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Chapter Text

It was a cold, dark night, and Innit was enjoying a nice walk with his friends, Buzzkill and Two Tone. He sauntered along the pavement as Buzzkill sped up to keep in step and Two Tone slowed down so he and his long legs didn’t end up outpacing the others.

It was a lovely night for some crime.

“Tommy,” Buzzkill started, “I’m just not sure you know exactly how to use those boots… Are you sure you don’t want a refresher?”

“I’ll be fine, Jesus,” Tommy groaned. “I know how they work.”

“But are you sure ?”

“For fuck’s sake, yes , I’m sure, Tubbo. It’ll be fine. This isn’t my first rodeo. Bitch.”

“Don’t call Tubbo a bitch, Tommy,” Two Tone sighed. The other flipped him off. Tubbo patted his arm reassuringly. 

“It’s alright, Ranboo.”

They fell into silence once more as their destination loomed before them. It was… eerie, to say the least. Fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed ominously, and the interior glow of the building spilled out onto the street, casting the three into three silhouettes: lanky and horned like a reincarnation of the Devil himself; tall and thin, loose fabric billowing behind him despite the still air; short and soft, with small round wings, yet vibrating with an impossibly chaotic aura.

“This is it, fellas. Masks on.”

In unison, each pulled down an identical smiley-faced mask, made from cheap plastic and totally not pilfered Dream merch from a recent hero convention. Tommy pulled down a red hood and adjusted his sleeves.

“It’s showtime, motherfuckers.”

—

“Oh, muffins, please don’t hurt me,” the 7/11 cashier gasped, hands in the air as Buzzkill pointed a gun threateningly in his direction. The height difference—the cashier nearly hitting the roof, Buzzkill barely reaching his chest—made it a little less threatening.

“Don’t worry, we won’t. If you cooperate,” Innit said from the slurpee machine, where he was stacking several full mega cups into a box. When he was done, he paused and turned to Two Tone, who was behind the counter, messing around on the security cameras. “Two Tone, do you want some donuts?”

“Uh… sure?” Two Tone said hesitantly. “I thought we were stealing money, though, Innit.”

“Oh yeah.” Innit looked back at the cashier, who cowered further. “You. Give us all the money in the register .”

The cashier—who appeared to have an appearance altering ability, standing at a height that would be intimidating if they hadn’t been living with Two Tone for years, his face consumed by shadows and horns peeking out from under his cap—relaxed, his expression shifting into an easy smile as he moved towards the cash register. “Oh, sure thing, ya silly muffin! You shoulda asked earlier!”

Buzzkill relaxed his hold on the gun as the cashier pulled out a key and started unlocking the register. “Easy-peasy with you around, Innit, huh? I mean, I know this gun doesn’t have actual bullets, just darts, but I didn’t really wanna hurt this guy, y’know? He seems really nice!”

Innit’s expression was hidden by the mask, but the way he shifted seemed to suggest heavy doubt. “Eh… I dunno. He seems like a prick to me. And, I mean—” he peered at the cashier’s nametag—”Is his name really Bad? What a weird fucking name.”

Buzzkill sighed. “Innit, you can’t just call him a prick because he told you off for swearing when we walked in—”

Ding.

The three masked men froze as the doors of the 7/11 slid open. Bad kept getting money out of the register with a smile. Slowly, everyone else turned to face the entrance.

“Alright, mates, let’s solve this peacefully, yeah?” one of the three men who had entered said. He had a placating smile on his face. The other two with him didn’t seem so friendly.

Buzzkill immediately trained his gun on the first one, a tall blond man with a green Japanese-style outfit, green-and-white striped bucket hat, and—most strikingly—a pair of raven-black wings. “Songbird.”

“Yup, that’s me,” Songbird acknowledged. He took a slow step forward. The translucent bee wings poking from the back of Buzzkill’s shirt fluttered warily. “No need for the gun, mate. Let’s not have any bloodshed.”

“But I like bloodshed, Songbird,” another of the men grumbled. He drew a small glass vial from his pocket. It was filled with… something red. “Blood for the blood god, y’know? My whole schtick.” His expression was unreadable behind the boar mask he wore, long pink hair falling in a braid over a fur-collared red cloak, fancy white shirt, and several pieces of gold jewellery. As he also took a menacing step forward, Two Tone stepped away from the computer and readied himself to leap over the counter. His horns started to sharpen themselves. His hair grew more wild, and as he raised his hands, his nails lengthened and sharpened, black and white skin toughening in preparation for a fight.

Only two people in the room remained in place. The first was Innit, who simply put down his box and stood a tad straighter. The second was the third man who had interrupted the robbery.

He stood at the back of the group, arms crossed, wearing only a yellow jumper, black jeans and a beanie, as opposed to the extravagant costumes of his peers. Curly brown hair flopped over one of his eyes. The other one slid over the room, then focused on Innit, steely, calculating. Innit made eye contact through the holes in his mask. They both remained still.

“Songbird,” Buzzkill said again, directing attention back to himself. He nodded at the man in the boar mask, then at the guy in the yellow jumper. “The Blade. And… Phantom. Heroes. Part of the top ten, in fact. I assume you’re here to arrest us?”

“Well, seein’ as you’re robbin’ this place, I’d sure say so,” The Blade drawled, taking another step forward. “The question is whether you’re gonna come peacefully.”

“Or what?”

“Or,” he said slowly, “we’re gonna have to take you in by force.”

There was a tense pause. No-one made a move. Bad finished taking the money out of the register and stood still with a peaceful smile.

Innit was the one to break the silence. He stepped forward with a sigh, and then a chuckle, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Alright, boys, you’ve won,” he said to the heroes. Buzzkill tensed by his side. Innit held out a hand to placate him. Songbird looked surprised, yet relieved. 

“Good choice, mate. Now, unfortunately we’re gonna have to put you in handcuffs. Can’t have you running off—”

“Wait, no, no, no.” Innit laughed and held out his hands in a shrug. “You misunderstand. I was telling the truth, yeah, you’ve won shit before—but this is a battle you haven’t.”

Suddenly the temperature in the room plunged. Two Tone took a step back. Buzzkill shivered. Innit, however, stayed still, smiling confidently behind his mask.

“I’m afraid I can’t agree,” Phantom whispered from the back. Well—his voice had the hissing quality of a whisper, anyway. But yet it echoed, bouncing from wall to wall, as if it had been shouted through a megaphone. His breath fogged in the air in front of his mouth, and his eyes glowed a soft blue. He stepped forward— through The Blade, through Songbird—until he stopped in front of Innit, who had to look up to make eye contact. It was infuriating. “You’ll be coming with us. Also, that was a terrible one-liner.”

“No, I don’t think we will.” Ignoring the jab at his cool twist, Innit, villain extraordinaire, most handsome man ever, genius extreme and lady magnet, laughed behind his mask and spread his arms wide. “Fellas, you’ll be freezing in place, deactivating your abilities and letting us go, thanks.”

It was as if a magic lever had been pulled. The temperature rose within seconds as Phantom’s eyes returned to a chestnut brown. The vial of red fell from The Blade’s hand and rolled to a stop by Innit’s foot. He picked it up and examined it as his accomplices relaxed behind him.

“Hey, Buzzkill, d’you reckon you could run a DNA test on this?”

“Oh, yeah, of course! Let’s just grab the stuff and go.” 

“Sure. Just a sec.”

Tucking the vial into his pocket, Innit pulled out a Sharpie from god knows where and leaned forward to scribble something on Phantom’s forehead. He giggled, put the pen away, then turned to nod at the others.

“Come on, guys, let’s get outta here.”

—

Wilbur seethed, tapping his foot impatiently as Phil tried to decipher the writing on his forehead.

“That bastard , I’m gonna fucking kill him, making a fool out of me, getting away with a robbery, writing on my fucking forehead like a little kid playing a prank, I’m gonna hunt that guy down and laugh as I send his ass to prison,” he growled. Phil nodded absentmindedly.

“Sure thing, Wil, mate. You do that. God , this guy’s handwriting is a mess. I think I’ve got it, though.”

“What does it say.”

Phil stifled a laugh. “Uh… I believe it’s ‘Get pranked! From Innit, Buzzkill and Two Tone.’ Probably their villain aliases. And—Well.” He couldn’t hold back a snort at this, desperately trying to school his expression.“He also drew a dick. Just a crude drawing. Wait, Wil, where—”

But Wilbur was already storming off, walking through the wall to the bathroom in his rage. He glared at the Sharpie on his forehead and started attacking it with soap.

“Gonna fuckin’ kill him,” he mumbled. “Stupid fucking robber, thinks he can just make fun of me, gonna get his ass in prison…”

—

“The suspects are described as wearing matching Dream masks, recently sold as merchandise at HeroCon2021, with one of the three having round insect-like wings and another having a conspicuous appearance altering ability that gives him half-black, half-white skin and hair, tall horns, and long limbs, measuring in at around 8 feet tall. Police ask that if you see, hear or know anything about the incident, you come forward—”

“Aw, Tubbo, we’re on the fuckin’ news,” Tommy whined into the phone, muting the television. A heavy sigh crackled over the line.

“Well, you’re not, are you? They didn’t even give your height! I’ve gotta hide my wings, though, and poor Ranboo’s gonna have to wear a disguise for months if he wants to go out.”

“Fuck Ranboo,” Tommy said, mostly out of instinct, but decided to roll with it anyway.  “He forgot the fucking money.”

Hey, no, you were in charge of the money, but you brought the stupid slushies home instead! Don’t blame it on Ranboo,” Tubbo reprimanded.

“You’re just a simp, Tubbo,” Tommy muttered. “You won’t let me get mad at him because you two are snogging or some shit.”

“Oi! That is not the reason! And you are not allowed to attack my relationship with Ranboo, we already talked about this—”

“Aw, whatever, dickhead. I’m goin’ now.”

The eye roll was almost audible when Tubbo replied. “Fine. See ya later, Tommy.”

“See you, small T.”

With a sigh, Tommy hung up the phone, stuffed noodles into his mouth and unmuted the TV. The news was covering another rescue by Songbird. Tommy turned up the volume—villain or not, disliking Songbird as a hero was one crime he couldn’t bring himself to commit. Anyway, he mostly committed crime out of boredom, rather than any other motive like money or notoriety. Although he was broke. And notoriety was pretty fun. But he liked to consider those as positive side effects rather than driving motives. It wasn’t like he had anything to do. His parents weren’t around anymore… not that he minded. Two adults watching everything he did, monitoring every aspect of his life, at all times? That sounded like hell.

Tommy snorted and took another bite of his noodles. He looked at his hoodie—white with red sleeves and hood—where it was draped over the back of a chair, Dream mask sitting on top. It seemed to call to him. Put me on, Tommy, it was saying. Put me on and go out and do crime. Why not? It would be so fun.

After a few seconds he shrugged and stood up. Why not, indeed? It wasn’t like it mattered that it was now full daylight, or that he hadn’t gotten any sleep, or that it was peak patrol time. Not with how skilled he was, and how powerful his ability was.

God, he was so fucking pog.

He was out the door within minutes. The cup of noodles sat abandoned on the table.

It was a lovely day. The trees were full of green leaves, and a breeze rustled through them, the sun bouncing down in soft rays. It was, overall, fairly pleasant.

Tommy couldn’t help but whistle a little tune from a video game he played as he walked along, hands stuffed casually in his pockets. Eventually he reached a spot far away enough from his apartment to put his disguise on: a tall wall, made of smooth white concrete, that he totally wasn’t trespassing to get at.

Pulling a spray can from his backpack, Tommy grinned and looked up at the wide blue sky.

What a lovely day for vandalism.

—

Tommy stifled a breathless laugh, diving behind a dumpster and listening as the Dream Team (consisting of three heroes, all ranked in the top ten) ran past in search of him. He pulled off his mask and peeled off his hoodie, dropping them both into his backpack, and then clambering over the nearby chainlink fence into non-trespassing territory. The hoodie and mask were the only really recognisable parts of his villain persona, seeing as underneath he wore only a black t-shirt, black jeans and unremarkable black combat boots, so he was unlikely to be recognised. Tommy grinned as he realised he’d just escaped some of the most powerful heroes in the country. 

Now that was a boredom buster.

Suddenly, as he was about to turn the corner, he heard the heroes’ voices and got a brilliant idea. He tugged his backpack around to his front and sorted through it, arranging it so that the spray cans wouldn’t clink together and pulling the mask to the top. 

He turned the corner.

As soon as he did, Tommy saw the three themselves—Dream, Shroom and Flicker. The Dream Team.

He stopped and gasped dramatically. “Oh my god. The Dream Team!”

Tommy had to resist the urge to laugh as the three, clearly looking for the vandal, turned to see a superfan who would almost certainly take up their time and stop them from winning their manhunt. He could almost see the light leave their eyes.

Instead, he bounched forward, taking some sort of sadistic amusement from the weary way they smiled at him, probably only putting it on at that point to keep up their public image. As with any famous figure, the press swarmed like sharks around heroes, ready to whip up anything from a gossipy article to a biting scandal at the slightest slip-up. One bad impression could end up with them giving an apology on live television. They had to be polite to their fans no matter what.

Tommy, being the genius he was, obviously knew this, and planned to use it to his advantage as much as possible. 

“Dream! Shroom! Flicker!” he gushed. “Oh my god I love your work, I really do, I wanna be a hero just like you guys! You specialise in rescue work, right?”

“Mhm,” Dream said cheerfully. He didn’t say anything more, clearly wanting to get back to his work.

Unfortunately for him, Tommy was bored.

“Can you give me tips, like, about becoming a hero? I think my ability would be good for shit like resolving fights without violence and stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” Shroom asked, interest apparently piqued. “What is it?”

“Oh, uh, sure! Just—” He paused, pulling off his backpack and grabbing the mask—”Can I have an autograph first?”

He offered up the mask smilingly. Dream reached out to take it—then hesitated. The heroes looked between Tommy and the item in his hands. He smirked coolly. Then realisation dawned on their faces, and they all spoke at once:

“Wait, you—”

“Fucking—”

“Isn’t this—”

“Gentlemen, shut up and let me talk.”

The heroes’ voices cut off as their eyes widened in shock at having the sound stolen from their throats. Flicker made a move at him— “Don’t attack me.” The hero recoiled as if he’d been slapped, horror dawning on his face. Tommy snorted.

“I told you. My ability is good at resolving conflicts without violence. Isn’t it so fucking cool?” he said, then with charmspeak, “Now, you’ll be forgetting what my face looks like and staying frozen in place until I’m out of range.”

He sent a cheeky wink at the three statues, slipped his mask back into his bag, and skipped off with laughter in his eyes.

— 

Meanwhile, Wilbur’s coffee mug paused on its way to his mouth as his eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel like I’ve just missed an opportunity to punt someone into the sun?”

Chapter Text

“Excuse me, what did you just say?!”

Dream rolled his eyes and took another sip of his coffee. “Calm down, Wilbur. I said, I think it was your villain friend who defeated me and my team the other day. You know, the vandal guy who pretended to be a fan just to fuck with us?”

“One, he is not my friend . Two, if you don’t tell me what he looks like right now, I will strangle you,” Wilbur threatened, pacing the headquarters’ break room. Dream snorted.

“Slow down there dude, you’re gonna wear a groove into the floor. As for his face… I’m sorry to tell you that I don’t remember. It’s just a blur in my mind. He used his ability on us, told us to forget what he looked like. Apparently it’s powerful enough to control the subconscious… you good down there?”

Wilbur groaned into the floor in despair. Dream rolled his eyes.

“Drama queen. Although, if it helps, I talked to an abilities analyst—he goes by Punz, you might’ve heard of him—and he thinks Innit’s ability needs you to hear him for it to work. So…”

Wilbur’s phone buzzed. He reached into his pocket, lifting his face from the ground, and glanced at the screen—then he was scrambling to his feet, adjusting his beanie. 

“Gotta go! I’ll keep it in mind!”

He pulled open the window and jumped out. From the third floor. Dream stared after him with a sigh, taking another long gulp from his coffee mug.

He didn’t get paid enough for this.

—

We really have to stop meeting like this, mate,” Songbird sighed, spreading his wings. Tommy rolled his eyes behind his mask. 

“Dude. This is literally only the second time we’ve seen each other.”

“Yeah, we’re not even doing the same thing as last time,” Tubbo pointed out, the innocent statement somewhat undermined as he cocked his dart gun. Songbird shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. Anyway, you three know the drill. I don’t want to have to take you in by force.” He shifted his stance to something more battle-ready. Tommy narrowed his eyes and followed suit. “Come on now. Let’s resolve this peacefully.”

“No chance, big man,” Tommy said. “Now, how about— fuck!”

He clapped his hands to his ears as they were assaulted by a keening whistle so high-pitched it was painful , Tubbo and Ranboo blurring in his peripheral, a headache starting to pound through his skull as black dots danced in his vision. When the whistle stopped, he gasped for breath and opened his eyes—when had they closed?—to see he was on the floor.

“ Christ , Songbird, fuck, don’t you think that was a bit too far? Did you have to use the whole sonic whistle thing?” he wheezed, holding up his hands and swaying to his feet. Songbird tilted his head, the movement oddly (or not so oddly, really) reminiscent of a bird.

“Self-defense, mate. You were gonna use your ability on me,” he said plainly. “Anyway, I am sorry. But why don’t you tell me what exactly you’re doing? So I can list off the charges.”

“‘Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law.’ Aren’t you supposed to tell me something—”

“Innit,” Ranboo interrupted. “Innit—”

“Shut up, Two Tone. I’m talking. God, it’s cold in here.”

“But, uh, but Innit—”

“Let me talk, for fuck’s sake!”

“ Innit I think they’re planning a— ”

And then the room erupted into chaos. The Blade crashed through a door and pinned Ranboo to the ground. Songbird knocked the gun out of Tubbo’s hand and grabbed his wrists. Someone wrenched Tommy’s arms behind his back and slammed him into a desk. He hissed a gasp of pain through his teeth, tears springing to his eyes.

“Gotcha, you cheeky bastard,” a cold voice echoed through his skull. Tommy groaned.

“Two Tone…”

“Sorry, but I tried to warn you, boss,” Ranboo sighed, his voice muffled from his face being pressed into carpet.

“Hope you enjoy your stay in prison,” Phantom gloated. Slowly, the temperature in the room crept its way back to a normal level. “No-one makes a fool out of me!”

“Come on, let’s get those masks off,” Songbird sighed. Tommy saw him reaching for Tubbo’s mask out of the corner of his eye. There were a few moments of scuffle as Tubbo started struggling, tugging at his wrists. Songbird grunted. “Come on mate, it’s alright, I’m not gonna—ow! What the fuck, mate?!”

Tommy took that as his cue and, with a smirk, kicked his leg behind him. He was immediately released as Phantom wheezed, collapsing to the ground in pain, and he whirled around to see Tubbo kick Songbird in the gut with all his might—which was a surprising amount, actually—and knock him to the ground, and Ranboo… holy shit, Ranboo. 

