Chapter Text

The leather restraints that rested against his wrists were long since warm from all the chafing and friction from his struggling. He was sure if he kept moving around, he’d start bleeding from the pressure of the bands on his wrists. His legs were spared– despite them also being bound to the chair he was sitting in with the same leather bounds, his pants saved him from the sharp sting of the restraints.

“Stop squirming around or you’ll regret it,” spoke a gruff and agitated voice.

Momentarily, it only made him panic and struggle even more. He had already been gagged shortly after he woke up in this situation, but that didn’t stop the panicked noises leaving him, pleading for help. If he was more present, he’d register the tears burning at his eyes, already running down his cheeks.

The voice grunted again, grumbling something about an “annoying brat” before the green clad figure stepped into his line of vision again. The man didn’t spare him any attention, though, only delivering a swift kick to the boy’s shin.

He let out a cry of pain, jerking against the chair and keeling over as much as he was allowed to in a desperate attempt to get away from the man in front of him. His attempts of getting away were cut off by a swift slap in his face, force of the blow snapping his head to the side. His cheek burned, and even if he wanted to cry out in pain and keep yammering in fear, the shock prevented him from doing anything.

“I said, shut the fuck up. If I hear another god damned peep out of you I’ll beat the shit out of you,” the voice lamented.

The boy didn’t doubt him, so he did his best to swallow down the panic that welled up in his chest, gripping and clawing at his throat. The fear squeezed it’s grimy hands around his oesophagus, making it even harder to breathe than before. He kept his mouth open, trying desperately to breathe through his mouth despite the thick fabric of the gag. It only served to make him splutter and cough, but all rationality had left his body. All he knew was that he had to keep silent and keep fucking breathing.

Tommy would never have interfered if he knew this was going to be the consequences.

It was stupid of him, really.

The sight of two hulking figures towering over a smaller one in an alleyway made something in his skin crawl with familiarity. He couldn’t just ignore it. Without thinking, he had run into the alleyway, pushing through the two cornering the third person, effectively putting himself in the middle of the conflict.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but don’t fucking rob people you asshats,” he had said, false confidence winning over his nervosity and covering up the quiver of his voice. The confidence in his voice was easily betrayed by his posture– his eyes were squeezed closed, shoulders hunched up as he spread his arms in front of the stranger he was protecting.

The argument that Tommy had heard before he interrupted had died down, leaving the narrow and dirty street in complete silence.

“Do you know this guy?”

The sound of the strange voice made Tommy’s heart drop, plummet downwards like it was made from pure lead. His stomach tied itself into knots, and his knees grew weaker than they had ever been.

This person was using a voice modulator– this wasn’t some petty criminal in that case. It was vaguely familiar, a distinct jittered and glitchy tone interrupting the deepened voice to create some new fucked up voice.

Forcing his eyes to open, Tommy was met face to face with a cracked porcelain mask, a childish smile staring down at him, seemingly seeing right through him, inside and out, reading his thoughts and dissecting him with just one look. The green coat was enough to make him choke out a panicked cry, strangled by his own fear.

It felt as if they held eye contact for hours, Tommy frozen in place, and Dream chaining him towards the ground with just one look. With a surge of adrenaline, his eyes flicked over to the other person next to him.

Even if Tommy hadn’t known the man was a infamous super-villain, he’d still be scared of the man. He was tall, way taller than necessary, and the black hood that covered his face melded into one big shadow that hid his whole face. The only thing visible in the inky black darkness was two glowing white eyes, and two horns that pierced the silhouette of the hood. When Tommy glanced down, he could see the pointed tail whipping around, and he quickly shot his eyes up to look the man in the face again, as if looking elsewhere would serve to make the man angry.

“No, I don’t.”

Tommy had almost forgot why he was here– who he was supposedly protecting. Despite his whole body protesting doing anything, screaming at him to stay still stay still stay still, he forced himself to turn around. It felt painful to do so, his joints locking up and protesting turning his back towards the two villains in front of him, he needed to know.

Behind him was a man in a suit, sans the suit jacket. His suit pants were spotless and held up by suspenders, looking far too formal for the dingy alleyway he was currently in. The white dress shirt he was wearing was rolled up to his elbows, showing off two long black gloves that went up and under the white shirt and continued down to his hands, but strangely enough, they were fingerless. The button up was slightly dishevelled, wrinkles implying he had been in some sort of tussle which would match up with the situation they were all in. When Tommy’s eyes travelled up to the man’s face, he was met with a face with a grim scar stretching across the stranger’s left eye all the way down to his mouth, creating a small gash in his lips. The eye that was scarred was a milky white compared to the dark brown of the other one. Black hair reached his shoulders, looking choppy and a bit mussed. His face was pensive, both anger and shock layered onto the scarred expression. It felt familiar somehow.

“What–“

Before Tommy could finish his question, he felt something hit him. A sharp sting of pain, a dull hit, decipherable yelling about something or the other, and then everything went black.

And then he had woken up here.

Tommy had never been good at assessing situations before jumping head in, but this was the first time the consequences had been this bad.

