Chapter Text
Boots clash against dirt as they sprint through the damp forest. They lack a guide, yet wander with a goal. The stars look down upon them and grant no mercy, but perhaps the universe is kind enough to allow them one last offer.
A deal, but not with Heaven. Before him stands an extended grapevine that is salvation, and he is more than ready to bleed out.
and一
His face is melting, ripping apart and shattering, and it burns, until no piece of it is the same as before, and he is not sure whether he feels remorse, because he can’t seem to remember一
He tells him to leave. He doesn’t know who he is, but he does.
“一ing News! As of night, a potentially hazardous fight between heroes, villains, and vigilantes alike has broken out in Las Nevadas’ central street. We would advise heavily for all civilians to evacuate the capital, as this may be one of the biggest breakout fights we’ve seen of this year. Vice president Niki Nihachu, Governor of District Defense, is currently evacuating all persons stuck in the crossfire, and in forthcoming hours, President Puffy is scheduled to publicly announce her statement.
We are unsure what brought upon this intense confrontation, but we’ll be continuously updating you tonight as the battle resolves.
Our district's trusted superhero team, otherwise known as the Dream Team, along with various other heroes, are all doing their best to resolve the conflict shortly. Against them are the Syndicate, composed of the countries Number One most wanted, Blade, Siren, The Angel… And also joining is the famous mafia group Snowfall! At its head, Jester, taking the reins and wreaking havoc on the central line along with his subordinates.
These two infamous crime organizations seem to be… Well. Upon closer inspection, none of these forces seem to be on the same side. Neither do our three infamous vigilantes, Widow, Void, and Ultraviolet, seem to have chosen a side, really.
What in prime is going on? Only time can tell. The fight is escalating faster than any of the ones we’ve seen in months with this turnabout! I wonder一ACK一! Uh, well, looks like this situation is dropping faster than my salary, so I’m going to get out of here before this goddamn building collapses. I’m an optimist, so just keep in mind that this situation is nowhere as bad as一”
“一how fucking annoying this is,” Tommy grunts, slamming the off button on the remote a little too aggressively.
“Don’t break the remote,” Sam chides from behind the counter.
Tommy waves the remote in front of Sam’s eyes. “It’s not broken, the button is just a little squished.”
Sam finishes drying off a plate and sets it to the side, tossing the towel over the counter. “Right, and the radio you dropped last week was only a little smashed.”
He scoffs, “It fucking scared me man, I know, for a fact, that the modern technology of this day and age should not make pissing sounds.”
A beat. “How一? I一Nevermind.” Sam replies, putting the plate inside the dishwasher and sighing heavily, before leaning over the diner's counter with exhaustion sharp in his eyes. “I guess it looks like we won’t be getting any more information on that. What is this again? The second time this month?”
“Third.” Tommy corrects.
“Right. And this time around, three new vigilantes, because of course. What were they called again…? Widow, Void, and Violet, was it?”
“Mhm, and a partridge in a pear tree.”
Sam’s gaze lingers. “...You don’t feel any different about vigilantes than heroes and villains, I’d assume?”
Tommy shakes his head immediately, jabbing a thumb to his chest. “Yep, I don’t want anything to do with politics and shit. Kinda makes me want to trip on a landmine, land on my ass, roll over, just to drop into a conveniently open manhole, and then bash my skull into a random detonated landmine.”
“Oddly specific, any reason?”
“Duh, because Tubs’ has done it to me once before and I’m unskilled in dying any other way.”
Sam raises an eyebrow, electing to say nothing despite his many justified concerns.
And their small banter and chat went on like this every night, Tommy seated comfily at the high counter and Sam standing behind. Sam’s restaurant, more famously known as Pandora’s Vault, was the primary definition of good food in District 16. Their late night buddy-conversations have gone on for about a month now, with Tommy staying put after closing hours, just to pester an overworked Sam about how his day was, or anything new coming up. Sometimes, he would help Sam out with cleaning up, free of charge. Today was not one of those days.