As Tubbo grabbed his gun and pointed it at Songbird’s chest, Tommy watched Ranboo shift , turning from a lanky teenager with horns and a tail to something that could only be described as a beast , horns doubling in length, body doubling in size, spines ripping through the back of his suit as Ranboo threw The Blade off his back in a flurry of inhuman strength and teeth and oh god those claws.

Tommy gaped as The Blade, one of the best heroes in the country, was knocked unconscious by his friend.

“Holy shit, babe…” Tubbo gasped. Ranboo looked over and started de-shifting back into a more humanoid form, claws retracting, spines pulling in with an awful crack—

And then when he was only halfway done Tubbo kissed him, because of course he fucking did.

Tommy grimaced and decided to keep an eye on Songbird and Phantom instead. Much less teeth and saliva. So much less gross. Did they really have to be so loud? God. He fucking hated it here.

Songbird caught his eye. Or, well, the eyeholes of his mask. ‘Are they always this… close?’ he mouthed. Tubbo still had the gun trained on him. Tommy scowled and stuck up his middle finger. 

“I’m not fucking talking to you.”

“I’m gonna fucking get you, you bastard…” Phantom wheezed from the floor, raising his fist. Tommy raised a foot threateningly.

“Do you want me to do it again?”

“Fucking hell man, what are you on— ”

“Drugs. Many drugs,” Tommy lied. “Now shut up.”

After a few seconds of quiet, Tommy deemed it safe enough to look at Tubbo and Ranboo again. They had stopped kissing (thank fuck) but were still staring disgustingly into each other’s eyes, masks pushed aside. Tommy groaned.

“Are you two done snogging now?” he demanded. Ranboo blushed and averted his gaze. Tubbo rolled his eyes.

“Sure.”

“Thank fucking god. Alright, we gotta go. The Blade’s unconscious, right?”

Ranboo peered over. “Uhh… yeah,” he said, a little guiltily. Phantom snorted. 

“Can’t believe someone knocked out The Blade that easily. This is great. I’m gonna tease him so much.”

“Speaking of, Buzzkill, how’d you get Songbird the first time?” Tommy asked, ignoring the hero on the floor. “That was so pog.”

“He fuckin’—” Songbird started, but Tubbo gestured at him with the gun and he went quiet. 

“No. Shut up. I headbutted him,” he said proudly to Tommy.

“Always said you were part goat, Buzzkill,” Tommy replied fondly.

“Why, thank you, Innit.”

“Listen, guys, the banter’s fun and all that, but I feel I should address the fact you two are children,” Phantom said suddenly. Tommy looked at Tubbo and Ranboo—who had, of course, taken their masks off to do their whole lovey-dovey thing—and face-palmed. His accomplices quickly pulled the masks back on.

“Right. Songbird, Phantom, forget what Buzzkill and Two Tone’s faces look like, and forget that we’re children. Now, we should really get going. Let’s tie these guys up.”

Songbird didn’t protest as they tied his limbs and wings with a strong coil of rope Tubbo had brought. Phantom was too dazed from losing about a minute of memory to even try fighting back. (Tommy had come to learn that people often had different reactions to his ability, like tolerance levels for alcohol.) Tommy knocked him unconscious for good measure, so he didn’t phase through the ropes as soon as they looked away. They deemed The Blade deep enough under to only tie his wrists and ankles.

Soon, it was all sorted, and Tommy could dust off his hands and give Songbird a dramatic bow.

“Hope you enjoyed the show, dude,” he snarked. “And, please—” He stood up straight and pretended to doff a hat while, behind the mask, his eyes sparkled cheekily—“do tell Phantom I wish him a nice day.”

And with that they left the building with their stolen goods, leaving the three heroes behind.

— 

Phil rolled his eyes in exasperation but also a barely-concealed amusement as he and his sons-slash-coworkers were left behind. As much as he disliked to admit it, the three ‘masked bandits’, as they’d become known at headquarters, were honestly quite funny. Although—he glanced at Techno and WIlbur—probably less so when they were causing you bodily harm.

Unsurprisingly (he’d always had the stronger constitution), Techno was the first to wake up. Surprisingly , however, the first thing out of his mouth was, “Colour me impressed.”

Phil blinked. “What do you mean?”

“No-one’s ever managed to knock me out that easily, Phil,” Techno insisted, and god, he really did sound impressed. “That guy’s gotta be strong. It’s certainly a powerful ability—oh, and now I get why he’s called Two Tone.”

Phil stayed quiet for a few more seconds as Techno stared into the distance. Finally, he spoke up. 

“Right, well, I suppose I should tell you they’re all kids.”

Techno whipped around to stare at him. “Heh?!”

With a laugh, the winged hero nodded. “Yeah. Wil and I saw Buzzkill and Two Tone’s faces because—uh, I’ll tell you why later. Innit managed to brainwash Wil into forgetting their faces and that they’re kids, but no-one was looking at me, and I remembered what Wilbur said Dream told him, so I managed to clap my hands over my ears and not hear the second half. I don’t remember what their faces look like, though. It’s rather disturbing, seeing as I know I only saw them ten minutes ago.”

“Buh,” Techno said intelligently. Phil snorted.

“You good mate?”

“I got owned by a kid ,” Techno mumbled, then looked at him sharply. “I’m going to adopt him. Phil. Phil. Those kids are villains. We gotta help ‘em.” He paled. “Do you--do you think I hurt him?”

“Calm down, Techno, I’m sure he’s fine,” Phil soothed. “We’ll help them. Don’t worry.”

Techno nodded uncertainly, but left it at that. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, considering the… complicated situation they were in, until Wilbur stirred with a groan.

“Ah. Good morning, mate!” Phil said cheerfully. “How d’you feel?”

“Like shit,” Wilbur muttered. He tried lifting a hand, then frowned and opened his eyes when he found he couldn’t. “What the…? Oh, for fuck’s sake.” They were plunged into cold for a few seconds as he phased through the rope and stood up, then his ability shut off and the air started to warm again. He made his way over to Phil to start undoing his bindings. Phil nodded in satisfaction when he was free. 

“Alright. Cool. Wil, do you remember the villains’ faces?”

Wilbur blinked, then frowned. “I—no. Fuck. Innit did his memory thing, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. But don’t worry—I remembered what you told us and managed to cover my ears in time. They didn’t notice me,” Phil explained, grinning. “I didn’t manage to block out the command to forget their faces, but there was something else—they’re, well, they’re children.”

A blank stare. “What.”

He laughed sheepishly. “Yeah. Their actual faces are a blur now, of course, but I remember they looked like kids. And I think Innit is, too, now that the clues have context.”

There were a few moments of silence as Wilbur apparently processed the new information, staring blankly at Phil, then Techno, then the floor. Then he groaned and buried his head in his hands.

“God fucking dammit--”

—  

“Holy shit, there’s so much stuff ,” Tommy breathed, practically salivating over the pile of things they’d stolen. “This is where it’s at. No more 7/11 robberies, guys! Breaking and entering is the way to go!”

Tubbo rolled his eyes. He was lounging on the other side of the couch, next to Ranboo, having changed into more casual clothes. Ranboo had been forced to throw his suit jacket and shirt away—it was why he didn’t like to shift too much. Tubbo was currently trying to create a self-mending suit for him, with varying levels of success. “Tommy, it’s really not that much.”

“Hey! I picked that out!” Ranboo exclaimed, hurt. Tubbo patted his knee.

“Sorry, Boo. You did great.”

Tommy grumbled and picked out a watch, swinging it around a bit before clasping it onto his wrist. “Gross. Get a room, you two.”

“It’s not that bad, Tommy.”

“It really is.”

“Well maybe you’re just jealous you don’t have a boyfriend,” Ranboo mumbled, eliciting a snort from Tubbo and an offended gape from Tommy.

“Excuse me I love women,” he said loudly, jumping up. “I love women and women love me. I am a lady magnet. I support you very much but I do not love men. In fact, I would say I love women enough to be a lesbian! So there!”

Ranboo blinked in surprise. “It was, uh, it was a joke… but I don’t think you know what a lesbian is?” he said hesitantly. “It’s, uh… a woman who loves women, specifically.”

Tommy blinked twice as hard and sat down. “I knew that.”

“Oh. Uh…” Ranboo looked even more confused. “I, um, so you—”

“Um, you know what, let’s leave this conversation there,” Tubbo interrupted with a laugh. “How about I show you guys the new stuff I’ve been working on?”

The other two agreed quickly, glad to move away from the awkward interaction, and followed Tubbo to his ‘laboratory’ (aka his bedroom). Tommy picked his way through the various bits of junk and scrap metal on the floor so he could clear a space on the bed to sit. Ranboo hung around in a corner, hunching so he wouldn’t hit the… thing hanging from the ceiling. Tubbo started digging through a pile of disposable coffee cups and papers.

A minute passed. Another. Ranboo identified the ceiling thing as an oddly-shaped chandelier. Why it was in Tubbo’s bedroom, no-one would ever know. Another minute went by. Tubbo became invisible under the pile. Tommy shifted uncertainly and nearly got stabbed by a stray bit of trash. Another minute passed. Without verbal communication, Tommy and Ranboo started planning a funeral for their friend. Surely he was lost in the pile. There was no way he was emerging. The trash was simply too— 

“Aha!” Tubbo cried, jumping out of a pile on the opposite side of the room from the original.

“Aaah!” Tommy screamed. He would later deny he had screamed. He would be lying.

“I found it!” Tubbo exclaimed excitedly, ignoring Tommy’s scream. The others peered closer. In his hand was… a yellow capsule with brown stripes, just smaller than his palm.

“What’s that, Tubbo?” Ranboo inquired. Tubbo grinned at him.

“Only the best thing ever! Watch!”

He threw the capsule into the air, and Tommy jumped as it sprouted little fluttering translucent wings, not unlike the ones on Tubbo’s own back, and hovered in place.

“It’s a little bee scout!” Tubbo said proudly. “You can’t see, because it’s well-disguised, but there’s a camera in the front that I can access from an app I made for my tablet. It also has a microphone. And a tiny flamethrower!”

Ranboo furrowed his brows, concerned. “Tubbo, why does it have a tiny flamethrower?”

“Arson,” Tommy and Tubbo said in unison. Ranboo looked fearful.

“I call it Arson Bee 2.0,” Tubbo said with a smile.

“Um… I hate to ask, I seriously do, but… why 2.0?”

“Oh.” Tubbo pursed his lips. “Arson Bee 1.0 went a bit nuts and escaped. It’s fine, though. I lost connection with the feed, so it probably just crashed into a wall somewhere and died.” He paused. “Probably.”

Ranboo looked like he was about to cry. “Am I the only sane one here?!”

“Don’t worry, big man,” Tommy reassured him, “I’m here in case Small T goes insane.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t help…”

Chapter Text

“Get back.” Techno waved his sword at the threat, slightly panicked. “Get the fuck back.”

“Techno, save me,” Wilbur whimpered behind him. “Save us!”

The small mechanical bee burped another spurt of flame at them. They both screamed and jumped away.

“What the fuck are you two screaming about?” Phil asked, entering the room with a cup of coffee, then caught sight of the robotic bee and froze. “What the fuck. Why is it back.”

“You’ve seen this thing before, Phil? Can you kill it?” Wilbur asked desperately. Phil slowly shook his head and started backing out of the room. 

“Not this. Not this. Anything but this,” he seemed to be muttering. Techno gaped after him.

“Wha--Phil! No! Get back here and help us!”

The bee hovered in place for a second, humming ominously, then slowly started turning to face Phil. The man yelped.

“Good bee,” he pleaded. “Nice bee. You don’t wanna hurt me.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. The bee charged. Phil cursed and started running.

Techno saluted in his direction with a grim expression. “Thank you for your sacrifice, Phil.”

Wilbur nodded solemnly. “I promise to say kind words at your funeral.”

“...Eh, I can’t promise that.”

— 

“I still can’t believe you two just abandoned me like that,” Phil grumbled over his dinner. He smelled vaguely of smoke, even from across the table. “My own sons .” 

“Oh, please, says the person who turned tail the moment he saw the threat,” Techno joked through a mouthful of mashed potato. He took a sip of coffee to wash it down—headquarters had assigned him a patrol that night, anyway, so he needed the boost. “Some hero you are.”

Phil rolled his eyes and smiled. “But I have trauma with that bee! I simply couldn’t bear to stay in the same room anymore.”

Oh shit! Protect Dadza. Trauma Dad? Trauma Phil! Arson Bee trauma aaaa. Poggers. Pog. Not poggers!! Chat chanted in his head. He ignored them, as always. 

“I’ve gotta go soon,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Have fun dealing with that trauma of yours.”

“Sure,” Phil replied, just as cool. He finished the last bite of his food and got up to wash the plate. “Hope you don’t run into the bee robot on your patrol.”

Techno paused. “What. Wait, wait, wait, you didn’t destroy it?”

“Oh, no, not even close. It escaped out a window.”

“What?!”

The winged hero smiled, finishing up his dishes, and gave him an amicable nod. “Yup. Anyway, I’m going to sleep now, so I wake up in time for my morning shift. I’ll try and convince Wilbur to sleep, too. I think he’s in his room angrily playing guitar or something. G’night, Techno! Have a good patrol!”

Humming happily, he left the room. Techno stared into the distance, feeling dread set in.

“Oh, god.”

—

The sounds of the city were distant, far below him, the quiet honking of car horns and faint pounding of club music barely disturbing Techno as he parkoured across the rooftops. It was cool up here. Peaceful. Chat was quiet for once, only giving up the occasional murmur as the breeze drifted lazily along. He could hear his own breaths, the billowing of his cloak behind him, the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

Adrenaline laced his veins as the faint taste of iron danced on his tongue. Sparks flickered in the corners of his vision. Weariness could not touch him in this state, nor would anything be able to outrun him, nor would anyone force him to the ground. Not as the metallic tang of blood lay heavy on his tongue. Not as Chat whispered their bloodlust instead of roared, satisfied for now and granting him magic in turn.

God, this was the life.

“Chat, where’s the nearest criminal?” he murmured as he slowed to a stop on a rooftop in the middle of the city. Chat replied as one, different voices, different words, but the same message. Two alleyways over. A drug dealer and someone trying to get drugs. He nodded to himself and jumped stealthily over to the right roof, peering down to see that they were correct.

It wasn’t like he doubted Chat. They knew things he didn’t. They could be wrong sometimes, could apparently be tricked, but he’d learnt to trust their information more often than not. He didn’t ask where they got it. He didn’t want to know.

Techno prepared himself to jump down, then caught a snippet of the drug dealer’s voice and had to stop himself from falling off the roof entirely. He groaned in exasperation

Quackity. Of course it was Quackity. Why did it have to be Quackity?

Resigning himself to his fate, Techno slid off the edge and fell the rest of the way, bending his knees to absorb the impact as he hit the pavement. Quackity and his client looked up.

“Ah, The Blade, mi amigo!” Quackity exclaimed, sounding slightly panicked. “How ya doing, man?”

“C’mon, Quackity, no need for the small talk. Let’s just get this over with so I can take you and your friend to jail.”

He reached out and grabbed the client, who had been trying to sneak away, by their purple hood. They went still.

“What’s your name, kid?” Techno asked, keeping an eye on Quackity.

“‘M not a kid,” the client grumbled, sounding like a kid. Well, except for their too-deep voice which, with its tinny edge, was obviously created by a voice changer.

“Sure. Just turn around nice and slow, alright? I’m just gonna grab any weapons you’ve got on you and take both of ya to the police station. No need to fight.”

Slowly, the guy did as he asked, shuffling their feet and keeping their face turned away… Techno barely caught a flash of fiery purple eyes before a first was flying at his face—but a rush of sparks flew through his vision, and it seemed almost like time slowed for a second as, spurred on by the excited murmurs of Chat, Techno reached up and grabbed their wrist in a flash. He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

A determined face scowled back at him. Dirty blond hair, purple eyes, purple hoodie… definitely a kid, too. What was with all these kids getting into crime?

“Alright. That was stupid. What’s your name again?”

“As if I’d say. I’m not a criminal, you know!”

“Mhm. Right. And what else were you doing at a drug deal then? Oh—no, you don’t,” Techno said, grabbing Quackity’s arm as he tried to sneak by. The dealer sighed.

The kid only hesitated for a second. “I’m a vigilante. You can call me Purpled. I was undercover, trying to nab this guy, but you got in my way!”

Quackity gasped in offense and started speaking rapid Spanish. Purpled looked vaguely terrified. Techno was mildly disturbed himself—he only knew a tiny bit of the language, but from what he could tell, there were a lot of swear words. And a lot of references to the vigilante’s… mother?

Anyway. Moving on.

He suddenly realised the buzz in his veins was fading, Chat becoming louder by the second, and gave a sigh. His ability was wearing off.

He adjusted his grip to hold both Quackity and Purpled’s wrists in his left hand, digging around in his pockets for a vial filled with the blood he’d had drawn at the hospital the week prior. He needed blood for his ability, so it was a rather complicated process to get it. He had some of his blood drawn every two weeks, donating half and getting the rest put in several small glass jars with an anti-clotting agent so it stayed in liquid form. Those jars went in a secret pocket of his costume so he could get them at a moment’s notice.

Unscrewing the metal cap with one hand, he let the tiny amount of blood dribble into his mouth, relishing in the immediate boost to his system.

Blood for the blood god, Chat crowed excitedly. Blood for the blood god! Weirdly clinical blood for the blood god!

“Shut it, Chat,” he muttered. Quackity and Purpled both stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had. “Alright, you two. Let’s go.”

He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and went to cuff Purpled’s wrists together. The vigilante started struggling.

“Hey, no, you—I’m a vigilante! I was helping!”

“You were still in a drug deal, and being a vigilante is illegal anyway,” Techno sighed, tightening his grip. The teen yelped and looked up.

“ROSE!” he yelled. Techno raised an eyebrow.

“What’re you—”

A shadow descended from above, and suddenly Techno found himself on the pavement as something wrapped around his ankle and tugged . Quackity gave a whoop—then there was a muffled thud , and the dealer hit the ground next to him, out cold.

Techno went to stand up, but met resistance as something rope-like snaked over his limbs and held him down tight. He grunted and looked down at himself as well as he could—it was a thorny, vine-like plant, somehow growing straight through the pavement, spotted with little buds that bloomed into blood red roses even as he watched.

“I know I said before that I’m trying to help you, but I can’t let you up if you’re just gonna arrest us the moment you’re free,” Purpled said, peeking his head into Techno’s field of vision.

“Us?”

“Well, yeah,” a soft voice said, and then someone else’s face was in his view. It was a young woman with brown hair and green eyes, and roses climbing on vines up her arm. “You didn’t think Purpled made the roses, did you? He had backup.”

“That’s right! This is Rose,” Purpled said proudly, standing up straight.

Techno saw his opportunity and took it.

