Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Superheroes. They're so much more than human. They are gods living among men, hiding within our society so they can save our society.

Superheroes are perfection.

At least, that's what the media says.

A select few know better.

Tourists and locals alike raise their phone cameras to the sky to get a glimpse of their idols. Their Twitter following is hungry for more, hungry for images and videos of these untouchable gods that have no idea they even exist. This is an everyday occurrence now. People put themselves in extreme danger just for pure entertainment and a shot at getting an autograph.

"Look!" Someone yells, garnering the attention of the crowd. "It's Dream! The Smiling Hero!"

The green-clad hero stands atop a skyscraper, adjusting his porcelain mask (which boasted a simple smile painted onto the material). "Don't worry." His strong, confident voice carries down, filling the ears of everyone below. "I'm here to help." (Just below on the ground, you could barely hear somebody scream "Fuck, his voice is so hot!")

Dream is the most powerful of a superhero alliance the media has deemed the "Dream Team". After him, of course. Because everything always has to be about him.

After scanning the area for the perpetrators, he locks eyes (do painted eyes count as eyes? How does he see through that thing?) with another man across the city center. His longtime teammate, Sapnap.

Sapnap nods.

Nobody seems to notice this.

And all of a sudden, three stereotypical supervillains burst out of the bank.

The crowd gasps. "It's the Demon and his crew!"

The Demon, the Siamese Cat, and Creeper are longtime adversaries of the Dream Team. Moriarty to their Sherlock, Voldemort to their Harry, et cetera, et cetera. This whole "beat em' up just enough so they survive, rinse, repeat" cycle has been going on for what feels like forever. Somehow, people never get sick of it.

"Sapnap! 404!" 404, the final member of the Dream Team, stands on another rooftop. "I'll take the Demon. Sapnap, you take Cat. 404, that leaves you with Creeper."

Sapnap gives Dream the toothy, mischievous grin that always sends a good portion of the city into a frenzy. "On it, boss man!"

A jet of roaring fire shoots from Sapnap's hands straight to where Siamese Cat stood. The crowd loses their minds.

Sapnap's first fire attack is a signal for the rest of the team. 404 makes his way down from the roof (using the fire escape. Kind of lame, really) and jumps in front of Creeper. He then begins to use his smooth voice to coax Creeper to self-harm. Because forcing him to just restrain himself wouldn't be as entertaining, of course. While 404 is traumatizing Creeper for life, Dream faces off with the Demon.

Dream is almost equally matched here: the Demon controls darkness itself. However, being Dream, he always manages to come out on top (because he's just that powerful. Naturally). He utilizes his cunning to find the weak spot on the Demon's body and grab it. Having taken hold of the Demon's physical body, he employs his super-strength to throw him across the city center, which incapacitated him.

Soon enough, the Siamese Cat falls just like his teammates, and the Dream Team stands victorious. The media circus has begun, surrounding the three heroes with cameras and microphones, and a buzz of excitable energy has filled the area, even more than before.

Dream laughs, breathlessly. "Alright, alright. While we're here, we will be taking questions. But, just know: you guys are the real heroes. You stood bravely. You didn't run from the fight. We do this just for you, you know. We appreciate you!" It was impossible to see under his mask, but anyone could hear the smile in his voice.

"Dream! Dream!" A reporter yells and sticks a microphone in the hero's face (mask?) "How do you do it?"

Dream sounds amused. "How did I get my superpowers? How do I save you all week after week? What are you asking?"

"I'm asking how you manage an average life and have a secret, superhuman alter ego. How do you do it?"

"Well, the support, everywhere I go, helps me hold my head up. There was a point in time where I was having real problems with self esteem. But you guys-" he points at the mass of people below- "helped me through it!"

The enamored people erupt with cheers and praise. ("We love you Dream!" "That's my superhero!")

"This question is for the entire team," another reporter drawls, "Where has your ally, Wormhole been as of late?" Wormhole is another superhero who occasionally assists the Team on their escapades. Online, he's known as the "Master of Time".

Sapnap takes the initiative on this question. "Wormhole hasn't been joining us because he needs time to himself. Everyone needs some me-time, am I right?" He laughs heartily, pumping his fists at the crowd to get them to cheer. They obey, whooping and clapping without a care in the world as if three supervillains hadn't just tried to destroy the city and kill all of them.

"Gogy! Gogy!" Someone in the crowd yells. The team is confused for a second before the citizen clarifies. "404!" They yell.

"Oh," 404 says, carelessly. " What's your name? And what's up with the Gogy thing?"

"Ollie," they say sheepishly. "People have started to call you that. Because of your goggles and stuff."

404 nods. "Makes sense. You have... a question or something?"

Ollie grins. "Yeah! Do you use your superpower, you know, outside of costume? Like, do you use it in real life to get stuff you want."

"That's. A really good question actually. No, I don't. I want to avoid it because mostly I don't want to blow my cover, but also, it would be kinda immoral, really. Forcing an unsuspecting person to do whatever you want? That could be quite bad."

"Ah. Makes sense." Ollie nods, before disappearing back into the crowd.

Yet another reporter (Jesus, fucking reporters) leans in close. "Dream. Do you have any plans to take off the mask anytime soon? I mean, a lot of people would like to see that face of yours."

"No." Dream chuckles. "No, no way in hell. Secret identities are meant to be, like, secret."

The reporter clicks her tongue, jotting something down on her notepad, before gesturing to her cameraman to leave.

"I think," Dream says, before anyone else can ask a question, "We're done here. Superheroes need their rest!" Dream gives the mass of people a salute, before grabbing his teammates and flying away.

Everyone groans in disappointment, before slowly making their way away from where the heroes had been standing mere seconds before.

Across the city, a TV turns off. A tall, curly-haired man stands up from his couch, dusting off his jeans and yellow sweater. He smirks, recounting the events that had unfolded from the safety of his home.

He announces to no one in particular: "It's time those assholes get knocked down a peg."

Not too far from the center of all the action, two teenagers are sitting on a park bench. They exchanged a sad look, sharing the same thought.

Just another day of superhuman chaos.

Just another day of superhuman manipulation.

Those assholes really should be knocked down a peg.