Today was a day of comfort, and whatever shit that was playing on the TV was definitely nothing of the sort. Sam seemed to figure that out by now, so it was established that Tommy was the Remote Commander™ at all times inside the diner.
With another glance at the remote, “You’re so adamant about superheroes, I’m not really sure what to think.” Sam said thoughtfully, as if it was the first time he brought it up. (It wasn’t.) “It wasn’t something I expected from a kid your age, especially when I met you.”
“You know me一Wait, did you just call me a fucking kid? ” And Sam huffs out a laugh. “一Nevermind, you know me Sam, my man! I want nothing to do with that political shit, it’s like, oh, one guy yells at another guy, oh my, the other guy yells back, it’s so boring! Not even Albert Einstein would be able to keep up with that shit because it’s so fucking stupid! ” Tommy groans, leaning back and almost falling backwards in the tall diner chair, but he latches onto the counter's edge in the nick of time. “一And that along with weird fucking abilities? It’s got to be some kind of safety hazard that’s only legal because they’re buddy-buddy with the higher-ups.”
“Right, right.” Sam nods, a fond look on his face that makes Tommy feel weird. “Yeah, I can get that. Politics have become so convoluted nowadays, eh?”
“Couldn’t’ve said it better myself, big man.”
The two lapse into comfortable silence. The blinds are drawn shut, so the only light source are the yellow glows of the fancy candlelights that Sam blows out just as they leave, and if he strains his ears, there are the steady thumps of the pouring rain harmonizing outside like any downpour would during an April night. It’s cozy, and the diner has become sort of a second home for Tommy nowadays. When his two roommates are busy doing their own thing, it’s nice to find close company at the diner.
Tommy can see a twitch of Sam’s lip, and he knows Sam well enough to know that something is still on his mind. But Tommy isn’t dumb. (Yeah, maybe there are some moments he’s less proud of, like, the one time he got lost in the local forest playing a dumb game of hide-n-seek with Ranboo, to which he was stuck in for like, ten minutes, thankyouverymuch--a perfectly reasonable time before one starts to panic, he’ll add, but then again, it doesn’t count because Tommy is just that cool, and whatever he says, goes.) Sam knows perfectly well how Tommy is, ever since the night Tommy stumbled in, drenched and muddy-headed, they’ve chatted for hours upon hours upon hours. There are few subjects they haven’t touched upon yet.
...Buuttt he doesn’t want to bring it up just yet.
Tommy swings his feet petulantly under the counter. “Prime, I’d kill for a fucking milkshake right now.”
“It’s…” Sam’s head pivots toward the clock. “10:36pm.”
“Prime, I’d kill you to get a milkshake right now.” Tommy insists.
Sam pauses. “But then who would make your milkshake?”
Tommy rolls his eyes, side glancing at the empty diner. “Duh, I’ll bring you back from the dead and make you make it, and then I will kill you again until further notice.”
“Wouldn’t you get hyper?” Sam tries.
Tommy almost cackles at that, and he cracks a grin. “I’m always hyper, and that, my friend, is the one and only constant, you can never get rid of it. Ever.”
The look on Sam’s face is impassive for a second, but it soon morphs into something that could only be described as good-humoured. “Alright, just a cup though,” he gives in. (Ha! He can’t resist Mr. Sir Tommy Innit’s charms. Then again, who can?) “But you have to promise to clean up after.”
“Fine by me.” Tommy says, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Mmm, I’m feeling kinda chocolate-y today.”
Sam hums, “Sorry, I closed that machine ten minutes ago. Is mango alright? I still have some remaining juice I don’t want to throw out.”
“Sure,” He replies, hiding his dismay. Oh well, mango was just as good. Any of Sam’s milkshakes tasted like heaven.
Sam goes to prepare the milkshake, and Tommy relaxes in his seat, looking smug. It was late, but not as late as some nights Sam and him spent like this. He knew his roommates didn’t mind if he was later一after all, most days of the week, Tommy would come home, very late, to an empty apartment. It was weird at first, Tommy asked the two about it once he had the time, but they never gave a straightforward answer, and Tommy didn’t push it further一Despite the three being friends for two years now, Tubbo and Ranboo were still somewhat an enigma to him. Hell, it was Tubbo, who brought him into the oddly sizable apartment to which he was somehow paying the rent for, and when Tommy told him he wouldn’t want to leech off his money like that, Tubbo denied him with a dark look overshadowing his eyes, and told the once homeless Tommy to, and he quotes, ‘drag his ass into their apartment and take a fucking bath.’