Summoning all the strength Chat had blessed him with, he surged upwards, splitting the rose vines like wet paper. Rose and Purpled shrieked as they were knocked back.

“Alright, guys,” he sighed, cracking his knuckles, “are you gonna come quietly or do we have to do this the hard way?”

The vigilantes didn’t respond verbally, instead shifting into matching battle stances. Techno grunted.

“Well then. If that’s the way it’s gonna be—”

And then Chat started screaming .

He winced in pain, raising a hand to his head. “The fuck do you want?”

Watch out! Danger, danger! Get outta there! Techno! Technodanger!

“The hell? What do you mean, da—”

A buzzing filled the alleyway. Chat fell silent. Techno stared at the source of the noise in horror.

Oh, god, no.

He took a slow step back, hand trembling as he grasped the hilt of his sword. The vigilante duo gave him confused looks.

“Run,” Techno said quietly. “Just run. If you want to keep your life, I suggest you run, right now .”

“What the hell? One minute you’re preparing to take us down, the next you’re telling us to run away? What are you on, man?”

The threat started approaching. Techno shook his head fearfully. “You don’t understand. This is worse than jail. I’m tellin’ ya, kid, run .”

“Uh, Purpled, maybe we should—”

It was too late.

The Arson Bee charged.

— 

Techno pressed his forehead to the wall and tried to catch his breath. The smell of his singed cloak rose to meet his nostrils.

It had been a massacre.

The robot had chased the three of them around for a good five minutes, burning some of the flowers on Rose’s arm and singeing all their clothes. Eventually the two vigilantes escaped, then it had set Quackity’s beanie on fire, chasing after him when he woke up and ran away screaming bloody murder. Techno had basically only survived because of luck.

Aww, no, Chat soothed. Technopog! Technoskilled! You defeated the Arson Bee!

“I didn’t defeat shit,” he grumbled. “It’s still out there, Chat.”

But you survived! Arson Bee is too powerful to be defeated. Buzzkill made it. Buzzkill pog. Technopog too! Ofc, ofc, Technopog. Yooooooooooooooo poggggggg—E? E!

He perked up in interest. “Hold on, go back. Buzzkill made the bee robot?”

Ye, ye, ye! Buzzkill pog. Smart boi! The bee theme is kinda stupid, I think. Hey, no! No insulting bee boy. But he’s a villain! But he’s so cute!

“Huh…” If he was being honest, Techno couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of this earlier. “Do y’all know anything else about Buzzkill? Or the other masked bandits?”

Oh, yea! Sure! Wait, no—Y’all are snitches. CHAT NO SNITCHING! Guys, stop it—But we gotta help Techno! True. Ye ye, Techno should know! Just let it be. Let him find out himself! Blood? NO BLOOD. We are not killing the masked bandits! Why not? They’re cute! But—  

“Alright, there’s clearly some conflict on the subject,” Techno interrupted. “What if… hm. What do you guys want in return for information? No killing.”

Cuddle Wilbur. Cuddle Innit! Blood, blood, blood—Potatoes? Yess, more potatoes! But Wilbur cuddles! What about Phil? Prank Wilbur! Yes, yes! Go on a flight with Phil! Blood for the blood god. Prank Wilburrrrrrr!! Prank Wilbur and then cuddle! Yes yes YES—  

“Okay, okay,” he conceded, wincing as most of the voices rose in volume to support the idea. “I’ll prank Wilbur and then… try to hug him, or something. Is that what you want? Why are you so obsessed with me cuddling—you know what, don’t answer that. Now. Info, please.”

They’re kids! Tiny baby boys. Nononono, Innit’s not a child, he always says—Since when would Tommy admit he’s a child? Buzzkill likes bees. That’s useless information. E. E. E! EEEEE—Shut the fuck up. Techno, questions?

The voices paused, waiting for what he had to say. He hummed thoughtfully. “You want me to ask you questions? Okay, I can do that. Uh… first off. How old are they?”

Sixteen. No no, remember it was Tommy’s birthday? Oh right! He’s seventeen. Guys we shouldn’t be telling him this—They’re all seventeen! But we don’t—What’s Two Tone’s age? Ye that’s what I was about to say. I think he’s around the same age as the others? E. Seventeen!

“Alright. Seventeen. That’s not too bad. At least they’re not twelve or something… Now, I heard ‘Tommy’ a few times. Is that one of their names? What are their names?”

Nooo, you’re all fucking idiots—Tommy is Innit—shut the fuck—Tommy pog! Buzzkill is—why—Ranboo! No, no, Two Tone is Ranboo—who’s Buzzkill? How do you not know? Tubbo! Buzzkill’s name is Tubbo. Why are we—everyone, shut up!

“Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo,” Techno murmured, filing the information away. “Anything else? Like, uh… do y’all know their address or something?”

Yep! It’s—no no no No NO NONONO NO THAT—

“Woah, woah, alright,” he interrupted, wincing. “I can figure that out myself. Just try not to split my head open. Hm. Anything else?”

Well, I mean, there’s—Wilbur! Wilbur pog Wilbur—Wilbyyyyy—

“Wilbur?”

“Yes, hello, I am here,” Wilbur said behind him. Techno did not jump. He didn’t. No, he turned around very smoothly to face his brother, who was smirking in amusement at apparently nothing, because Techno had not jumped.

“Why’re you here? I thought your patrol was tomorrow,” he said instead of the various nasty things some of Chat was suggesting. Wilbur shrugged.

“Got bored. Called HQ. They changed my shift. I see you’ve had a run-in with the Arson Bee?”

Techno grumbled and gestured at his singed cloak. “Clearly. Two vigilantes and a drug dealer got away because of it. We really need to deal with that stupid bee robot.”

“No fucking shit,” Wilbur muttered. He glanced at his watch. “We should get to it. Downtown first.”

“Sounds good. I was just letting Chat guide me. Oh, and, speaking of Chat, turns out they knew some stuff…”

Chapter Text

Flames crackled around him, casting eerie shadows in places they shouldn’t be, emanating heat so powerful Tommy felt the sweat on his skin evaporate even as it was created. He pulled his t-shirt up over his uncovered face and took a careful step back. Smoke whirled around his ankles like snakes trying to tempt him to his death.

A figure stepped out of the fire. They held out a hand to him. He barely registered the cold chills breaking out down his spines as he stumbled forward into their chest, grateful for the help.

Then he looked into their eyes and felt a dawning sense of horror.

Get the fuck away from me! he tried to yell, tried to use his power, but barely managed to choke out the first word before the feeling of several needles stabbing into his throat made him stop, coughing desperately, gasping for air, but the air was hot, and the smoke was thick, and oh god was this how he died—  

Tommy shot up from the covers with a gasp. His alarm clock ticked peacefully. Tubbo’s snoring echoed through the wall. The cool air made his skin break into goosebumps and he shivered, pulling the blankets back up over his arms.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. It had just been a dream. A nightmare. There was no fire, no mysterious faceless figure, no smoke scraping against his throat like sandpaper. He was safe. He was okay.

He had also sweated through his sheets.

Sighing, Tommy untangled himself from the covers and got out of bed.

As he cracked open his door and started down the hall, Tommy hesitated at Tubbo and Ranboo’s room. He debated with himself for a few moments, then carefully opened their door, being as silent as he could.

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he saw both of his friends sleeping peacefully in their beds, illuminated by the soft blue glow of a night light. Tubbo was curled up into a ball under the covers, only his fluffy brown hair and thin antennae visible on the pillow. Ranboo was the opposite, stretched out on his own bed (they’d had to have it custom made so he could even fit), drooling on the pillow, arm hanging off the side and brushing the floor, despite how the bed was higher than most.

Tommy closed the door with care and let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. The nightmare had left him vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to feeling. Logically, he knew everyone was safe and sound in the apartment. Emotionally…

Well, he’d just had to check.

Nodding encouragingly to himself, Tommy continued walking down the hall.

Maybe a shower would help.

— 

Wilbur tilted his head back, relishing in the feeling of raindrops against his cheeks. He stuck out his tongue and smiled when he caught a drop. It tasted fresh and cold.

“C’mon, Wilbur, don’t lag behind,” Techno grumbled.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” Wilbur said, but he couldn’t bring himself to sound annoyed. The rain was energising, almost, the earth coming alive under it, sending life vibrating through the air. It made him feel light and loose, completely awake despite the fact he’d been grouching over his lack of coffee only an hour before.

Techno, however, seemed as tired as ever, plodding along in front of him with a hand on his sword’s hilt. Wilbur hummed and fell lightly into step with his brother.

“Why’re you so grumpy tonight?” he asked after a second. Techno grunted.

“Dunno what you mean. I’m happy as peaches.”

“Okay, one, I don’t think that’s the expression, and two, you are definitely grumpier. Did you forget your coffee or something?”

There were a few seconds of silence, then the masked hero let out a sigh. “Nah. I just don’t like the rain. ‘S too… wet. And cold. I don’t like water in general, really. Kinda wanna scrub the feeling off whenever I touch it.”

Wilbur nodded slowly, mulling over the words. “Alright. Uh… do you wanna go get an umbrella or something? I’ve got cash.”

“Eh. Nah. It’s fine.”:

“You sure? I could go to, like, a supermarket.” He pointed to one of the few lit shopfronts across the street. There’s one right there.”

He could see Techno’s hesitation, so pulled his wallet from his pocket anyway. “Alright. You can stay under a shop awning or something while I get it.”

Techno sighed, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “Fine. If you insist.”

Wilbur grinned. “I’ll be right back!”

— 

A little chime rang out as Wilbur walked through the shop doors, loud against the quiet of the inside. It was a 24/7 store, but as it was quite late, only a few tired individuals shuffled along the aisles. Wilbur started in a direction—then stopped. He… had no idea where the umbrellas would be.

Well, then. He’d have to find them himself.

The first aisle was fairly plain. Freezers along the wall, milk and meat products. No umbrellas.

Aisle two seemed to be dedicated to bread and other wheat-based products. An old lady holding a box of cookies smiled at him as he wandered through. He smiled back.

Aisle three contained sweets and soft drinks. Wilbur wandered towards the energy drinks, reaching up to the Monster cans—then he bumped into someone also reaching up.

“Ah, sorry—” he started, turning to face them. It was a kid, surprisingly tall for how young he looked, with blond hair and wide blue eyes. There was something oddly… familiar about him. “Do I know you?”

The kid opened his mouth, then clamped it shut and shook his head. Wilbur frowned.

“Are you sure? Sorry, I just… you look weirdly familiar. What’s your name?”

The kid shrugged and mumbled something unintelligible.

“Pardon?”

“Tom—Tomathy,” Tomathy piped in a weird falsetto. He looked deeply uncomfortable.

“Huh. Odd name. Ah—no offense,” Wilbur said, raising a hand. “I’ve just never heard it before.”

Tomathy shrugged. “Yeah. M’ parents were weird.”

Wilbur suddenly took notice of the heavy bags under the kid’s eyes, the way he used ‘were’ instead of ‘are’, the youth in his features yet the late hour he was out.

“You, uh… are you okay? Do you need a place to go? Just… I’m, ah, kind of concerned,” he said quietly. Tomathy’s eyes widened.

“Wh—no, no, I’m all good, seriously!” he exclaimed. “I’m just tired. Woke up from a—-Uh, yeah, no, I’m… I’m all good.”

“Well… alright,” Wilbur said hesitantly, pulling a white can from the shelf. He wasn’t going to push it further, but as a hero, he did feel obligated to do more to help. “You can always go to the police if you need anything. I know a few guys there, they’re really nice. Or you can come to hero headquarters. We have services and stuff.”

Tomathy nodded, and Wilbur nodded back, turning away to go search for Techno’s umbrella. As he walked away, a weird sense of deja vu hit him, and he paused. Wait. That voice was familiar, wasn’t it? Tomathy… Tom… Tommy.  

“Forget you ever spoke to me,” a voice whispered, snaking through the air, tangling in his ears like wads of cotton.

Wilbur frowned and looked down at the can in his hand. He turned around, but only saw a tall blond teenager, picking through the energy drink section with his face turned away. Wilbur shrugged and kept walking.

He felt like he’d forgotten something, but it couldn’t have been that important.

— 

Tommy put his head against the shelf with a sigh of relief. That had been way too close for comfort.

He wrinkled his nose. It had been weird , too. Phantom being so nice… Tommy had only met him before when he was being cool and dramatic or spitting and swearing. He supposed the hero would have to be nice to people who weren’t criminals, was probably nice in his everyday life, but it was still weird to be on the receiving end of it. 

Anyways.

Tommy grabbed a can from the shelf, not really looking, and glanced at his watch. Past midnight. Lovely.

He cracked it open and took a swig as he walked out of the shop. An old lady tried to stop him, but his ability made it easy to brainwash her into forgetting about him. It wasn’t like he had any cash on him. He’d just thrown on some clothes and left the house, too awake from the shower and the nightmare itself to even try going back to sleep. He knew from experience that he wouldn’t be able to.

Before long, he’d finished the drink, crumpling the can and tossing it in the bin, an extra bounce already in his step as the copious amounts of sugar and caffeine kicked in. Tommy grinned mischievously and looked around, grabbing his backpack and pulling out his iconic villain outfit—the mask and hoodie.

It was a lovely night for some chaos… 

And Phantom appeared to be on patrol. 

— 

Wilbur nodded at the police officer with a smile as he handed the criminal over. 

“Thank you for your help, Phantom,” the officer acknowledged. He had green hair and what looked like pixelated markings on his cheeks, though they were somewhat covered up by the mask he was wearing. “Your work is greatly appreciated by the police.”

“Ah, it’s no problem, Sam,” Wilbur replied easily, reading the name tag on his shirt. “We appreciate you guys, too. Us heroes can’t always be around, so it’s great to have the police force as backup.”

Sam made a noncommittal noise. “Yep. Anyway, I’m gonna take this guy back to the precinct. I’ll see you later.”

“See ya.” Wilbur watched him pack everything into the police car, driving off, then turned back to his brother. “Alright, Techno, let’s—”

Something hit him in the head. He stared in surprise as a crumpled Coke can clattered to the ground, then looked around wildly for the culprit. Techno snorted.

“What the fuck? Where did that come from?”

A distant laugh echoed from… somewhere. Wilbur turned around a few times. Another can hit him square on the nose, and he scowled. Techno started chuckling.

“Who’s doing that?! Show yourself!”

The laugh rang out again—from above them. Wilbur looked up to see an all-too-familiar mask and hood.

“Wha—you! Innit! Get down here!” he yelled. Innit flipped him off, still laughing. Wilbur growled several expletives under his breath. How they hadn’t realised the villain was a child before, he didn’t know.

“Get down here or I’m coming up myself!” he called, feeling awfully like a frustrated parent. If the parent also hated their child with a passion. He probably wouldn’t be a good parent.

“You can’t! It’s a locked apartment block!” Innit yelled back, leaning over the edge of the building. He was about four floors up. How had he gotten up there? “And I’d be gone before you got to the roof anyway!”

Wilbur turned on his brother, who was wheezing with laughter. “Blade! Stop laughing! Get up there!”

Techno took a deep breath, slipping a hand under his mask to wipe at his eyes. “Right. Right. Yeah, I will, just—” he snorted—“give me a sec.”

“We don’t have any secs! Innit could get away any time!”

“Well, yeah, I’d sure hope you don’t have sex,” Innit called down, laughter in his voice. “You’re brothers, after all.”

Wilbur looked up at him with a scowl. “Why, you little—how did you know that? That’s not public information.”

“Buzzkill did a DNA test on one of The Blade’s blood bottle things, and you got some of your hairs on me the other day when you tried to capture me—gross, by the way. You should really get a new shampoo or something. Anyway, yeah, you’re brothers,” Innit said, leaning further over the side. “I shoulda realised it earlier! You’re both so annoying!”

Techno chuckled and pulled out a vial. “Well, that’s just mean,” he drawled, downing the liquid. “I’ll be crying myself to sleep because of that, you know.”

Innit leaned further. “Yeah! You should! I—whaAA—”

And with a high-pitched shriek, he was falling.

It all happened in a flash. Wilbur blinked, and the villain had leaned too far, and then Techno had launched upwards in a cloud of dust, and then— crack —the pavement split with a deafening sound as he landed, Innit in his arms. He dumped the villain onto the ground. Wilbur gaped.

“Jesus, kid. Be more careful.”

Innit spluttered for a few seconds before jumping to his feet.

“I—how— fre —”

Wilbur leaped forward and slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling the words. He pulled away with a glare.

“You fucker. Get the fuck —”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” Wilbur yelled, drowning out the villain’s voice. Sometimes the simplest solution was the best. “YOU’LL HAVE TO SPEAK UP!”

Something wet slapped against his cheek. He raised a hand to his face, then gasped in horror. “Did you just spit on me?!”

Innit was running away. Jesus Christ.

Wilbur started after him, but then Techno grabbed his shoulder.

“Wil—”

“We can’t let him get away, Techno!” Wilbur cried, whirling around. “He’s right there!”

“No, it’s—Wilbur, look.”

Techno showed him his phone. There was a notification there, an alert from Headquarters.

‘Emergency downtown—a fire has broken out and is currently out of control. It has spread across three blocks. Any heroes nearby are advised to be careful and help where possible. Any heroes with useful abilities in this situation are to report to duty immediately.’

“So we’ve gotta go help? Techno, your ability isn’t good with fires. And mine isn’t that good either.”

“No,” Techno interrupted, “we are downtown. Jesus, Wil, turn around.”

“We’re…” And slowly it dawned on him.

He suddenly took notice of his surroundings. It was slightly lighter than before--but not because dawn was approaching. Sirens wailed in the distance. An acrid smell tickled the back of his nostrils.

He turned in the direction the villain had gone.

Smoke billowed over the buildings only a block away. The orange glow of flames cast eerie shadows above the rooftops.

“Motherfucker.”

“Yeah, no shit. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Tommy laughed nervously to himself, immediately regretting it as he inhaled a lungful of smoke. He coughed painfully into his elbow.

This was not a pog situation.

For a second, he considered rolling up his sleeves, but quickly dismissed the idea—as hot as it was, Tubbo had worked a fireproof material into his hoodie, and he didn’t want to sacrifice the protection.

God, but it was so hot.

It wasn’t like he was unaware where the heat was coming from. Not as flames licked up the walls barely two metres from him, as fire crackled and the structures of the building creaked and shifted disconcertingly—  

—A flash of pink caught his eye.

He whirled around and just caught a darting movement turning the corner. Without a second thought (because, really, when did he ever think about anything?) he was giving chase.

The pink thing kept turning corners just as Tommy turned the one previous, barely keeping out of sight, somehow not being hindered by the flames as Tommy was forced to dodge and leap to avoid being caught alight.

But it never seemed to slow. In fact, it almost seemed to be hanging back to lead Tommy along.