Chapter Text

"Mmmnn," Tommy grumbles. He blinks a few times and rubs his eyes, which are adjusting to the morning light. Sitting up, he swings his legs over the park bench and stands up, hands on his hips. Despite it being early in the morning, he puffs out his chest. The big man's got to look, you know, big, and all.

Tommy surveys the park. He got lucky last night-- no cops kicked him off the bench or anything.

He thinks to himself. Yeah, fuck 'em! No better than those dumbass spandex-clad assholes, really. Oh fuck, imagine if cops had superpowers--

"Tommy? Oh good, you're awake!" Tommy turns to face the opposite park bench where his partner-in-crime, Tubbo, is just waking up.

"Tubbo, just the man I wanted to see!" Tommy's face breaks into a grin.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm the only man you want to see. Because you're lonely," Tubbo points out.

"Oh, fuck off and die. Go get stung by one of those bees you like so much. In my expert opinion, they're shit."

"You like raccoons. Not much fucking better."

Tommy slumps his shoulders. "Raccoons are awesome. You're just a dickhead."

"Thanks, I try," Tubbo says dryly, standing up to match Tommy. "C'mon, let's get going."

Tubbo walks towards the exit from the park to the street. Tommy follows him, hands in pockets.

This is a normal morning for the pair. They wake up somewhere random in the city (more often than not in the park), and subsequently have a quick, usually playfully malicious, exchange. Tommy tells Tubbo to die at least once, Tubbo waves it off, then they leave to go walk around. Walking around is really all they have to do, but they're together, and that's what counts.

"Sooooo," Tommy leans forward. "Where are we goin' today?"

"I was thinking we could head down First. Don't know what there is to do, but that's someplace to go."

"I know what we could do." A mischievous smirk makes its way onto Tommy's face.

"We aren't stealing anything, you absolute kleptomaniac."

"Damnit. You're just so fucking lame, really."

"Thanks, I try," Tubbo says dryly.

"Oh! Oh! You know what's on First?"

"What's on First?"

"Guess!"

"Jesus, I don't fucking know-- um, the grocer's?"

"Well, yes, but that is not the thing I am talking about!!"

"Then what are you talking about?" Tubbo is exasperated.

Tommy sticks his tongue out "Niki Nihachu's bakery. Duhhh."

Tubbo's eyes immediately brighten up at the prospect of free pastries. "Oh, fuck yeah! We are definitely going over there."

Niki's bakery is a little sweet spot on the corner of First and Third. She arguably has the best and softest cookies in the city, and the best part is? She gives them out for free to Tommy and Tubbo. They came into her store starving and didn't have enough money to pay. Niki gave the pair free sweets, and they were ever so grateful. They came back some days later, and she gave them free food again. It's become a routine. Tommy and Tubbo walk into her store, she gives them what they want, and naturally, they take it. Sometimes, when she can find the time, she sits down to talk to them. Niki is a girl as sweet as her cupcakes, and easy to talk to at that.

Tommy's practically drooling now. If only Tubbo wasn't so fucking short. C'mon, Sleepy, move those fuckin' stump legs of yours! I want cookies, goddamnit!

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he excitedly hops around Tubbo, who breezes along without a care in the world.

After what seems like an endless walk, the boys arrive at the pink door of Niki's Bakery on First. Upon opening the door, the duo makes immediate eye contact with Niki in the back of the bakery, whose eyes immediately light up. She dusts off her flour-covered apron, washes her hands, and lets her short pink hair down before making her way to the countertop.

"Tommy! Tubbo! I'm so happy you came! It feels like it's been forever! Sit down, at that table by the window! We have to catch up."

After exchanging an excited smile, the boys sit at the aforementioned window table. Only one person is nearby-- a man at the table opposite theirs. A beanie is pulled over curly brown hair that covers his entire forehead. A guitar leans against his chair, clearly used but still pretty nonetheless. He gives Tommy a small smile before returning to his donut.

Niki hurries over with arms full of baked goods. Dumping her sweetly-flavored stash onto the table, she pulls up a chair.

"C'mon, eat already! How are you guys?"

Tommy attempts to answer with his mouth glued shut by frosting. "'M fine. Wha' abou' you?"

Niki's smile could light up the Batcave. "I'm doing great! Business is pretty good, and I'm just overall having a fun time.

Tubbo gulps down his cookie. "That's great Niki! Personally, I've be-"

Tubbo is interrupted by a loud boom from the outside. The bakery shakes, and a flash of green shoots by the bakery window. Dream.

"Shit," Niki curses. "Damnit, guys, I think there's a supervillain attack. Everyone get down and stay safe!"

Another explosion. Customers scream. Cupcakes fly. It's a whole mess.

"Tommy! Tubbo! Wilbur!" The duo and the guy by the window, Wilbur, look up at Niki.

"What's wrong?" Tommy yells above the chaos.

"Get away from the window! It could break!"

"Fuck, she's right," Window guy-- fuck, Wilbur-- speaks for the first time. His voice is smooth, and he has an accent.

Another flash, this time orange.

"Get back!" Wilbur screams. He shoves Tommy and Tubbo away from the glass, and they scramble back behind the counter nearby everyone else. Wilbur follows just in time: a split second later, the glass shatters.

A porcelain mask pops up in the now-open space. "Sorry, lady," Dream shouts, "Just part of the job!" As soon as he apologizes for breaking the window, he takes off again.

"Part of the job my ass," Niki whispers, startling Tommy. He hadn't noticed she was behind the counter too. "This is the third fucking time."

"Shit, I'm sorry," Tommy offers. Superheroes always seem to destroy more than they save, he thinks.

"Bastards." Wilbur pats Niki's back sympathetically, as she buries her face in her knees.

"Fuck 'em. Goddamn idiots. Can't they at least pay to fix all the shit they break?" Tommy punches the wall behind the counter. It hurts, and it didn't seem as cool as he thought it would be. Next to Tommy, Tubbo nods in agreement, trying to hide his giggles at the pointless "angsty" wall punch.

Wilbur seems intrigued by Tommy's sudden outburst. "Never met a child with that kinda anger towards heroes. Aren't you pricks supposed to, like, worship them?"

Tommy turns his head to look at Wilbur. "First of all, I'm not a fucking child."

Wilbur raises his eyebrows in amusement. "I beg to differ. You're what, fifteen?"