He did, and in due time, he was up and running, going to high school like a normal 16 year old would, all because of these two kids his age he made close buddies with on the streets. It was fucking weird, but Tubbo promised that he wasn’t doing any bad, and was completely, legally, allowed to be here. He also promised that the money he’s finding is completely legal, in terms of whatever profession the boy might be hiding.
Once, they had asked Tommy about his whereabouts at the end of the night, and Tommy had answered honestly, straightforward, unlike his roommates. He even went as far as taking Tubbo and Ranboo to meet Sam as soon as his classes let him out. From what Tommy could tell, Sam had certainly left a good impression on the two, as they never seemed to worry over Tommy staying late again.
Sam finished making the milkshake, and the golden liquid looked as good as it always did in the plastic cup. It seemed there was enough for another batch, as Sam was sipping milkshake out of his own cup when he handed Tommy his.
Without a second thought, he tilts the liquid gold into his lips and takes a long sip of the honeyish syrup. It was sweet, as usual, yet a touch more stale, milkshake being made up of freezer juice and shift-old milk, after all.
“Thanks, big man.” He murmurs warmly behind his cup, setting it down when he drinks a third of it.
Sam smiles. “No problem, Tommy.”
As Tommy takes another sip, he can see Sam placing down his cup solemnly, a meaningful look on his face.
“Tommy,” Sam begins, and, oh well, here he goes. It’s far from the first time Sam has given this talk, so he steels himself accordingly.
“I know you know that it means very little if you grow up without powers. If you take it from a couple of years ago, it was even a norm for people around here.”
“Uh,” Tommy mumbles.
“...About four fifths of the total population doesn’t have some kind of ability, and that’s alright! We're already the majority, and we might not throw ourselves into action like the lot of them, but that doesn’t mean we’re useless in the grand scheme of things.”
“Actually一”
“Look at me now! I doubt I would be here tonight, if I was out and about saving civilians. I wouldn’t have even met you if it weren’t for一”
“一Oi! Sam!” Tommy huffs, louder. Sam goes silent. He takes a deep breath. “Look Sam, I don’t know how many times I can tell you this, but you’ve got it all wrong! I couldn’t give jackshit about all that power crap, okay? It’s not what you think.” He pauses for dramatic effect.
“Alright. But you can be honest with me, you know that, right?” Sam says flatly. “I’ve known you for a while now, and if there’s something going on一”
“Gah一! You say that every fucking time. Trust me, man. Ever since Tubs’ and Ranboob found me, I’ve been doing amazingly away from those crimey-grimey streets. Just don’t fucking pity me, okay? I’m not jealous, it’s just…It’s just一”
“It’s just what?”
“Like, I don’t fucking know, some kind of feeling.” Tommy responds unhelpfully. “Oh!” He chirps, imaginary lightbulb cuing in. “You know those, like, ovary emotions?”
“...You mean a gut feeling?” Sam says slowly.
“Yeah! That. It’s like, whenever I watch that shit, it physically repulses me, makes me wanna puke.”
The transparency once shared between them dissipates within an instant, and Sam chokes out a laugh. “Right, so you just don’t like it. That’s all it is.”
“Non, non! Big S, actually.” Tommy pleads, completely deadpan, “I’m not kidding, it makes me want to regurgitate.” To that, he mimes puking all over the floor, a drop of milkshake falling out of the corner of his mouth, much to his despair and Sam’s annoyance.
“Okay, okay I get it.” Sam urges, finishing off his drink. Tommy realizes he still hasn’t drank more than half after that conversation. He picks up the cup. “So… If that’s true, did you see a doctor about it? If it’s just by watching that stuff on TV, it might be some kind of eye strain that’s making you nauseous.”