Of course, after what felt like the 50th corner, he was beginning to question whether it was all a complex oxygen-deprived hallucination. It was certainly plausible. Maybe the smoke inhalation was getting to him.

It was getting harder to breathe by the minute.

Tommy wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. He’d discarded the Dream mask a while ago. The small eyeholes had been too inconvenient, and it had been hard to breathe behind the cheap plastic.

It wasn’t like there was anyone there to see his face.

He forced his feet to speed up as he spotted the pink flash again turning the next corner—but this time, when he reached the corner, there was a skylight in the subsequent room.

A pair of small black boots was scrambling out of it.

“Hey!” Tommy tried to shout as the person hopped up onto the roof. He winced as it tore at his throat and came out barely a whisper. Shit.

He studied the room for a second, then dragged over a desk so he could reach the skylight—how had the other person managed it?—and pulled himself up.

He lay on the roof, wheezing, for a few moments, then groaned to his feet and looked around. The other person stared back. They had pink hair, pig-like ears, a snout-like nose, and tiny tusks poking out from their bottom lip.

They also looked about 6 years old.

“The fuck are you—” Tommy broke off into painful hacking, leaning on his knees as his throat tore itself apart. Okay. He couldn’t talk then. This was okay. This was fine.

The kid made a flurry of movements in the corner of his eye. He looked up with a confused frown, to be met with an eye-roll and slower, more deliberate hand movements.

Oh—that was sign language.

Tommy knew a little sign, if only because Tubbo had terrible hearing from standing a little too close to a little too many failed (exploded) inventions. He’d made hearing aids, but he often lost them, so sign language was useful to learn. Tommy recognised most of the kid’s words:

‘My name is M-I-C-H-A-E-L. Are you okay?’

Tommy ignored the question. ‘I’m T-O-M-M-Y. How old are you?’

Michael rolled his eyes again. ‘9. What about you? You look old.’

‘I am not!’ he replied indignantly. ‘I am 17! Fuck you.’

‘You shouldn’t swear at kids.’

Tommy scowled. ‘Tubbo would love you…That’s a bad thing by the way.’

‘Who’s Bee?’ the kid asked.

Oh. He’d used Tubbo’s sign name reflexively. ‘T-U-B-B-O. My friend.’

Michael snorted a little bit. ‘My sign name is Gold. You?’

‘I don’t really have one,’ Tommy lied.

‘How do people refer to you then?’

He went to respond with another lie, then frowned. Wait. Why was he having a conversation with a 9-year-old stranger on the roof of a burning building? That seemed somewhat… detrimental… to his health. Or something.

He should probably be calling for help.

‘Just a second,’ he signed, reaching into his backpack. Where was it… Ah! There.

Tommy grabbed his phone and pressed the button to turn it on.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, he held it down for a few seconds. The red ‘no battery’ symbol flashed onto the screen.

“Fuck!” he went to say, but only a wheeze of air came out. He threw his phone back in the backpack and stomped on the ground in frustration.

‘I guess you’ll have to yell for help,’ Michael said. Tommy frowned (again).

‘There are several reasons I can’t do that.’

‘Why not? You’re not mute like me. I heard you speak before.’

‘No, I’ve just breathed a lot of smoke,’ Tommy signed. ‘It burned my throat to shit. I can barely speak, let alone yell.’

‘Oh.’ Michael thought for a second. ‘So then we’ll just have to wait for help.’

Tommy sighed and sat down. ‘Yeah.’

Michael sat down, too, pulling off his little boots to reveal cloven hooves. As Tommy watched, though, they melted and shifted into human feet. The kid wriggled his toes, then gave a nod of satisfaction and pulled the shoes back on. Next he went cross-eyed to look at his nose—the snout smoothed back into a button nose, and the little tusks pulled back in. Finally he shook his head wildly, and the floppy pig ears shrank back to normal.

Tommy waved at him to grab his attention. ‘So you’re a shifter. I know one of those.’

Michael shrugged. ‘Kinda.’

‘Kinda?’

The pink-haired boy didn’t respond. He had a weird uncomfortable look on his face.

Tommy recognised that look.

‘If it helps, people didn’t like my power either,’ he offered before he could think twice about it. Michael blinked. ‘Or my shifter friend’s.’

‘Who said people were scared of my power?’ the kid signed defensively. Tommy shrugged.

‘No-one. But if that’s why you’re uncomfortable with sharing, then I get it.’

There was a long pause before, finally, Michael sighed and nodded.

‘It’s not quite that, but it’s similar. I can copy any ability I remember seeing in person, though I can only use one at a time. People didn’t like it because they were worried I was stealing their ability. Or because they felt like it made them less special.’

Tommy nodded in understanding. And he really did understand: people really didn’t like the idea that he could just force them to do whatever he wanted. They were scared of his ability, and by power of association, they were scared of him.

Not everyone hated his ability, of course. Others saw ‘friendship’ with him as access to his power at all times, a free pass to shoplift and steal and get away with whatever they wanted. So they would use him as such.

And then there was Tubbo and Ranboo. A clingy little shit who wanted nothing more than genuine friendship and chaos, and someone who understood what it was liked to be unfairly feared. It was inevitable they’d make friends.

So, yeah, Tommy understood.

‘I think that ability’s really cool,’ he signed slowly, trying to phrase it without sounding cheesy. ‘Wanna demonstrate?’

Michael perked up. ‘Sure! One of my favourites to use is this one I saw some random guy using on the street—’

He waved his hands around in front of him and, after a few moments, a swirling purple and green portal formed in the air. He stuck a hand through. Tommy felt something poke the back of his head and turned—then gaped at the hand sticking out of the portal there. He whirled back around.

‘That’s so cool!’

Michael grinned, pulling his hand out of the disappearing portal. ‘I know, right? I dunno whether the guy was a hero, or a criminal, or whatever, but I saw him messing around and knew I needed it.’

Tommy groaned. ‘I am so jealous. I wish I could have your ability. I’d copy so many—’ He paused. ‘Hold on. Couldn’t you use the portal ability to teleport us down?’

‘I really wish, but I think only I can go through the portals. I don’t know how it works for the original guy, but my ability does have some limits…’

‘Oh. Damn.’

Michael thought for a second, then gasped. ‘Wait, but--I do have Songbird’s!’

Grinning, Tommy jumped up. ‘That’s perfect!’

‘But… I don’t know if I should. I’ve never tried an ability that gives me extra appendages before. The shifting doesn’t really count.’

‘Come on,’ Tommy urged. ‘It’s our best bet of getting off this roof. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck here otherwise.’

‘Alright, alright--gimme a few minutes. His wings are pretty big.’

He took off his pink sweater, leaving himself in only a white t-shirt. Then he scrunched his eyes shut and stood still. 

Tommy waited patiently. After about a minute, however, he started getting impatient. Michael wasn’t moving. Was he even doing anything? How long was this going to take? 

And then-- fwoom --two massive, black, feathery wings burst from Michael’s back. He opened his eyes with a gasp as stray feathers fluttered down around him. Tommy gaped.

‘Holy shit that’s so fucking cool what the hell,’ he signed without thinking. Michael grinned.

‘Thanks! It feels a bit weird, but nothing bad, so that’s good. Let’s hope I can actually fly.’

‘Well,’ Tommy replied, ‘Let’s hope. The fire’s nearly reached the roof.’

Michael looked at him, then at himself, then back at Tommy, and frowned. ‘Hold on. How heavy are you? Because in case you haven’t noticed, you’re 17 and I’m, like, 11. I won’t be able to carry you.’

Tommy paused. ‘That is… a fair point. But we don’t really need to fly anywhere… Can you carry me long enough to get to the ground safely?’

‘I… I think so. I can try.’

‘We’re gonna have to try, I think. Come on. Let’s go.’

He stuffed Michael’s sweater into his backpack, swinging it around to his front, and looked back expectantly. The kid approached hesitantly and wrapped his arms around Tommy’s middle. He took a deep, shaky breath. His hands weren’t free for signing, but Tommy knew what he was thinking: 

Here goes nothing.

And then they jumped.

-- 

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh god.

In any other situation, Tommy would be whooping with joy and excitement.

As it stood, though, it was more of a tense, terrified silence. If either of them could make noise, there would be a lot more screaming.

A lot of it.

But as it was, the two of them could only let out fearful gasps every time Michael lurched downwards under Tommy’s weight, wings flapping furiously to try and slow their descent.

This was not fun in the slightest.

‘T-O-M,’ Michael fingerspelled slowly, obviously struggling to do that and stay aloft at the same time. ‘T-I-R-E-D.’

Oh no. ‘You can do it!’ Tommy signed frantically. They were still over two storeys up. They’d definitely break something if they fell now. ‘We’re nearly there! Just a little longer!’

‘H-E-A-V-Y…’

‘No no no, just a little longer, I believe in you--’

‘S-O-R-R-Y. B-R-A-C-E--’

And then they were falling, Michael clutching him desperately, a flurry of limbs and feathers, Tommy screaming silently, painfully, as they plummeted--  

--And then something collided with them mere moments before they hit the ground. Black feathers, green folds, a whip of blond hair and a comforting smile, and the ground was falling away instead of them falling closer--

It all went black.

--

Tommy woke up with his face smushed against the concrete. He tried groaning, but only managed a painful wheeze that rattled in his chest. Someone patted his back.

“You alright there, mate?” 

That voice was… familiar… 

“You and your friend took a nasty tumble back there, Innit.”

Aw, fuck. Nope, no no no, no no no no, fuckety fuck fuck.

Tommy scrambled to his feet and whirled around to face Songbird, who was sitting cross-legged with a patient smile on his face. Michael was curled up on the ground next to him.

“You will hand the kid over and forget you ever saw my face!” Tommy shouted in panic.

Or, well, tried to shout. He’d barely choked out the first word before he was double over, hacking his lungs out as his throat was torn to shreds. After a minute of coughing, he finally managed to get it under control, but there were already tears streaming down his face. He glared half-heartedly at Songbird. The man raised an eyebrow.

“I haven’t done anything, mate. It’s you who got yourself trapped in a burning building and inhaled too much smoke. And then nearly fell to your death.”

Michael--oh, he was awake now, apparently--frowned in protest. ‘It’s not my fault he’s heavy.’

Songbird looked at him, unimpressed. “You should’ve known that and not tried to carry a heavy teenager down from the roof of a four-storey building, kid. And, really--” he raised his hands slightly, then seemed to catch himself and put them back in his lap-- “when was the last time you preened? Your wings look like shit. No offense.”

Michael shrugged uncomfortably. ‘This is… the first time I’ve taken them out in a while. I haven’t had the chance.’

‘Alright, bird-brains, let’s cut to the chase,’ Tommy interrupted with a scowl. ‘Let’s do our usual song and dance, Songbird. Try and arrest me.’

“Oh, no, I’m not going to,” the hero said, smiling. Tommy paused in confusion.

‘What? Why not?’

“Well, Phantom and Blade would like to talk to you and your friends.”

‘They can do that if you arrest me, though,’ Tommy signed hesitantly. Songbird’s smile grew wider, and the villain found himself filled with more dread than he had ever experienced in his life. 

“No, you misunderstand. We want to make sure you’re okay.”

Chapter Text

Ranboo, as usual, woke up somewhere other than his bed.

He looked around to get his bearings—he’d apparently sleepwalked to the top of the fridge this time. Fun.

Sighing through the excess of teeth in his mouth, he uncrossed his legs and hopped down, then took a second to de-transform, because also like usual, he’d half-shifted during his sleep. When he was done, he headed straight to the coffee machine, falling into his normal slouched posture to avoid hitting his horns on the ceiling.

Sometimes it was annoying being tall.

They made specialised houses for people whose abilities made them different sizes than normal, of course, but they were usually more expensive (because capitalism, yay), and the three of them could barely afford this cheap apartment as it was.

Hopefully that would change soon. They were definitely upgrading in terms of their crimes. They’d started out robbing chain companies and gas stations, and had quickly levelled up to robbing houses. Maybe one day they’d be doing bank heists.

Ranboo hummed thoughtfully to himself as he poured milk into his coffee. God, that would be the day. When they were performing bank robberies monthly, making thousands of dollars. If they saved up enough they’d probably be able to buy a mansion in the woods somewhere and live a comfortable life away from society.

He considered it further and spooned sugar into the mug. Tommy and Tubbo would get restless without their daily dose of chaos, though. Maybe the three of them could set up a paintball parlour. Tubbo would definitely like a lab for his inventing. Tommy would enjoy a movie theater. He, himself, wouldn’t object to a library. Or a bowling alley so he could crush his friends. That would be the life.

“Hmmm, hello big man,” came a yawn from the doorway. “I smelled coffee.”

“Ah, hey, Tubbo,” Ranboo smiled, turning. “Would you like a cup?”

Tubbo sleepily perched on the bench. “Yes, please.”

“Black, two sugars?” Ranboo read from a post-it note stuck to the coffee machine. The brunette nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll let you stay there. Toast?”

“Pancakes? I bought a mix the other day,” he said hopefully. Ranboo rolled his eyes.

“Fine. I spoil you, y’know.”

Tubbo giggled blearily. “You do. It’s what I love about you, big man.”

“You’re a gold-digger,” Ranboo accused, pointing at him with the teaspoon. He grinned, not denying it.

Ranboo hummed and happily went back to the kitchen appliances. It was mornings like this that he loved most of all. The three of them in their pyjamas, someone (usually Ranboo) cooking breakfast for them all, sleepy smiles and muffled yawns and messy hair. It made him feel sickeningly domestic, but like, in a good way.

He sang a little tune to himself as he made Tubbo’s coffee, something he’d heard on the radio the other week, about honey and summer days. Tubbo gratefully accepted the mug and sipped from it as Ranboo moved on to the frying pan.

“Wanna go wake Tommy up? He’ll be mad if he misses pancakes,” he said. Tubbo nodded and slipped down off the counter, padding away down the hall. Ranboo continued humming contentedly to himself as he flipped pancakes onto some paper towels, and soon, Tubbo was back.

“Tommy’s not in his room,” he said casually, hopping back onto the bench. He cradled his mug close.

“No note?”

“Nah. I don’t think he’s been kidnapped, though. No signs of a struggle. And his backpack is gone, with his stuff.”

“Ah.” Ranboo nodded in understanding. “Probably blowing off some steam. He’ll be back.”

Tubbo yawned. “We should save him some pancakes,” he suggested.

“Good idea. He’ll be mad if he misses out,” Ranboo agreed. He set a few on a plate and handed it to his companion, who made grabby hands at the bottle of maple syrup. He handed that over too. And a fork. Tubbo scowled at the piece of cutlery.

“No eating with your hands,” Ranboo said firmly. “You’ll get maple syrup everywhere.”

“Fine.”

Ranboo quickly finished the pancake mix and set half of the pancakes on his plate, putting the other half on a third plate, then sticking it in the fridge for when Tommy came back.

As he was sitting down at the table to eat, his phone buzzed, as did Tubbo’s. He picked it up to see a notification from their group chat:

Innit:

guys help

ive been kidnaped 

*kisnapped 

fuck

u know wat i mean

Buzzkill:

wtf 

when

where are you

You:

holy shit are you okay?

Innit:

not hurt or anythign

no thatsa lie

i cant speak

You:

so u can’t use your ability??

Innit:

no my throat hurts too much

i breated smoke

Buzzkill:

where are you though???

You:

do you not have autocorrect on—

Innit:

no i turned it off

dont need dome fucker telling me waht to write

*some 

Buzzkill:

TOMMY WHERE ARE YOU I STG

Innit:

DONT SAY MY NAME THEY CAN SEE MY SCREEN

i mean

rhats not my names

whose tommy

You:

oh my god it doesn’t matter if they know your name

they fucking kidnapped you

where are you???????

Innit:

>:(

idk som erich guys apartment

Buzzkill:

do you know who kidnapped you

Innit: 

oh yea

Songbird

You:

what

Buzzkill:

Songbird kidnapped you??

do you mean arrested

Innit:

no

kidnappe

im at his apartment not the polise station

You:

what the fuck

Innit:

they also got my new friend

his name is Michael and hes like 6 or something

12

idk

You:

there is a very large gap between 6 and 12

Innit:

do you think i care ranboob

weve been kidnapped

OH SHIT HE’S COMING OVERT

Buzzkill:

stay on the phone!!!!!

Innit:

i think hes abou to takem y phoenrgjhopi

You:

oh boy

Innit:

Hullo! Its Songbird :)

Oh he turned autocorrect off

Odd

Buzzkill:

it makes sense if you know him

Innit: 

Ah—I’ve just scrolled back a little

It seems there’s been a misunderstanding!

I found your friend and his friend (Michael) on the verge of death, tumbling from a burning 4-storey building, and rescued them

Innit has suffered from smoke inhalation, and cannot speak at the moment, but I didn’t inflict it upon him!

I took the two of them to my apartment out of concern, to make sure they’re okay.

If you’d like to tell me your address, I can send a car over for you two and bring you to my apartment! :)

Buzzkill:

yes 

You:

hold on

how do we know it isn’t a trap

Innit: 

Very smart thinking, Two Tone!

If you would like, I can be present in the car. Or I can send Phantom, or Blade.

Or, if you have an idea, feel free to suggest it :)

You:

alright 

just a sec

Ranboo looked up at Tubbo, who was chewing his lip anxiously.

“What do you think we should do?” he asked.

Tubbo started. “Me?”

“Yep.”

“Well, uh, what do you think?”

He considered it for a moment. “Well, I think we can mostly trust him,” he said slowly. “His story seems accurate with what Tommy would do, and he’s given us a few options that would put him at a disadvantage if this really was a trap.”

“Alright. Um… well, what about the second option? Sending a car with Phantom or the Blade. If it was one of them and two of us, we could probably take them.”

“If it is a trap,” Ranboo added.

“If it is a trap,” Tubbo conceded.

“Alright, well—” Ranboo stood up and grabbed his plate. “Text him to let him know. Let’s get changed into our disguises. Tommy may have blown his cover, but we don’t need to.”

— 

Twenty minutes later, they were waiting out the front of their apartment building, shivering in the early morning air, masks secured firmly on their faces. They perked up as a fancy… limousine pulled over to the curb. Holy shit.

A man with green hair and pixellated markings on his cheeks got out of the passenger seat and came round to the pavement. 

“Two Tone and Buzzkill, I presume?” he asked. Tubbo stepped forward with a nod. The man stared him down. “Okay. My name is Sam. I’m here in case of… emergency. Please—” He opened the back door—“take a seat.”

Tubbo slipped inside, though not after giving Sam a long look. Ranboo nodded at the bodyguard (he assumed he was a bodyguard) before ducking down to enter.

It soon became apparent he wasn’t going to fit easily. With a sigh, Ranboo tucked himself into a seat and resigned himself to a car ride with bent knees and a hunched back. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it.

Still, he supposed, it wasn’t the worst vehicle to be squashed up in. There were bottles of soda and juice in the cup holders, softly glowing LED lights, the seats were plush, and— 

Oh, right, Songbird was sending someone along.

