Chapter Text
Tommy liked to believe he wasn’t stupid.
He understood the basics of things, like how to keep his head down, or when shut the fuck up, and worked hard to keep himself from drawing to much attention. He had a good head on his shoulders and a well kept lid on his common sense. Which was exactly why he decided to take the backroads home. There had been a villain attack, a bad one, that had the roads backed straight to hell and the subway blocked off. It would’ve taken him hours to get back to the apartment had he waited so the backroads had really been the best decision, never mind that Tommy was a bright eyed blond living in the lower district, this was still the better option. Movie night wouldn’t wait for him if he stayed after all.
… Really Tommy wasn’t stupid, this was for the best. He knew the backroads like- well the back of his hand, and he had enough sense to keep away from any suspicious noises or especially smelly alleyways he came across. It really was fine, Tommy would make it home ok and he’d be sure to bitch about the whole thing to his roommates once he got close enough to call.
Someone was fighting down the road- just 5 more minutes.
He picked up the pace, incensed. Everything would be fine, it was just- if only puffy’s weren’t sat in the fucking middle row, he’d be home by now watching UP or some other (worse) movies. Heckling Rambo to cook anything other than spaghetti worse than the canned shit.
Tommy turned a corner into a familiar alleyway just a few minutes from their old, dilapidated apartment. The street lamps flickered behind him while the sounds of bugs scattering and ragged breathing punctuated the rapid tapping of his steps, then overwhelmed them.
Breathing
Someone had been breathing.
He swung his head left, away from the familiar stains and rats leading home, towards it- them. The noise was muffled, lutulent, grasped tightly by a sticky sort of heaving that mixed indiscriminately with the wet churning only a city like L’manburg spewed. Really Tommy wasn’t sure how he caught it- or whether it was real at all. Hearing odd things wasn’t uncommon down here, there didn’t have to be a person behind the breathing.
But- he had heard it.
More than just a the smell of people worse off than him,
or the sound of fists meeting bone,
Someone had been keening- choking, pushing past mucus and gargled spit to be noticed, to survive. The noise could be easily dismissed, but Tommy wasn’t stupid, someone was dying.
Ratty old trainers pounded against the concrete. They had been a gift from Tubbo, bought offhand and decorated with messages handcrafted by the people he loved. The night before, Ranbo wished him well with dry erase markers and an old pen, punctuated it with stars. Home was two blocks away, they’d probably finished setting up by now- Tommy was late.
He found the body belly up, with shrapnel gutting them like a fish. Blood poured from their mouth, staining them, sliding down their cheeks towards the mask (purple and bright, unmarked by the scene) highlighting the end.
Off white trainers drenched themselves in blood. (Tommy didn’t dare to breathe), hands shook and placed themselves by his pulse. (A man known for the power his voice held, now sat before him, gaping- unable to speak), the concrete was thick, wedged like a plug, the only thing keeping him alive. (The siren, the call, the loyal third of the Syndicate, more well known than even the most revered of Heroes, was dying.) Tommy couldn’t think, (No word from the news, no signs of a fight. Heroes didn’t kill but the Heroics corp has all the bodies who could overpower him, all the people who could fight. Sowho could’ve done this?) The man hiccupped, gulping down iron and sweat in an attempt to breathe. He was dying- Siren was dying-
Tommy needed to go
Leave.
He was a murderer
A terrorist
Heroes didn’t kill
The news was right not to cover this
Siren was dying
Tommy needed to leave
tears streamed down his cheeks, finally staining the mask. It stuck to his face and mixed with the blood, ruining a once royal purple, blending in with the alleyway. Rats scattered by as he took one, single, breath.
Tommy was reckless, vain, self centered, obnoxious, and mean. He worked up in the middle row at a cafe run by Puffy and lived with his two best friends in the lower district surrounded by peeling walls, bugs, and stains. He did his best to get by, and liked to believe he wasn’t stupid.
But he was, Tommy was so fucking stupid- and a man was dying and he could help- he could save him.
“Fucking- Fuck!”
He pushed the large overcoat siren wore as far away from the injury as possible, and wrapped his hands around the shrapnel. It was thick, but most of it stuck out rather than in.
Heh- Lucky siren.
Tommy pulled, and ripped, and tugged, scraping his hands against stubborn concrete, and wondered for a moment if it was his physique that would be the end of this man rather than a hero.
It wasn’t- the shrapnel popped loose like gum and his hands went to pull at the wound, ignoring the blood. The skin needed to be held together for this to work- he thinks. The worst injury Tommy ever treated was a badly cut finger, or a bruise, really he isn’t even sure this will work.
But it has to or he’ll die.
Tommy grits his teeth
The lowly alleyway lights up, yellow and gold tracing stubborn brick and pipelines. Siren’s gurgling stops as he heals, the gash knitting into a slit, and then a cut with silk as hot as iron. A headache pushes past Tommy’s eyes, ringing in his ears, he wonders if this would’ve hurt as much had he been trained, then elects not to think about that.
(He knows what the rate of healers are, CORE wouldn’t have let him go had he been found, a mild headache wasn’t worth even considering them.)
The wound stitches closed with the last of his strength, winding him. Tommy holds himself as he Sags into the ground, relieved. He healed Siren.
Fuck.
“I healed Siren.”
The syndicate was known for its power and ruthlessness, countless bodies had been laid out by this man, thousands suffered because of him. Fuck dreams casualty reports, the lax recognition, hero’s didn’t kill intentionally- they weren’t murders. Why had Tommy done that, why was Siren injured?! What was Tommy supposed to-
“-The fuck are you?”
Tommy started, his head held in his hands. The world felt warped and blurry. Siren was standing above him.
Shit.
“None of your fucking business!”
Tommy was going to die.