“

Tommy turned the pebble over in his hand, feeling the grooves of it between his fingers, the damp sand gritty against his skin. Cold. Abrasive.

“Can you say something? I– you’re kinda starting to freak me out a bit.“

”I wasn’t looking at some feral, intergalactic pest. You weren’t some mindless animal. All I saw was this– this tired, scared kid. You were just a kid, Tommy.”

Tommy’s fist clenched around the rock, the edge biting into his skin.

“Damn it Spades, can you even hear me?”

”You were just a kid. I wanted to help you. I still do.“

“Spades?”

“Please, just let me try first, alright?”

…Gunshots. That was blaster fire.

“Spades!”

Oh god, that was–

A hand landed on Tommy’s shoulder, jostling him.

Hands around his arms, dragging him away–

“Come on, please snap out of it–“

They’d just shot–

They’d shot–

He was–

Fuck. Fuck. No, please–

A scream tore itself out of Tommy’s throat. He ripped himself away from the hand, turning and whipping the stone at his captor. There was a pained yelp of surprise, but Tommy didn’t care.

He turned and scooped up more pebbles, rapidly hurling them into the water with jerky limbs, shoulder burning at the force of the throws. He watched the surface light up like miniature sunbursts, like explosions in the water. Like– like blaster fire.

Firing, firing firing firing–

His breath was coming out in heavy gasps, staccato punches of air through tight lips.

“Sorry! Sorry, I shouldn’t have touched–Goddesses– I didn’t mean–”

A sob caught in the back of his throat. His hand was empty. He was out of rocks. He was out of–

His right hand fumbled for his pocket.

“Spades? Hey, hey–let’s just–”

The ship rocketed out of the thin atmosphere, unsteady under Tommy’s inexperienced hands. The other seat was empty.

He didn’t even have a body to bury.

Tommy drew out the disc, clenching it in a white knuckled grip. Head swirling, he pulled back his arm, preparing to throw. A high shriek of alarm came from beside him.

“Woah woah woah! Slow down!“

Tommy’s hand was caught midair, yanking him to the side.

They caught his fist–

His fingers crumpled around the disc, the cool metal pressing into his palm. He stared into Ranboo’s eyes, wide with alarm and bright with concern. There was a shallow cut on his cheek, Tommy faintly noticed, slowly oozing beads of blood. It glinted black in the low light, tracing his jaw like a tear.

Oh. He’d done that.

He’d– he’d done that.

“What’s going on?” Ranboo whispered, staring at him, desperate. Searching. Trying to find the answers Tommy couldn’t give. “You’d never throw that thing away, I know you wouldn’t. Why would you–“

Tommy just looked back, eyes glassy. He could feel the initials burning into his palm, searing his skin. His fingers flexed in Ranboo’s grip, throat working.

”It’s a gift. I got it made just for us, look–“

He was so happy, the idiot. He looked so excited to be giving him this dumb, unassuming little disc. Tommy took it with curious hands, lips pulling up into a smile upon spotting the shaky carving spread across the front.

A sob tore out of his mouth. Ranboo’s eyes widened further as Tommy’s knees gave out, dropping him into the softly glowing surf, the cool water soaking the knees of his pants as he cried. Large, heaving sobs, shaking so hard it seemed like he was in danger of pulling himself apart.

He ran the pad of his thumb over the shallow marks: their initials. Them, inscribed. A duo. A pair. Friends. If he was brave enough to even think it– brothers.

He ran his thumb over the marks.

He ran his thumb over the marks.

He ran his thumb over the marks.

There was a black hole festering in Tommy’s chest, eating him from the inside out, shredding the last gasps of air from his lungs.

It was grief, hollowing him out. A gaping, awful hole left untreated. Ignored. Sapping his energy, ripping him apart atom by atom as he grinned with shark-dead eyes, as he pushed the Icaelo to fly faster. Faster to escape the creeping doom of the ache pulsing in his heart, the one that haunted him in dreams and memories and his right goddamn pocket.

Guilt. It was so much guilt.

And it was all pouring out on his cheeks, each tear an admission as Tommy cried.

Gingerly, Ranboo knelt down in front of him in the sand, grimacing at the dampness of it, but staying stubbornly put nonetheless. Cautiously, he reached out, wrapping a hand around each of Tommy’s shoulders. When the other didn’t jerk away again, he squeezed, gentle, claws delicate on his jacket, conscious of his sluggishly bleeding wound.

“Breathe, alright?” He gave Tommy a shaky smile. “Just breathe, Spades.” Squeeze. “Breathe.”

Tommy sucked in a hiccuping breath, trying to pull in air though the unfamiliar mask over his face. He wanted his scarf back. Shit, he wanted so much back.

“There you are. Good. Keep going.”

Another breath, pinching painfully against his ribs, followed by great gulps of air.

“Just like that Spades. Just like that.”

Ranboo’s thumbs ghosted over his jacket, soft, careful sweeps. “Just like that.”

Tommy gasped, trying to zero in on the grounding touch. Agonizingly slowly, he could feel himself coming back down, the frantic beat of his heart tiring itself out. The tears streaming down his cheeks dried.

When he could actually feel his body again, Tommy reached his empty hand up to grasp one of Ranboo’s wrists, his shaking fingers loose.

Ranboo startled. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tommy beat him to the punch.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, “I’m sorry for snapping at you, for the shoving, the–” he waved vaguely at the cut on the Enderian’s cheek, “All of it. It wasn’t your fault, I shouldn’t have lashed out like that, I shouldn’t have–” He cut himself off with another strangled, half-sob through gritted teeth. “And I’m sorry about the book and your friend. I fucked up. I really fucked up.”

“I– It’s fine Spades,” Ranboo said, bewildered. He laughed uncertainly. “Just forget about it for now, alright?”

“No, you don’t– You don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?”

Tommy shook his head. “I can’t do this. I can’t–” He pulled away, sucking down air. The next words out of his mouth were strangled. “I miss him, Ranboo.”

Ranboo frowned at him, hands still hovering over where his shoulders had been, lost. “You miss– Miss who? Spades, what are you talking about?”

He shook his head again, turning to face the lake, unable to bear whatever expression sat between Ranboo’s pinched brows. Tommy hugged his knees to his chest, watching as the hazy light of the water curled into the sand. The words refused to come out. They clung stubbornly to the back of his throat. Choking him.