“Hello,” Phantom said with a terse smile. “Before we chat, I’d like to make sure you’re not going to kick me in the balls.”

Ranboo just barely caught a laugh. “N-no. Why?”

The hero muttered something under his breath. “Innit did, the last time we… met. Remember?”

“Ah, well, I don’t really have the best memory,” he mumbled. There were a few moments of awkward silence before Tubbo leaned forward in his seat.

“Alright, enough chit-chat,” he said brashly. “Spill the beans. Where are we headed, exactly? How much did Innit reveal? Are you going to arrest any of us? If not, what else are you planning?”

Phantom relaxed a tad, clearly more at home with the specific questions. “Can’t say the address, but it’s our apartment. We only know your names and that you’re kids, but Innit didn’t reveal those himself. Oh, and he didn’t have his mask when Songbird found him, so we’ve seen his face. No, we’re not going to arrest you, as much as I want Innit in jail. And I’m not planning anything else, but I think Phil—that’s Songbird—might wanna adopt you or something. Just saying.”

There was a long pause. Then, finally—

“What the fuck, ” Tubbo breathed.

“When did this turn from you hating our guts to you knowing everything about us and Songbird wanting to adopt us?” Ranboo said accusatorily. Phantom shrugged.

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. Blade’s got omniscient voices in his head and Songbird’s fatherly instincts run rampant at all times. I’m just kinda along for the ride.”

Tubbo groaned and put his head in his hands. “I can’t fucking believe this. Oh my god. I ran away for a reason , what the fuck.”

Phantom frowned. “You ran away?”

“Oh, no no no.” The villain waved his hand dismissively. “No. You have not unlocked my lore yet. You do not get to hear my tragic backstory.”

The hero nodded awkwardly and left it at that.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. Ranboo tried one of the bottles of soda—grape flavoured. It was actually pretty nice.

Eventually, the limo slowed to a stop, and Sam opened the door again.

“We’re here.”

Ranboo gladly got out, relieved as he was finally able to stretch. Several pops sounded along his spine.

They’d pulled over in front of a towering building, made of gleaming stone and clean-cut glass. Ranboo gazed up at it in wonder. There were no signs of wear and tear like their own apartment block, no peeling paint and crumbling brick-and-mortar, only well-manicured gardens and shiny architecture. This was a building for the rich.

He turned back around to wait for Tubbo to get out. As he did, soon followed by Phantom, Sam leaned down and rapped on the driver’s side window. It rolled down, and the bodyguard had a brief, hushed conversation with the chauffeur—a man with a red-and-yellow mask over his nose and mouth—before nodding and standing up straight again. The window slid back up and the limo drove away.

“Alright, then,” Phantom said, snapping Ranboo’s attention back to him, “I’m going to ignore how freakishly tall you actually are and say ‘how about we go inside?’”

“Well, that’s a bit rude,” Ranboo muttered jokingly. Tubbo patted his arm.

The lobby was just as expensive-looking as the outside of the building. Shiny floors, immaculate pot plants, a receptionist standing tall behind the desk...

It would not be an overstatement to say Ranboo was quite intimidated.

Phantom went over to the receptionist, a man who was (for some reason) wearing a reindeer onesie at work, and exchanged banter in sign language for a few minutes before nodding with a smile and walking back to the group.

“That was Callahan,” he said conversationally as he led them towards an elevator. “Great guy. So glad he works here.”

He pressed the button to go up, only having to wait a few seconds before the door opened with a chime. They all got in—it was an enormous elevator, with mirrors and bright lights making it seem even bigger—and watched as Phantom pressed the button for floor…

Oh, okay. That was—hm. Yeah. Okay.

Phantom was pressing all the buttons, two at a time, from level 1 to level 15. He stood back with a small smile and let the doors close. Classic elevator music started playing as they ascended.

“So,” Tubbo said, “this is the building where most of the top 40 heroes live. Bold choice. I thought your address was meant to be classified?”

Phantom grinned as the elevator slowed to a halt. “You’ve done your research! Lovely.”

He didn’t speak or move as the doors opened to level 2. They stayed open for a minute or two, then slid closed again and started off. The hero continued: 

“And, yes, our address is confidential. We want to trust you, but if we can’t, we don’t want you going back out there and spreading the home address of three of the top heroes.”

Tubbo stared at him. The mask hid his expression, but Ranboo thought it wouldn’t be an inaccurate assumption that he was peering suspiciously. “Then why would you bring us here anyway? That doesn’t make sense. Unless you have--”

The elevator doors slid open again, and Phantom smiled at the sight of a person with a colourful hoodie and fluffy brown hair. They stepped inside and jabbed the ‘close doors’ button, frowning at the sight of all the others being lit up.

“Going a bit overboard, no?” he commented. Phantom shrugged.

“I didn’t know what floor you were on. Two Tone, Buzzkill,” he said, “meet my friend, Karl. He’s here to take us to our real destination.”

And before anyone could protest, Karl had reached forward to grab both villains by the shoulder, and Ranboo found himself tugged into a sea of purple and green.

Chapter Text

Tommy woke up with his face buried in a pile of pillows and blankets. He blinked slowly, blearily, trying to remember where he was.

It was soft and warm where he lay, so he burrowed further into the pile, humming contentedly. It smelled like pine and honey and the faint scent of bacon. Tommy liked bacon. They couldn’t afford it much, usually, but after a big heist they’d always have bacon and eggs for breakfast. Ranboo always tried to add spaghetti. That wasn’t as nice.

There was a quiet, distant purring sound in the air. Well, kind of. It was less of the deep, rumbly noise that cats made and more of a breathy, fragile purr. Did they have a cat now? Or maybe it was Ranboo. Sometimes Ranboo purred when he was really comfortable.

Wait, if Ranboo was there, who was with the bacon?

Tommy reluctantly pulled himself from the nest of blankets--as much as he wished he could stay in bed, the last time Tubbo had been allowed to cook, he’d burned the boiling water and evaporated the pan.

And no, that wasn’t a typo.

Anyway, Tubbo had been banned from cooking, and if Ranboo was here, then Tubbo was frying the bacon, and something was going to catch on fire very soon. Tommy went to sit up--

--And did a double take.

“What the fuck.”

Songbird looked up from where he was running his hands through Michael’s wings, and okay, Michael was the one purring then. Right. 

“Oh, hello, mate! Glad to see you’re up!” the hero chirped. ( Chirped. Holy shit, Tommy was fucking hilarious. He should quit his career and become a comedian.)

“What the fuck,” Tommy said again, before gasping as the memories came back to him. He pointed at Songbird accusingly. “You knocked me out!”

“ No, you woke up and immediately started screaming at me, so I hda to give you a healing potion to stop you from doing permanent damage to your throat and lungs,” Sonbirg corrected, his hands not even hesitating as they sorted through Michael’s feathers, tugging and straightening and smoothing in an almost hypnotic pattern. Tommy found his eyes drawn to the repetitive motion. “You blacked out by yourself, probably because your body was so overwhelmed. Oh, and your friends are coming, by the way. You can go with them, if you’d like, but it would be nice if you’d stay a while.”

Tommy’s head snapped back up. “I--this is--I feel very kidnapped right now.”

Songbird laughed, a rhythmic sound, but didn’t say any more as he finished straightening out Michael’s feathers. The smaller child opened his eyes and frowned as the hands left his wings. 

‘Keep going!’ he protested. Songbird smiled.

“Ah, but don’t you want breakfast? Techno’s frying bacon.”

“Hey, wait, no,” Tommy interrupted. “We’re not just moving on from that! I dunno where you got the idea that we can be all buddy-buddy now, dude, but this isn’t gonna happen. I’m leaving!”

He forced his way out of the mound of pillows and blankets, and though the room spun a little and the air was cold, and his throat and feet and head were actually quite sore, he leaned slightly on the bedside table and shot the hero a glare. “Where are my shoes and my bag? Come on Michael, we’re going.”

The kid looked up at him with a confused frown. ‘What? Why? What did you mean?’

Tommy cursed internally. Right, Michael was technically a civillian. He idolised Songbird and probably didn’t know Innit even existed. How had he forgotten?

“Listen, Michael, I don’t have time--well, I mean, I do--but I can’t explain now. Just, please come with me. It’ll be fun!” he said, almost pleading. He really didn’t know why he wanted this kid to come along so desperately.

A near-death situation could really solidify a friendship like that.

“Well, I mean, I’m not gonna stop you,” Songbird said, shrugging. “I’ll send you off with some potions and stuff. That’ll be enough to calm an old man like me.”

Michael looked critically between the two of them. ‘Okay, but, T-O-M-M-Y--you really need a sign name, wow--why should I go with you?’

“Friendship?” Tommy offered. The kid frowned, and he relented-- “How do you feel about heists? And blowing shit up?”

Michael’s eyes lit up and he hopped to his feet. ‘I’m coming. See you, Songbird!’

The hero rolled his eyes. “Alright, if you insist. But I’m still gonna try and capture you. And I’d rather you didn’t involve a ten-year-old in crime.”

‘I’m 12!’ Michael signed, grinning. ‘Now where are those potions you promised us?’

--

Ranboo groaned, leaning on a wall and trying not to throw up. His insides felt like they’d been rearranged by one of Tubbo’s out-of-control creations.

Said boyfriend patted his back encouragingly. “Deep breaths, Two Tone.”

“Fuck you and your stomach of steel,” Ranboo gasped.

After a few minutes, he found the strength to stand up straight again. And he could stand up straight--this was one of the fancier buildings, apparently, as its ceiling was just tall enough to allow him to stand up without hitting his horns. But only just, so it wasn’t as expensive as the building they’d teleported from.

Really, was it so weird he judged buildings by how high their ceilings were? He was over 8 feet tall. Give him a break.

“Come on, you two,” Phantom said. “Down this way.”

He led the villains down the carpeted hallway, stopping at a door with a metal number ‘12’ on it. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a silver key--

--The door slammed open.

“Holy--the fuck? Where do you think you’re going?” Phantom accused the blond teenager and pink-haired child in the doorway. The hero then squawked in annoyance as Tubbo pushed past him to crush Tommy in a hug.

“Oh my god, you idiot, I fucking hate you,” the former grumbled as he pulled away.

“Agreed. Please never get kidnapped again,” Ranboo added. Phantom frowned.

“We did not kidnap him! We just--”

“You took me to your house, without my permission, while I was unconscious,” Tommy accused. The hero paused.

“Well...Okay, that is fair.”

Tubbo grabbed Tommy’s arm and tugged him along. “Come on. Let’s go. You are in so much trouble.”

He sighed, resigned to his fate, before looking back at Phantom. “You know the drill, dude. Just forget my-- ”

Tubbo slapped a hand over his mouth with a glare. “Oh, no, you don’t. You aren’t using your abilty for at least a day. I don’t want you messing up your throat again.”

“Wha--no! You can’t make me do that!”

“I sure as hell can .”

The two started walking off, still bickering. Ranboo huffed in amusement and went to follow--then paused as he noticed the pink-haired boy still standing awkwardly in the doorway. Right, Tommy had said he made a friend.

“You must be Michael?” Ranboo asked kindly. Michael blinked, then nodded, taking a step forward. He made a few gestures with his hands that Ranboo recognised as sign language.

‘Yes. Sign name Gold. You?’

“I’m Ranboo!” he whispered, careful of the hero still behind them—as long as he’d been living with Tubbo, he still hadn’t been able to master sign, though it frustrated him to no end—and started walking. “My sign name is just Boo. Tubbo—that’s the one with bee wings—uses Bee as a sign name, for obvious reasons. He’s hard of hearing. We learned sign because of him, mostly. And you probably already know Tommy’s sign name.”

Michael made a face. His wings—because he had black, feathery wings, almost large enough to trip him over (they were already dragging on the floor a little)—twitched unhappily behind him.

‘No. He said he didn’t have one.’

Ranboo snorted. “That’s because he’s embarrassed about it. It’s Loud. Or sometimes Annoying, if Tubbo’s angry with him—but mostly Loud. Tubbo jokes he can hear him even without his hearing aids.”

The kid by his side giggled, and Ranboo felt his heart grow warm. Holy shit. He was adorable. “How old are you, anyway? Tommy didn’t know.”

There was a moment of hesitation. ‘...11.’

“Cool.”

And, as Ranboo smiled down at the child, he felt a split second of impulsivity that was normally shown only by Tommy or Tubbo:

“I am going to adopt you.”

—

“Wilbur, stop sulking,” Phil sighed. “We’ll get to him eventually. I just want to let him come to us, y’know? Let him thaw at his own pace.”

Wilbur groaned and plucked half-heartedly at his guitar strings. “But he was here! We were so close!”

“Only physically. He was here mostly against his will,” Phil pointed out. “And he was kinda right, actually. It was, like, almost on the verge of kidnapping.” 

Wilbur groaned again, hanging his head, glasses slipping down his nose.

Techno watched the exchange with amusement as he sipped his coffee. The leftover bacon was piled on the plate in front of him—as much as he sympathised for his brother’s woes, Innit (or, well, Tommy) leaving so early did mean more bacon for him. Even if it was a bit ironic with the fact that he was some sort of boar hybrid.

Technocannibal, Chat laughed. You’re a cannibal dude! Don’t forget your promise to us tho KEKW

“Don’t worry, Chat, I haven’t forgotten,” he murmured. “I’m still gonna prank Wilbur.”

His brother looked up suspiciously. “What did you say?”

“Just talkin’ to Chat,” he dismissed.

Notice me Daddy

He sighed with regret. “No longer talkin’ to chat.”

Chat exploded with protests, and he hid a smirk behind his mug as he took a swig of coffee. The voices were a bunch of idiots, really, once you got past the fact they knew a shit-ton of stuff. Well-meaning idiots… but idiots nonetheless.

I take offense to that!

“Well, you’re just a bunch of voices in my head, huh? That’s all you are, really. I don’t care all that much if you’re offended.”

Not always! kekw. Sometimes we’re Philza’s crows. Or Ranboo’s ender particles. No no no, wait, Ranboo doesn’t have particles in this universe. Wrong fic idiots. And Phil doesn’t have crows!

“There you go,” Techno said, ignoring the ‘this universe’ and ‘wrong fic’ parts. He really didn’t need to know. “You’re just my voices.”

Fuck yea we are. Techno’s voices pog. yeyyy poggers. KEKW did y’all forget what universe we were in for a sec?? nooo shut up. “And Tommy will never live past fifteen.” SHUT UP SHUT UP NOT THE TIME ‘now is not the time for lore gogy’ IT’S TOO SOON OH GOD THE PAIN

Techno snorted into his coffee. Idiots, the lot of them.

Chapter Text

It was a warm morning. The apartment was quiet except for a low purring in the living room and the humming of the microwave as Tommy warmed up the pancakes he’s missed the previous day.

He opened the door just as it ended--before the appliance could beep--and walked into the living room with his meal. Tubbo was in his inventing room, and Ranboo was sitting on the floor with Michael, running his hands through the younger’s wings. The purring was coming from both of them, apparently.

Settling down on the couch, Tommy scooped a forkful of pancake into his mouth and closed his eyes.

He couldn’t taste it.

His tongue was still thick with the taste of smoke. Overpowering, drenching any possible enjoyable flavour with burnt wood and the memory of crackling flames.

In a way, it had been like this since… well.

Tommy sank deeper.

--

Long ago, when he was still in first grade or so, Tommy had read a book on magical creatures. One such creature was the phoenix.

He’d been fascinated by the phoenix. A bird made of flame, that could both destroy and heal, and that rebirthed infinitely out of its own ashes? The concept was enrapturing. Tommy learned everything he could about it, reading the book more than once a week, putting on shows for his parents with the information he’d learned.

Ironically, the book that lay smoldering on the ground a week later was opened to the page on phoenixes.

A young boy sat curled up on the pavement, tears rolling down his face as he desperately tried to stifle his sobs. Adults shouted and ran around him, people in bright suits and hard red hats. A red truck was parked at the curb. The boy would usually be excited to see a firetruck.

Right now, he was wishing it would just go away.

“Hey, mate, are you hurt?” a man asked in concern, placing a hand on his back. Tommy sniffed and dragged a sleeve across his face.

“No,” he mumbled.

“Is this your house?”

“Yeah.”

The man--his face long scrubbed from Tommy’s memory--frowned and rubbed his back comfortingly. “Are you alright?” he asked in a voice that remained vague in his mind, half replaced by Tommy’s own accent after years of disuse.

“Yeah.” He had a scraped knee, and his arm felt like it was on fire, and his parents hadn’t come out of the house yet. “I’m okay.”

“Where are your parents?”

“Dunno,” he lied. They were gone. They were gone and he was alone.

“Alright. How about I take you to the police station? We can talk to the nice people there, and we’ll wait for your parents together.”

Tommy nodded, too tired from stress and tears to disagree. The man helped him to his feet and led him to a car. As he collapsed into the seat, his eyes drifted shut, and he was 

A

              s

                               l 

                                           e

                                                                     e

                                                                                                       p.

Tommy woke up to a small hand prodding his forehead.

‘You fell asleep in the middle of eating your pancakes!’ Michael signed, eyes sparkling with amusement. His wings were still out. Maybe he was fond of them?

“Shut up,” the blond mumbled. He nudged Michael off him, sitting up, and yawned. It felt like he’d had a dream, but he couldn’t quite remember it. “Where’s Tubbo?”

‘In his room, I think. Not the bedroom, the one with all the machines. Ranboo went to the store.’

Tommy sighed. Tubbo had been up all night, working on his inventions. He’d only come out for the occasional energy drink or protein bar. What was he up to? “Alright. I’m gonna go check on him. Thanks, Michael.”

Outside the lab, Tommy knocked at the door. There was a clatter inside, and a curse, and then the door creaked open.

“Hey, Tubbo. You look like shit.”

Tubbo snorted. “Thanks a lot.”

It was true, though. The bags under his eyes were much more pronounced than usual, and his hair was a mess--not to mention the grime staining his clothes. Did his hands have blood on them?

Tommy stuck his head in and looked around. The room was, impossibly, even more cluttered than usual. He could barely see the workbench in the corner for all the Monster cans piled on top of it. Where had most of those even come from? The boy had only come out for three of them.

“I’ve been working on a few things in here,” Tubbo said, wading back into the sea of junk. He picked up a piece of rubber to chew on while he gestured at various blueprints on the wall. “Like, uh, that’ll be an upgraded set of comms to replace our old ones. That one’s a plan for a pen that can extend into a baton. That one’s a tracker keychain we can attach to our phone cases. It’ll also act as a panic button if we need it. That one--”

“Tubbo,” Tommy interrupted, “Don’t you think you should take a break?”

The bee hybrid looked back at him in surprise. “No. Why?”

“You’ve been up for more than 24 hours without resting. You’re gonna burn yourself out,” he reasoned.

“But these inventions will be so helpful!”