"Sixteen," Tommy grumps.

"Exactly. A child."

"Fuck you, pussy."

"You're his friend, right? Is he always like this?" Wilbur's attention is on Tubbo now.

"He tells me to die every morning," Tubbo adds helpfully.

Wilbur nods. "Right then. But for real, what's up with the superhero-hating thing?" Pause. "Answer me, child."

"If you'll stop fucking talking, then I'll answer."

"I'll shut up now, then! You've got the talking stick."

Tommy takes a deep breath in. "Okay. So there was this big fucking attack a year or so back. It seems like there's a big fucking attack every day now, but this was a big fucking attack. I lived in this apartment complex in the middle of town. I'm sat watching this attack on my tiny little television set. The Dream Team was on the job, handling some obscure villain. I don't remember their name or what they looked like, probably 'cause they-- well, you'll see. All of a sudden, I notice that they're getting pretty close to my building! Whoa! So I go and knock on my neighbor's door-"

"Oh! Oh! That's me. I'm the neighbor!" Tubbo waves his hands.

"God, shut up, I'm trying to tell a fucking story here-"

Tubbo slumps against the bakery wall "Fine, sorry."

The attacks have ceased, and most customers have left. Despite this, Wilbur, Niki, and Tubbo are all transfixed on Tommy.

"As I was saying, I go to knock Tubbo's door, and I drag him outside so that we can get to witness the superhero greatness for ourselves! Yay! We're outside, and we're watching the battle. Good battle, by the way, it wasn't, like, boring to watch or anything. And the villain landed on top of our building. Sapnap followed him, and with a fucking twisted smile on his face, he proceeds to bomb our apartment building."

"Oh my God, I never knew-" Niki stammers, trying to string coherent words together.

Tommy waves his hand. "It's okay. Tubbo and I-- we were shellshocked for those first couple of weeks. Kids stuck on the streets. And nobody fucking cared, because Sapnap was trying to save our city! He can't do anything wrong! Nothing happened to him, he didn't apologize, nothing. People were jumping out of the windows to avoid burning to death. That's one of the cruelest things, you know. Choosing how to die."

Tommy looks around, at the stunned faces of Niki and Wilbur. "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. I totally dumped all this on you guys, and-"

"Don't- never apologize for having a story to tell, Tommy." Wilbur puts his hands on Tommy's shoulders.

"Oh," he breathes.

Wilbur exchanges a look with Niki. She nods solemnly.

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "What the fuck are you two doing. Are you, like, communicating telepathically?"

"No, Tommy, we are not communicating telepathically," Wilbur sighs. He has a small smile on his face.

"Then what are you doing?"

"Yeah, I wanna know too! I feel slightly irrelevant at the moment! Which is super weird 'cause I was extra relevant when we woke up this morning. I talked a lot then!" Tubbo fake pouts.

Tommy shakes his head, laughing breathily. "Tubbo, you always know how to make things better, I swear. Keep being you, man."

Tubbo salutes. "Aye aye, cap'n!"

"Anyways, Wilbur, Niki? What's up with you guys?"

"Tommy, Tubbo, what if," Wilbur starts, hesitating slightly, "there was a way to get rid of superheroes. Permanently."

Tommy and Tubbo stare at Wilbur as if he had just grown another head, then burst out laughing. Tommy wipes a tear from his cheek. "There's no way to get rid of superheroes! They're fucking superheroes! How stupid are you?"

"Not right now there isn't." Wilbur stands up, gesturing for everyone else to follow him.

"What do you mean?" Tommy's eyes narrow.

"He means," Niki joins in, "We're going to find one."

"And who is the 'we'? Surely you two aren't going to defeat superhumans on your own," Tubbo crosses his arms.

"Thing is, we're not alone." Wilbur leans against a door, tapping the knob. Niki twirls a set of keys around her finger, then finds the right one to open the door.

"Oh yeah." Tommy's interest is piqued.

Niki smiles and opens the door. Monitors line the walls, along with a shit ton of weapons ranging from a dagger to a bazooka. The technology is state of the art-- how can a baker afford this? Tommy points to the bazooka, mouth hanging open. "Do you have a permit for that?"

Wilbur spreads his arms. "Welcome to the revolution."

Chapter Text

"The revolution?" Tommy rolls his eyes. "We aren't, like, rebelling against a mother country, are we? I reckon that name is a bit dramatic."

Wilbur's eye twitches. "It's not- I'm not being!- Actually. Why do I care about what you think? It's called the revolution and that's fucking final!"

Tommy holds his hands up in playful surrender. "Damn, alright."

Tubbo, the one with the brain cell at the moment, speaks up. "Wait, how can you have a revolution? I mean, it's you and Niki, plus two homeless teenagers. Seems like a weak revolution if you ask me."

"Ah, but my friend, it's not just us!"

Tommy pokes his head through the open door. The same sight of computers and weapons greets him.

Those are weapons that really don't belong in a little bakery on First Street.

"I don't fucking see anyone, big man," he shrugs.

"Be patient, prick. I just texted them. They'll be here soon." Wilbur walks into the room, then gestures for the others to follow him. They do, with Niki entering last, then locking the door.

Tommy immediately makes his way over to the bazooka. He's about to take it off the wall when Wilbur snatches it back.

"Don't touch that. You aren't old enough."

"Fuck you, dickhead, I can touch whatever the shit I want."

"Yeah, well, you are not touching this thing."

Tommy pouts, then sits down on the floor. Niki notices this.

"I can grab chairs," she offers.

Wilbur smiles. "That'd be great, Niki."

Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur are left alone in the war room.

"So," Tubbo says, trying to make conversation, "What got you into this whole anti-superhero thing, Wilbur?"

"Oh," Wilbur replies, squirming, "Just stuff. And things. Nothing you need to know."

Tubbo nods in understanding. "Cool."

An uncomfortable silence blankets the room. Tommy holds his knees and rocks back and forth on the floor.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Wilbur asks pointedly.

Tommy glares at him. "None of your business."

"You are acting like you're in first grade and it's carpet time."

"Yeah, well, fuck you."

Wilbur snorts. "Nice."

The door bursts open. The room's occupants snap their heads towards the sound.