When he woke up enough to recognise where he was, or where he wasn’t, he had instantly started panicking, even more so when Dream stepped into the room. Tommy couldn’t stop the pleads that left his mouth. He was clueless, he was powerless, he was no one. And it wasn’t a lie. Tommy barely existed legally– the forged documents he had gotten his hands on in Las Nevadas wrote Tommy Innit off as dead, missing forever, the only evidence of him still being alive and present was his own memory and testimony of himself. He was now Thomas Barton, an eighteen year old boy who lived with his uncle after his parents moved to a different country for business reasons. For anyone who asks, he moved out when he was seventeen and now lives on his own.

The reality was, Tommy was abandoned and practically an orphan since long ago, only being able to flee from the system by staying on the streets for around a year. He started working at 15, making money illegally, thanks to his more than kind boss who didn’t require papers or any of his history. Before he even secured a place to stay, he made his way to Las Nevadas and bought the papers that meant the death of Tommy Innit, and the birth of Thomas Barton.

But that meant nothing to Dream, apparently. He kept Tommy in the dark and dry room, fastened to the chair. Dust lined the floors, and if there were any windows, they had been covered, because no sunlight reached him. The only lights were fluorescent strip lights that hummed obnoxiously and had been on for so long that their light had dimmed and started to flickered. In Tommy’s mind, this was only something that happened in movies, but he had somehow gotten himself stuck in a classic murder room with the greatest villain of all time.

His cheek still burned, and no matter how much he willed himself to not cry, the tears kept falling freely. His panicked hiccups weren’t as loud as they could have been, which was a win for Tommy. He really didn’t want to piss Dream off more, but when fastened down and threatened, it was hard to sit still and be calm.

Dream had come into the room quite recently, just when he was still waking up and panicking. Now he was still here, making sure Tommy was quiet.

And that was all he did.

Tommy would expect more from a super villain, but the green clad man had decided that pacing around the room and staring at Tommy every now and then was a good enough alternative after he had shut him up. Every time the porcelain mask turned to face his way his breath hitched, fear once again strangling him. The glare of the beady dot eyes was enough to make him want to cry all over again. If Tommy wasn’t fearing for his life, he’d probably make fun of the guy for just staring at him instead of doing actual villain stuff.

By the time his tears had dried and his breathing was back (although shallow and a bit too fast for him to be completely relaxed), Dream had left the room through a door that was positioned behind Tommy. If he ignored the gag and the dark and the dust and the stinging pain at his wrists and the everything, really, Tommy could almost relax again. His eyes wandered throughout the room, taking everything in. Not that it was much– the strip lights glowed dimly, and even if they were brighter, there wouldn’t be much to see. One raggedy table, a few spare chairs that, compared to Tommy’s own, wasn’t bolted to the ground and looked like they were falling apart littered a corner, hastily pushed to the edge of the room. There was no carpet, only cool concrete floor, and the cold from the ground was starting to seep through Tommy’s thin fabric shoes, soles not near thick enough to keep his feet insulated. They also had a couple of holes in them, which, clearly, didn’t help.

The silence of the room was the only thing accompanying him for a good while. It lay thick over him, pushing down on his shoulders with such a crushing weight it felt like his bones were going to break. Soon, the once comforting silence and absence of pacing turned oppressive, a slight ringing in his ears filling the void of noise.

He didn’t have to wait for long, however, because soon Dream was back.

Dream was considered one of the most infamous super villains of their time by many. Despite not being caught in the public eye often, he had cemented his image brutally and swiftly when he assisted in an attempt to break into the highest security hero vaults, sparing no one in his way. The collateral damage had been devastating. Tommy remembers seeing the blurry images of green caught by security cameras while he was on his break at work, and it unsettled him. It was far away, yet way too real.

Right now, the villain was standing right in front of Tommy.

Great.

The man stared at him, not relenting until Tommy squirmed in his seat in a futile attempt to put distance between them.

“Why did you barge in on us.”

His tone of voice wasn’t questioning, it was more of a statement. A command that Tommy knew he only had one choice to respond to.

He fumbled with his words, struggling when the gag only let him let out various noises of distress. With a sigh, Dream walked over and untied it in the back before yanking it off harshly, making Tommy cough and splutter, heaving for his breath.

“What?”

“Why did you interrupt?”

Okay, don’t ask questions, duly noted. Dream seemed pissed already, only one second before hitting him or some shit again. Tommy’s shin still ached, so he’d avoid any further confrontation.

“I–I thought it was just some mugging, I didn’t know it was–“ the glare from behind the porcelain mask was enough to make Tommy clamp up again, dodging his eyes away from the man in front of him and instead staring at his feet. He fucking hated submitting, but he really didn’t have a choice, did he? It seems his survival instincts were doing their job for once.

“What, you’re some kind of vigilante?” Dream tilted his head, still levelling the boy with the same glare, even if his voice had shifted into something more amused, a hint of glee shining through the threat. What a dick.

“N-no, I’m not I swear I don’t even have powers!”

“Okay. So you just wanted a try at being a hero? Fulfil some little fantasy of yours? I bet it must be pretty hard to feel useful if you don’t have powers,” Dream scoffed, stepping a bit closer to Tommy, flat out taunting him. Now, he was a famous villain, but that didn’t make him a high school bully. That was a low blow, even for criminal scum in Tommy’s mind.