“Ranboob and I have both been resting, big man--”

“Tommy, you don’t get it,” Tubbo interrupted. His eyes were wild--almost manic. “If I make these, they can help us make certain nothing like yesterday ever happens again! We’ll be able to win more fights, defend ourselves, communicate better--”

“But they’re useless if you collapse from being too tired!”

“TOMMY I CAN’T RISK LOSING YOU AGAIN!” Tubbo yelled.

The room fell into silence, except for his quick breaths. He wrapped his arms around himself.

“When you-- when you sent that text, saying you’d been kidnapped, I got so, so scared, Tommy,” he said thickly. There were tears in his eyes. “Y-You, and Ranboo, you’re the only f-family I’ve ever really had. If you were gone…” He sniffed and dragged a sleeve across his face. “I don’t know--I can’t--I wouldn’t be able to take it.”

Gaping, Tommy tried to find words to say. He couldn’t. What did you say to something like that? The realisation that Tubbo was working so hard, exhausting himself, because he was worried…

He waded forward and tried to pull his friend into a hug, but Tubbo flinched backwards and grabbed his own arms tightly.

Fuck.

“Hey, Tubso, breathe with me, okay?” Tommy said gently. He took exaggerated breaths, gesturing when to breathe in and out. “Breathe. It’s okay.” Soon enough, his friend began to follow along, taking shaky breaths and slowly uncurling from himself. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. Tubbo nodded. He leaned forward into the hug.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry too,” Tommy replied. Neither of them had to clarify what they were sorry for. 

They clung onto each other like they were in a flimsy lifeboat on the raging seas. In a way, they were. Their lives had been one big whirlwind all along, tossing them this way and that without their consent. The only constant in all of it had been that they stuck together. Tommy and Tubbo, the iconic duo.

And, and Ranboo, couldn’t forget Ranboo. He’d fit in (almost) instantly when Tubbo had found him… somewhere and dragged him along into their shenanigans.

And was Michael part of their group now? Was he--He’d only been with them for like two days, but Ranboo seemed really attached to him, and he fit in pretty well. He probably was. How old was he, anyway? He didn’t seem to know himself--

“Tommy, I’m gonna go sleep,” Tubbo said suddenly. The blond sighed in relief.

“Oh, thank god. Have a shower first. You really do look like shit.”

He was flipped off as Tubbo let go, stepping back and nearly falling over.

“Jesus. I really need to clean this room.”

“Yeah, you do.”

They both knew he never would, but it was more of a formality, a polite comment. Small talk, so to speak.

“Okay.” Tubbo looked up again and smiled. “I’ll go have a shower. Asshole.”

Tommy stuck his tongue out in reply, but couldn’t help a grin. He was glad they were… making progress, or something. Tubbo tended to get too focused on things, blocking out all other distractions (like food and hygiene) until he either finished his project or passed out. More often than not, it resulted in the latter.

It was always good when Tommy or Ranboo could catch it and help him before he got too deep into the hyperfocus.

Following his friend out of the room, Tommy mde sure he did actually get into the shower, then went back to the living room. Michael looked up from where he’d pulled all the cushions off the couches and was arranging them on the floor. 

“The fuck are you doing?” Tommy asked, though not unkindly. Michael shrugged.

‘I dunno. Making somewhere to sleep?’

Rolling his eyes, Tommy stepped forward and crouched down. “Don’t be stupid, kid. I know you slept on the couch last night, but you’re not gonna sleep in the--” He paused. “What’s wrong?”

As he’d reached down to grab a cushion, Michael had moved to block his hand. The kid blinked and frowned.

‘I don’t… I don’t know. Where am I sleeping then?’

“My room. Duh. We’ve got an air mattress you can sleep on until we go out and steal you a bed. Come on, we’ll set it up now.”

‘Alright.’

But as the kid went to stand up and follow Tommy, he stopped and looked back at the cushions. There was an odd look on his face.

‘Can we… can I bring these?’

“Uh, sure. Why?”

His feathers fluffed up a little. ‘I dunno, I just, I wanna… make a pile of soft stuff on my bed. I don’t know. It’s probably stupid. I just do.’

Tommy shrugged. “I mean, yeah, if you want. Don’t see why not.”

Michael grinned and trotted with him to the storage closet.

They quickly found the air mattress and pump, pulling it to Tommy’s room to inflate it. While they were doing so, Ranboo came home, smiling with relief when he saw Tubbo exiting the bathroom wearing his pyjamas. The bee hybrid, yawning, wished them all good night (good morning?) and retreated to his room.

Once everything was set up (Michael taking extra time to arrange pillows and blankets on his bed, for reasons not even the kid himself could explain), they all retired to the living room. Michael messed with a jigsaw puzzle. Ranboo scrolled on his phone.

Tommy, however, was staring at the ceiling in silence. 

“Whatcha doing?” Ranboo asked finally.

“Thinkin’.”

“Oh, that’s a rare occurrence.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Fuck you.”

The quiet reigned for a few more minutes, until Ranboo’s curiosity got the better of him and he sat forward. “What were you thinking about?”

“...I’m kinda bored.”

“You’re… bored?”

“Yeah. I wanna go criming.”

Ranboo sighed. “Tommy, you nearly died two days ago. And then you got borderline kidnapped. How are you… actually, no, it doesn’t matter.”

He grinned and sat up. “Is that a yes?”

His friend blinked. “What? No, I—”

“Thanks, big man!” Tommy exclaimed, ignoring his friend’s protests. “Michael, d’you wanna come? We can introduce you to the world of petty crime! Bigger crimes will come later.”

The kid’s eyes lit up. ‘Heck yeah!’

“Pogchamp. You’ve just gotta come up with a villain name, then--although that isn’t too important, it can wait a week or two—and we’ll get you a mask, and you’ll be good to go! Sound good, Ranboo?”

Tommy and Michael looked eagerly to their friend, who blinked in shock. He shook his head almost frantically. “No. No, no, no. I never agreed to this.”

“Aww, Ranboo, don’t be such a pussy. Why don’t you wanna come? You’re usually really excited for our trips!”

“Well, for a start, you were borderline kidnapped the other day. You probably shouldn’t be straining yourself too soon,” he pointed out with a raised eyebrow. Tommy sighed dramatically. Not the logic . “And Tubbo would be annoyed if he found out we went out without him.”

“Ah, but—” Tommy pointed at him—“as you said, that’s an ‘if’. The Tubster’s asleep right now, so he won’t know we’re going out, and if we get back after he’s woken up, we can just tell him we went for a walk.”

Ranboo seemed to consider this in silence. He looked like he was debating with himself—something he did infuriatingly often. Tommy resisted the urge to groan. As annoying as it was (and ironic, considering they regularly committed crimes), Ranboo was quite morally stubborn. He always overthought decisions to see if there was a way to hurt fewer people. Tommy found it incredibly irritating.

Finally, Ranboo sighed and looked up. “Fine, I’ll come. If only to keep you two from getting into trouble.”

“Fuck yeah!” Tommy cheered. “Come on Michael, I think I’ve got a spare mask in my room somewhere. Let’s go criming!”

And as he led the kid excitedly to his room, Tommy started to feel a little more like himself again.

Chapter Text

“THIS WAS A BAD IDEA THIS WAS A BAD IDEA OH FUCK OH SHIT—”

“Tommy, shut the fuck up,” Tubbo hissed in his comm. “I’m working on getting you two outta there, just keep running!” 

“No, no, I’m going to stop moving and let the heroes catch up with me—what do you think I’m doing, asshole?!” Tommy hissed right back. “Michael, you good?”

A double tap came over the line, the signal they’d created ‘yes’. Michael was flying above, keeping a bird’s eye view as Tommy and Ranboo parkoured away from the several heroes chasing them. 

Actually, ‘several’ was an understatement. It was at least 8—hence why Tommy was running instead of fighting. His ability’s limit was 5 people at once. Trying to use it on 8 would result in a lost voice within minutes. 

Tommy stumbled over a pipe, nearly falling, just barely hopping back to his feet as Ranboo grabbed his hood. Maybe Tommy could’ve controlled 5 of the heroes, Ranboo subduing the other 3, but neither of them wanted to take their chances, especially not when 4 of said heroes were part of the top ten.

They’d only been trying to rob a house. They hadn’t known it was Dream’s. Or that he was having a party.

“Get back here you little shits!” said hero yelled at them. A crossbow bolt flew past, barely missing Tommy’s head. Another grazed Ranboo’s shoulder, and he hissed through a mouth full of teeth.

Tommy could hear the heroes yelling at each other. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward.

A shard of something clear flew and embedded itself in the mortar—wait, was that diamond?!

Tommy paused, bending down to grab, but hissed and pulled away when found it was razor sharp to the touch—and then Ranboo was grabbing him, hoisting him over his shoulder, and continuing to run.

“Hey! That was pure diamond!”

“We’re in the middle of a chase!”

“It was pure diamond , Ranboob! Now put me down!”

Ranboo shook his head and muttered something like ‘ADHD ass’, then set him down lightly and kept going. 

“Alright, guys, there should be a corner ahead soon, and there’s an open window in a building just around it. Get in fast,” Tubbo instructed.

“Alright, got it.”

And true to his word, as they turned the corner, there was the open window, and there was a conveniently placed ladder they used to swing over the edge of the roof and in.

They landed on a convenient foam mat a good distance below the window, and quickly pressed their backs against the wall to avoid being seen. Only when the heroes had clattered by and left did they relax.

“Alright, so, I guess we go back—ohhh boy…” Ranboo trailed off. Tommy frowned and followed his gaze to the window—which, he now saw, was a good 10 feet up. For some fucking reason.

“Okay, so we can’t go back out the window, how do we get out?” Tommy asked Tubbo over the comm. “Where even are we?”

There came no reply. 

Tommy frowned and tapped it. It only emitted the faint echo of static. “Tubbo?”

“Maybe there are jammers in this building,” Ranboo suggested. “It’s clearly not a regular house, right?”

“Well, no shit,” Tommy muttered. He looked around the room for the first time. It seemed to be a storage room, packed from floor to ceiling with cardboard boxes. Their contents—mostly bits of metal and various mechanical parts—were spilling out onto the floor in some places. Redstone dust had settled on everything open to the air. “Maybe it’s some sorta lab?”

“Oh, yeah, maybe,” Ranboo mused, wiping a layer of dust with his finger. It stood stark red against his white skin. “We should probably find a way out of here. I doubt I can reach that window.”

Tommy nodded, setting his eyebrows in what he hoped was a determined look. “Alright. Let’s make it quick.”

Cautiously, the two crept out the door into a long hallway. Tommy checked the way was clear before deciding to head left. (No particular reason why. He just thought the left looked less ominous.) (It had nothing to do with the redstone dust trail leading towards the right that looked a bit too similar to blood.) (Nothing at all.)

As the two snuck through hallways haphazardly, honestly just hoping to stumble across an exit, they slowly became aware of the… how to phrase this… very security-driven way the building was set up. Several cameras blinked in the corners, there were quite a few password-secured doors, and then there was that one time they had to do acrobatic tricks to avoid a series of laser traps.

If only he was joking.

Anyway, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that this wasn’t your average office building. Which was good. Because neither of them were rocket scientists. 

As they reached the end of yet another hallway, the echo of voices came around the corner. Tommy gestured to Ranboo to shush (which elicited an eye roll, for some fucking reason) and peered around the corner.

At the end of the next corridor, instead of another corner or locked door, the space opened up into a massive room. Tommy couldn’t see much from far away—but he did see two people, one with black hair and a mustache, the other with brown hair and a red sweater. The latter had small, colourful wings poking out of his back, but the former’s ability wasn’t obvious to the naked eye.

The two seemed to be working on a redstone contraption in the middle of the lab. Or, well, more accurately, the mustached man was doing the work while his friend messed around with… was that a boat? Why the fuck was he rowing a boat around on the ground?

“Tommy, why are you taking so long?” Ranboo whispered, peeking his head out from the corner as well. Then—”Ohh, okay.”

“Guess I’ll just brainwash them,” he muttered and started off down the hallway.

That was, until a metal grate on the ceiling loosened and then clattered to the ground. The two blinked in shock as someone in a white hoodie and gold jewellery hopped down and pointed a gun at them.

“Put ‘em up, fuckers.”

— 

Tubbo cursed and stood from his perch. Alright. Judging by the static coming over the comms, they’d clearly fucked themselves over somehow. 

Time to do damage control, he guessed.

—  

Michael worried his lip between his teeth and tried to keep above the clouds. He’d lost sight of Boo and Bee had told him to wait there until he arrived. But…

He could sense it in his feathers. Something was wrong.

— 

Somewhere on the other side of the city, winged hero Songbird glanced up and frowned. One of his kids was getting into trouble again.

But that couldn’t be right. Wilbur and Techno were walking along in front of him. Still, though, his feathers prickled insistently.

… Odd.

— 

Alright, so maybe the sneaky approach wasn’t going to work.

What gave Tommy that idea, you ask? Well, actually, being as intelligent and observant as he was, he had scanned his environment, carefully analysing every little detail, and had caught one tiny feature that, had he not— 

—Okay, enough bullshit. There was an angry vigilante chasing after them.

Why was he angry? Well, Tommy, ever the genius—  

—It was because Tommy had brainwashed him into handing over his gun. He was angry because he’d been forced to give away his weapon. Quite understandable, really. If Tommy had been holding a gun one second, gone into a foggy daze quite unlike anything he’d ever experienced except maybe dreaming, and woken up the next second to find his opponent holding his gun, he’d be pretty pissed off too.

And so there they were, a half-shifted Ranboo pulling off the tasks of both carrying Tommy and running Very Fast without a sweat, cursing vigilante trying and only just barely succeeding to keep up.

Punz—at least that’s what Tommy thought his name was, he’d spotted a ‘wanted vigilante’ poster somewhere—had blond hair, a white hoodie, gold earrings and necklace, and noticeable lack of a gun. He also had a similar face to the Purpled guy Tommy had seen running about lately, although this guy was definitely older. Maybe they were brothers or something.

“Hey, Ranboob?” Tommy yelled into his friend’s ear, making him wince. (Pussy.)

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you just turn around and fuck him up?” 

Ranboo stopped suddenly. He didn’t even budge as Punz ran headfirst into him and fell to the ground with a grunt. “Good point, actually!”

Setting Tommy down, he turned and proceeded to go through the quite frankly painful-looking process of shifting into his full beast form. Punz looked up, dazed, at the sound of cracking bone—  

—And then went the palest Tommy had ever seen a person.

Ranboo snarled. Punz squeaked.

It was understandable, Tommy supposed. He’d personally gotten used to the whole ‘eldritch horror monster’ thing Ranboo had going on, but that was because they’d known each other for years. The first time he’d seen his friend fully shifted, he’d nearly shit his pants.

Tubbo, of course, had barely batted an eye. The bastard had a broken fear receptor or something.

Oh—and there went that vigilante. Coolio.

“So, Ranboob, any clue which way to go?”

Growl.

“Fair ‘nuff.”

— 

“Oh my god, sun!” Tommy cried, spreading his arms in relief.

Ranboo sighed, equally relieved. “Thank goodness. I thought we were going to be stuck in there forever.”

“I know, right?! That place was like a fucking maze!”

“Yeah. Well, we’d better go find—”

With a ‘pop’, their earpieces exploded into a cacophony of noise. More specifically, Tubbo’s very angry voice.

“WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GO, YOU FUCKERS, DO YOU HAVE ANY CLUE HOW GODDAMN WORRIED I WAS—”

—

“Jesus, Punz, what happened to you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Punz brushed off his cousin’s remark and grabbed his notebook and pen. He flipped to a certain page to start writing. 

To whom it may concern:

Although I’d prefer to remain anonymous in writing this letter, it is not something that should be ignored or dismissed as a prank. You may have heard of the villains Two Tone and Innit, who have recently been terrorising our city along with their companion Buzzkill.

Today I had a run-in with these two criminals. Due to my power, I now have information on them you might find useful.

In exchange for legal immunity, I would be willing to share this information. Do not be concerned about my request—I have not committed any crime more severe than petty theft. I would just wish not to have a criminal record.

Please contact me via the number I leave attached.

Sincerely… a concerned member of the community.

Chapter Text

Sincerely, a concerned member of the community.

Philza sighed. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting when he was handed a letter that had apparently been left on the doorstep of the police station, but even though it wasn’t this, he couldn’t bring himself to feel surprised.

Usually a tip-off like this would be left to the police, but as the ‘Sleepy Bois Inc’ (as the public had affectionately nicknamed their team) were allocated to the ‘Masked Bandits’ case, the letter had been handed off to them instead.

And it was a big tip-off indeed—that was, if the person was being sincere. But there was only one way to find out.

Phil picked up his phone, carefully entered the number he’d been given (for a burner phone, they’d found out when they investigated), and waited as it rang.

Click.

“Hello? Is this our anonymous tip off?”

“The one and only,” came the voice over the line. Male, probably white, not especially young but definitely younger than forty. “Are you willing to agree to the terms I offered?”

“Well, I can’t guarantee your immunity if you turn out to be a murderer or something, but otherwise, absolutely.”

“I guess I can agree to that… Who am I speaking to?”

“Songbird. And you?”

“Punz. The vigilante. Now, about my end of the deal…”

--

Bad B. Halo really had thought he’d seen it all. After all, he was a 9-foot-tall shadow demon married to a 5-foot 4 pro hero, he’d recently started a nighttime bakery, and he was allergic to direct sunlight. That was weird enough for one lifetime, right?

Well, apparently the universe thought otherwise, as when he was just about to open his bakery for the night, he realized there was someone inside the locked building.

But not just anyone. It was one of the people who’d robbed the gas station he’d worked at a few months back.

Bad took a step back in surprise. Instantly, his thoughts went to the phone in his pocket. Skeppy. He needed to call Skeppy. He reached for the phone—

--The person looked right at him.

A chill ran down Bad’s spine like no other. It was dark inside, but he could still see the figure was tall—almost as tall as he was. A very faint purple aura glowed around them.

Bad turned heel and ran.

--

Ranboo rubbed the back of his neck in confusion. That person looked kinda familiar. Had he seen them somewhere before?

“Ranboo, who was that?”

“I dunno. Just some guy. I think I spooked them.”

Tubbo shrugged. “Okay then. Can you come back here and break down the door to the back room? I can’t figure out the lock,” he complained.

“Oh! Sure thing,” Ranboo said. He quickly half-shifted, stepped around Tommy, and broke the lock off the door. The room behind it seemed to be some sort of storage room. Random knick-knacks and boxes of stuff were scattered among the massive bags of flour here and there.

Tubbo made an excited noise and buzzed up to the top shelves. Tommy casually pushed his way inside.

“So what exactly does this bakery have to do with the Annual Hero Party Thing?”

“The Annual Heroics Gala,” Tubbo corrected. “And it’s a bit complicated, but basically, I have good intel that the owner of this bakery has a close affiliation with pro hero Diamond Dust.”