"I'm back," Niki huffs, carrying two chairs under her arms. "And I brought friends."

Three other men holding chairs enter the room behind her.

The first thing Tommy notices is just how out of place they all look. Tommy, Tubbo, Wilbur, and Niki are all dressed normally, in something you could wear just walking down the street. Well, he supposes you could dress like them just walking down the street, but it'd be rather odd.

The first man is ginger, with a white streak running through his hair. He wouldn't be out of place at a steampunk fair. Golden goggles sit upon a black scally cap. A leather trench coat with strips of color where the buttons should be is layered over a ruffled white t-shirt. Black pants are tucked into white boots adorned with golden designs.

The second man looks right out of some anime Tommy had seen playing at a comic shop once. His dirty blonde hair reached just below his chin, topped with a green-and-white striped bucket hat. Wrapped around his body is a simple green robe.

His eyes look really tired, Tommy notes.

The third man was probably the weirdest. His long, thick pink hair is braided down his back, and that's the most normal part. Two elongated canine teeth (tusks?) just barely peek over his bottom lip. If the ginger wouldn't be out of place at a steampunk fair, this one wouldn't be out of place at a renaissance fair; his attire seemed royal, almost kingly. A red cape flows down to his ankles, layered over a regency shirt and black pants. Dress shoes tap anxiously on the floor

What the fuck did I go and get myself into? Tommy blinks a couple of times in sheer what-the-fuck-ness.

Bucket Hat turns toward him. "Hey, mate. Wilbur said we had some new people? I'm assuming you're one of them?"

"Yeah, that's me." Tommy gulps.

"I figured. I'm Phil," he says, stretching out a hand for Tommy to shake.

Tommy takes it, hesitating slightly. "Tommy," he says, swallowing his nerves. "And this-" he gestures to Tubbo, "Is my friend Tubbo."

Tubbo waves. "'Sup."

Phil grins. "Nice to see some new faces around here. I was getting sick of the rest of these fucks."

At this, Wilbur crosses his arms in mock disappointment. "Thanks, Dad."

Tubbo balks. "You're Wilbur's dad?"

"Er, no. He just kind of calls me that and I never bothered to tell him not to." Phil shrugs.

"Makes... sense?" Tubbo scratches his head.

"Nothing makes sense around here." Tommy turns his head towards the speaker, the ginger man. During the conversation, he had apparently made his way over to a computer desk and settled there. The computer turns on. He smiles, satisfied, and turns around in his chair. "Fundy, at your service," he salutes.

"Tommy. But I think you know that by now."

"Fundy's a total genius with computers," Niki says.

"Oh!" Tubbo pipes up. "So he's like. Your guy in the chair? In all the spy movies, they always had a chair guy who used his expert computer-y skills and stuff."

"I guess you could say that," Fundy's eyes narrow in mischief. "But, you could also call me Fundy, Lord of Computers and the Most Awesome Guy Ever."

"Fuck no. I prefer Chair Guy." Tommy crosses his arms.

Fundy shrugs. "Suit yourself."

Wilbur approaches the renaissance fair escapee. "You wanna, like, introduce yourself or anything...?"

"No, not really," he responds.

Wilbur pokes him in the arm. "C'mon." Poke. "You gotta." Poke. "It's for the sake of Tommy and Tub-"

"Jeez, fine. If you'll stop poking me."

Wilbur smirks in triumph.

"I'm Technoblade. Or Techno. Or the Blade."

"Creative nicknames," Tommy grumbles.

Techno narrows his eyes. "You got anything better, kid?"

Tommy bites his lip in thought, then shakes his head after a few seconds. "...No. And I'm not a kid."

Techno is about to say something, but Wilbur stops him. "Don't worry about the prick. He's in denial."

Tommy nearly blows a gasket. "I am NOT in den-"

Two hands grab his shoulders and shake. "Get your shit together!" Tubbo yells while Tommy's brain is playing Atari Breakout with his skull.

"Everyone stop it!" Niki screams. "Just sit in the fucking chairs and calm down! Isn't this supposed to be an organized revolution?"

The rest of the group shuts up and takes their seats.

Wilbur clears his throat. "So. Tommy, Tubbo, we need to figure out your specialties."

"Specialties?" Tubbo tilts his head in confusion.

"Yeah," Fundy adds. "Here we've all got a job, right? And that job is based on what we're good at. Like. Computers are my specialty, so everyone comes to me when they need a techie."

Niki nods. "My specialties are working with people and hand-to-hand combat, specifically knives."

"Wait, could you repeat that one more time? That last part?" Tommy wants to make sure he heard her right.

"Uh, hand-to-hand combat? Specifically with knives?"

"Where the fuck did you learn to fight with knives? Why do you know how to fight with knives?"

"I dunno. I just sort of learned one day."

"I- okay. Whatever." Tommy runs his hands through his hair in a combination of exasperation and nerves. Once again, what the fuck have I dragged myself— and Tubbo— into?

"I don't know that I have a specialty," Tubbo ponders, seemingly unfazed at this new revelation.

"Everything's my specialty. I'm just fucking amazing at everything I do," Tommy brags.

Tubbo rolls his eyes. "His specialty is being a prick."

"No, it is not. I'm awesome," Tommy insists.

"Mmm. We'll figure out your guys' talents on the fly, I guess. Don't worry, everyone has one," Wilbur jots something down on his notepad, "Anyone has anything else to say before I start the core of the meeting?"

Techno raises his hand.

"Techno, we are not using Ancient Greek code names."

Techno puts down his hand.

"Yeah, I have a question, actually." Tubbo clears his throat.

Wilbur gestures for him to continue. "Shoot!"

"How in the hell are we gonna take down the fucking Dream Team? I mean, look at us. We're a mess. We're all immature losers— no offense— and I'm relatively sure that none of us have powers."

Tommy nods in solemn agreement.

Wilbur's smile widens a little bit. "O ye of little faith! Where there's a Wilbur, there's a way."

He sounds like a greeting card, Tommy thinks.

"Yeah, yeah, but what way? I mean, you haven't explained jackshit to us yet. To me, it just sounds kind of like misguided, blind hope." Tubbo frowns.

"Hope is never misguided or blind, as long as it conquers despair! Fear not, gentlemen," Wilbur glances at Niki, "and lady, 'cause I've got a plan."