“Spades.”

Tommy hunched over himself.

“What are you not telling me?”

Carefully, Tommy unclenched his fist, staring down at the little disc clutched between his fingers. There were red lines carved into his skin from how tight he’d been gripping it.

He turned it over in his palm, watching the dim light trace its grooves, the carved initials: D T. His jaw clenched.

The disc winked up at him, innocent.

“...I had this friend,” he whispered, the words falling out into the sudden quiet. “More like a brother than anything, really. And I– fuck–”

Why was he telling him this? He shouldn’t be– Ranboo didn’t need to know. Ranboo was a right prick. Ranboo was a little bitch. Ranboo was–

…Ranboo was curling his tail around his ankle, the soft tuft resting against his calf.

He glanced at the Enderian. Ranboo was watching him with open concern, confusion woven into the frown on his face. He met Tommy’s gaze, wincing at the eye contact, but held him there. Waiting for him to speak.

Go on, the look said. I’m listening. Just say it.

Tommy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears threatening to resurface.

“I had a brother, Ranboo,” he choked out, voice wavering. The tail around his ankle tightened.

“And I killed him.”

Chapter Text

Hey y’all. To anyone still lurking in the subscriptions of this fic or my user, long time no see.

I’m sure you’ve all seen similar messages from other authors on here by now. Good. For those of you who haven’t, here’s the summary: William Gold is a disgusting, pathetic piece of shit. I do not support that man in any way, shape, or form. Holy fuck, I hope he gets everything that he deserves. It honestly pains me that I ever enjoyed his content, that he inspired my work. Hindsight is a bitch, right?

That being said, I’m posting this as a chance to claim my works and my characters as my own. I’ve always written my DSMP/MCYT fics with the characters portrayed by CC’s in mind, not as extensions of the CC’s themselves. Honestly, with Poker, they’ve become original characters more than anything else. These universes that I’ve created and the stories within them belong to us as fans and writers. Always have, always will. As such, I plan to leave all of my works up. I know people have enjoyed and found comfort in them for years now, and to be honest, I don’t know if I’d have the heart to remove them and lose all the interactions I’ve had with my readers.

Treat my works as original stories. Continue to enjoy them. Treat the character of C!Wilbur as someone separate from the asshole we all know and loathe.

As for the future of this fic in particular…well. I’ll be honest, guys, I think I’ve been in denial about leaving Poker unfinished for months now. Between college and just life in general (blame the AO3 author’s curse, that shit’s real, I’m telling you), I’ve been too burnt out to write much. I haven’t really touched any content from any of the creators in this work aside from the occasional Sorry video in like at least a year. I left the DSMP fandom long before that. I feel separated from the characters that inspired what I’ve written here. As you may also note from the tags and people’s past theories in the comments, Dream was meant to play a large role in this work. After the bullshit with him a number of months back and now William’s fucking horrific behavior coming to light, I just don’t think I have it in me to keep working on this, at least not right now. Maybe in some illusive time in the hopeful future, when I have the energy to tweak the story in ways that allow me to stomach it again. Maybe not.

I refuse to be a jerk, though, as much as painful cliffhangers have been my calling card in the past. Poker is really the only fic of mine that I’ve ever had planned out start to finish when I began writing it, funnily enough. Ironic, right? I was so proud of this universe, and I can’t let myself leave it unresolved like this. I’ll take some time to compile those notes into a decent enough summary of what the future plot was going to look like, add in any snippets of dialogue and such that I have left floating in my docs, and post it in a follow up chapter to this note. If you’re optimistic and would like to avoid spoilers in the hopes that I come back to this someday, feel free to ignore it.

As for me, I’ll stick around. Not in the DSMP space, really, but in my corner of the Archive that I’ve carved out. I was here before the DSMP, and I’m still here after. Currently nursing a wicked fixation on DC, believe it or not. I even started reading the 1998-2003 Young Justice comic run last night (I have never touched a comic before in my life, despite what my past Marvel works might suggest) and holy fuck am I obsessed. I’m just saying, if you’re also a fan of my boy Tim Drake and the Bat crew, don’t be shocked if you find my user popping up under those fandom tags at some point. Not promising a new work soon or anything, but if the feverish outlining of half baked plots and scenes in my notes app are any indication, I won’t be surprised if I pick up a metaphorical pen again when I have the time.

Sorry for the long note, but I had to get it out there. Thank you all for reading. Thank you for supporting my work. I hope that anyone this message reaches is doing well. I hope my regular readers are thriving out there. I miss y’all.

Take care of yourselves. Stay safe, stay happy. Support Shelby and Alice. Support women, support victims, and most of all, fuck William Gold to hell and back. I hope that bastard rots there.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 (Or the unedited 2k words of it that I wrote and promptly forgot about somehow):

“No, you don’t–” he shook his head, grip on Ranboo’s wrist tightening, “I had it, Ranboo. I had it in my hands. It was right there, but I dropped it ‘cause of the stupid tase charge– and I couldn’t– I couldn’t fucking–”

“What?!” Ranboo yelped, the grip on his shoulders tightening. “What do you mean you–”

Tommy winced. He cleared his throat, trying to stop the tears. Pull yourself together, man. “I know, I’m sorry. I swear I was fighting to get the book back, man. I tried, I swear I did–”

“I don’t care about the book right now, Spades!” Ranboo interrupted, startled, “The hell do you mean, you got shot by a tase charge?”

Tommy stopped. Oh.

He slowly pulled himself out of Ranboo’s hold, shuffling on his knees to expose the singed hole in his jacket where the charge had sunken into the flesh of his shoulder. Ranboo sucked in a breath. He reached out to gingerly prod at the little device, and Tommy flinched at the foreign feeling of the prongs tugging at his skin.

“Sorry,” Ranboo muttered, pulling his hand back. Tommy waved him off and turned back to face the lake, pulling his knees up to his chest. He watched the water with tired eyes.

“I just– I don’t understand. How did you get out of there if you were hit?”

Tommy shrugged, letting out a laugh. It was still a little wet. “I dunno. Walked it off an’ shit.”

Now it was Ranboo’s turn to laugh, disbelieving. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

“Well I did it, didn’t I?”