Tommy glared up at the man, quietly seething. His fear was quickly being overwon by the rage and irritation he felt. “It doesn’t take anyone special to have a little fucken’ empathy, dickhead,” he spat out, glaring at the white porcelain.

Dream laughed in his face, sounding chocked at his comeback. All confidence Tommy had had flew out the window when he heard the laugh. It was so… unsettling. The voice modulator made it sound choppy and inhuman, sounding more like a computer’s attempt to recreate human laughter than something an actual person would let out. “Fucken’ weirdo,” Tommy grumbled out.

As suddenly as it started, the laughter stopped. Instead Dream fisted a hand into Tommy’s dirty blond locks, forcing his head up with brutish force, almost lifting him up from the chair if it weren’t for the restraints. “Shut the fuck up,” the man whispered, inching closer to Tommy’s face. “You have no idea what you walked into. You should be glad I won’t kill you.”

Still being held up, Tommy started to stammer again. “You won’t– y-you won’t. You won’t kill me,” he whispered frantically, trying to convince himself. Why would he let him live? He’s glad, of course, but why? Would this mean he’d just me more involved in whatever fucked up thing he stumbled upon, or would he be left alone?

Oh god, if he wasn’t going to be killed, would that mean he was being kept here forever? Would he even be fed? Oh god, he hadn’t even drunk any water in probably concerningly long. Would he starve? Not to death, that’s for sure, and at least he was a bit familiar with that. But he wasn’t familiar with torture, and oh god of course he was going to be tortured, why the fuck else would he be tied down into a creepy ass chair in an abandoned house where no one would ever find him even if he tried because he didn’t even know himself and if he didn’t know then how–

The grip on his scalp let up, and he slumped back into the chair with a grunt, ringing in his ears fading just enough to be aware again.

“I might if you keep behaving like shit,” Dream said as he stepped back, once again staring at Tommy. The silence was back, but ringing still filled Tommy’s hearing.

“You might be one of the most useless hostages I’ve ever taken,” the man said.

“Fuck you,” Tommy rasped out.

Dream laughed, dry and humourlessly, then left him alone again.

—

Nothing more really happened.

Tommy’s perception of time was already warped, what with him having to work night and morning shifts regularly, but once you’re locked in a musty old room with no windows, it becomes even harder to keep track of the days.

Tommy would guess he’d been here for maybe three days, edging on four. The biggest clue was to see how often Dream came to visit him, but even that wasn’t something concrete he could go off of.

When he did bring him food, it was some soggy McDonalds (not what Tommy’s first guess for what villain food was, but he guesses he just wasn’t worth that much money to them) that Dream practically had to force feed him. His gag was ripped off and the villain shoved the burger in his face, forcing him to eat it straight out of his hand like some kind of horse. It was beyond insulting and embarrassing, but after going the first day without eating, the temptation of the cheeseburger was too much. Water was given to him in the same fashion. Guessing from the intervals, he was probably fed maybe once every day. At what time, Tommy didn’t know. He guesses it doesn’t matter, really.

Once he had needed to use the bathroom, which caused a problem. Dream had come up to him with a cloth, smothering his face in it and forcing the boy to fall into involuntary sleep. When he woke up, he was in a dingy looking bathroom (thankfully alone), waking up on the even grosser floor. Dream had made it clear he heard him, leaning heavily onto the door. When he was done, he had once again been put to sleep. A bit extra for a piss in Tommy’s humble opinion, but maybe it made sense.

Now, he was once again sitting alone, half awake, half asleep. Distantly, he remembers reading about something called disassociating. Maybe this is what that was. It didn’t matter, though, because he was still stuck in this fucking room.

Tommy could say with relative confidence that he had learnt almost everything about this room in the last… however many days it was. There was only so much to stare at and listen to, and the chairs and table in the corner wasn’t the most awe-inspiring thing to look at. So trust him when he says the most noise he would hear would be the sound of Dream shuffling, maybe some muted talking from beyond a door, although he could never catch any of it.

That’s why it surprised him so much to hear loud rumbling from over him.

What sounded like several footsteps and loud shouting roused him from his dreaming-state (not a pun on the villain, more that it felt like he was dreaming) as he liked to call it. The sound echoed in his skull, but he hadn’t actually registered it until a few minutes in.

Holy shit.

Holy shit, fuck fuck fuck, holy fucking shit, shit, cock, and balls even.

Maybe this was his ticket out. Either some heroes had come and crashed the place, or–

Tommy didn’t want to think about the or. The small glimmer of hope was enough to make him almost delusional, the fight re-entering his body, burning and scorching, almost growing too strong for his weak body. Realistically, no one would hear him. He was gagged, and all action was obviously going on upstairs (there was an upstairs, Tommy now knew). But Tommy Innit wasn’t known for being a quitted.

So he screamed.

He screamed so hard he choked and gagged on the fabric in his mouth. Screamed so hard his stomach hurt, folding in on itself. Screamed so hard burning tears forced their way down his face. His head throbbed, wrists burned from the restrains, and distantly, he could feel something warm trickle down between the leather and his skin.

The banging and rumbling increased in volume. It was some sort of wicked crescendo of screaming and heavy banging, only increasing more and more until, finally, it stopped. It mellowed out into the patter of several pairs of feet, some talking still being heard.