"Is it murder?" Techno asks, almost hopefully.

"No, it's not fucking murder. Jesus, what's wrong with you? We," he points at everyone at the table, "are gonna do this the right way. The honorable way."

"Oh, yeah?" Tommy snorts. "And what way is that?"

Wilbur waves his hands. "Espionage."

"Espionage?" Tommy asks in disbelief. "That's the honorable way? Honorability isn’t dirty tricks. I'd rather bust some heads or something." Techno nods his head in silent approval at this.

"No heads are gonna be busted! Listen. The whole point of this little revolution is to make people hate superheroes. Not us! We need to gather public favor by exposing the heroes' deepest, dirtiest secrets. Murder wouldn't have the same effect." Wilbur straightens his posture, seemingly proud at his "profound" little speech.

"Exposing the heroes' dirtiest secrets?" Tubbo scratches his head, clearly skeptical.

"Exactly!" Wilbur puffs his chest.

"You're making it sound so easy. Don't sugarcoat it. And that's coming from me!" Niki giggles a little bit at her joke.

"Yeah, Niki makes a valid point," Tubbo adds. "How would we do that?"

"Again, I've got a plan! That I actually thought out this time!"

"Good for you, son," Phil doesn't look up from his phone.

"Thanks, Dad. Anyways, yes. I have a thought-out plan."

"So," Fundy leans forward in his chair. "You keep saying you have a plan. So, explain the plan."

"Okay, okay! Jesus. Pushy," Wilbur grumbles.

"Get on with it, dickhead!" Tommy yells.

"FINE! We all know the heroes are unbelievably phony. They act all nice and shit in public, but we know they're not. Must be exhausting putting up that fake-ass persona all day, every day, right? Of course it is. So I did a little research by following the costumed heroes-"

"Stalking. I think that's called stalking," Techno interjects.

"Stalking, research, same fucking thing. Anyways, I followed them to this casino slash hotel or something downtown called the Lucky Duck. It's owned by someone named Quackity. I may not have been able to hear inside, but I have my bets— ha— that that's where they loosen up, especially since they went there all secret-like."

"The Lucky Duck," Tommy repeats, trying the words out in his mouth. "Yeah, I think I've seen that place before. The square, right?"

Wilbur nods.

"Okay, then how are we gonna find out their secrets just by knowing where they go to relax?"

"I guess that's my cue," Fundy grins. He pulls a little metal disc from his jacket pocket. "This is a bug. Transfers the feed from any security camera straight to my computer. Wilbur's had me developing it for a while. Guess that's what it's for."

"A bug," Tommy says in disbelief. "This is fucking crazy."

"Crazy and genius walk a thin line," Wilbur says. "Either way, we've got to do this. For justice."

"For justice," Niki repeats.

Tommy and Tubbo share a look. "For justice," they repeat, not confidently, but not unsure, either.

At the Lucky Duck Casino, a teal-and-purple-clad hero stands at the front door. It's cold outside, and Karl doesn't want to wait to get inside much longer. Hesitantly, he knocks three times, then steps back a bit.

The door swings open. "Wormhole!" A familiar face grins at him, full of mischief.

"Quackity," Karl says, and walks through the door. Three other heroes sit at the bar, and one, Sapnap, waves back.

Time for another exhausting night at the Lucky Duck casino, where all bets are off.

Chapter Text

Karl makes his way over to the bar where the Dream Team sits. 404 has his head buried in his arms on the counter, while Dream sits in deep thought, his hands folded in front of his face, elbows on the counter. Sapnap is the only one sitting somewhat normally, facing sideways, his legs draping over the seat next to his.

Sapnap moves his legs and pats the seat where they used to be, inviting Karl to sit down.

"Wormy! Glad you could make it," Sapnap smiles, wrapping his arm around Karl's shoulder.

Karl shrugs Sapnap's arm off. "Just Wormhole is fine," he mumbles.

Sapnap frowns. "Jesus, Wormy, what's your problem? Why do you never show up to fights anymore? I thought you loved the whole pow-pow-beat-em-up thing!" As he says this, he punches in Karl's direction playfully.

"Sapnap, stop. Just stop it!" Karl blocks all his weaker-than-usual punches with his palms.

"Fine. God." Sapnap pouts. "Ge- I mean, 404, do you know what's up Wormy's ass these days?"

"Wormhole." Karl corrects once more, to no avail.

"Hmm?" 404 is shaken out of his sleep. "Oh, I dunno." He slumps over again.

"Fucker's sleeping in a public place again!"

"I need my beauty rest," 404 sits up and rubs his eyes.

"Beauty rest. Right," Sapnap snorts. "Anyways, for serious, Wormhole, what's your damage?"

The tips of Karl's ears are red from anger now. "My damage is that you set fire to an office building! With no warning! There were people in there!"

Sapnap bursts into laughter. "Oh my God, that? That's what you're all worked up about?"

"All worked up? All worked up? People died, Sapnap!" At this, Dream leaves his thoughts and listens intently to the conversation.

404 smiles lazily. "People die every day, why should we care?"

Karl rubs his temples. "Why should we care. Why should we care," he repeats, in disbelief.

"404 is right, you know," Dream says. Karl, Sapnap, and 404 all turn their heads to look at him. Two black paint dots seem to make direct eye contact with Karl, and he shivers.

"Yeah, I'm always right," 404 puts his arms behind his head in careless confidence.

"Shut up." Dream snaps, and 404 slumps back over obediently. "What I was saying, was why should we care? We save them in the end. They should be worshipping the fucking ground we walk on, even more than they already do."

Oh. My. God, Karl thinks. Dream’s delusional. He... he takes people’s admiration and trust for him and he just feeds off of it.

“Than they already do.” Karl laughs dryly. “Wow. Don’t you think that’s a little... weird? That that’s the only reason you help people? For their... admiration? For their worship?”

“I save them. They owe me their love.”

“That’s sick. You’re sick. I am a superhero because I want to make people happy. Because I want to make people smile. Seeing people alive and safe and joyful because of me is the only reason I do this job.”

The Dream Team stares at Karl. Then, they all burst out laughing.

Karl clenches his fists as Sapnap wipes a tear off of his mask. “Wormy, you’re great. This is why we love you.”