“...I guess so.” Ranboo shifted, moving to sit in the sand, slinging his elbows over his knees as he appraised Tommy with a tilted head. Tommy watched him out of the corner of his eye, too drained at this point to properly get him to fuck off. His heart wouldn’t be in it, anyway.

“...You’re weird, you know that?”

Tommy snorted. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean– I don’t get you. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

Tommy scrunched his nose, the dried tears on his cheeks pulling at his skin. “That supposed to be a compliment? ‘Cause if you’re trying to cheer me up right now, you’re doing a pretty shitty job.”

“No!” Ranboo said, frustrated. “I mean like, you have this odd accent underneath your Common. You look like you’re an Aviae species, but you can’t be., You’re too strong for that. Not to mention you’re so freakishly stubborn it’s insane.” He squinted at him, ears twitching. “What am I missing?”

“How ‘bout a whole lotta ‘none of your business’?”

Ranboo groaned, reaching up to rub at his face. “Why do I even try?” He sighed. “You know what, nevermind.”

They sat in stiff silence for a little while, listening to the lapping of the water on the shore, tumbling pebbles, the sifting of wind through the grasses. Tommy stared out over the lake, turning the last hour over in his mind.

He’d gone wrong somewhere. He could point out so many places where he'd screwed up. That was fine. He was used to making mistakes, no matter how often he pretended otherwise. How else do you learn, right? All that bullshit?

But sitting there with his wet pants clinging to his legs and a blooming headache behind his eyes, Tommy felt horribly lost as to how to make up for this one.

Why is it, he thought, watching the trembling edges of his reflection, blue and muddied, that no matter how hard I try, I always seem to wreck the few good things I get?

The reflection pulled away with the next small wave, leaving him with lifeless, damp sand.

“...Hey Spades?”

He hummed, watching the sand get drowned again.

“Can I– can I ask? What that was?”

He tipped his head, resting it on his knee to look at Ranboo. The mask on his face dug into his cheek. “You gotta be more specific, big man.”

Ranboo shifted, his tail coming around to wrap around one of his ankles. Tommy watched as he mindlessly fidgeted with the tuft on the end. “Your panic attack. At least that’s what I assume it was. I’ve seen people have reactions like that before, but you– it was like you couldn’t even see me anymore.”

“Ah. Well.” Tommy bit his lip, reluctant.

Did he really want to explain all of this to Ranboo? He glanced at the Enderian, who was watching him with those odd eyes of his. There wasn’t any hostility to be found there. If anything, Ranboo looked just as exhausted as he was. The soft light of the water flickered over his features, highlighting the stressed bags under his eyes, the cut on his cheek. The disc still clenched in his right hand felt like it was burning against his palm.

Tommy sighed.

I mean, the guy had already witnessed him having a breakdown. What was a little more?

“You want the short version or the messed up one?”

Ranboo's eyes widened, as if he was surprised Tommy was even offering. “Is there a difference?”

“Probably not.”

“Messed up one, then.”

That startled a laugh out of him. “Alright, you bastard. Hold back, why don’t you?”

Ranboo shrugged. “We’re not flying out of here any time soon. I’ve got the time.”

Tommy shook his head. “Whatever.”

He looked back out over the water, trying to figure out the best way to explain the clusterfuck that he’d become.

“‘M a bit fucked up in the noggin,” he finally said, raising one fist to knock against his temple. “I get these– these flashbacks, I think they’re called. Flashes of bad memories–vivid ones–like I’m stuck right back there. I’m not sure what causes it. Louds noises? Stress? Some sorta fucked up deja vu? Don’t know. Everything gets all tangled up in there.”

He dropped the arm back around his legs. “It’s similar enough to a panic attack, I suppose. Or maybe a panic attack is part of it. I’m not sure.”

Ranboo nodded, taking that in.“Do all members of your species get these–episodes? When they’re stressed out?”

Tommy shook his head. “From what I understand, it’s something that can happen to a person after they go through something especially…traumatic.”

He swallowed. “But what happened back there at the Museum, Ranboo– it just– god. It was like everything at once was making me see double. And after everything, even if you didn’t do it on purpose, grabbing my wrist in the hallway like that–”

“Sent you into another episode,” Ranboo finished for him, sounding upset. “I’m– Goddesses, Spades, if I’d known I wouldn’t have–”

Tommy turned to glare at him. “But you didn’t. Because I didn’t tell you. So stop fucking apologizing. It’s my own fault.”

“You’ve said that a lot.”

He scoffed. “‘Cause it’s true.”

Ranboo tipped his head to the side, watching him again. Tommy did his best not to wilt under his gaze. He was so sick of pity– but the look in Ranboo’s eyes was something else. More compassionate, maybe. Like somehow, Tommy had tricked the Enderian into actually caring about him.

He was so focused on this, on trying to figure out what Ranboo was thinking, that when the soft tuft of his tail snaked its way around his ankle, it startled him. He glanced down at it, stunned.

“What happened to you, Spades?” Ranboo asked, quiet.

Tommy, who was still focused on the touch, scoffed. The scorn was half-assed. “You asking for my tragic backstory or something?

“I requested the messed up version, didn’t I?”

He tore his attention away from the tail, staring in open astonishment at Ranboo, who just shrugged. You offered, his eyes said. And I want to know.

Something in the both of them seemed to realize how badly the wound in Tommy’s chest had been festering. Suddenly, it felt like the words were already climbing their way up his throat, waiting to come pouring out the moment he opened his lips.

Tell him, that something started to wail, clutching at his bruised ribs. We’re going to die if we keep going on like this. Please.

“...Right,” Tommy choked out. He cleared his throat. “You– alright. I, uh.”

He looked down at his right hand, clenched in a tight fist, knuckles aching. Slowly, he turned it over, uncurling his fingers. The disc sat innocently in his palm, staring up at him.

“I had this… friend,” he began. “A couple years back. I was planet hopping, at the time. A stowaway, kinda like you. Got unlucky enough to get stuck on this one small planet. Pretty rough terrain. The planet was tidally locked, one side freezing, the other too hot to survive on for most people. Pretty much the entire population lived within the boundaries of a single city located on this strip of habitable land between the light and dark halves.”

He could remember seeing it for the first time, a glimmering gem of stone and metal, delicately balanced between the two sides.

“I ended up stranded in the streets. It was,” he grimaced, “not a great place for an outsider to be in. The locals weren’t particularly friendly.”

