Chapter Text
“Hhhhhhh,” Tommy wakes up from a fitful sleep with a loud groan. The fucking egg had guided him out through a series of tunnels, and he’d gone around alley to alley, checking under bridges, before begrudgingly settling down in a dumpster in Pogtopia. He would have gone in the sewers, but the heroes might still be searching down there.
He stretches a bit, yawning, “Prime, fuckin… Hell-!” he yells, banging his wenis on the metal dumpster. Fuck… ow. Creaking the lid open, he lets his eyes adjust to the light. Then he springs up to leave- “FUCK! Fucking- shit- motherfuckin… bastards, fuck, owwwwww…” his head hits the dumpster and he hunches over.
More carefully this time, then. Fuckin… fine. He slowly opens the lid, stands up and swings a leg over the wall, looking down and- the fuck??
This fucking… egg just can’t piss off, can it?
—
Nightmare's gotten a lot better at his job! Dream tells him a lot that, if he keeps being good, he'll be allowed to go in the backyard whenever he's out of his room!
He's really excited.
He's been trying really hard to be good the last few hours especially, as he stands next to Dream while he makes deals for some more weapons. ███████ doesn't really understand why they need more weapons, since Dream is really good at hurting people without them, but he doesn't question it.
He's getting nervous though. He can tell that some of the people on the other side are anxious. They have weapons on them, too, and not for sale or trade. He hopes that 404 or Flame have noticed. He doesn't know what he's meant to do. And maybe he's wrong?
—
There’s a ring of solid, vibrant red vines, seemingly swirling around the dumpster where he’d been sleeping. Fucking circling him. That’s not uncomfortable at all, no of course not! Fuck.
So this thing tracks him?
I guess that’s how it’ll protect me. I guess.
He decides to ignore it, stepping over the ring of vines and moving to leave the back-alleyway he’d rested in. He took a glance at the fucking- vines- and. They were eye-level with him, curling and moving, directly to his right, just inches away.
“Oohhh-kay…..” he whispers to himself, freaked the fuck out.
But it’s not exactly. Uh. Sneaky. Being surrounding by fucking writhing blood red vines would catch a few eyes.
“Fuck off? Like- how the hell am I meant to go anywhere if I’m gonna be all- fuckin- vined up?”
The vines somehow understand and… shrivel away. They shrink towards the wall, opting to creep along it, still following, instead. Well. That’s… better, I guess.
He shrugs, and decides to move along with his life. If he ignores it, maybe it’ll go away? Totally. Definitely. 100%.
And then he walks out of the alleyway, into the open city. And the vines were growing in.
“Wha-haattt the fuck… What the fuck,” he whispers to himself.
He takes a few careful steps out before he bolts. He starts running to the next city-
This is fucking insane. It’s insane. I’m fucking…. I’m dreaming- this CAN’T be real. This is fucking insane.
He just needs to reach L’Manburg and then… Either he can check himself into an asylum, or he can figure out what the fuck is happening. He just needs to run.
—
It went bad. Flame got hurt, and 404 had to gas the place so they could run. They didn't even get the weapons. Nightmare did his best to fight off the people going for Flame while he was already down, but he got hurt too. ████ is mad.
"You had one job, ███████, and you fucked it! One fucking job!" A plastic cup hits him in the chest. Thomas keeps his head down, and stays quiet. He did this to himself.
"You're fucking useless. I never should've saved you! Can't do the one fucking thing you ask him to— can't do fucking anything!" He raves, storming away from the younger.
404 already took the medkit for Flame. There's not really anything he can do other than go back down to his room.
—
He’s panting by the time he makes it anywhere. He runs into the middle districts, the same route he usually takes to the ‘food bank’... and into the bakery he was in with the Blade.
Niki’s, right?
There’s a television. It’s tuned into the news, reporting on the fucking vines.
“Authorities are looking into the source of this foreign overgrowth, which has taken over some of the lowest districts of L’Manburg. It thankfully hasn’t reached the Middle or Upper districts yet, but many are worried about its sudden appearance.”
The news anchor, a duck-hybrid with yellow hair and feathers, continues quacking out his analysis, made understandable by the captions. “No one knew anything about this weird plant until yesterday evening, when vines erupted from businesses, houses, streets, sewers, and more. Researchers are studying the plant to find a way to stop its growth. In the mean time, L’Manburgian citizens who’ve had property destroyed are encouraged to sign themselves onto the ‘Red Fucking Vines Grant,’ which will reimburse citizens once this crisis is over.”