“That’s not- this is not!”

Dream leans forward. “Loving people being happy because of you and loving people loving you. Doesn’t that sound like the same thing?”

Karl doesn’t have an answer, which Dream takes as an invitation to continue talking.

"Besides. I could ruin you, you know," he says, ultra-calmly.

Karl shifts in his seat. "What?"

"I could ruin you. One negative word about you out of my mouth and you're done. Nobody's gonna wanna play your cute little reindeer games."

"You can't- you can't do that!" Karl protests.

Dream tilts his head back and laughs. "I'm Dream. And I can do whatever the fuck I want."

Masked man? More like masked menace, Karl fumes.

"You don't have anything to say? Good. Know your place. And stay quiet, yeah? You wanna save those people you love so goddamn much? Then stick with us. Just don't pull whatever this shit is again."

I can't give up on saving people just because of one douche. I need to make people happy.

Karl nods in a hesitant agreement.

As soon as he finishes nodding, a figure bursts out of the other room, arms full of poker chips. He dumps them on a table on the side, then brushes off his hands, grinning.

"Quackity!" Sapnap says, excitedly. He's acting like nothing happened, and it sort of weirds Karl out.

"Hey, Sapnap! Just the man I wanted to see. I missed ya." Quackity leans his elbows on the counter, facing the superheroes. If he can feel the tension in the room, he just doesn't care.

"I was in here like yesterday!"

"And I still missed you." Quackity faces away from Sapnap and turns to Karl. "Wormhole," he smirks, stretching his hands out. "How's my favorite superhero?" (A seat away, Karl hears Sapnap react in protest.

Karl gives Dream a nervous side glance; Dream wags his finger in a little "don't-you-dare" display only visible to Karl. "Doing great," he lies, putting up his thumbs in false happiness.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," Quackity says, adjusting his signature beanie. Then, his eyes move a little farther down the counter.

Quackity jabs his finger towards 404. "Is that motherfucker sleeping again?"

"Yeah," Sapnap, Karl, and Dream say in unison.

"Jesus," Quackity says, shaking his head. He cups his hands together to create a makeshift megaphone. "Wake up!"

404 jerks his head up. "I'm awake! I'm awake!"

Everyone else at the bar bursts out laughing. Karl almost forgets about the atrocities half the bar had committed.

"Oh, God, 404," Quackity wheezes, "you're a fucking idiot."

"You guys suck," 404 grumbles.

After a night of constant laughter (slightly uneasy laughter on Karl's part), Quackity gestures for the group to follow him.

"Get off your asses," he claps, "I've got something to show you all."

"Do we really have to leave the seats? I'm very comfortable here," Sapnap whines.

"Yes, you do, unless you want me to carry you."

Sapnap gets up from his seat. "If you touch me, I'll barbecue your ass."

Quackity leads the group like a bunch of Girl Scouts on a hike; the four superheroes follow him in a single-file line.

Somewhere in the middle of the hallway, Sapnap stops and points at a framed portrait. It's of the casino's old owner, Schlatt. "Whatever did happen to him?"

Quackity goes rigid for a split second, then loosens up. "Oh, yeah, bastard just skipped town. Left everything to me."

"Why?" Sapnap asks.

Quackity shrugs. "No clue."

"Huh," Dream mumbles, clearly in thought.

Quackity bites his lip and rubs his forehead with his left hand. "C'mon, we've wasted enough time on that old, alcoholic fuck. Let's go." He grabs Karl's hand and pulls him down the hallway.

"Why me?" Karl complains loudly.

"'Cause you were closest," Quackity smirks, back to normal. Eventually, they reach a large door. "Okay, okay, close your eyes, guys."

Almost everyone shuts their eyes.

"Even you, Dream. I can still feel your gaze through that creepy-ass mask of yours."

Everyone shuts their eyes.

Karl can vaguely hear the sound of a door swinging open.

"Now... look!" Quackity yells, raising his arms above his head in triumph.

A ginormous arcade greets their eyes. Everyone gasps in awe and delight.

Sapnap laughs a bit, having already run over to a Dance Dance Revolution machine. "What is this for? To take money from the children?"

Dream's using a MotoGP simulator. He yells to Sapnap over the noise. "I think it's working on us, too!"

404 sits at a claw machine, staring intensely at the mushroom plushie inside. "I need it."

"Whoa!" Sapnap gasps. "I think that's the most interested I've seen 404 in something. Like ever!"

While the Dream Team messes around with various arcade games, Karl and Quackity lean on the wall in the back together.

Karl looks at Quackity, who's surveying his arcade kingdom. "So why did you build this place anyway?"

Quackity smiles, looking at his feet. "I built it for you guys, actually. Just a way for you guys to dick around that's super extra private."

Karl raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Really! No ulterior motives whatsoever?"

"Okay, well, I didn't say that."

Karl giggles. "Alright then." Suddenly, a yawn fills his mouth. "Oh, geez, I'm tired." He cups his hands around his mouth. "Hey guys, I'm gonna head out!"

Sapnap yells back, "Okay, Wormy! Get home safe!"

404 gives Karl an unenthusiastic thumbs up, still hooked on the claw machine.

Dream turns in Karl's direction, holding two fingers to his eyes. When he sees Karl looking at him, he points those fingers towards Karl. I'm watching you.

Karl shivers again as he waves goodbye to his friends.

Wait, can I even call them friends?

Karl trudges home through the snow. If he was shivering from nerves before, he's shivering due to the cold now. Spandex super-suits really aren't very warm.

As soon as he makes it to his rundown building, he ducks inside and sprints to his first-floor apartment. Luckily, since it's very late at night, nobody caught a glimpse of Karl's superpowered alter ego.

He slams the door behind him and sinks to the floor, using the door as support for his back. Vaguely, he can hear someone yelling. It's his landlord.

"Jacobs! Don't slam that motherfucking door this late at night! You'll wake everyone up!" he screams.

"Sorry," Karl calls, through the door. He does not have the energy to deal with him right now. Running his hands through his hair in pure nervous adrenaline, he whispers to himself.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God," Karl's breathing is beginning to get shaky. "Why do I have to be so stupid?"