Tommy digests this, pondering. “I don’t know if it’s TV in general一I’ve watched Up 68 times and counting, and I don’t remember feeling anything then.”
“You’ve一”
“一And it’s not just when I’m watching the news. It’s erm… Been happening ever since I’ve moved in with Tubs’一That might just be me though, cause’ Tubbo sometimes uses the psychic move disorientation on me, where he goes in a circle around me very fast. It’s super effective.”
“...Okay, or that.” Sam sets his cup down with a gentle clink.
“Buuttt, I’m pretty sure there's a doctor I’ve been seeing about it, so don’t worry.”
Sam relaxes. “That’s good.”
“Sure is,” Tommy says as he finishes the last of his milkshake. “Kay, I’m done.” An unsatisfying tingling begins to crawl up his skull as he says this, but he pushes it away in favour of hastily hopping off his seat (nearly falling off) and rounding around into the inner side of the flat topped serving counter.
“Careful,” Sam voices.
He very calmly takes Sam’s cup, stacking it over his, and throws the cups into the sink, turning on the tap to a leveled temperature, snatching up the dish soap and sponge from the sink's edge. The cups aren’t too dirty, and there’s only two, so he should be able to leave soon…
“I have school tomorrow, so I might come here a bit late if I end up having to do a bunch of work after school.” Tommy says, filling the silence.
“If you have work, finish it as soon as possible. It’s fine if you come late, you know I’m here until after dark, if you ever need me.” Sam says with a generous smile. And wow, he remarks to himself silently. Everyone in his life is so fucking cool to him, how could he ever be luckier? It’s too easy being life’s favourite, innit?
After a brief rinse, he carefully scrubs the two cups, scraping away the remaining yellow gunk hanging off the insides. A mixture of suds and yellow shit flows satisfyingly into the drain, and he watches the golden liquid turn into some other substance entirely, still keeping that yellow-ish colour. He gives them a final wash, but the moment the frigid water meets his hands, the earlier tingling returns full-force, gruesomely evolving into a hammering headache.
“Ah一Fuck,” He can’t help but whimper, watching as the cups clatter to the sink when he retracts his hand to rub his temple.
Sam is there in an instant, turning off the tap and cupping a hand over Tommy’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Tommy breathes in an icy inhale of air, which only contributes to making his headache worse. “Fine, just a brainfreeze, I think. Here, I’ll finish washing the cups and then we can go home.”
Sam shakes his head insistently. “No, it’s fine. The cups can wait until tomorrow. All the leftover milkshake is off, so we don’t need to worry about any stains.” Sam meets Tommy’s hazy gaze with a serious one. “But are you sure you’re alright? Some brainfreezes can get really bad.”
“Mhm. Uh, if it’s alright, can you drive me home? I’m a bit tired to walk, and I think I could probably sleep off the brainfreeze or something.”
“Oh, sure! It’s actually better to get back home soon, Fran and Ponk are probably waiting for me.”
“Thanks a lot, big man. Say ‘hi’ to both of them for me after you drop me off.” Tommy replies, cracking a grin in spite of his agony. Sam responds with a still-concerned nod.
Still massaging his temples futilely, he steps outside the door of Pandora’s Vault, watching as Sam blows out every lit candle, completely enveloping the firelit diner into pitch black. Once Sam gets outside, the man fishes out a ring of golden keys, all of which clanging together like metal chimes out of his apron pocket, and inserts it into the pair of doors to lock it shut.
“You alright?” Sam asks again, and Tommy nods in confirmation. His headache only pangs worse.
Events pass by in a blur after that, as if his brain is in a hurry to get some rest. Sam looks at him concernedly for the majority of the car ride, but his mind is too blurry to acknowledge it. Geez, brainfreezes really suck, don’t they? Tommy finds he’s very prone to headaches, and that’s about the only disadvantage to his life, he thinks positively.
He reaches his apartment, which is not all too far from the diner, all things considered. As he exits the car, Sam even offers to walk him up to his apartment, which he declines politely. Sam needs to get home as much as he does, and it is late.