The only break Tommy took was to breathe in, desperately catching his breath before starting his screaming again. It almost felt like he couldn’t stop– it had started as a cry for help, but now, he was freely sobbing, yelling and spluttering as loud as he could.

But nobody came.

His screams turned into quiet sobs, wracking his whole frame as he succumbed to his lack of energy.

Slowly, everything faded back to black.  

Chapter Text

Wilbur usually avoided big and risky operations if it was possible.

It was a hassle. And yeah, that was his job, but it was stressful. Every once in a while was alright, but having to constantly go from one big mission to the other without much info could be draining. And just having gotten back from a big mission, he had understandably turned down the one the hero commission sent his way.

That was how he ended up here.

It had been a smaller mission, one with not as much pressure assigned to it, and Wilbur wasn’t someone to look a gift-horse in the mouth– he took the offer. The office building was falling apart, dingy at best. A thick layer of dust covered the unused shelves and floors, debris littering the linoleum floors from where the insulation from the roof had started to rot. Although it was all pushed to the side, making a clearer path to walk on. It was one of the only giveaways that the warehouse wasn’t actually abandoned, that along with the eye witness report of a lower level hero seeing suspicious figures entering and exiting the building.

They had taken things slow, making sure to stake out the whole area and entering from the roof. It was presumed to be some case about smuggling of prestigious tech– things that could give the villains the upper hand if they actually got their hands on it. It happened  Wilbur was used to being put on the these missions, given his power was especially effective for disabling tech. He couldn’t however pick and choose which tech he would affect, so he was often paired up with heroes that could brute force their way through battles without it, worst case scenario.

“You gonna keep movin’ or what,” Techno drawled, stepping around Wilbur to continue towards the stairs. “We’re only on the top floor, there’s like, four more to go.”

That’s why that asshole was here.

“Te–“ Techno glared at him. Codenames, he said with his eyes, and even if it was partially covered by his mask, Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Blade,” he stressed the name and stared the other man down. “We win nothing on rushing this.”

“They probably already know we’re here. It’s better if we’re fast,” Tech– Blade explained.

“He’s right, you know,” Hannah– Hylder said, brushing past them both as she went towards the stairs. “We shouldn't rush ourselves, but we win nothing from wasting away time. We should really get going.”

Hannah was another logical match-up. Her powers meant that she could control plants, making single seeds explode into huge vines and thorns. The pouches and pockets all over her suit filled with seeds were enough to keep her afloat if all things went wrong. 

Wilbur sighed but followed along, grumbling to himself as he followed the brunette and pink haired man.

The other floors were… suspiciously empty. Dust and broken glass from the windows were the only things that inhabited the house along with the occasional random garbage. On the lower floor, there were bookshelves, but all books were scattered across the floor, stepped on and ruined since long ago. Even if there were any still intact, they had nothing to do with the report of villainy in the building– they were encyclopaedias and the occasional biography of some self-made entrepreneur– nothing incriminating if you ignore how low you’d have to sink to read one of those biographies in the first place. They looked too old to be tied to the villains here, probably left behind from the former company of the office building.

The trio had made their way to the underground floor quite quickly, no sign of the suspected tech or weapons anywhere. It was just as relieving as it was unnerving. If the rookie hero had been right about the weird people going in and out of the building, it would mean that they either had missed something despite their thorough comb-through of the warehouse, or that it was nothing in particular. Wilbur wished it had been a misunderstanding, but leaving the possibility of anything else hovering over them made nervosity roll in his gut. It just felt as if they were poking around the empty rooms in a blind attempt to find something. 

Hannah stood up from where she was crouched on the floor, turning towards Wilbur. “Siren, check for any hollow walls or–“

Echoing down the stairs, the sound of foot-steps resounded in the barren room, making all three of the heroes snap their heads up towards the noise.

In the staircase stood 404, a very infamous and well known villain.

The man froze in the staircase, noticing the three heroes who glared at him. He held a brown paper bag in one hand, completely decked out in his villain gear. His signature white and black goggles rested on his face, tauntingly familiar.

The room froze in time, all four staring at each other, completely dumbfounded by the other’s presence. You would almost think they were allies with how peaceful the moment was, but after only two seconds, the room exploded into action.

404 dropped the bag he was holding, immediately booking back up the stairs, but not being able to run very far before one of Techno's shadows tripped the man, dragging him back down the stairs with a series of loud thuds. Hannah yelled something, an indistinct order for 404 to stay where he was. 404 kept struggling against the shadows as he was dragged further down the stairs and closer to the heroes, Techno lunging forward to engage in a close quarters fight with the villain. Meanwhile, Hannah opened a pocket on the side of her pants, grabbing a handful of seeds and tossing them towards the top of the stairs, the plants already growing and obscuring the entrance and exit of the room. It was a risky move, but given the fact that they were three against one, it was a logical decision. 

Wilbur watched Techno pick up 404 by his collar, and 404 swiping at the man’s face with his clawed gloves, forcing the hero to drop him. Quickly and swiftly, 404 crouched and swiped a leg at Techno's knees, making him momentarily buckle before the man unsheathed the  sword at his hip and jabbed it into the ground, regaining his balance easily. Hannah continued on securing the perimeter of the room with her plants, keeping the seeds along the walls so they could grow and intercept if the fight between the two went south.