Karl decides to change out of his super-suit and into some normal clothing, so he can panic in comfort. Glancing around his apartment building, his heart sinks some more when he sees that his sink is leaking again.

"I just fixed this!" he wails to no one in particular.

The apartment is starting to remind him of his career as a superhero: holding on by a thread and threatened by an antagonistic force. Here, the antagonistic force is sheer laziness on his landlord's part.

Papers are scattered all over his desk, and Karl refuses to look at them. They're reminders of his failures in his normal life-- short stories he never finished, bills he needs to pay. At least, as Wormhole, he doesn't feel like a failure.

As Wormhole, he can make everyone feel safe and protected, and most importantly, happy.

Karl powers on his phone and goes to Twitter to check his indirect. They're mostly filled with "Wormhole my beloved" and "Wormhole my meow meow", which as stupid as they are, make him smile plenty. Sometimes, he'll spot a fancam or two, or even some fanart.

The people are happy because of Karl (well, not exactly Karl. They're happy because of Wormhole). And that makes him happy.

No one can ever take this away from him.

Karl won't let them.

Chapter Text

"Urgh," Tommy groans. Sitting up, he rubs his eyes to see computers and weapons scattered all around the room. It takes him a moment, but he remembers where he is: Niki's bakery. Knowing that he and Tubbo were homeless, Niki had decided to let them stay as long as they needed in the back room.

"Oh," Niki had said. "Do you guys need a place to stay? You know about this room now, so I'm actually able to say that."

"Tubbo and I will be just-"

"Actually, yes. We'd love to stay." Tubbo had glared at Tommy.

Tubbo! Tommy remembers, jerking his head to his right. Tubbo's sleeping across the room, covered in blankets Niki went out and bought just for the pair. Tommy smiles a bit, deciding not to wake him up. He looks comfortable for the first time in forever.

Tommy leans back against the wall, sighing. His entire situation at the moment was just so fucking weird. He barely knows these people, yet he's sleeping in their war room and joining their revolution.

The revolution. To Tommy, it seems like an endeavor that will ultimately end in needless suffering. They're fighting against gods among men, for fuck's sake! Why does the world have to be so unfair? The worst people get all the power.

Or is it the power that makes people worse?

Tommy decides not to get into a philosophical debate with himself this early in the morning.

"Mmmmnn," Tubbo murmurs from the other side of the room. "Tommy, you're already awake?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, "I think it's just us though. Dunno if Niki's come and opened up yet."

"Right," Tubbo responds, going through the process of remembering where he is, as Tommy had just minutes earlier.

"This is probably the weirdest place we've ever slept." Tommy attempts to rid the room of the slightly awkward morning silence.

Tubbo raises his eyebrows. "Nah, big man, I think the aquarium parking lot was the weirdest."

"Okay, yeah, that was pretty weird," Tommy admits. "But the context for this-" he gestures around the room- "has gotta be weirder."

"True."

As if she heard their desperate need for less silence, the door to the room opened. "Hey, guys! I hope you slept well," Niki says, twirling the keys around her finger.

Tommy and Tubbo stand up in unison. "Better than usual," Tommy grins. "Probably 'cause we weren't exposed to the elements and all that."

"Also, you got us blankets. Really soft ones too. Thanks for that!" Tubbo adds.

"Really, it's no problem," Niki waves her hands. "I'd feel just awful knowing you guys were out there in the snow and I could've done something to help."

The pair nods, both in thanks and understanding.

"Anyhow," Niki continues, "I'd better open shop."

Tubbo scratches his head. "Uhh, where are we going to go then?"

"You guys can stay here. Sit at a table or something. If you want."

"Thanks, Niki. Really," Tommy says.

Niki laughs. "Again, it's no problem."

Tommy looks at the clock. Noon-ish. Niki said that the rest of the revolution might be coming around this time to discuss Wilbur's plan.

The revolution. Jesus fuck, Wilbur's so dramatic. It feels utterly corny referring to our little group like that, Tommy thinks.

The bakery's full of customers; the air is filled with a pleasant, content buzz.

The door swings open, as it has been for the past four hours or so. Tommy cranes his neck to get a look, checking to see if it's Wilbur. Nope. Not this time.

The man has messy, fluffy brown hair, and he stumbles tiredly to the counter.

"Hi!" Niki smiles cheerfully. 'What can I get you today?"

"Uh yeah, can I have a... red velvet cupcake, please?" He rubs his eyes, clearly high-strung.

Niki nods, writing this down. "And what's the name for this order?"

"Karl."

"Alright! Here's your cupcake."

"And here's your money." Karl forces a smile.

"Thank you for coming to my bakery!"

"Uh, no problem," Karl stumbles out the door.

"Jesus Christ," Tubbo laughs. "Kinda weird fucker, wasn't he?"

"I wonder how much sleep he got last night. Probably not much," Tommy grins back.

The door flies open. It's Wilbur and the others. Fucking finally.

"Niki!" Wilbur calls.

Niki nods. "Wilbur."

"Hey," Wilbur yells. The customers glance up at him in annoyance. "It's closing time! Get a move on, you fat fucks!"

"Jesus," Phil hisses, expression stuck in a combination of horror and amusement.

The customers grumble in protest and file out the door. Niki's head is buried in the counter, while Tommy and Tubbo are staring at each other in awe.

Once everyone is gone, Wilbur smirks. "Let's get a move on, ladies and gentlemen!"

"You really didn't have to do that, we could've just gone into the back room," Techno grumbles.

"Yeah? Well, it was fun. So I did it."

"Let's just go in the back. Please," Niki begs, cheeks pink from embarrassment.

"Fine, fine. You're all so pushy," Wilbur says, gesturing for Niki to unlock the door. She does, and the group files in.

"Oh!" Niki gasps. She gathers up the blankets next to each wall. "Here, I'll move these."

"Alright!" Fundy rubs his hands together. "What does our fearless leader-" those last two words are dripping with sarcasm- "have for us today?"

Wilbur either doesn't notice Fundy's tone or just doesn't care. "We," he slams his hands down on the table, "are going to put our little plan in motion."

"What?!" Tubbo exclaims. "This early on!"

"Well, yeah," Wilbur shrugs. "The sooner the better those pricks go down, right?"

"I guess," Tubbo says, sliding down in his chair.