He could still feel the kicks to the ribs, the disgusted looks. Learning how to smile without baring his teeth. Ducking his face, trying to let the stares roll off his back and failing. “Can’t really blame them. Everyone in that place had the right to be a paranoid bastard. Came with the territory.”

He reached up to scratch at his cheek where the mask dug into it. “And I ‘spose it wears off on you after while.

“I was out in the streets,” he continued. “Pickpocketing. Petty theft. Whatever it took to get by, you know?” he laughed bitterly. “...Never really grew out of that one.”

Out of the corner of his eye, the ghost of a wry smile flickered across Ranboo’s face.

“My friend was a… guard, of sorts. A higher ranking one, worked for the local government. He caught me stealing. Should’ve turned me in– hell, anyone in their right mind would’ve without thinking twice.”

“But he didn’t.”

“No,” Tommy sighed. “He didn’t. ” And I still don’t understand why.

“He took me in instead, the bastard. Smuggled me into the barracks. I didn’t argue much, I mean, what other options did I have? I was just some kid with nowhere else to go.”

**Cut into Tommy meet Dream sequence, or like a lil backstory dump

(Ran pov for when Tommy shares his backstory)

Ranboo startled, noticing the faint trails of moisture pooling along the lip of Spades’ mask, gathering in the corners of his eyes, glinting in the soft glow of the grasses.

“Your face is leaking again,” he said, fingers jerking in his lap, wanting to reach out and wipe the liquid away before pain set in. He held back.

What should he do? Did he need to get his burn cream? There might be some in his bag, if he could find it–

Spades choked out a startled laugh. “Those are tears, dipshit.”

Ranboo blinked at him. Tears? “Are you- do they hurt? Are you hurting?”

The smile on Spades’ face grew, eyes crinkling up at the edges, bemused. “What, you don’t know what crying is? C’mon man, don’t fuck with me. There’s no way.”

Ranboo just blinked back at him. Spades’ smile faded.
“...You’re serious?”

“Enderians can’t touch water,” he said slowly, eyes skipping around Spades’ face. “It burns us. We don’t– no one has ‘tears’.”

“Oh.” Spades seemed genuinely taken aback. “That’s– huh.”

BACKGROUND LORE/PREQUEL-ESQUE MATERIAL:

Ranboo:
- Ranboo’s memory is so spotty because of “innovations” he was forced to undergo while on Vhoid. He left soon after that. He doesn’t like to talk about it.
- Ranboo and Dream are roommates– Ranboo was alone when he first came to the Syndicate, so when Dream shows up they place them together. Techno/Phil entrust Ranboo to look out for him, even if he’s reluctant at first. They become good friends, and Ranboo is witness to Dream’s slow mental decline as time goes on and Tommy is still nowhere to be found.
- Sick of seeing him so defeated, Ranboo decides to sneak out and look for Tommy on his own (he knows full well they would never allow him to take up Dream’s search like this if he actually asked for permission, so he doesn’t)

Tubbo:
- Tubbo used to be a pretty infamous and anonymous hacker/tech guy for one of the organizations the Syndicate took out and he’s still holding a grudge for them upending his life. He became a mechanic instead to support himself and when an unknowing Syndicate crew came to use his repair services he purposefully messed with their ship to make it break down in a few days in retaliation. The crew gets stranded on a mission and is put in life threatening peril before another Syndicate group can get there and rescue them.
- Techno came after Tubbo because NO ONE fucks with his crew like that and gets away with it. Upon confronting Tubbo he realizes who he was. Tubbo blows up at him and they form a vague, barely stable general agreement to just stay out of each other’s way from then on (Techno doesn’t ruin his life again, Tubbo doesn’t flay the Syndicate alive through their tech– it’s just a metaphorical nuke/arms race at this rate, people), but there’s still a rather… potent level of hostility between the two

Dream:
- Draemons are shape shifters. They can take any form that is similar enough in size and general function to their own base state. For example, they can take on any relatively humanoid shape, but couldn’t transform into a mouse or fish on a whim. Their true form is somewhat of an Eldritch nightmare, and only the High Council tends to exist in this form all the time
- Draemons, despite their ability to shapeshift, are still identifiable by their glowing, acid eyes and a distinctive mark on their foreheads. These are easy enough to mask through outside means, but can be helpful in identifying them when out in public
- Dream works as a Knight for the Draemon Council. These knights are treated as expendable objects despite their proclaimed fierce loyalty to those they serve. He’s decently high ranked, and is allowed private quarters as a result.
- Dream has been with Syndicate for about a year, spent the first year after him and Tommy got separated trying to look for Tommy by himself, but running from the Draemon High Court was too difficult to manage on top of that, and he got recruited by the Syndicate.

———

“Stars, Tommy,” Dream whispered, staring out into the wide void of space. The hundreds and thousands of uncountable stars, the dozens upon dozens of systems and galaxies. He sighed, burying his head in his hands. “Where did you go, kid?”

———

Tommy and Dream:
- Tommy was pulled off the streets by a weirdly human looking Draemon guard when he got stranded in their city as a young teenager. He got caught stealing, but instead of arresting him or turning him in, the guard smuggled the kid into his private room barracks.

———

“What’s your name?” The armored alien asks gently, taking a knee in front of him. The alien’s crisp white uniform is getting muddy, soiled by the grime of the street. They don’t seem to care.

Tommy’s scowl deepened, pushing the panic at being caught aside in favor of anger. Stubborn, he pressed his lips together. He stayed silent.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the guard–the knight?–promised. Carefully, slowly, like Tommy was a skittish animal, the alien reached up and pried off the helmet that had been masking their face. Tommy watched, scowl fading in fascination as masculine, familiar features appeared. Green and glowing faintly, a pair of human-like eyes met his own, crinkling up with a show of blunt teeth. Almost human, but not quite. Like if you looked in a mirror in the dark for too long, and watched as your face began to stretch just a little too much to be comfortable.

As they sat there, staring at one another, the alien’s face shifted. Slowly, the features morphed into something more convincing. Nearly human, if you ignored the glow stick irises and odd marking between the eyebrows.

“See?” the man–if you could call him that–said, setting the helmet aside. “I’ve always been a fan of humans. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Hesitantly, Tommy stopped trying to disappear into the stone wall that dug uncomfortably into his back.