Wilbur fell back, running back a few metres and crouching down. Like clock-work, Hannah's plants came to cover him, making a viny wall to protect him from potential attacks from 404. 404 seemed to occupied by Techno, leaving Wilbur to focus on what he needed to do.

His fingers went down to the side of his right boot, twisting knobs and pushing buttons that were built into his it. The corresponding speaker on the left boot startled to crackle as he kept on adjusting his tech– god he really wasn’t prepared to meet a high level villain today– 404 and Techno got closer. Still, he stayed protected by more vines that grew just in the nick of time before one or two knives (when did 404 toss those at him?) got lodged into Wilbur.

“SUB-WOOFER,” he shouted as loudly as he could, and judging by the indistinct yells he got as responses, they had heard him loud and clear. He gave them time to adjust their earpieces to block out the noise he was about to produce before he pressed the play button.

The noise from the speaker itself wasn’t much at all, but Wilbur’s powers let him manipulate the soundwaves. The noise grew louder and more powerful, making the floor rumble with the force of it. Wilbur could feel his lungs rattle in his chest from the noise, and he saw how 404 stumbled and tripped, falling back on his ass quite unceremoniously. If Wilbur wasn’t concentrating on getting him into jail, maybe he would’ve laughed.

The walls continued to rumble, dust flying off of the walls and shelves. The strip-lights that hung from the ceiling violently flickered, not being able to stand the strain of the vibrations. Suddenly, one of the lights detached in the corner, causing it to swing in front of Techno with electric sparks flying everywhere.

Wilbur’s breath got caught in his throat as he watched the light swing down, free-falling now when the other corner had detached as well. The rumbling from Wilbur’s speaker stopped, now resuming to it’s natural and way lower volume as his focus was ripped away from catching 404 to saving Techno.

“Look out Blade–!”

His sentence was cut off by the loud crash of the lights landing partially on the man, gruff yell escaping him as he was dragged to the floor with the force of the crash.

Wilbur sprinted towards Techno, already crouching to pull him into his lap and push the debris off of him. Hannah cursed loudly, growing her vines all over the roof to prevent any more of the roof to cave in on them, vines now acting as support pillars as the building seemed to groan under the weight of all of the floors.

404 ran across the room, fleeing towards the staircase with knife in hand, clearly intending on cutting his way through the thick greenery. Hannah didn’t let him get far, barrelling towards the man in a full body tackle only to phase through him, falling and jamming her arms into the floor.

“Fuck!” She yelped, already standing up to look around her, searching for the fake instead of one of the man's hallucinations. It turns out, the man came to her instead. 404 sprinted from where he had hid behind one of the vine pillars, kicking her hard in the gut and sending her sprawling back on the floor. Wilbur yelled, rising up minutely, only for Techno to groan and twist on his lap, still being pulled by the weight of the lamp and parts of concrete roof that had come down on top of him. Wilbur gently slid the man off, standing up to face 404.

The villain in question was now further from the stairs, his green spores filling up the room. It was hard to distinguish when the hallucinations started– Hannah's plants meshed together with the spores, making it hard to see the slightly green mist. But Wilbur knew, now, that 404 had started using his hallucinations, which only put him more on edge than before. An injured Techno and a rogue 404 did not bode well.

Trusting the tech that both of his coworkers had to protect themselves from the noise he was about to produce, Wilbur mashed the buttons on his left sleeve, booting up the other speaker that was built into his hero suit. With a great amount of concentration, he slimmed the soundwaves down, narrowing their path towards the 404 that stood at the back of the room.

As soon as the soundwaves hit it, the imaginary villain faded and was replaced by another one just to the left of him– Wilbur couldn’t tell if it was the real one or not. Wilbur Tsk’d, whipping around to face him more, backing up towards the stairs to further block the exit.

The figure that stood at the back of the room lunged forward, only to disappear the moment Wilbur turned on his speaker and directed the soundwaves towards the villain. It didn’t matter, as one hallucination was replaced by the next, green dust swirling and taking shape of the villain himself. It forced Wilbur to be on his toes, constantly blocking the hallucinations from getting closer yet never finding the real 404. He could widen the scope of the sound, making the waves hit a larger area of the room and sweeping through more of the fakes at a faster rate, but he would lose intensity and run the risk of the frequency being too low and not being able to “cut through” the dust that made up the illusion. They really didn’t have specifics on how 404’s powers worked, but it was common knowledge amongst the heroes that something material was needed to gash through the smoke to see if what was in front of you was real. They also knew that there was strength in numbers– it was difficult for 404 to make several people imagine the same things, which would have been helpful in this situation if it weren’t for Techno hurrying to recover and Hannah being busy holding up the goddamned roof–

Suddenly, Wilbur was pushed from behind, making him stumble and fall to the floor with the force of it. When he twisted around to face whoever or whatever had pushed him, he saw 404, smiling down smugly at him from where he stood.

“Son of a–“ Wilbur started. He really hated 404.