“Thanks, Sam.” He waves, and he genuinely, absolutely, means it. Maybe his headache is making him sappy, but he really sees Sam as the father figure he never had, he really does.
“You too, Tommy.” Sam calls back, and he drives off. Waiting until Sam is out of eyeshot, Tommy turns around and begins to slowly amble up the stairs, shakily pushing open the sleek glass doors. Inside, he gives the middle finger along with a halfhearted wave to Jack Manifold, the grumbly receptionist who probably wants to grow in hair just to pull it all out after the many times Tommy had claimed the apartment as his own.
Not bothering to see how the owner would respond to a disgruntled kid walking into their apartment in the dead of night, he jogs into a vacant elevator. As the door slides shut, he leans against the back of the elevator, touching the back of his head to the cold metal in an attempt to ease his brain. Tommy rests on the wall for a moment, (Which is, uh, totally normal! He just needs to catch his breath. ) before reaching forward to click the eighth floor button lightly.
As the elevator stutters into motion, and the numbers on the display move up, Tommy tries to remember when the last time he slept was. Right… He barely got any sleep last night after attempting to complete a number of overdue assignments in one sitting. He fell asleep sometime then, and Tubbo and Ranboo must've brought him into his bed.
Well, that would explain his headache, then. Hm. He read somewhere that exhaustion can actually multiply the side effects of a brainfreeze tenfold.
The elevator is quiet and awkward, his heavy breathing being the only noise made clear to his ears.
(It’s fine, he thinks. Because, if a big man like him can’t handle a bit of pain, who can? He just needs some rest.)
Eventually, he gets to his room, where he easily unlocks the door after a number of swears and misses. He pries open the door and stumbles into their apartment similarly to a drunk man on a Friday night.
He goes to the washroom closest to the entrance, opening the cabinet in one swift motion, and taking the medicine out in a practiced grab. Murmuring a very necessary ‘bottoms up ’, he carefully downs two capsules, a move that would surely knock him out within the next 15 minutes. It’s enough though, because his headache slowly fades, as if it shouldn’t even be there in the first place. The pangs calm, and he finds that everything is alright. He puts the medicine back, and marches out of the bathroom, clumsily walking into the dark kitchen to grab a glass of water.
At last, he feels relief.
“Oi, Tubs’? Ranboob?” He yells into the walls, already expecting a nonexistent answer.
Tubbo and Ranboo aren't home, of course. He can tell by the deadbeat silence and the only light source being the twinkling moonlight of open windows. He leaves the windows open, but goes to turn on the lights in the living room. Their apartment was by no means small, it was fully decked out with a comfy living room containing a functioning TV, a kitchen that is always full of food, two separate washrooms, and three beds in different rooms for the three of them. (Although… It’s not uncommon to wake up in the middle of the night and ask to share, but that’s not something he’s getting into.)
He walks into the living room and picks up the remote. He tosses it over in his hands a couple times before experimentally switching on the TV screen.
“一ero fatalities have been sustained, surprisingly, but we have yet to see the end to this everlasting battle. Both一No, all three sides seem to be very dead set on beating the other up. Although all civilians have been cleared out in accordance to Niki Nihachu’s promise, we are still unsure why一or how this came to be. As of this hour, the Syndicate seems to be at a losing battle, however一”
He clicks the TV off, setting the remote down on the couch.
“Huh.” Tommy states. “Good on that fellow for lasting at least an hour more than the last guy, I guess.”
Just as he is about to take out his phone, he lets out a growlish yawn, and ponders whether he should conk out for the night or torture himself more.
Well, he decides. He is tired, and he has had a long day, (despite it being a Sunday), but he has highschool tomorrow, (unfortunately) and perhaps he can greet Tubbo and Ranboo in the morning, they’ll definitely be home by then.
With one final sleepy goodnight to the two tropical plants sitting on the living room coffee tables, (plants which he proudly named Cat and Mellohi,) he flicks the final switch back off, drowning their apartment in darkness. Tommy goes off into his room, getting changed before flopping face-first into his bed and blacking out.
-
Come morning, rather than a school alarm, he awakens to the cautionless pounding of a door.