Chapter Text
Tommy Soot is not an idiot. Tubbo would very much disagree, but Tommy stands firm that he is Smart.
One has to be somewhat intelligent to have been a vigilante as long as he has- about four years, give or take.
"Take a left at the next alley," Tubbo's voice crackles through Tommy's comm. "Robbery on Grand and 95th."
Tommy grins. Perfect. Nothing like some good, old-fashioned robbery stoppage to start his patrol. "Copy that."
Using Tubbo's new invention- a pair of trainers that could launch him to the top of the nearest building- Tommy made his way to the streets that Tubbo had called out.
"Hey, fellas," Tommy says as he uses the fire escape to swing down to a small group of black-clad individuals holding guns at a hunched figure. "You really got nothing better to do than rob a poor kid?"
"This ain't a kid, man," One of the men says, sounding vaguely panicked. "Just back off and let us do our job."
One of the taller men kicks the figure in the side. A pained noise comes from the person as they are knocked harshly onto their side, blood trickling from their nose.
"Big T," Tubbo chides over his comm. "Please don't antagonize the strange men in black."
Too late.
"I'm afraid I'm just doing mine, fellas," Tommy replies, smirking before he whips out his favorite invention of Tubbo's- two disc-like blades that glow in his signature red.
One of Tommy's favorite pastimes was imagining moments of his life like scenes in a movie. Call him a maladaptive daydreamer, but he'd been doing it since he was a kid and Wilbur was more of his dad than their supposed "real" dad.
He could imagine this scene now- if it was comedic, the shot would move to someone walking towards the alley, hearing the gunshots and yells and grunts, hold as they cringed and walked away. If it were serious, the camera would spin and dart around the area as Tommy sliced into the arms and legs of the robbers- artful or gorey depending on the rating.
Both scenes would end with a shot of him wiping his discs on his pant leg and walking to the robbers' victim, a hunched-over and shaking blond kid.
"Say 'hi' for me," Tubbo chirps.
"Why would I say 'hi' to a random kid for you?" Tommy asks incredulously, pausing to help the kid up. He was taller than Tommy, blood oozing from cuts in his forehead and lip and from one of his nostrils. His stormy grey eyes looked dazed, in the "where the fuck am I?" way and not the "I am high as fuck right now" way.
"You're a fucking idiot, boss man," Tubbo huffs. "How does this Clark Kent bullshit work on everyone? That's Ranboo, you dense fuck."
"Ohhh," Tommy replies, staring at Ranboo more.
Ranboo was another vigilante he worked with occasionally, a lanky motherfucker with a teleportation ability and the worst memory known to man. Out of costume, he was surprisingly handsome- not that Tommy would ever be interested in him. His jaw was reasonably strong, cheekbones high, and brow defined. Tommy was definitely handsome-r.
"Um," Ranboo mutters. "Who are you talking to?"
"Ranboo, right?"
Ranboo blinks. "How- Big T?"
Tommy grins. "Bumblebee is smarter than both of us, apparently."
"We been knew, bitch!"
"Well, thank god for Bumblebee," Ranboo sighs. "Could I, um. Crash at your guys' place? I'll get home tomorrow, I swear, I'm just... so disoriented I'd probably end up walking into a lake or something if I tried getting home like this."
"Well, we wouldn't want that to happen to my least favorite partner in crime," Tommy snarks. "You can teleport over and ask 'Bee yourself, dude."
Ranboo blinked. "Oh. Right, yeah. I'll. Um. I'll do that. Now."
With that and a swirl of purple particles, Ranboo poofs out of existence- and audibly scares the shit out of Tubbo.
"I literally gave you a warning, 'Bee, what else do you need?" Tommy cackles.
"I hate you," Tubbo huffs before a resounding "click" declares Tubbo's mic off.
Tommy cracks his neck a couple of times before attempting to find his own way home.
Hopping over buildings and fences, Tommy eventually stumbles his way into a vaguely familiar alley. He groans, his legs feeling like they were about to fall off.
He collapses onto a stack of crates, stretching his legs out and tapping his comm. "Bumblebee? Come in, Bumblebee."
Static.
Tommy groans. "Those motherfuckers better not be doing some sus shit on the clock."
As he prepared to leave the alley, another voice could be heard from down the street. Feeling brave, he stalked out of the alley, fully ready for some miscellaneous robber or petty criminal.
Instead, he was met with a head of long pink hair, a short blood-red cape, and a suit of black kevlar- The Blade.
The Blade was the #2 hero, notorious for his hatred of vigilantes and a mysterious past of villainy. The only reason The Blade wasn't #1 was his standoffish and gruff nature- the public much preferred the charismatic personality and flashy power of the #1 hero Starshine (a.k.a, Tommy's personal hero).