404 spoke, but it sounded warbled a bit, like it came from further away. Another illusion. “Don’t be mad, just get good,” he said, and if Wilbur already wasn’t pissed, that certainly sealed the deal. He was incredibly annoying, even for a villain.

By the time Wilbur had sent a shockwave of noise towards the figure, dissipating all illusions, Techno had already sprung up, seeing the reality that was hidden from Wilbur. As the illusion faded, Wilbur understood what had happened.

The hallucination that had spoken to him had been a cover for 404 judging by the crudely cut out exit in the wall of vines and rose-thorns, which was probably why Blade had lunged. But when both of the men ran up the stairs after Techno had cleared it with his sword, the villain was long gone.

“That wasn’t what I was expecting going in to this,” Hannah said as she walked over to the other two. Wilbur just stared at the absence of 404, while Techno was huffing slightly in annoyance.

“You can say that twice,” Techno added, still vigilant despite his exhaustion. “This is bad news, though. Probably somethin’ more going on here if 404 decided to drop in.”

Wilbur grumbled. “He ditched pretty fast, though. If it was something super important, he would probably have stayed and fought us more,” he responded without looking at any of the other two, rather staring at the several windows decorated with shattered glass. The building was placed at the outskirts of the city, but even then, it was severely neglected.

“There’s probably something downstairs if that’s where he was headed,” Hannah added. “I secured the area, there shouldn’t be anymore risk of debris falling.”

Cringing, Wilbur turned to the woman, casting a glance towards Techno, who’s red cape was dusty from the battle. “So–“

“Don’t,” Techno interrupted. “It wasn’t your fault. We couldn’t have known the structural integrity of the place. Besides, I’m literally enhanced, so blaming yourself is just stupid and objectively wrong,” he said, and suddenly, he sounded a lot more like the teasing Techno rather than the pro hero Blade.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “I’m still sorry, but okay,” he sassed, sulking as he followed Hannah and Techno, who had already made their way back down, this time staying more aware of their surroundings and always having someone close to the staircase that lead to the exit. It would have been a lot more convenient if they weren’t on the underground floor doing this, but being a hero didn’t always entail getting to do the convenient thing.

After thirty minutes of searching and finding nothing more than old sales catalogues, broken stationary phones that were made of flimsy plastic, way too big to be anything close to modern. While it didn’t give them any clues on why villains were here, it did paint a pretty accurate picture of the sleezy sales company that owned this place before it was abandoned.

“Siren,” Hannah's clear voice cut through the shuffling of their feet in the room. “Mind checking the walls?”

Wilbur just hummed, walking up to the walls and already changing the options on the speaker on his sleeve. Of course he could use his voice and manipulate that, but for louder booms and frequent use, the built in speakers Sam had put in his hero suit were better. It was better to keep his voice as the back-up instead of straining it for no apparent reason and leaving him stranded in the worst-case scenario.

The soundwaves hit the wall, being almost completely absorbed by the thick concrete. “No hidden backroom,” Wilbur declared, already moving on to the other walls. “None here either.”

“Floors?” She asked.

Just as he was about to give her the same answer, he halted. Although not clear, the floor seemed thinner. There was something– most probably another room or floor underneath, hiding whatever it was that 404 was there for.

Before he could give an affirmative answer, he was cut off by Techno.

“I think I found something that answers your question,” he said, peeking out from behind the stairs, dust on his knees form where he most likely had been kneeling. “Get over here.”

Both of them complied without even giving an answer, instantly rushing to see what Blade had found. Hannah kept her gaze more outwards, still staying on edge after the encounter.  Wilbur, however, did not shy away. He leaned right over Techno's shoulder, staring at what the man had called them over to look at.

“For a secret entrance, it isn’t very secret,” the pink haired man mumbled, using one hand to push the out of place stone floor plate away, revealing a metallic spiral staircase. “Probably some old emergency escape,” he continued to explain, stepping away so he could let Wilbur investigate it further.

He was halfway ready to climb down the ragged old stairs before a hand shot out and grabbed the collar of his trench-coat, halting him in his tracks. “Relax, Siren. We need to make a game-plan.” Wilbur spluttered when Techno finally let go of his collar, sure that he wouldn’t run ahead and do something stupid. Typical Techno, to think such things of him. Didn’t matter if they were true or not.

“We already came to the conclusion it’s nothing bad,” he retorted, spinning to glare at the other hero.

“We also got ambushed by 404,” the other replied, deadpan as ever.

“More like he walked in on us. I doubt there’s more villains down here– he would’ve called for backup if that’s the case!”

“We can’t risk that,” Hannah cut in, sending a look towards the bickering pair. “If we’re doing this, only the three of us, then we better take caution,” she continued, looking a bit more at Wilbur than she looked at Techno. Even if his face was majorly covered by the mask that rested on his face, Wilbur could tell Techno had a shit eating grin on his face.

After Wilbur finally caved in, the three cooked up a plan as thoroughly and quickly as they could given the circumstances. Usually, he would be all for thinking up a plan, but the jump-scare of a high-level villain barging in on them before set Wilbur on edge, and really, he just wanted to figure this thing out as quickly as possible.

The plan they decided on was that Hannah would stay watch on the floor they were at right now, given her both offensive and defensive capabilities, and that Wilbur and Techno would head down the stairwell, updating Hannah via comms as they went along. And that was it.