“Hey, that’s the asshole that threw diamonds at me!” Tommy exclaimed.

“Diamond which you tried to pick up,” Ranboo pointed out.

“Dude, it was pure diamond.”

“We were being chased!”

“I found something!” Tubbo shrieked. They all snapped their heads to look.

In the brunette’s hands was a photo frame containing a picture of two men in white suits—one extremely tall with void skin and horns, and the other remarkably shorter with brown skin, blue hair and diamonds encrusting his left cheek. The two were standing hand-in-hand under a floral arch, a priest standing at a podium behind them.

“They’re married?!” Tommy exclaimed, at the same time as Ranboo said, “Wait, that’s the guy I saw outside!”

“Wait, shit, really?” Tubbo said with a concerned frown. “He’s the owner of this bakery. He might be calling his husband if he saw you in here before opening hours. We should go.”

Tommy sighed. “Goddammit, just as it was getting interesting… Yeah, alright.”

He tapped his comm. “Michael” We’ve gotta go now, we’ll meet you back on the roof.”

A double tap—‘yes’—came over the line.

Tubbo took some quick photos—the photo frame, the room, a handy post-it-note with a bunch of passwords stuck to a computer—and tucked his phone back in the pocket of his jacket. “Alright gang, let’s head out.”

--

When Bad B. Halo and pro hero Diamond Dust returned to the bakery, they found nothing missing except the lock on the storage room door. A 50 dollar bill was taped to the door with a note simply reading ‘lol sorry’.

--

Ranboo usually oved the domestic moments in his life. Relaxing at home, cooking meals, cuddling with Tubbo or Tommy or Michael, that was when he was happiest. Don’t get him wrong, he loved their adventures a lot, he just didn’t tend to prefer them over home.

Right now, though, he was feeling… restless.

Tommy was showering. Tubbo was hacking, or whatever he’d planned to do with the passwords he’d stolen. Michael was… actually, he didn’t quite know what Michael was doing.

Standing up, he walked into Tommy’s room, where Michael was messing around. They’d stolen a bed for him, but instead of sleep normally, Tommy had remarked that the kid tended to sleep curled up in the bundle of soft things he’d made in the middle of the mattress.

“Hey, Michael,” he said. The pink-haired boy looked up from the thing he was adjusting—wait. “is that my hoodie?”

Michael smiled guiltily and nodded.

“Why?”

‘I dunno. Makes me feel safe. I wanted it in my nest.’

Ranboo blinked. Nest? He’d never called it that before.

He sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out and waiting for Michael’s nod to pet his wings.

“How long have you had these out now? Three weeks?” he commented. Michael looked up sharply.

‘It’s been three weeks?’ he signed frantically.

“Yeah. Long time, huh?”

‘You’re—it’s been three weeks? Shit.’

“Language,” Ranboo reprimanded half-heartedly. He felt bad about exposing a younger kid to swear words, but living around Tommy, it was kind of inevitable. At least—

--Michael clambered off the bed and stood in the middle of the room with his eyes squeezed shut. He didn’t make a move, just stood there, eyes shut, fists balled.

A few seconds passed. Then some more. Then a minute. Ranboo frowned.

“Uh, you good?”

Michael sighed and opened his eyes. ‘I can’t pull in the wings. I’ve left it too long.’

“Wait, what?”

‘My ability has drawbacks. If I copy someone’s power for too long, I start developing their traits and habits, and eventually, it’s incredibly hard for me to cancel my ability.’

Ranboo blinked a few times as the words sunk in. Then he waved his hands around in confusion. “Wait, wait, stop. Where did this come from? Can you just not get rid of your wings? How do we fix it?”

Michael sighed again. ‘Sorry. I genuinely didn’t remember how long I’d been using this ability. One of my past abilities, a teleportation one I’d picked up from this brunette guy, left me with weird memory gaps every now and then. It’s why I keep being so vague about my age. I honestly don’t know it.’

Ranboo’s jaw dropped.

“What the fuck.”

The kid exhaled a laugh. ‘Yeah, fair enough.’

“What—why didn’t you—how do we fix it??”

‘Well, last time I had to find someone with an erasure ability, to reset my power. So I guess we’ll have to find them again.’

“Who?”

‘Um…’ Michael thought for a few seconds. ‘He had green hair and these weird square markings on his face, he was kinda tall, and he was walking with a hero, but I don’t remember who. I just remember that part because, uh… I’d just lost the past week, and I was really confused, and I headed straight for the first hero I saw.’

Ranboo shot upright at the description. “Wait, I know who that is! Hold on—”

He rushed out of the room and burst into Tubbo’s lab. “Bee! Important!”

Tubbo glanced up. “Yeah, Boo?”

“I need a list of people who are going to be at the Gala. We have a new objective,” Ranboo said.

“Oh—uh, sure. What is it?”

Michael trotted up behind him, and he gave the kid an absent-minded pat on the head. “Long story short, Michael used his ability too long and now he can’t cancel it, and we need someone with an erasure ability, and the only person either of us know with one of those is Sam. Phantom’s bodyguard from when we got Tommy.”

Tubbo blinked. Once, twice. Then he set his gadget aside. “Shit. That is a problem. Uhh, lemme see if he’s gonna be there,” he muttered. He turned to his computer, typed something on his keyboard, and started clicking.

--

Ten minutes passed. Ranboo cleared a space for him and Michael on the floor, and they played chopsticks.

Fifteen minutes, and Tommy had finished his shower. Ranboo explained the situation while he attacked his hair with a towel. Tommy brought his Nintendo into the lab, and they watched him play Animal Crossing.

Twenty-five minutes went by, and Tubbo made a triumphant noise. “Found it!”

“Pog!” Tommy exclaimed, sitting upright. “Show us, show us!”

The three on the floor clambered to their feet as Tubbo pushed his chair back from the desk. A long list of names was on the screen. Ranboo trailed his finger down the list—

“There! Under the bodyguard section, ‘Sam Redstone’. He’ll be there!”

Tommy and Michael high-fived, and Tubbo snorted. “Hey, no time for celebration just yet. We need to figure out a way into the Gala.”

“Right! Right. I assume you’ll need more time to figure that out?”

“Yeah, and to forge us some invitations. Give me… two days, max, and I think I can do it. Is that good?”

Ranboo nodded. “Yeah, I think—”

“WE NEED TO GO SUIT SHOPPING!!” Tommy shrieked. Michael gasped.

‘Suits! We need suits! Yes!!’

“COME ON RANBOO, LET’S GO ROB A BANK!!”

Chapter Text

“Alright, how do I look?”

Tommy posed dramatically, looking back over his shoulder with an exaggerated pout. Tubbo snorted, and Ranboo choked down a laugh.

“It looks great!”

The suit—dark red, almost black, with a small pair of macaw wings embroidered on the back—honestly did suit him. Ranboo himself was wearing a black suit jacket with a purple skirt, and Tubbo a dark green suit with bees embroidered on the cuffs. Michael was wearing a simple black suit and pink tie.

“Why thank you, Mr. Boob boy. You look quite dashing yourself,” Tommy grinned. “Shall we get on now?”

“Please, come on, let’s go,” Tubbo said anxiously. “We can’t be late or we’ll draw attention to ourselves.”

“Yes, yes, we’re going. No need to panic.”

They left the public bathroom one by one, each looking around cautiously before ushering the others through. Tubbo had picked this spot out specifically for their disguise change. No cameras nearby, low pedestrian traffic, close to the Gala location—it was perfect.

Now they just had to get in.

The four left the area together, taking care to act confident as they took their path. Each was kitted out with wigs, full face makeup, and an alibi and persona to portray. Tommy was Edward Bones, the young upstart hero with familial connections in high places. Ranboo was RainVex, longtime friend of Edward and local hero from a country town. Michael was Clue, the man whose ability was…well, never looking any age above 7. And Tubbo, their bodyguard, was Toby. Because they ran out of interesting names.

‘Rain’ and ‘Clue’ were the two guests ‘Edward’ was allowed to bring to the Gala, and ‘Toby’ was the guard they’d been permitted to have with them. Even though the event would be filled with superheroes, most of them would be busy socialising, and wouldn’t have time to look out for suspicious activity like the guards would be doing.

As previously specified, they were each wearing wigs and makeup so that, even if their secret identities were revealed later down, no-one would connect them to this night.

Ranboo tried to ignore the lump in his throat as they approached the bouncer. Tommy handed over the invitations. Tubbo had painstakingly recreated them, using Diamond Dust and husband’s passwords to collect references. But was it enough? Would the guard realise? Would they notice that the invitations were false? Would—

The guard stepped aside and waved them in. Ranboo breathed an internal sigh of relief. Oh, thank the gods…

Now they just had to make it through the night.

--

This was fucking fantastic.

Tommy could feel every nerve in his body tingling. He felt alive. He was sure that, if the wings on his back were real, they’d be flapping in excitement so hard that he’d lift off the ground.

Both Tubbo and Michael were currently hiding their wings underneath their suits. It looked uncomfortable, but when he’d asked, both had just shrugged and said they were ‘used to it’.

Anyways. The Gala. That’s what they were here for.

Tommy took a look around, absorbing his surroundings. There was the food table, the mingling area, the dance floor, the seating—wait.

He grabbed Tubbo’s arm and nodded to three men seated together on a couch. “Is that—”

“Is that Quackity and Flicker?!” Tubbo hissed.

“Hey, isn’t that the guy who teleported us?” Ranboo whispered.

‘That’s the guy I got my memory problems from!’ Michael signed frantically.

“What’s a drug dealer, a pro hero, and a vigilante with memory issues doing holding hands on a couch??” Tommy whispered, completing the circle.

Tubbo bounced on the balls of his feet. “I—I kinda wanna go ask.”

“Tubbo, no,” Ranboo hissed.  “We agreed we’d only talk to people we know if absolutely necessary—Hey! Where are you—stop!”

But Tommy ignored him, continuing to walk over. He wanted to know why the three, basically complete opposites, were doing even interacting.

He could hear the other three, his friends, quickly shuffling up behind him. The adults looked up at their approach.

“Hello!” the memory guy piped up. “Enjoying the party?”

“Yes, very much. My name’s Edward. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr…?”

“Oh—Karl! Karl Jacobs.” The brunette stuck his hand out and Tommy shook it firmly. “These are my fiances, Flicker and Q.”

“Ah, lovely. My companions are Rain and Clue. When did you three get engaged?”

“About seven months ago. The wedding is actually coming up in a few months,” Quackity said. “Edward, excuse me for asking, but do I know you from anywhere? Your voice sounds familiar.”

Tommy cursed internally. Shit, he’d forgotten to change his accent! Too late now, though—he’d have to roll with it.

“No, I don’t think we have. I only recently moved to this part of the city. Maybe we’ve seen each other walking down the street?”

The man made a ‘hm’ noise and nodded. “Maybe.”

“Anyway, we should go enjoy the rest of the party. Have a lovely night!” Tommy said, as casually as he could. The apparently-fiances waved as he walked off, ushering his companions along with him, making sure to get out of earshot before speaking.

Not that there was much speaking. In fact, an awkward silence filled the air between the group. Tommy scratched underneath his wig. Ranboo cleared his throat.

“So… do you think Flicker knows that Quackity is a villain?” Tubbo asked.

“Man, I dunno. Can we, like… go find Sam and get out of here? This many heroes is starting to put me on edge.”

“I agree,” Ranboo piped up. “I’m starting to get sweaty. I don’t want any of this makeup to rub off.”

Michael nodded. ‘This is scary and I wanna be home playing video games.’

With a shaky sigh, Tubbo nodded too. “Alright. Let’s get Michael’s ability cancelled and then split. Has anyone seen Phantom? Sam’s likely to be hanging around him.”

Everyone shook their heads. Tommy frowned, looking around. The place was fairly packed, and there weren’t any stairs to climb… oh, there’s an idea.

“Ranboob, do you see either of them? Can you stand on your tiptoes or something?” he asked, poking his friend in the side. Ranboo’s eyes lit up, and he nodded, standing up from his hunched position to look around. Tommy watched patiently. The red and green gaze scanned slowly, slowly, picking through the crowd—and then locked on something.

“I see Sam! Come on, this way.”

He hunched down again, a bad habit he’d gained from years of being shunned for his height (and years of low ceilings). Michael held onto the teen’s skirt so as not to get lost in the crowd.

“Alright. Remember,” Tubbo whispered. “Plan A first. Plan B only if absolutely necessary. Plan C only if it’s a life or death matter of getting out. Got it?”

Ranboo grumbled a little. “I really hope Plan A works. I’d hate to ruin this outfit.”

“I’m sure it will, boss man. Now chin up!”

Tommy took a deep breath and walked forward.

Admittedly, he did get a little jolt of surprise when he saw that not only Sam and Phantom were there, but Songbird and Dream as well. Each was wearing their hero costume, as was tradition for the top 10 heroes to do at the Gala.

They all glanced up from their conversation as Tommy approached. Sam, wearing a simple black suit and green tie, kept his gaze firmly trained on the blonde (or pink-haired, as the wig made him appear).

“Good evening, gentlemen. I hope you’re enjoying your night?” he said, taking care this time to fake an accent. Songbird nodded graciously.

“Yes, it’s been really good so far. What’s your name?”

“Edward, and these are my companions, Rain and Clue.” Once again, everyone nodded politely to each other. “Say, I was wondering—this party’s a bit boring, yeah? How about an arm wrestle contest?”

The three heroes blinked in confusion. There were a few long, awkward moments of silence—then Dream started to chuckle.

“Ballsy. I like it. Who goes first?”

Tommy resisted the intense urge to jump around like a little kid. Perfect.

“Well, my friend Clue here is a lot stronger than he looks. How about him versus…hm…” He looked between the group, pretending to analyse each of them in turn—then pointed at Sam. “You look strong! How about you and Clue tough it out?” he asked with a smirk.

Sam looked at Phantom, who shrugged and nodded. He shrugged himself. “Sure. Why not?”

They walked over to a table, where the two competitors knelt down on either side—but Tommy held up a hand before they could begin.

“Quick question, how do we know you don’t have a strength ability?”

“My ability is erasing others’ ability,” Sam said.

“Okay, but like, can you prove it? Here, try it on me,” Tommy said. He slipped a small gadget out of his sleeve, held it in his palm, and curled his fingers into a fist with just barely a gap remaining. A small spurt of flame shot up through his fingers and danced in the air.

Shrugging, Sam reached out to touch his hand. He let go of the button at the same time, and the flame disappeared. Tommy rose his eyebrows.

“Very good, very good,” he said, slipping the gadget into his pocket. So his ability works by touch. Neat. “Oh, hey, that means you can erase Clue’s ability too! To make sure he doesn’t have a strength ability!”

Sam nodded in acknowledgement. Tommy grinned. Tubbo bounced onto the balls of his feet. The competitors reached towards each other…

And their hands touched.

Nothing obvious happened, but Tommy could swear he saw Michael…

Ope, they were arm wrestling… Aaand, Michael was down.

Yeah, that was to be expected. He was like ten.

Still though, Tommy clapped politely as the two stood up, Sam dusting off his hands.

“Good job! I guess you must be even stronger than I thought!”

Sam shrugged again. Wow, man of many words, right? Anyways. Plan A involved looking normal, so of course they couldn’t just stop at one round. Tommy stepped forward, pointing at Phantom.

“You! I will wrestle you!” he said dramatically. The hero snorted.

“Alright then. If you say so.”

As he knelt at the table, the blond-slash-pinkette (was that even a word??) glanced at Michael for confirmation that the plan had worked. He received a small nod, and relaxed immensely.

Thank fuck the urgent issue was done with. Now to wrestle Phantom.

As the hero knelt, they made intense eye contact, both grinning. They gripped hands—but then Phantom’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Hold on. Do I know—”

“WARNING,” a voice blared over the speakers, interrupting the music. “WE HAVE WORD THAT A VILLAIN HAS ENTERED THE PREMISES. THE BUILDING IS NOW ON LOCKDOWN. NO-ONE IS ALLOWED TO ENTER OR EXIT UNTIL WE HAVE LOCATED AND APPREHENDED THE CRIMINAL. REMAIN CALM, BUT VIGILANT. THANK YOU.”

A crackle and a whine rang out as the intercom disconnected. Murmurs started to tremble throughout the room—some suspicious, some nervous. There were plenty of journalists, civilian guests and paparazzi at the Gala. If a fight broke out, it wouldn’t be as simple as ‘all the heroes piling on the villain’.

That was good for them, of course, it was just… well. Tommy wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling in that moment.

Through the crowd, he spotted the three fiances from earlier, looking nervous and whispering amongst themselves, the hero and vigilante both moving slightly in front of their third. So they probably knew Quackity was a villain. Interesting.

Tommy heard quick movement behind him.

He turned to look—but felt a tug, and as he spun, unable to resist the momentum, a pull, then a slip, and he circled around to see… Phantom. With a pink wig in his hand.

Oh, fuck.

There was a moment of shocked silence from both sides. It seemed to last for minutes. Hours. Days, weeks, months…

And then Tubbo screamed “PLAN B!!” and Phantom yelled “FOUND HIM!” and all hell broke loose.

Ranboo shifted in a matter of seconds, Tubbo tore off his jacket and pulled a grenade, Phantom went ghost and Songbird shoved his wings open and Dream pulled a sword from his back.

Smoke shot from the grenade in a plume, and Tommy pulled his mask up from under his shirt. Wheezing hacks broke out across the room. A blade glinted in the dim, and he dropped to the floor, barely missing a shaved head. Tommy rolled forward and swept a leg at the closest person he could find, sending Dream stumbling back, but barely had time to savour the victory as he felt cold air hit the back of his neck and colder hands grab his arms.

“TWO TONE!” he yelled, diving forward with all his weight as a shadowy beast came bounding out of the fog, tackling Phantom to the ground, freeing Tommy, who shrieked and dove aside as a blade clanged off the ground next to him. He scrambled to his feet and drove his shoulder into Dream’s gut, grabbing his wrist, twisting it until the fingers went limp and the sword clattered to the ground. He grabbed it, tried to toss it away, but was instead grabbed from behind by a pair of arms and a pair of wings.

He went to reach for his dagger—but the hand gripping his forearm wrenched it back until he winced at the pain.

“Two Tone!”

But he looked, and Ranboo was busy, trapped in a battle between Phantom and the Blade.

“Buzzkill?!”

But Tubbo was fighting Dream and Flicker, and clearly occupied in doing so.

“Pigstep?!”

He looked to Michael.

Michael was held by Sam. The kid looked up at him, trying to sign something, but Sam gripped his arms behind his back.

“Give up, mate! Stop struggling!” he heard Songbird shout. It sounded somehow distant.

“No! Let me go!” Tommy yelled. He looked at Michael once more—

‘See,’ he mouthed. No—not ‘see’.

‘C’.

Tommy breathed in sharply, squeezed his eyes shut—drew everything, every single little thing he had in him to the surface, praying to the Gods this would work.