“What in the actual fuck,” Tommy murmurs for the 10th time in the last hour.
“Yeah, it’s pretty fucked,” a familiar voice says. Tommy’s head immediately darts to look at- Wilbur?
“Oh— You look pretty rough, Toms- let me get you breakfast,” he says, concerned.
“I uh… actually yeah, that’d be fucking… good, yeah,” Tommy concedes. He really couldn’t afford not to accept, and with how shaken up he is… Honestly, fuck off. Let him have breakfast.
“Hey, Niki?” Wilbur calls out. Her head pokes out from the kitchen, “Yeah?” “Could you grab me… 2 cinnamon rolls?” Her head slides back into the kitchen.
“So, Toms, when did you start wearing contact lenses?” Wil asks, amused.
The fuck does he mean, contact lenses? His 20/20 vision is natural, bastard.
His face must’ve shown his confusion, because Wilbur scrunches his eyebrows together and says “you… Look, here,” he says, pulling out his phone with the camera on.
“Wh-” Tommy falls silent when he sees himself. He’s pale. His hair is mostly snow-white, as he expected by now. But his eyes… They were white. Just… white. No- no iris, or pupil- just a bright white that… seemed to glow.
“What the fuck, Wilbur?! That’s not fucking funny,” he nearly shouts, shoving the phone back at Wilbur.
It was a filter. It had to be a filter. It was just a filter. Fucking asshole.
Wilbur doesn’t respond, looking at him concerned. Tommy bristles at that, “Seriously man that's not even funny. You- that’s fucked up-” he sputters.
“Tommy, I didn’t do anything. Look, uh-” Wilbur starts fiddling with his pockets, pulling out a compact mirror and giving it to Tommy. He opens it and it’s the same. His eyes…
He immediately shuts it and slides it across the table. “Whatever, Wil. Uh. Sorry- I was mad,” He apologizes, swallowing the lump in his throat opting to ignore it. “Let’s just. Uh, forget about that.”
Wilbur stares at him for a few moments more, obviously concerned. Tommy seems to look anywhere but at him. “You… you lived in the Lower Districts, right?” Wilbur asked.
“Yeah but I’m fine, so fuck right off with your pity,” he says sadly. “Rich asshole,” he adds, with a smile, a moment later. Wilbur laughs.
“Alright, you gremlin- I was gonna offer a decent place for you to crash until the vines are cleared up, but I guess…” he trails off, clearly expecting Tommy to argue for the spot.
He doesn’t.
The fucking vines would probably show up at his house, too… Fuck- does he need to sleep in the Lower Districts? With the fucking vines?
Would Dream look for him there?
If the vines are there… he’d be best protected there, right? If they’re gonna fuckin stick to their word.
“Earth to Tommy?” Wilbur says, waving a paper bag in front of Tommy’s eyes.
“I was thinking, asshole,” he says, embarrassed, before snatching the bag from Wilbur. “Not like that’s something you’d know about,” he accuses before opening the bag and-
It smells so fucking good.
“But you know, you do have a place to stay with me. I’ve got a few different places you can crash in- just let me know and…” Wilbur starts yapping again, but Tommy is too entranced by the whole grain meal to give a shit.
… but, “Do you… do you have anywhere I could- could stay at- in the Lower Districts?” He asks hesitantly.
—
It got infected.
He'd tried to keep the leg clean and away from the grossness, but ████ had locked the door to his room, so he couldn't clean it.
His room is gross, so he wasn't surprised. ████ won't waste the anti-biotics on him after his fuck-up, so there's no point in trying that. It just kept getting worse. The skin around it turned red and puffy and hot and it started leaking. Then it started turning black.
When he woke up and saw the bugs had found it, he was glad that he couldn't feel that leg anymore. Maybe Dream did him a favor.
—
Wilbur just blinks at him, confused. “In the Lower Districts? Like… with the fucking vines?” He asks, confirming. Tommy doesn’t reply, just staring at Wil anxiously. “I- I guess- yeah?”
—
Tommy takes a deep breath through the bandana that acts as his mask. He’d managed to get out most of the decomposition smell out of his actual costume, but the nicer mask had to be trashed.