The staircase, turns out, was creepier than it first seemed.

The linoleum floors that were on the upper levels was completely gone, leaving only barren concrete walls and floors, lined with obnoxiously buzzing striplights that sat in the bend where wall met roof. The staircase led directly into a small room that thinned out into a narrow corridor, leaving only one path to follow. Judging by the looks of it and the old signs left hanging around, it was the company’s storage area or something of the sorts. They would stumble upon heavier metal doors every now and then, most rusted shut but some still being usable. Upon opening them, it led to nothing more than empty rooms that they didn’t attempt to comb through– they’d call in support if they were going to do a deep-search of the place.

“This place is fucking creepy,” Wilbur noted.

Techno snorted from where he was walking behind him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. “You wanna infiltrate a modern high-tech villain base instead?”

Wilbur turned around to glare at Techno for a second before he moved on. “I was just making a comment, jeez,” he grumbled, stalking towards the next two doors ahead of them. “Besides, you’d think if 404 was here actively it wouldn't look like such a shit hole,” he tacked on as he pushed open the door he was now standing in front of.

Whatever Techno said in response didn’t register in his mind, because holy shit.

Without a word, he dashed into the room, staggering towards the person fucking tied down to a chair in the middle of the room like some sort of horror movie.

“Siren,” he heard Techno say, in that stern tone that was bordering on a lecture in just one word, but he paid it no mind. It seemed as if Techno noticed the situation too, judging by the sharp intake of breath from behind him and patter of boots.

The person– the kid in the middle of the room was passed out cold.

He was bent over uncomfortably due to the restrains on his wrists and ankles, eyes screwed shut in a way that suggested that he was in pain. The hair covering the kid’s face was a tad long and outgrown, long since dirty, mussed up and tangled. His wrists were rubbed raw where the leather bound him to the chair, strips of red irritated skin that was and clearly had been bleeding. The poor kid was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, nothing more protecting him from the chill of the underground room.

Boots pounded from behind him as Techno re-entered the room. “I checked the other room nearby. No one there,” he said, and Wilbur hummed in response, suddenly very aware of the situation they were in. Judging by the state of the boy, he could have been here for weeks. “Updating Hylder,” Techno said, once again leaving the room to make the call.

And once again Wilbur was alone with the kid.

Gently, ever so gently, he put a hand on the other’s forehead, tilting his head up and cringing when he noticed the crumpled posture of the poor guy. A thick gag made of fabric was tied around his head, almost choking him with how the kid had seemed to bite down on it. Wilbur cursed to himself and brought up a small knife from the strap on his leg, carefully cutting the fabric away from the boy’s face. When he pulled it away and out from his mouth, Wilbur was horrified to see spots of red speckled on it. He quickly threw it to the side, putting all his focus on the boy in front of him.

He put one hand on the boy’s cheek, again angling his head up and putting the other hand on the boys neck, checking for a pulse. Luckily, it was still there, and Wilbur took that as a small victory. His breathing seemed alright, too, if not a bit too shallow to be comforting. Wilbur brushed the hair away from the strangers face to get a better look of the scope of the injuries, cringing again when he saw the bruise that had formed on the one side of his face. His left cheek seemed prickly and irritated as well, and even more concerning, there was a small amount of dried blood at the top of his head.

Wasting no time more time, Wilbur cut the restraints and laid the boy down on the floor as carefully as he could. If he wasn’t concerned from the start, he was certainly startled when he picked the boy up and noticing how light he was. How long had he been kept in here? After setting him down, he stood up again, pacing slightly around the barren room.

Despite the horror that was crawling in his gut at the situation, he tuned into his comms to give the others an update to his situation.

“–just called HQ for backup. There was no one else?”

“No, just him. Wilbur’s with him right now but I don’t know–“

“The kid’s breathing and has a steady pulse, but he needs to be checked out asap.”

“Hylder just called. Are we bringing him up here?”

“No, I don’t want to risk jostling any of his possible injuries anymore. I just barely checked him over, but he isn’t in critical condition.”

Despite the importance of what they were talking about, Wilbur found a way to get distracted, because faintly, he could hear a small, raspy voice.

“Holy shit, it’s Siren.”

Wilbur stopped in his tracks. The hero turned around slowly and stared at the now awake boy, completely dumbfounded. His voice sounded like it had been run through a shredder, then taped together, only to be shredded once again. His eyes had sprung open, revealing a vibrant blue that was unnaturally shiny thanks to the tears that were risking on spilling any second now. To Wilbur’s horror, he looked even younger with his eyes open. Despite the water that filled them, he seemed to be able to focus on Wilbur’s shape, and his pupils weren’t dilated or different shapes. That was good.

“Yes,” he responded. Cause it was true, wasn’t it? He was siren. It was just a bit shocking that this kid’s first instinct after being saved from… whatever it was, was to note that he was with Siren. Like it was a shock that he had been rescued by a hero.

His tears spilled over, making Wilbur startle even further. “This is so fuckin’ poggers,” the boy slurred, voice barely a hoarse whisper. It sounded like it hurt to talk.

Wilbur wilfully ignored the explosion of questions that came from his earpiece, choosing to focus on the person in front of him.