The man’s smile broadened, expression a bit too wide for Tommy’s liking, but sincere nonetheless.

———

- Dream, who had a soft spot for humans to begin with, is fascinated by the kid and decides to look out for him. Life under the Council was generally miserable, even if he didn't realize it at first, but Tommy makes things so much better.
- They sneak time together between Dream’s shifts. Tommy shares stories about his life at a human academy before he struck out on his own, about the Human Zone. One night, he speaks wistfully about a battered old deck of flimsy paper that he used to own. He explains to Dream that it could be used to play all sorts of games, by yourself and with others. The story gives Dream an idea.
- It’s hard to keep the kid entertained, especially when he has to stay cooped up in the barracks by himself for so long. They both understand that it’s for Tommy’s own safety, but it sucks. As a surprise, Dream researches and commissions a portable holo disc that was programmed with a human (or at least, close enough to it) deck of cards for Tommy. They play games together in their spare time. Tommy teaches Dream all his favorites, poker in particular. The little disc becomes the kid’s most prized possession.One night, when Dream is out on patrol and he gets lonely, he carves their initials into it.
- Tommy and Dream get separated after a peasant uprising or some kind of attack on the outskirts of the Draemon palace. Tensions are high and shit just goes downhill from there.
- Tommy thinks it would be the perfect chance for them to escape and Dream to desert because they could use the chaos as a distraction, Dream argues back that the risk is too great and that he’s not willing to put Tommy in the line of fire like that. They have this whole whole spat before Dream is summoned to push back the rebellion, and he has no choice but to report to duty unless he wants Tommy to be discovered. Tommy argues that someone is going to get killed this way. If they don’t die now trying to escape, then they won’t last long staying in the palace, either.
- Dream leaves, realizing Tommy has a point as he notices how bad the situation is. The place is in rough shape, bodies of both soldiers and peasants present in uncomfortable numbers.

———

It was creeping toward afternoon, although you wouldn’t know it by the watery, silver light that snuck in through the thin window above the two beds crammed into the small room. Despite a relatively high rank, even Knights had to make due with efficient, cubicle quarters. Tommy’s makeshift cot barely fit.

He blinked, bleary, as distorted sounds drifted in from the hall. Something had woken him. Tommy sat quickly upright.

Something was going on.

Just as he pulled the blankets from his legs, the door to the room burst open, and Tommy stiffened, feet hovering above the floor. He relaxed again, minutely, when he realized who had come in.

“Jesus man,” he grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face, trying to clear the last dregs of sleep, “You scared the shit outta me.”

“Tommy, they’ve reached the walls.”

His grumbling stopped short, and he looked up to find not his friend, but the impassive face of a Knight. All business, silver light on bone white helmet. Shit. Things must really be going badly then.

He swallowed. “I thought the other rotations were doing fine holding them off. You said that we had another week, easy.”

The Knight sighed, worry poking through the cracks of his ordered stoicism, taloned fingers tapping restlessly at his thigh. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on. They caught the last shift off guard, the local sectors have lost control. I doubt they’ll actually take the Complex itself but–”

Tommy understood before the words even came out of his mouth. “But you’re going to be forced onto the thick of it. Are you crazy? Why on earth would they send you out there?”

The Knight didn’t meet his eyes. Tommy got a deep, sickening feeling in his gut.

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

“...Tommy–”

“No, don’t fuckin’ lie,” he stood up, pushing away the blankets, “We both know it’s true, even if that’s not the full truth. You’ve been late ‘cause of me, you had to take off that shift when I got sick, you’ve been mimicking my features on accident again–” Tomy crossed his arms, gazing up into the shadows of the helmet. “And,” he said, soft, “you obviously sympathize with their cause. Hell, you know that I do.”

“And that’s fine,” the Knight responded, “Except my whole job is to push them back! To take orders! I hesitated, Tommy. They saw. They know. Even if no one knows about you, they know I’m on the wrong side.”

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek, fingers digging into his biceps. He could feel the bomb strapped to their chests, the seconds ticking down.

“Then let’s leave. Let’s go. There’s no reason to stay anymore.”

“You know it’s not that simple.”

“Why not? Just hide out, wait for them to hit the walls, and we make a break for it. That’s as good a cover as any.”

“And what do we do when they notice I’m not at my station?” The Knight shot back, shoulders tense, “They’ll come straight for us, they’ll know my ship, we can’t just leave. It’s not safe.”

Tommy threw up his hands. “Well, it’s not sounding like it’s real fuckin’ safe to just hang around either! You go out there, you’ll get yourself fucked up. I’ll be stranded here, waiting for you to come back like some damsel in distress until I’m inevitably discovered. Then we’re both screwed.”

The Knight closed his eyes, drawing back. He shook his head. “Look, I’m not having this discussion with you right now. We’re staying here, end of story. I don’t have long until the Court calls me to duty anyway.”

But Tommy wasn’t willing to drop it, not like this. Not with the walls of their room closing in on them, not when he could already hear their undoing marching closer with each minute.

He jabbed a finger into the Knight’s elaborate breast plate, ignoring the startled reaction. “You go out there, you get yourself killed. End of story. That’s what you want? You’re gonna make me live with that?”

The Knight half-heartedly pushed his hand away. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” Tommy pressed, “‘Cause I’m right?”

“Just– stop, alright? Look, I have to go soon, I made up a shitty excuse to come back here to even warn you in the first place. They’ll be banging on the door any second. I want you to promise me you’ll stay out of sight.”

Tommy just stared at him, jaw clenched, lips tight.
“Tommy.”

“You’re a fucking idiot. You’re going to throw away everything to defend a load of pricks and a government you don’t even believe in.”

The Knight sighed, deep and heavy. “I’m telling you to stay out of sight. You stay safe, unless the barracks get overrun. If that happens, I want you to leave.”

Tommy scoffed. “...You’re joking.”

No response. The bite to his words wilted in Tommy’s chest, replaced by the anxious pounding of his heart.

“I’m not leaving you behind. I’d never do that. Are you kidding? What kinda hallucinatory drugs did you take?”

“I’m being serious.”

“And so am I!”

“Tommy, when I tell you to leave, you leave. Do you understand?”