The Blade doesn't notice him for a split second, talking to someone over his own comm.
Tommy's body enters "fight, flight, or freeze" mode and chooses freeze, much to his chagrin. The Blade turns around and growls.
"Theseus," He sneers.
Apparently, The Blade is a big fan of Greek mythology. He's nicknamed every vigilante in the city, all after a different character in the mythology. Apparently, he deemed "Theseus" as Tommy's, while Ranboo got "Hypnos." Like, Ranboo gets to be a god, and Tommy is just a hero who dies?
Absolutely not pog.
"Y'know, Blade, your naming system of the vigilantes in L'Manberg is really subjective," Tommy snarks, his mouth deciding it was time to babble. "Like, my friend- he gets to be Hypnos, an actual god, and I'm just some mortal hero who dies? Really playing favorites there."
The Blade huffs and starts running.
Ergo, Tommy does, too.
As he's running, a click signals that Tubbo's tuned back into what he's been saying.
"Big T," Tubbo yells over his comm. "Did you just say Blade?!"
"So glad you were listening!" Tommy yells back. "Get me out of here, 'Bee!"
"Um... "Tubbo's keyboard clacks over his mic. "Take a left at the next street!"
The Blade has been on his ass since Tommy first emerged as a vigilante. He's relentless in his "research" of Tommy, always finding a way to encounter him on patrol.
Honestly, The Blade is a pain in his ass.
"Another left!"
Tommy diligently follows Tubbo's instructions.
Which was a bad idea.
"Okay, now a right! Wait, fuck, no, a left, Tommy!"
"Dammit, 'Bee!"
Now Tommy is running down an alleyway straight into a wall. Tommy is fucking screwed.
Or maybe...
Tommy continues running down the alleyway, showing no plans of stopping.
"Big T, you're aware that you are currently running INTO A WALL?!" Tubbo screeches over his comm.
"Copy that, Bumblebee!" Tommy snapped. "Give me a second!"
He felt the familiar tug in his gut as his power worked its magic, smirking as The Blade started yelling about the wall. With the grace of an acrobat, Tommy ran up the wall and pushed off like he had done a back handspring. If he were in a movie, the camera would've moved in slow motion as The Blade watched him execute a flawless flip above his head.
However, Tommy was not in a movie and did not know how to land without breaking his ankles.
Tommy felt another tug in his gut as he began plummeting to the concrete, suddenly diving into the concrete as if he were a ghost. He popped up from the ground in a random alley several blocks away.
"Fucking hell, Tommy, I know I'm not good with directions, but that was the stupidest thing you've ever done."
Tommy huffs. "Just get Ranboo to take me home, I'm gonna keep walking."
Tubbo coughs pointedly.
"Please?" Tommy grumbles.
"Only because you asked so nicely."
Once Tommy arrives at a different location, Ranboo appears next to him, a swirl of purple particles following him.
"Jesus, that is a bit freaky, innit?"
"Listen, I know you think I just teleport, but it's not really that," Ranboo explains. "I'm a dimension hopper. You're probably gonna be pretty nauseous when we get back. Just don't let go, alright?"
Before Tommy can ask any questions, Ranboo snatches his arm. With a pop and a swirl of purple particles, they arrive in what Tommy can only describe as a void. The only light is emitting from Ranboo's particles and Ranboo's eyes.
Tommy grabs Ranboo's arm with his free hand, feeling like he's moving through molasses. Finally, with another pop and swirl, they land in Tubbo's apartment.
Tommy immediately crumbles to the ground, holding back the urge to vomit as a headache pounds through his head.
"The fuck did you do to him?" Tubbo has his bleached mop of hair pulled back into a little ponytail, uncharacteristically showing his small horns that usually barely poke through his hair.
"I'm a dimension hopper," Ranboo says as if it's obvious.
"Why didn't you say that?" Tubbo scolds, helping Tommy settle into a sitting position.
"You guys just assumed I teleported, so I went with it," Ranboo replies with a shrug. Funnily enough, that's precisely how he got his name- he was initially shooting for "Rainbow." However, when Tubbo told Tommy his name, his dyslexia felt particularly vengeful that day, and his name looked like "Ranboo." Thus, Tommy called him that, and Ranboo did the same thing- just went along with it.
"Your spine is made of sponge cake," Tubbo mutters.
"I'm aware," Ranboo mumbles, having the decency to look mildly sheepish.
It took a few hours, but after several close calls, Tommy was finally not nauseous anymore and was prepared to go home. Ranboo had stumbled into Tubbo's living room after an hour of watching Tommy fight the urge to vomit, claiming he needed to be home early to visit his uncle.