Wilbur's fucking obsessed with this shit, Tommy gapes. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

Phil frowns. "Right, so the plan... we have to break into the Lucky Duck Casino, right? And plant that bug?"

"Exactly right!" Wilbur grins.

"And how, exactly, are we gonna do that?" Techno raises an eyebrow.

"Like I said yesterday," Wilbur's slightly annoyed now, "espionage." At "espionage", Wilbur does mini jazz hands.

"Yeah, I'm following. So some of us are going to walk into that casino and manage to plant my bug." Fundy raises an eyebrow.

"Uh huh."

"And my bug is gonna give us full access to the security cameras, everything in there."

"Yep."

"So who's gonna go in and plant my bug?"

"Tommy and Tubbo!"

"What?!" they yell in unison. The rest of the room erupts into dissent.

"Well, they're young. Sprightly. Less of a chance Quackity'll ever recognize them or remember them."

"No, no." Tommy raises his hands in protest. "There's no fucking way I'm doing that. There's no way we're-" he points at Tubbo-"doing that."

"No way you're doing this?" Wilbur stares at the two boys, sitting in the back of a definitely-inconspicuous white van parked in front of the casino.

"Shut up," Tommy grumbles, turning towards Fundy in the driver's seat.

"Here's the bug, boys," Fundy hands a small disc to Tommy. "Be mega careful with it."

"And don't screw this up. The whole revolution is counting on you!" Wilbur pats the teenagers on their backs.

"No pressure," Tubbo mutters.

"Now go on! Be free! Plant the bug or else!"

Tubbo and Tommy stumble out of the van and walk up to the doors of the Lucky Duck. Tommy takes a deep breath and pushes the doors to the place open.

Bright lights nearly blind them. Green tables and flashy slot machines are scattered all across the first floor, with a massive bar on the left.

"Whoa," Tommy gasps. "This is pretty fuckin' awesome."

"Get your jaw off the floor," Tubbo snaps, but then he hesitates. "Okay yeah, this is really cool."

Tommy begins to walk farther and farther from the door. "Is there a specific place we need to plant the bug?"

Tubbo runs to catch up. "I think Fundy said the closer to the main office, where there's a bunch of computers, the better."

"Alright!" Tommy rubs his hands together. "Let's get a move on. Where's the office?"

"Best guess would be the the back," Tubbo shrugs.

"Then let's go," Tommy says, gesturing for Tubbo to follow him. The pair make their way towards the back, passing adults totally enamored in various games. Waiters and waitresses pass by them as they walk. As one waitress passes by, Tommy grabs the pork chop bun off her plate extra-sneakily. He takes a bite, immediately sighing in delight.

Tubbo groans, face-palming. "Stop stealing shit! Stay under the radar, remember?"

Tommy's practically glowing. "So. Good."

Tubbo sighs.

Enamored in his food, he forgets to look up, bumping into a man slightly shorter than him. The man adjusts his beanie. "Hey! Watch where you're going!"

"Uhh, sorry," Tommy smiles awkwardly. Tubbo is giving him a death glare.

The man narrows his eyes. "Hey, wait a second. Should you even be in here? You're what, fifteen?"

"No, no, no, no, you've got it all wrong, big man!" Tommy waves his hands in panic. "I'm eighteen years old. Yeah. Eighteen."

"Hmmph. You don't look eighteen," the man says, tapping his foot. Then he shrugs his shoulders. "Eh, whatever. Long as I'm making money," he winks at Tommy, continuing his path opposite to the pair.

"You're sixteen," Tubbo points out.

"Yeah, I'm well aware. Don't think that's the important thing here, though." Tommy bites his lip, staring at the man walking away. "I think I just bumped into Quackity."

"What?" Tubbo scream-whispers.

"Yeah. He said 'as long as I'm making money', right? I think we just ran into the same man we're fucking trying to spy on."

"God fucking dammit, Tommy."

"Oops?" Tommy puts his hands up.

"Whatever. We know he's not in or by his office, though, right? Yeah. Yeah! Let's try to stay on the good side of this."

"Assuming you're right about his office being in the back."

"I'm always right," Tubbo smirks.

Tommy nods, unamused. "Alright then. Let's go."

After a little while of walking and searching, Tubbo finally points at a door next to a long and winding hallway. "This door says 'office' on it!"

"Nice, nice! Is there anywhere we can put the bug around here?" Tommy begins looking around wildly.

Tubbo peers down the hallway and taps Tommy on the shoulder. "We can hide it behind that portrait!" He says, pointing at a gaudy framed picture of a mustached man in a suit.

Tommy sneaks toward the portrait, then lifts the frame, safely tucking the bug away. He gives Tubbo a thumbs up. "The bug has been planted!"

"Hell yeah!" Tubbo high-fives Tommy. "Now let's fuck off before Quackity finds us."

The pair bolts back toward the front doors.

"Hey!" Someone yells. They stop in their tracks. "No running." Quackity frowns.

"Right, right, we're sorry!" Tommy yells back. Quackity nods and turns away.

Tommy grabs Tubbo's arm and yanks him through the doors.

The two stop to catch their breath for a moment.

Tubbo leans against the wall outside. "Oh my God. Holy shit."

Tommy takes a deep breath. "We're not out of the woods yet. We still gotta get to the van."

Looking around the plaza, he finally spots Wilbur's definitely-inconspicuous white van. "Over there."

Tubbo and Tommy trudge their tired asses over to the van, then knock on it.

A yell comes from the inside. "No!"

"What?" Tubbo sighs. "Just let us in."

Another yell. "Do the secret knock!"

"No!" Tubbo yells back.

"No fucking secret knock, no entry!"

Tubbo groans. "Fine." He knocks on the door three times fast, then two times slower.

The door pops open, and Wilbur's smiling face is on the other side of it.

"How'd your mission go?" He says, cheerily.

"Go fuck yourself." Tommy grumbles, hopping into the van with Tubbo.

"Okay! Well! Fundy?"

"On it, my man," Fundy salutes, then types a string of numbers and letters Tommy doesn't understand into the computer. A few feeds from various security cameras appear on his screen. "It's ready!"

"Fuck yeah!" Wilbur pumps his fist in the air. "Let's put this prick to work."