The timer kept tick, tick, ticking. The fuse on the bomb was burning down, straps tight around his lungs. “But–”

“We don’t have a lot of time. The summons will be here any minute–”

“No!” Tommy interrupted, starting to get desperate. Maybe he hadn’t actually woken up. Maybe it wasn’t shift change yet, and this was just some stupid, useless nightmare. “That’s bullshit! They can’t do this just– just ‘cause you’re associating with another species or some shit. That’s not right!”

“I don’t have a choice, the Council–”

“Fuck the Council!” He was yelling now. A terrible idea, given how risky it was, but it didn’t matter. God, of all the stubborn, infuriating shit to pull– “I’m not letting them take my existence out on you. Bring me with you. I’ll– I’ll show them I’m not a threat! If you can learn to like humans, that means the rest of your people can too.”

The Knight wouldn’t look at him. “That’s not how this works, Tommy. I have to take Orders, you know this.”

“Taking Orders is going to get one of us killed!”

The man flinched, swallowing. “Tommy, please–”

A knock sounded at the door, heavy and purposeful. A guillotine. They both froze, terrified to have been overheard.

“Esteemed Knight of the Elder Council,” an impatient voice called, “are you quite finished?”

A moment of silence followed. Silently, Tommy begged. All he got was a slow shake of the head in return.

“...Yes, Honorable One,” came the flinty response, woven through with undercurrents of defeat that Tommy could pick out clear as day.

Glowing eyes bored into his own between the slits of a gilded helmet, filled to the brim with so, so much regret.

“...I am.”

“Good. The Order has been given to report to stations. The Council has decided all Knights must be on hand to stamp down this foolish rebellion. Move to the post sent to your comm.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Don’t bother.”

With that, the other Knight retreated, leaving them alone. Their choice had been made. Neither of them was happy about it.

The Knight shuffled toward the door, defeat in his bones. ”...I’m just trying to protect you.”

Tommy shook his head. “Don’t you fucking get it?” He waved a hand at the door, aching with the need to be understood. “If not now, it’s going to be the next time. And if not then, when? I’m sick of acting like we can make it out of this by pretending something will just– come along! We can’t rely on luck to get us out of here. You know that.

The helmet tipped forward, pressed against the door. “I have to take Orders, Tommy.”

Tommy turned away, arms tight across his chest; holding on to what little he could. “...You’re a broken fuckin’ record, you know that?”

He swallowed, waiting for the door to open, to be left with this rotten feeling.

It didn’t.

Glancing over his shoulder proved that the Knight had not moved, still slumped against the door.

“Come back, then."

The helmet tilted toward him, a sliver of glowing eye.

Tommy held the gaze. “If you’re so insistent on going,” he jerked his head at the door. “Then go. But come back.”

The Knight blinked, then slowly straightened, the barest weight wiped from his shoulders by the white flag Tommy was offering. He set his hand on the door, preparing to open it. Tommy turned away. He knew what was coming, didn’t want to have to see the lie for himself.

“I will. I promise.”

Tommy nodded. “Good,” he whispered.

There was a woosh of the door unsealing, and then Tommy was left alone.

—----

A few hours later, when the shrill, unfamiliar alarms sounded, echoing down the empty white halls, chased by shouts and pounding feet of fighting, Tommy opened the door. He slipped out into the hall, eyes darting wildly, face barely covered in an old, ratty scarf he’d managed to find.

Not staying, but not leaving, either.

They both broke the promises they hadn’t really made in the first place.

—-----

- Tommy gets flushed from his hiding place by an explosion (he’s in Dream’s room in the barracks, which are on the outskirts of the palace complex) and gets caught by another guard as a rebel/attacker
- It goes downhill when Tommy and a few other captives get dragged in front of the council to be tried for treason. Dream realizes Tommy is there and starts panicking, trying to figure out how to possibly get the kid out of there before it’s too late. The Draemon council soon realizes Tommy’s human and there’s UPROAR–like, imagine finding you’ve had a rat living under your bed for months kinda vibes
- Dream tries to protect Tommy and throws himself under the bus for him. He attempts to convince the Council that humans aren’t bad, aren’t what everyone says they are, but everyone laughs in his face. Tommy is to be “exterminated” rather than kept in the cells like the other prisoners.
- Dream tries to fight them, trying to pull off some half-baked attempt at a distraction or an escape plan or something as Tommy is dragged away down a hall to be killed. Tommy hears Dream get shot (spoiler alert, dude lives) and goes fucking crazy. He fights off the two knights holding him and wants to go back to the Grand Hall but sees reinforcements coming and knows it’s useless. Dream is already dead, and if he goes back, he’ll be dead too. Part of him wants to go back anyway but survival instinct kicks in and he doesn’t stay. Sobbing he sprints out of there to the hangar, steals a ship and doesn’t look back (but always does)

Chapter 8 (Full Outline):

Tommy spent all his time running. He rarely looked back. He couldn’t stomach it.

He took jobs instead. So many jobs. So many distractions.

———

- Ranboo finishes talking Tommy down, they watch the water while he breaths, Tommy throwing in little pebbles, bursts of starlight on the surface
- Tommy explains the bare bones of his past, Draemons, etc. (Worldbuilding, babey!)
- Tommy apologizes for fucking up the heist, he’s better than that, he– “It’s okay. We’ll find another way.” “Yeah. We will.”
- Ranboo shares that the person who hired him is located at a colony called Las Nevadas. He convinces Tommy that if they’re still invested in this mission, the next best course of action would be to head there and see if they can get any info from the client even without the book.
- The boys are stuck on the glow planet as they attempt to patch up the Icaelo enough that it can fly again. They just need her to be able to limp to Las Nevadas where they can get it fixed at the same time they get their info. Tommy would’ve taken it elsewhere, probably somewhere closer to mitigate risk, but with the Syndicate no doubt closing in, he knows they can’t try going back to Tubbo’s or take any more detours
- Tommy, after revealing the Tragic Backstory™, pulls out his disc and teaches Ranboo cards while they take breaks from fixing the ship. Ranboo tells him a little about life on Vhoid, how he ended up with the Syndicate
- They get things patched up and make it to Las Nevadas. The boys dress up all spiffy once again, but more subtle this time on Ranboo’s part, at least.

———

“You ready?” “As I’ll ever be.”

“Don’t worry Boo,” Spades said, grinning in that nearly terrifying way of his. If he really was an avian, he was unlike any Ranboo had ever met. Even on his worst days, Phil never quite reached the same level of unsettling as Spades seemed to.