It’d taken him a while to realise the reason why it wasn’t washing away was because the skin of his face had melted into the fabric. No amount of plucking hairs, scrubbing with bleach, or alcohol soaks would fix that. So, a new mask it is.
It looks so shitty- but he’s got a bandana tied around his face, with a pair of goggles over his eyes. His hair is held back with a hairband (and a fuck ton of bobby pins) and secured inside his hoodie (also with a fuck ton of bobby pins. And safety pins).
But, hey! If it works, it works.
Now, Crimson Revenge is on the prowl… This time, though, he’s on the outskirts of the Middle Districts. He’d tried the Lower Districts but… well. The vines have cleared most people out of there, so there’s not exactly much crime to fight.
He focuses, not on the wind flashing by him as he hops from roof to roof, but on any voices he hears. Listening for anyone in need, anything out of the ordinary.
Woosh.
He turns on his heel, looking behind him. Achilles. “Do you seriously have nothing else to do but stalk some random vigilante? Seriously?” Crimson asks, kinda pissed, kinda playful.
Achilles snorts, tilting his head. “Crimson, I just want to ask some questions,” Tommy takes a step backwards, “I’m not trying to bring you in or trick you.”
Crimson rolls his head back, thinking. Well… fucking… “Shoot, I guess. But I’ll stab you if you try anything,” he bites.
“Are you really the same Crimson?” he asks.
…Huh?
“Huh?”
“Last month. We chased you down to bring you in. You were injured. You hid. No one saw you again after that,” Achilles recaps. “Are you the same Crimson or are you a replacement?” He asks.
“Why the fuck would I have a replacement?” Tommy asks, “I’m the best man ever but- like- why the hell would-? Huh?”
“We figured you’d died. Odysseus was- well- he was concerned,” Achilles says. What? Philza was concerned? About me? His jaw is dropped. “Well, we figured that you’re quite… young. None of us want the blood of a runt on our hands,” he explains.
His mood sours slightly. “So- so it isn’t because I’m a good vigilante? Because I’ve saved everyone I’ve encountered- driven down crime rates in my area by fuckin- like a lot- or because I’ve been actually doing useful shit, unlike you?! It’s just because you think I’m a fuckin- a fuckin kid?! Seriously?” He snaps, “fucking bellends….” he says, stepping back and raising his shoulders.
Achilles notices, but doesn’t move to do anything about it. “That’s what Odysseus mainly worries about. To him, you’re a good kid trying to help people.” And what’s the fucking catch? “I frankly don’t care. I don’t think you’re a kid, but I do care that you’re doing your job. That’s why I’m here,” he explains calmly.
Oh. That’s what this is about. “If you have a job for me, you’re paying me for it. And my time isn’t cheap,” Tommy barks out.
Achilles nods, expecting that. He pulls out a thin box from inside his cloak, saying “This is full of cash, plus a burner phone with my contact information.” He takes a step forward. Crimson takes a step back.
He stops for a moment, before kneeling and sliding the box until it hits Crimson’s foot. He returns to his feet.
“And what am I doing for this? I haven’t agreed to do your shitty dirty work,” he says, opening the box.
Holy fuck. The box is thin, but pretty long, opening from the top. True to his word, it had a cheap burner phone- like the one Dream had- and cash. Lots of cash. He expected $20’s, because of the size of the box, but… Shit, man. He closes the box, “you’re not getting this back”, he says with a flat stare.
The hero snorts at that, crossing his arms. “I figured. But I doubt you’ll turn this down, since it’ll help save your land,” he says. Tommy’s eyes focus on that. “I want you to bring me a sample of the vines,” he proposes, “and then you’ll get the rest of your payment. If you stay for… let’s say 2 more tasks, we can wipe your record, give you a clean slate. New papers, everything. Whatever you’re running from, dealt with,” he says.
Like he isn’t offering something impossible.
New papers don’t mean shit- Dream taught him forgery like nothing else. But that last part…? Would they actually deal with Dream? Who’s he kidding? If the heroes could have dealt with Dream, they'd have done it years ago.
But he does need cash really fucking bad right now.
Crimson unzips his fanny pack- yes, it is very practical- and rolls a mason jar over to Achilles. There goes the sample. Not like he had anything he could do with it.
Achilles picks it up, looking Crimson in the eyes- goggles- for a second. “This fake?”
“Why the fuck would I have a fake red vine in my fanny pack?” Crimson retorts. He crosses his arms with a smirk, “Where’s the rest of my money?”