"You can stay, too, you know that, right?" Tubbo murmurs as Tommy pulls on his civilian clothes. Tommy finds it a bit strange to talk to Tubbo while he can see his entire face- not exactly freaky, just off-putting in a way. And it's not his oblong pupils or horns; it's the fact that his hair doesn't cover any of it.
Tubbo's always been cagey about his hybrid traits- all Tommy knows is that they're vestiges from his truly hybrid dad. Tubbo looked disgusted enough with talking about it that Tommy now tries his best to not bring it up.
Tommy nods. "And I thank you, big man," Tommy pulls on his boots, staring at nothing. "But Phil will have a heart attack if he wakes up and I'm not there. It'd be great, but Sally would do that thing where she goes 'I'm not mad, just disappointed,' and it's worse than her being mad, y’know-"
"Tom," Tubbo sighs. "He's trying. You're not gonna get anywhere with him if you don't at least try to see things from his view."
"I don't want to get anywhere with him," Tommy scowls. "He had seventeen years to be my Dad, and if he thinks I'll just… forgive him after everything, he's an idiot."
"I said see it from his view," Tubbo retorts. "Not forgive the bastard. Frankly, you probably shouldn't. You don't owe him anything, Toms. But there's a reason he wasn't there. Maybe if you find it out, it'll be easier."
"What do you mean, 'easier'?" Tommy groans, shoving his vigilante costume into his backpack.
"To exist?" Tubbo shrugs. "To hate him? I dunno. Having the whole story just makes things… easier."
"When did you get so wise, Tubs?"
"I'm not wise, you're just an idiot, which makes me seem intelligent," Tubbo huffs, turning back to his computer setup.
"Well that was just uncalled for-"
"Go home, Tommy."
Tommy swings through his bedroom window as he does every night. And, just like every night, Fundy shoots up from his bed excitedly. "How was patrol?" He asks in a quiet hiss.
Tommy sighs. "Fundy, I thought your mom was trying to get you to sleep earlier."
Fundy groans, laying back in bed like the dramatic 10-year-old he is. "But Uncle Tommy," He whines. "I wanna help you!"
"You can help by going to sleep," Tommy replies. "If you're asleep at a normal time, my alibi is even tighter- and you can claim innocence if I get caught."
Fundy pouts.
"'Sides, Fundy, even vigilantes need to sleep," Tommy explains, tucking his backpack into his closet. "If you don't sleep, how can you fight crime well?"
Fundy crosses his arms. "I suppose you're right."
Tommy ruffles his nephew's hair. "I'm always right, Fundy. Now, bedtime."
Fundy huffs, but burrows into his blankets.
Tommy smiles at him before shedding his jeans and getting into his bed. Fundy, arguably, had the most challenging time after Wilbur died. The kid was barely five at the time. Fundy started his transition two years later, so Tommy knew he had been thinking about it when Wilbur died.
Talk about negative reinforcement.
After a few minutes of shifting, Tommy falls into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, Tommy is awoken by a loud banging. He blinks his eyes blearily as the door swings open to reveal Tommy's new "brother," Theo.
Theo was adopted by Phil when he was 12. Tommy would have been two. He and Wilbur hadn't been living with Phil; thus, he had never met the intimidating man until five years prior. He went by "Techno" for a reason that Tommy didn't really care to learn because it was probably very stupid.
"Time for school," Techno grumbles. Fundy groans.
"But Uncle Techie," Fundy whines.
"Nope. Lights on in 3, 2, 1." The lights flicked on. Techno stalked out the door.
"C'mon, Fundy," Tommy groans. "If we're late again, your mum's gonna be mad."
Fundy huffs, but he takes the threat of Sally being angry very seriously. He stumbles over to his closet, grabbing a shirt and pants before rapidly changing.
Tommy laughs inwardly- Sally is (and always has been) an angel, and she rarely gets angry. Fundy is her little pride and joy, so it's doubly true for him.
Fundy dashes out of their bedroom door, presumably to the kitchen and then to the living room, where Sally waits to start their homeschooling with Phil.
Sally had been a student-teacher at the primary school Tommy went to and thus had a relatively well-rounded general knowledge and could help him with some sciences, history, and English. However, Sally had never been the best at maths, so Phil offered to teach Tommy and Fundy maths and history while Sally could teach English and science.
Tommy's preferred subject had always been science, but he never had an intense hatred of maths until Phil began teaching him geometry.
"Good morning, boys!" Phil chimes when he and Techno walk into the kitchen.
Phil does this weird thing where he acts like he deserves to be Tommy's dad in any capacity, and it's honestly quite tiring.
"Morning, Phil," Tommy grumbles. Techno mumbles something similar.
Phil's face visibility deflates.
Tommy, Sally, and Fundy moved in five years ago- nearly two months after Wilbur had been declared dead by the police- and in those five years, Tommy has not once called him "dad."