———

- They drop off the Icaelo nearby to get repaired while they head off to talk to Ranboo’s client, who turns out to be the owner of the place. (It’s Quackity. Who else?) The owner’s species has a thing for favors, for whatever silly lore reason that can justify it
- Cut to a Syndicate scene where Phil and Techno and Niki are closing in. They overheard reports of the failed robbery and subsequent chase. The general attitude is like “Ranboo– bro. What the fuck did you do kid, honestly what is this boy THINKIN”
- Cut back to the boys just vibing, trying to figure out which guy in this massive, eye searingly casino themed casino hired Ranboo. They get yoinked aside by security and brought to Quackity. He’s about to murder them for being Syndicate in his casino before Ranboo has a realization and is like “yo I’m the guy who called you asking for info”
- Tommy is forced to leave Ranboo alone under Quackity’s order. He’s reluctant to go but after prompting from Ranboo he decides to trust Enderboy and leaves. He wanders the casino and explores a little, does a smidge of pickpocketing perhaps, you know, as a treat.
- Meanwhile Ranboo bargains with Quackity, trying to appeal to him and get info even without the book, still unsure as to why he wanted it so bad. (In case there are no dots connected yet, the book is the Revive Book, but like…religious or whatever. Who knows what Q wants with it, honestly.) Quackity agrees, but only if Ranboo can beat him at a game of cards, cause he’s so charitable and nice and knows he’s gonna kick Ranboo’s ass. He also probably has plans to do even more nefarious things ‘cause he was only tolerating Syndicate presence under the pretense that Ranboo had the book, which he very much does not.
- Ranboo accepts the bet, Quackity is all giddy choosing the game and sets down a human deck all smug-like.

———

"You ever heard of poker before, kid?”

Ranboo bites back a feral smile, fangs just barely peeking through his lips. “Sure haven’t.”

———

Chapter 9:
- Ranboo obviously kicks ass at cards after his training montage with Spades, Quackity is forced to resign and is honestly so impressed and somewhat shocked he agrees to answer at least a few questions
- Quackity doesn’t have the info he’s looking for, unfortunately. Go figure. Ranboo is disappointed, feeling the desperation of “we went through all this for nothing? Like c’mon, you have to have something–”
- “Sorry kid, but that’s just not the type of info I have. If I’d heard of a human around here, trust me, I would’ve let the Syndicate know about it.”
- Ranboo leaves Quackity’s penthouse/office/whatever, upset and feeling hopeless. This was his last lead, so now what? Frustrated, he goes to find Tommy, who by now has at least like four stolen watches and some other shit in his possession, absolutely VIBING
- They debrief for a bit, Ranboo apologizes for dragging Tommy along on a wild goose chase and putting him in the line of danger for nothing, Tommy shrugs it off, says what are friends for, holds out a watch as a comfort bribe
- Someone shoots the watch out of his hand. Tommy yelps, they both panic, settling into adrenaline-high battle mode, thinking the IGE somehow managed to track them down despite having hidden, the cops are coming after them and they’re fucked.
- All hell breaks loose. Stampedes in between slot machines, cards and money and chips go flying. Quackity’s men start to fire at the intruders, who are not in fact, the IGE, but the Syndicate on their to retrieve Ranboo’s wayward ass
- Fight scene where no one knows who the enemy is, the boys are just trying to escape together in the chaos, not truly realizing they’re the ones being targeted. Ranboo saves Tommy, tackles him out of the way of a blaster shot after he gets clipped on the side and freezes up in pain

———

Spades gasped, clutching at his side. His suit smoldered, smoking at the edges of a hole in the fabric. Already, blood was oozing its way out of the charred wound.

Distracted by the pain, Spades wasn’t looking up. He wasn’t paying attention. He if had been, maybe he would’ve noticed the red shine of a laser scope trailing across his chest, trembling along the line of his collar with each heaved breath. But he didn’t.

Ranboo, however, did.

His eyes went wide. “Spades!” he shouted, lunging forward, “Look out–!”

They both went down, Ranboo tucking Spades into his chest as a crackle of energy sailed above their heads. Spades let out a thin whine of pain, hands clutching at his side as Ranboo scrambled to get them somewhat upright.

“Sorry, sorry,” he absentmindedly muttered, trying to sit up without making the injury worse.

Ranboo pulled Spades close to his side, scooting them behind a sparking slot machine in a pathetic attempt at cover. Spades was stiff in his grip, and the visible part of his face was twisted up in pain.

He peered over his shoulder at the chaos of the room, worrying his lip. Goddesses, it was a madhouse out there. Shots and beams were flying in all directions, patrons choking up the exits as the room slowly emptied. They still couldn’t tell who had started the fight, just that it had definitely started. He turned his attention back to Spades, who was leaning into his side, still tense, but the initial shock of the wound seemed to be fading already.

“Don’t worry– I’ve got you Spades,” he murmured, pressing them further behind the slot machine as he tried to think. The quiet words were as much a reassurance to himself as they were to his friend.

How the hell am I supposed to get us both out of here alive?

Spades glanced up at him, something flickering in his eyes. A moment later, he looked away, jaw set. He opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again, narrowed eyes giving away the fact that he’d made a decision on something.

“...Call me Tommy.”

Ranboo, who had been about to risk another peek over his shoulder, froze up. He stared down at Spades, eyes wide as saucers. Had he– had he misheard…? “...What?”

“Tommy,” Spades repeated, pulling his right hand away from where it had been pressed against the wound on his side. He lifted it up to his face, fingers sticky with blood. There was a fierce glint in his eyes. “That’s my real name. I think you’ve earned it.”

Ranboo watched, frozen with shock as Tommy, Tommy ripped the scarf off his face, pressing it to the blaster wound on his side with a grimace.

“You’re human,” Ranboo said, stunned. “You’re–”

Tommy squinted at him, wincing as the wound throbbed. “Yeah,” he replied, stilted. His expression was guarded again. “You got a problem with that?"

"No! No, I–”

Tommy’s eyes caught onto something over the other’s shoulder, going wide. “Ranboo, watch out–!”

It didn’t matter. He didn’t even have a chance to flinch before he was grabbed by his armpits and hoisted into the sky, screaming.

“Easy mate! Ranboo, it’s just us, calm down!”

