Chapter Text
“So…” Niki chuckled, leaning on the table, wheelchair rolled up to the edge. “You guys have all our papers, yes?”
“Yep,” Techno confirmed, dropping the boxes on the kitchen table and making it shake.
“All of them that weren’t blown up, at least,” Wilbur muttered before taking a swig of his coffee.
“Ey! It was necessary! And we had to make sure they didn’t get whatever we left,” Tubbo pouted, sending a glare at Wilbur from across the table, pointing a screwdriver at him for more effect before turning back to the new-and-improved comms he was working on. Wilbur, to his credit, looked at least disgruntled about being threatened with a screwdriver. “At least it looked cool.”
“Can I pick the colors this time? You let Ranboo-”
“No, Tommy, we will not be blowing anything up. Not yet, anyway,” Niki muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose and drowning out twin groaning ‘awwwww’s from Tommy and Tubbo. “Be patient.”
“I never realized how much you guys had gotten on that organization,” Phil said, amazed, as he picked up a packet of papers and flicked through them, black wings shivering behind him. “This is a lot for, what, three months of investigation?”
“What can we say?” Tommy responded. “We’re efficient.”
“With what we have from the legal standpoint about the heroes and their involvement…” Technoblade mused, chewing on his lip as he thought. “This could change everything.”
Tommy whipped around at a small vwoop behind him, meeting Ranboo’s eyes, which were shining with mischief and excitement.
“Boo? What’s up?” Tubbo asked, voice muffled from the screwdriver, which was now hanging out of his mouth.
Ranboo smiled, holding out a burner phone opened to a news article. “Guess who just started being seen in public again after he was found almost dead in a building known to be frequented by mafia members?”
“Please tell me he’s being shit on by the press,” Tommy blurted excitedly.
Ranboo cleared their throat and dramatically read out, “‘Investigators trying to look into why adored top hero Incubus was found in the building known to be connected to the organized crime syndicate the Ram Horns have been turned away from the hero’s tower completely. No questions have been answered by the hero himself as of the publishing of this article.’” They looked up, grinning. “Someone’s career has gone to shit. Wonder whose fault that is.”
“All our fault, baby! Woo!” Tubbo whooped, holding up both hands for a high five. Tommy reached across the table and slapped one hand before reaching his other one out, letting Ranboo walk over and put their phone down, high fiving both of them at the same time.
“Lemme see it,” Tommy said, holding his hand out and waiting for his subconscious to attach to the phone before yanking it off the table and catching it, scrolling through the article. “Holy shit, man, the press aren’t pulling punches.”
“They aren’t even drawing the right conclusions an’ he’s still getting shit on,” Tubbo mumbled from right over Tommy’s shoulder, making the screwdriver–which was back in his mouth–bang against his cheek. “Sorry.”
Niki smiled before flipping her hair back over her shoulder, pulling a hair tie off of her wrist and pulling her light pink hair into a low ponytail. “So- are we ready to start?”
Ranboo slid into the chair on Tommy’s left, deftly plucking their burner phone from his hands and slipping it into their pocket.
Phil smiled, something dark and mischievous slipping into the grin as he picked up a packet of paper, rifling through it and setting it down. He picked up a small packet of polaroids held together by a binder clip, unclipping them and spreading them out, the familiar neon green cape of Incubus in a few of them, Ranboo’s battered, bruised and broken hands spread in another, a small symbol spray-painted on a wall in another.
Tommy remembered when Tubbo’d taken the pictures of Ranboo’s hands, holding their shoulders steady as they winced, eyes tearing up as they shakily spread their fingers that Tommy had patched up in a maintenance closet. Both Tommy and Tubbo had been choking back tears at the sight. Hurt ones, saddened ones. Furious ones.
“We’ll make them pay for what they did,” Tommy growled under his breath, reaching over and grabbing Ranboo’s right hand with both of his, staring at their now-knobbly fingers as he tried to banish the image of the rainbow of blood and bruises that had covered them completely not that long ago. “To you.” he glanced up to Ranboo, meeting their eyes and covering their hand with his.
“To all the kids.” they finished.
“To all the kids,” Tommy echoed.
Tubbo spun the screwdriver between two fingers, looking like he would like nothing more than to stab it into someone’s skull. “We goin’ in guns blazing, or what? Cuz I have a few sons a’ bitches I'd really like to have a ‘friendly conversation’ with.”
Phil let out a dark laugh. Wilbur leaned in on his elbows, grinning widely. Techno reached back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head as he chuckled.
“The best part of this is watching them see their careers topple,” Phil said. “We take everything they never wanted to see the light of day and shine a spotlight on it.”
“A poetic end for the so-called heroes,” Wilbur added, eyes narrowed as he let out a small but maniacal laugh. “Makes it so much more fun.”
“And then we explode things,” Techno finished, flicking his head to the side to get a loose strand of pink hair out of his face before turning to Tubbo. “I heard you take color requests?”
“Fuck yes!” Tubbo cheered.
“When do we start?” Niki asked, face grim, jaw set. Her grey eyes were hard as steel, harder than diamonds.
Tommy knew he shared that same hardness in his own blue eyes.
Nobody messed with their people. Nobody.
They were all about to pay.
“Glad we’re all on the same page,” Phil chuckled. “So. Here’s the plan…”