Even Techno doesn't call him dad, and Techno was the kid that Phil decided was worth keeping with him.
Really, Tommy's just doing him a favor in not giving Phil any misguided notions. Phil lost the right to be their father when he left Wilbur and Tommy.
And yeah, maybe Tubbo was right. Maybe Tommy didn't have the "whole" story. But he didn't want the whole story. Phil didn't deserve understanding. Wilbur would've been doing precisely what Tommy was if he had been here. He'd always been the master of grudge-holding, and, well…
Tommy's always been a little too much like Wilbur.
The next night's patrol starts out reasonably mundane, with Tubbo chomping on his weird vegan snacks far too loudly over comms and Ranboo being a nervous mess.
Tonight, they're patrolling one of the more abandoned districts of L'Manberg- home to the office building that the Eggpire collapsed five years ago. It tends to be a place crawling with villains.
Tonight is no different.
"Picking up three lifeforms coming up on your right," Tubbo announces over comm, his voice garbled from the food in his mouth.
As Tommy and Ranboo move forward, their hands rest over their weapons. They take about two steps forward before an arrow thuds into the wall next to them.
Ranboo yelps embarrassingly.
Two masked men exit from the alley across from them, one holding a bow, the other holding a glowing green sword.
The street is so silent that Tommy can hear Ranboo's breathing pick up in pace from behind him as the two men advance on them.
The second man's sword illuminates his face- completely covered in a white mask, blank save for a black frowny face.
A Dream stan, then.
Dream was a hero before Tommy had become a vigilante and had worn a similar mask- though his was a smiley face. Dream was once the number one hero, often going on missions with the number two and three heroes, Blazeborn and HD. They called themselves the "Dream Team," and they were legendary.
But five years ago, Dream went on a rampage- the same night of the Eggpire's attack, in the same district they were currently in. He destroyed buildings, left several civilians needing medical attention, and then disappeared.
HD disappeared a few months later.
Blazeborn, the one left behind, decided to work on his mental health and dropped to number thirteen because he didn't go on missions enough.
"Well, hello there, Theseus," The Dream stan sneers.
"Hi, Dream stan," Tommy replies in the same tone.
The Dream stan sputters. "I- I'm not a Dream stan," He complains. "My name is Nightmare!"
"You're just proving my point, dude," Tommy snorts.
Another arrow scrapes past Tommy's head.
"Shut up," The archer growls, his voice (very obviously modified) unnaturally deep and rumbling.
"Bumblebee?" Ranboo mutters. "Get us out of here."
"You're stuck, boss man," Tubbo replies, sounding stricken. "You're on a dead-end street, so running isn't gonna work, and I have a feeling T doesn't want to try his hand at your powers again."
Tommy huffs. "Fine."
"Uh, Big T, wait, there's-"
Without waiting for Tubbo's interruption, Tommy chucks his disc, and the street between the two vigilantes and two villains erupts in an explosion. Ranboo yanks him away from the curb, his disc lost in flames.
Suddenly, Tommy can faintly hear the opening notes of "Fantasy" by Mariah Carey, accompanied by a burst of manic laughter.
"Crater!" Nightmare scolds. "I said wait for the signal!"
"Oh, really?" A voice replies. "Sorry, I've never been too good at listening."
"Clearly," Nightmare's companion replies.
Ranboo and Tommy try to wave the smoke away as the trio of villains stare at them.
"Consider that a warning, Theseus!" Nightmare shouts. "You cross us, we can fucking kill you!"
The third villain- the one they referred to as Crater- still has "Fantasy" playing from his pocket as he cackles maniacally. "It'll be fun, little vigilante!"
With that, Nightmare and his deep-voiced friend turn on their heels and disappear. Crater stands, staring at them from the alley as the smoke dissipates. He's tall, with a tattered trench coat clinging to his ridiculously lanky frame. His mask is almost horrific- made of bits and pieces of mismatched leather stitched messily together in a grotesque fashion, goggle-like lenses attached as well- and only leaves room for his mouth to be seen. The skin around his mouth is heavily scarred, the scars almost matching the stitches of the mask.
"So you're the kids that Nightmare hates," Crater muses, scratching his masked chin with a gloved hand. "You don't look that intimidating."
Tommy recalls his disc from the street, whipping out the other. Ranboo unravels his whip, both of the teens immediately on guard.
"Aw, that's cute!"
With that, Crater stretched out a hand, another smaller explosion popping up right in front of them.
"Call me Crater!" Crater says, turning and yelling over his shoulder. "That's spelled C-r-e-a-t-e-r, because I will be greater than before!" He cackles maniacally as he makes his dramatic exit, a puff of smoke for emphasis.
"Jesus fuck," Tommy groans. "'Bee, get us out of here."
"On it, boss man."