——— 

Chapter 10:
- And then after that shocking and brilliant identity reveal, Ranboo, who has forgotten to pay attention to their surroundings because hello, this is the fucking human he’s been chasing this whole freaking time gets absolutely snatched by a swooping Phil right as his eyes go wide and he makes the connection
- Tommy watches as Ranboo gets yoinked and goes apeshit, pushing through his wound and trying to get him back. Phil and his frankly op wings and biology escapes with a struggling, protesting Ranboo. Tommy gives up trying to confront anyone outright and just manages to escape, chasing after Phil and watching Ranboo get dragged into an unmarked ship (Syndicate is in stealth mode for this, obviously). He assumes it’s hired guns come to get him for busting into the Museum (Ranboo’s whole face was out, Tommy’s wasn’t, it would hypothetically be much easier to put out a bounty on the Enderian) or someone from Vhoid taking revenge for the impersonation of the Royal court
- With a hissed, “Not on my watch, motherfucker”, Tommy sprints his way to the Icaelo, boots that barely functioning beauty up, and gives chase
- Phil is absolutely reaming Ranboo out for ditching them inside the ship. Imagine like the world’s most pissed off chicken screeching at his young adopted son for going on an unsupervised field trip to Mars all on his lonesome, cops chasing him the whole way. That’s the energy here. Any other Syndicate members that tagged along are standing around with similar looks of upset, watching this all go down and happy Phil is popping off, cause they were worried, okay?
- Ranboo is simply not listening to the scolding because his head is positively whirling, and he’s like “Phil you don’t understand, I found him, I found him–”
- Dream emerges from the depths of the ship after they stabilize flight, coming to join the conversation, much to Ranboo’s shock. “You let him come with?” Phil shrugged, “I needed backup, Tech needed to run things, and he was worried.” Dream interrupted them.
- “Found who, Ranboo?”
- Ranboo looks at him, takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Tommy.”
- Dream falls apart
- Niki, who’s been flying the ship (part of Ranboo search party), calls back from the cockpit, “Phil, we’re being tailed”

Chapter 11:
- Tommy chases down the Syndicate ship, more flashbacks of him and Dream together, their friendship
- Flashbacks of Dream getting dragged away, Tommy thinking they killed him
- Tommy, fueled by panic, rage, and the desperate need to set things right before he suffers from too much major blood loss or a wicked infection, guns it, refusing to let someone take away his friend, not again. Never again.
- Syndicate ship touches down on a nearby planet on Ranboo’s insistence and Dream backing him up, ‘cause even if the guy is freaking the fuck out he can’t just not check it out for himself, too hopeful for that. Tommy, unfortunately, is not aware of this, and assumes the worst, that the bounty hunters are pulling the ol’ intergalactic equivalent of shooting Ranboo and leaving his body in a backwater ditch somewhere.
- Tommy comes out guns blazing, just a total disaster at this point. Ranboo runs out of ship to him and tries to get Tommy to chill out, but Tommy refuses, trying to get them back into the Icaelo to escape while they still can. Ranboo keeps trying to reason but is cut off as Tommy shoves him behind his back when the Syndicate members exit the ship. Bro is in full feral human mode at this point
- Phil files out, then Niki, then…
- Dream appears, they both stare at each other in absolute shock. Despite the years and new scars and Dream’s uncanny valley human appearance, unable to retain a better look as time and distance has stolen the details of Tommy’s anatomy from him, they still recognize each other easily. Tommy’s gun falls out of his hand into the dirt, arm pushing Ranboo away going slack
- He stands there, frozen in shock, looking at a ghosts as Dream sprints down the ramp and up to Tommy, yanks off Tommy’s tattered disguises and just stares at him
- This is followed by an absolutely bone-crushing hug as Dream shifts to more human looking than anyone has ever seen him (he’d been trying to hold onto a form as similar to a human as he could get, refusing to lose Tommy entirely, but it was getting fuzzy as years went by, and it had been breaking his own heart)
- “You’re– you’re dead. You died, I heard the gunshot Dream, you–”
- “I left you,” Tommy breathed, gut churning with the realization. “I left you behind–”
- Dream tells him to shut the fuck up, and Tommy does.
- They hold each other, it’s cute as fuck

Chapter 12:
- Epilogue of some kind. Probably a time skip.
- Tommy got medical attention, communication finally happened. The infamous Spades is fully introduced to the Syndicate and everyone is kinda like, yeah… oops, sorry about shooting at you that much. My b.
- Bring back Tubbo at some point for a final cameo because obviously. Tommy doesn’t join the Syndicate, as cool as they are. He’s too much of a free spirit to be tied down to a structured org like that. Dream leaves to be Tommy’s copilot, but they visit Ranboo and the others frequently, make pit stops and such.
- Tubbo and Techno constantly try to fight each other. Everyone just kinda puts up with their bullshit
- It’s happy.

———

“Hey Ranboo, come ‘ere!”

The call from Tommy comes as he’s passing by the open doorway, a stack of files nestled in his arms. Curious, Ranboo pokes his head into the room, taking in the now familiar sight of the human and Dream sitting side by side at one of the galley's tables. Tommy’s disc is sat between them. The little device was activated, a deck of translucent blue cards spinning lazily in the air above it, faint glitches twitching through the stack every once in a while.

When Tommy waves him into the room, impatient, he obeys, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You busy right now, Boo?” Tommy asks, squinting up at him.

Ranboo glanced down at the papers in his arms. Phil had caught him in the hall earlier, frazzled, and had dumped them in his hands unceremoniously. When Ranboo had opened his mouth to ask, confused, Phil had just grunted out, “Techno,” and walked away.

“I mean…” he began, adjusting his hold on the documents. “Probably?”
“Great,” Tommy kicked one of the chairs away from the table, making room next to him. “Sit down.”

Dream snorted, reaching out to grab the deck of cards. Sharing his amusement, Ranboo slid into the seat, setting the files to the side. He was sure Techno could live without them for a little while longer.

“So,” Ranboo said, watching Dream shuffle the cards, the hologram dancing between slender fingers with ease, “What’re we playing?” A note of hopefulness crept into his voice. “Poker?”

“Ehhhh, nah,” Tommy replied, leaning back in his chair. He slung his hands behind his head, relaxed. A familiar, shit-eating grin flashed across his face.

“You ever heard of Go Fish?”