“EVERYONE FREEZE AND LET US GO!”

Silence fell.

The arms holding him went limp, and he collapsed forward. A headache was already starting to pound into his skull, but he had… to stay… awake. He had to keep… holding onto his power.

Several sets of footsteps clattered to his side.

Arms gripped him. He was… lifted. Up.

“Come on… you ca… it…”

You can do it Tommy

He couldn’t think straight his head hurt hurt hurt he had to stay awake awake don’t pass out awake

Carried, run running go go go

Keep focus must getoutfocushurtfocus

“ax”

What ow ow

“E’RE… UT”

“WE’RE”

“TOM…”

Pain

“SLEEP.”

And that was all he needed. Everything went black.

Chapter Text

Tubbo… well. Tubbo was concerned, to say the least.

It’d been two days since the Gala. Since Tommy severely overused his ability to get them all out.

He’d done nothing but sleep the first day after. The second day had been mostly sleep, but he’d woken up twice, both times with a massive headache, unable to speak, and with a throat so sore it apparently hurt to drink.

Today was the third day.

He would… probably come out of this okay. He’d overused his ability before, admittedly not to this extent, but had always recovered in the end. This would be the same, right?

…He really hoped so.

Ranboo purred against his back, and he sighed. Yeah, it would be fine. He’d literally just woken up. He needed to stop worrying so much.

Rolling over, he smiled at his partner. They usually slept in separate beds due to their height difference, but Tubbo had been understandably anxious recently, and physical contact really helped him calm down.

He pressed a gentle kiss to Ranboo’s forehead, chuckling at how his nose scrunched, then quietly rolled out of bed and padded down the hall to Tommy’s room.

Opening the door slowly, he sighed at the sight of Tommy still fast asleep, limbs splayed, golden hair laid out on the pillow in a sunny aura, mouth wide open in a ground-shaking snore.

“Fucking dork,” Tubbo mumbled to himself, smiling fondly. Sure, he was being a hypocrite. So what?

Michael was asleep, too, finally curled up under the blankets instead of in a ‘nest’. Tubbo smiled when he noticed Ranboo’s hoodie on the floor. The boy must’ve let him keep it.

He pulled the door closed and made his way to the kitchen. The trip home after the Gala had been rather chaotic. They’d gone back to the public bathroom, changed out of their disguises, but it’d been hard to hide and unconscious person the entire way back to their apartment. Eventually they resorted to Michael waiting outside and subtly touching every person that passed by until he copied an illusion ability.

Opening the pantry, Tubbo scanned the shelves for something suitable for breakfast. They had a lot of tins, because they were cheap and lasted a while. Maybe apricot slices and cereal…?

Suddenly--a flurry of limbs and fur. Tubbo let out a shriek like a little girl, scrambling backwards.

Listen. As much as Tubbo loved bees, he was not a bug guy. Especially not spiders.

They were just… gross, and scuttly, and holy fuck was that Tommy?

“Bigman!” Tubbo exclaimed, endlessly relieved. “You’re awake!”

But they way he moved was slow, shambling, and his eyes remained closed as he moved towards the pantry. Tubbo frowned.

“Tommy? What the fuCK ARE YOU DOING—”

He watched in horror as the blonde, presumably sleepwalking, cupped his hands around the spider and lifted it gently into the air.

“Shroud,” Tubbo heard his friend mumble, holding his hands close to his chest and walking out again. Gaping, the brunette followed, watching as Tommy went back into his room, placed the spider on his night stand, and climbed back into bed.

The spider stood there for a moment, feeling around with its legs, apparently as confused as Tubbo was. Then it made a movement with its front two legs that could only be described as a shrug, and settled in its place.

“What the fuck,” Tubbo muttered. “What the fuck, fucking weird household, hate this place, why did I ever move in with these two,”

--

Phil sighed, rubbing his temples. “Are you kidding me?”

“Again, I’m sorry, but someone hacked into the cameras—”

“Fine. It’s fine,” he interrupted, turning away from the police officer. It was, in fact, not fine, but he wasn’t about to reprimand someone who’d only been doing their job. Even as much as he wanted to.

“Come on, let’s go,” he said to his sons, nodding to the receptionist as they walked out of the police station.

“God, why are these kids so hard to find?!” Wilbur groaned, tossing his head backwards.

“They’re smart,” Techno said. “Which will be good when we gain their trust, but we can’t do that if they keep hiding from us.”

“I mean, at least we know one of them’s blonde,” Wilbur sighed. “And apparently they’ve found another kid.”

Just then, a bee flew past, and the brunette jolted back.

“Jesus fuck, that arsonist robot has made me hate those things.”

Phil chuckled. “It’s an ingenious creation though, huh?”

“I mean, I guess... Scary as shit though. Hey, do you wanna go get ice cream?”

“Hell yeah.”

--

Bacon sizzled in the pan, and Tubbo perched on the counter. He took a sip of his coffee.

Hm. Maybe he should go back to working on the Arson Bee prototypes. He’d kind of abandoned them after the first one escaped.

…Hey, actually. Arson Bee 1.0 had gone rogue, but maybe he could still access its camera. It could give him some useful intel, depending on where it was.

Tubbo hopped off the counter and walked down to his room, sneaking in and grabbing his iPad. When he was back in the kitchen, he opened the app he’d connected to the Arson Bees’ feed. It was currently paired with the newest prototype, but if he remembered correctly…

He clicked a button in the corner and started inputting a long string of numbers. It took a while, and he had to reference his notes in the app a few times, but eventually the code display disappeared and the screen slowly dissolved from static to a clear image. Tubbo pumped his fist in the air.

…Wait. Was that him?

He looked up.

Arson Bee 1.0 looked back.

“HWAAAAAA—”

--

Tommy woke up to the sound of screaming.

At first, he was confused and mildly concerned, but then he realised it was Tubbo, yells mixed in with a lot of curse words, and relaxed. Ranboo could deal with it. They’d wake him up if it was important.

And, with that thought comfortably lodged in his mind, Tommy went back to sleep.

--

Phil looked up from his strawberry sundae in concern. “Do you hear that?”

“Yeah. You should check it out,” Wilbur said, not looking up from his banana split. Techno nodded in agreement, his own mouth full of chocolate. Phil rolled his eyes and stood up.

The screaming seemed to be coming from the apartment across the street. Three stories up, no balcony, window just big enough for him to fit through. Civilians were starting to look up in concern.

Phil took off.

It was a relatively simple matter to land on the windowsill and duck in through the open window. The victim was brunette, with filigree insect wings, being chased around the kitchen by…

Phil’s eyes narrowed.

The arson bee robot.

He crouched on the counter, tracking the bot’s movement. Three… two… one. And he pounced.

--

Tubbo watched in shock as Songbird grabbed the Arson Bee in his hands. The hero winced, probably being burned, but for some reason didn’t let go.

“Sorry I jumped in your window, mate. I’ve had a vendetta against this thing for a while. Have a nice day!”

And, as Tubbo gaped at him, he leapt out the window, barely having given him a glance.

What the fuck was going on with this day.

--

Phil walked up to the others, having adjusted his fingers so the spurts of flame couldn’t burn him anymore. He had a massive grin on his face. It was reminiscent of the expression a cat has when it brings its owner a mouse.

Wilbur’s eyes widened as he looked up. He swatted his brother on the arm a few times.  

“Look what I caught!” Phil announced. Techno’s jaw dropped.

“No way.”

“Phil, oh my god,” Wilbur breathed. “Please tell me that’s the bee robot. Please, oh my god, I will cry.”

“It’s the bee robot.”

And… okay, wow. That was unexpected.

“Philzaaaa, you caught it, I love you so much,” Wilbur wailed, tears in his eyes.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Techno said.

“Wilbur are you drunk?”

“No I’m just so happy oh my god can I please destroy it when we get home—”

“No, mate, I need to give it to the tech guys so they can examine it.”

“Pleeeaaaase—”

--

“You know, we should probably get some actual food soon. Like, vegetables and stuff.”

Tubbo looked up from his gadget in horror. “Vegetables?? Ranboo, have you lost your mind???”

His partner shrugged. “I dunno. Might be good to get some variety in our diets, instead of eating cereal and fried eggs and frozen meals all the time. We should buy some meat, too.”

“Meat?! What have you done to my boyfriend?!”

“Nothing!” Ranboo didn’t seem to be taking this very seriously. He was giggling as Tubbo stared at him, fully in disbelief.

“What the fuck is happening. Okay, okay, 1.” He held up a finger. “Where are we going to get these so-called vegetables you speak of?”

His partner kept giggling. “The grocery store?”

“With our faces?!”

“No! No.” Ranboo tried to stop laughing, but couldn’t help the smile that stayed on his face as he calmed down. “We’ll, uh, we can get Michael to use his new illusion ability. That’ll come in handy! We can go out in public without elaborate disguises!”

“Mmm, I guess…”

“And, and, I was thinking, maybe we could go to the beach soon!! It would be a bit of a road trip, and I know we don’t exactly have a car, but I’m sure we could work it out!”

Tubbo shrugged. “Okay, that at least sounds like a good idea. But, back to the vegetables and meat thing, number 2…” he paused very dramatically, squinting a little. “Who is going to cook?”

The room fell silent. Ranboo raised a finger, opening his mouth, then his eyebrows furrowed and he closed it again. “Uh…”

“You’re the only here that can cook, and your expertise is limited to mix boxes and eggs.”

“That is… true. I mean, we’ll figure it out? I guess?”

Tubbo sighed. “Why the fuck am I dating you.”

“You love me.”

“No I don’t.”

“You do!”

“Shut the fuck up I hate you.”

“You loooove me~”

“Shut uppppp—"

Chapter Text

Wilbur Soot had been working as a hero for 7 long, gruelling years. He’d seen, fought and arrested all manners of villains, taken down all sorts of ‘rings’, and seen weird and hilarious and horrible, horrible things that he never would’ve seen had he taken up a civillian livelihood.

In all his time as a hero, however, WIlbur had never met anyone more challenging than his brother.

Said brother currently stood with his head against the wall, wheezing with silent laughter as Wilbur’s eye twitched.

A glob of slime dripped to the floor. Where did it come from, you might be wondering? Well, it came from Wilbur. Seeing as he was thoroughly soaked with it from the bucket that has fallen onto his head when he’d entered the apartment.

“Techno,” he said quietly, voice just barely trembling.

His brother sucked in another gasp of air and stood up. WIlbur had to resist the urge to sucker punch him when he was almost sent into another fit of laughter at the goopy, sorry sight.

“Yeah?”

“Start running.”

Techno’s eyes widened, and well-conditioned by years and years of living with his brother, barely hesitated before scrambling over their furniture. Wilbur simply passed through it, lips slowly ticking up into a smirk, watching as his brother rifled desperately through his pockets.\

A little glass vial was produced.

Wil lunged for it–Techno downed the blood–

Their window shattered as his brother leapt through it.

Cursing, Wilbur jumped out after him, Phil’s distant yell at the noise fading as the wind whipped through his hair. He resisted the urge to whoop in delight. Instead, Wilbur tucked into a roll on the rooftop two levels below, hopped up into a run. He scanned the roofs–there! A pink-haired motherfucker one block over.

“You’re not getting away with this, asshole!” he yelled, though a note of delight slipped through the anger. A few civillians looked up in alarm as he started parkouring over buildings. Honestly, he didn’t care; most of them has already seen him covered in dirt and blood, so slime probably wasn’t too much of a shock.

As the two tumbled and leapt over the rooftops, Techno steadily gaining a lead–his ability was far more suited to a flat-out race like this–Wilbur couldn’t help but notice the pure joy on his brother’s face. He was laughing, and smiling, and…

…and goddamnit, Wilbur was getting sappy again.

Still, as he shook the thought away, he found himself laughing with genuine joy as well. Because fuck, his brother was the worst, but hell if he wasn’t the best at the same time.

Suddenly, he noticed Techno starting to slow down, and he realised his time limit was up. He cackled and hopped over to the out-of-breath man.

“Truce?” he asked, sticking out a hand. Techno glanced at it, chuckled, and gave him a firm handshake (because his brother’s handshakes were nothing if not firm).

“Truce.”

Wilbur looked around, trying to get his bearings. It seemed like they’d entered a more run down, tired looking neighbourhood; cracked walls, shitty dead lawns, cloudy windows and tiny houses abound. 

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

“Isn’t this near when the Masked Bandits live?” he asked, turning to his brother. Techno frowned.

“...Huh. I think it is. I never…I mean, we knew the address, but we haven’t checked it out yet. I didn’t…”

“–Know they lived here ,” Wilbur completed, getting a nod in return. He grimaced. “Jesus. I mean, no wonder they mainly go for robberies… And vandalism, but like, no wonder they go for so many robberies. They need the money.”

“Wilbur, are those your protective instincts kicking in?” Techno chuckled.

He glared at him. “No. Fuck off.”

“You seem awfully worried about those kids.”

“I’m–yeah, I’m worried because they’re kids and I’m a hero , not because I’m fucking–attached, or something!”

“Sure.” Techno had that stupid grin again.

“I’m serious!”

“Of course, buddy, I believe you,” his brother said, but the way he was patting his shoulder said otherwise. Wilbur groaned.

“Fuck you, man.”

“Right back atcha. Now, whaddya say we have a little walk around town? Maybe we’ll run into those kids you don’t care anything about.”

“It’s not that I don’t care about them, I’m just not attached to them, I promise you there’s a big difference,”

His brother just laughed as he tried to explain himself, leading him to the edge of the roof and climbing down a pipe. Wilbur was honestly surprised it didn’t bend under the weight of all that muscle.

He finally gave up on defending his reputation–honestly, it was already fucked–and climbed down after him.

“Do you think there’s anywhere nearby I could get… cleaned up?” WIlbur asked, gesturing to himself. Techno snorted.

“I don’t think public facilities tend to offer showers, Wil.”

“Right. Uh…” He looked around a little, then down at himself. “I mean…I guess this is unsalvageable already,” he sighed, taking off his sweater and using it to mop slime off his face and hair. He grimaced when a closer look revealed shimmers in the goop.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You put glitter in it?” he groaned.

“It’s biodegradable, seaweed-based glitter,” his brother pointed out. Wilbur swatted at him, but he dodged. Like always. Ugh.

“Still gonna get everywhere! You better hope Phil doesn’t find you when he notices glitter on the couch.”

Now it was Techno’s turn to grimace. “Fuck, you’re right.”

Wilbur laughed. 

“Good luck, buddy! Now, let’s wander around, huh?”

“Sure.”

They followed the sidewalk where it took them, Wilbur tossing his (frankly doomed) sweater in the first dumpster he found. He was wearing a shirt underneath, of course; he wasn’t just walking around shirtless. If women didn’t get to do it, neither did he. At least that was how he saw it.

“Hey, Wil, isn’t that…”

Techno trailed off, and Wilbur followed his gaze…then froze.

“Oh shit. I thought we killed it! Didn’t the police take it apart?! I saw the parts!!”

“I don’t know–but shh! Maybe it won’t see us. Act natural!”

–

“Honestly, big man, I dunno how you’re so good at this shit. I’m so shit with computers,” TOmmy complained.

“Yeah, you’re so smart,” Ranboo piped up. Tommy glared at him.

“Hey, I was complimenting Tubbo.”

“But I wanted to compliment him too!”

“You can’t! That’s my job!”

“But I’m his partner!”

‘Oh, shut up, you two,’ Michael signed, though he was grinning. ‘You can both compliment Tubbo.’

Tubbo, although the subject of this conversation, was not listening, as his attention was devoted to the screen in his hands. He frowned.

“Hey, guys…”

Only Michael appeared to hear him, the others too busy bickering. Tubbo rolled his eyes.

“Guys!”

The argument stopped–or, rather, Tommy stopped bothering Ranboo, who had admittedly just been trying to defend himself.

“Yeah?” Tommy asked.

“Isn’t that Phantom and Blade?”

The other three took a closer look at the screen. Tubbo had finally decided to send Arson Bee 2.0 out into the world, deeming it safe enough not to corrupt and go rogue like the first prototype, and was streaming its camera feed on his tablet.

Sure enough, the screen showed the two heroes, both in civillian clothes. Blade was easily recognisable by his long pink braid, but if they didn’t have the context of his brother, Phantom was nearly unrecognisable. It was weird–even when dressed casually, the man almost always wore his signature yellow sweater, but right now was only in a black T-shirt.

“Where’s his sweater?” wondered Ranboo, clearly thinking the same thing. The others shrugged.

‘Wait, what’s that green goop in his hair?’ Michael pointed out. Tommy made a noise of disgust.

“Do you wanna follow them around?” Tubbo said, looking up at his friends and partner. Of course, he was planning to follow the heroes anyway–if not for the userful data, then at least to satiate his curiosity–but it was always polite to ask.

Ranboo, Michael and Tommy all agreed, though, so Tubbo maneuvered the Arson Bee behind the heroes, in a position where it would hopefully not be easy to spot. It was far away, too, but its camera had no problem delivering a high quality anyway. Tubbo prided himself on only using the best parts for his inventions.

The heroes’ path was… actually pretty uneventful, for the next little while. They weren’t on patrol, so didn’t seem to be looking around with any urgency, and didn’t show any signs they’d noticed their pursuer. Still–Tubbo didn’t often get the chance to spectate heroes off patrol, and was eager to continue testing his second prototype, so kept the robot following them. 

Hopefully they could see something interesting.

–

“It’s still following us, isn’t it?” Wilbur whispered to his brother. They were both terrified, tense as fuck, and trying desperately to look normal.

“I don’t know. I can’t see it. But I can sense it,” Techno whispered back, voice stark with fear. Wilbur shuddered.

“Me too.”

“Is it going to attack us?”

“I hope not. I don’t know. I think it would have done so already, if it wanted to.”

“You’d better be right.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“If I don’t make it, tell Phil I’m sorry for getting glitter everywhere,” Techno muttered. “But make sure he knows it’s biodegradable.”

“Of course.”

Just as Wilbur spoke, though, the words were overshadowed by a deafening roar from about a block away. The two looked at each other. Techno pulled out his phone and opened the hero comms channel, speaking into it.

“Uhh, anyone else hear that roar? Somewhere around Anson street.”

“I think I see smoke,” Wilbur said, and sure enough, thick black plumes were starting to rise over the rooftops. Techno cursed.

The comms channel crackled. “Sweetpea here. I’m on the scene, but my powers are horribly suited to this situation. There seems to be some sort of fire demon–larger than human–rampaging on the intersection of Anson and Norwell. Backup requested.”

“Phantom and Blade comin’ over,” Techno said, already rifling in his pockets for a glass vial. “Powers not perfect for the situation, and we’re not on duty so tools are limited, but it should do until further backup arrives. Hold tight, Sweetpea.”

Wilbur and Techno locked eyes. Bee robot forgotten, smoke already hanging thick in the air, they nodded. 

“Let’s do this.”