“Poggers?” He parroted.

The boy just nodded, tears still flowing freely from his eyes as he lay on the floor, staring at Wilbur in disbelief. It made his stomach churn. This kid had probably been dreaming of being saved by a hero for so long. Wilbur shuffled closer, crouching down to sit next to the boy again, watching as the kid just stared him with amazement in his eyes.

“So fuck’n poggers,” he rasped out. Despite the tears, a shaky smile grew on the boy’s face. Wilbur couldn’t help himself when he replicated it automatically.

“D-do you,” he continued on, cutting himself off when he started coughing violently, twisting to lay on his side and clutching his chest as he curled in on himself. Wilbur placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to steady or support him in some way. Distantly, he registered the buzzing of voices in his comms.

“–ren what’s going on? Talk to us.”

“Backup will be here soon, I asked them to speed up.”

“He woke up,” Wilbur said under his breath to them, keeping his volume low before turning all his attention back to the coughing person on the floor.

“Do you,” he tried again, this time heaving a few breaths before continuing. “Sorry. Do you– P-Philza.” The words were cobbled together, and it was obviously taking the boy large amounts of effort to even talk, but he didn’t give up. “Know him? Mr. ‘Za?” The boy’s voice cracked so bad the first part of Phil’s name was an inaudible whisper.

Wilbur almost wanted to laugh– half at the question’s absurdity, half in despair over what this poor kid has probably been through. But given the circumstances, he couldn’t afford that. “Yes, I know him. Maybe you can meet him later on,” he said, rubbing his hand up and down the arm he had taken a hold off to steady the boy.

“Really?”

“Yes, really."

The boy started to grumble something, lids closing over his still misty eyes. Wilbur’s soothing grip became a tad frantic, shaking him still gently to keep him awake.

“Buddy, you can’t fall asleep right now. I need you to stay awake for a few more minutes until backup arrives, okay?”

The kid looked at him skeptically, which mixed weirdly with the tear-tracks on his face. “Will Philza be there,” he whispered, it was all he could manage. Wilbur just leaned down closer, also lowering his voice as if they were both little kids sharing secret.

“He might be, but you’ll have to stay awake to see,” Wilbur whispered back, hopefully covering the fear in his own voice. He knew he couldn’t let the other fall asleep– the risk of potential hidden injuries far too great. “You can talk to me in the mean time!”

“You’re not Philza,” was the response. It was true, but that doesn't mean it didn’t hurt.

Wilbur huffed. “I’m better than him,” he said. This probably wasn’t how he was supposed to do things, but the kid seemed to be intrigued by the conversation, which was better than nothing.

“No,” the kid stated.

“Says who?” Even if it was a very tense situation, Wilbur couldn’t help but find it at least a little bit amusing. Here he was, arguing on which hero was better with some random kid. No one really had the guts to tell him things like these to his face, even if they were loopy from pain or shock.

“Me, bi’ch,” he continued, inching a bit closer to the hero he apparently disliked. “Philza’s the greatest. I have Philza socks.” Intent on proving it, he tried to sit up, only to be ushered to lay  down again by Wilbur.

“Lay down,” he told the boy. “I bet your socks are great, but you’re injured.”

“Can’ny even feel it,” the kid bragged, bringing one hand up in the air to wave Wilbur’s concerns away as the hero gently laid him down on his side in facing Wilbur. “Fine.”

Resuming the gentle rubbing of the kid’s arm, Wilbur frowned to himself. “Just relax for now, okay?”

The kid grumbled something, turning to lay on his back again. “If Philza gets here, don’t tell him about my socks,” he said as he relaxed as much as one could back onto the cold and hard concrete floor.

Oh he was definitely telling Philza, that’s for sure.

“Won’t tell a soul,” he lied, a smile on his face despite himself.

“Thank you, Siren,” said the boy, and the three words carried so much weight with how they were crumbling and cracking from strain. His tone of voice was so earnest it almost made Wilbur’s chest hurt. He had done rescue missions before, but something about this one was different, made him feel more. Maybe he wouldn’t tell Phil about the socks…

Wilbur moved closer, still rubbing the kids arm in an attempt at comfort. “It’s no problem… What’s your name?”

The kid pried open his eyes to look at the hero to his side, fat tears rolling down his cheeks again. He opened his mouth, preparing to say something but taking a while to formulate the words. “Don’t strain your voice too much,” Wilbur tacked on.

“…Sugma.” It was a whisper, coarse and damaged.

“Sugma,” Wilbur repeated, wanting to see if he got the name right.

“Sug’ ma fuckin’ balls, bitch,” the boy croaked out, and proceeded to laugh, which only resulted in a high-pitched wheezing sound that ended up with him curled in on himself as he hacked up a lung. It quickly turned desperate, and the kid stuck a hand out to grasp at Wilbur, who had been sitting there frozen in a mix of concern, amazement, and horror. He quickly sprang into action, putting a hand on the kid’s back and rubbing soothing circles as the coughing subsided.

“Very funny,” Wilbur mumbled out after the boy had been able to catch his breath again. “Please take it easy.”

Silence fell over the room again, the only constant noise was the rustling of fabric from where Wilbur continued to rub circles into the stranger’s back.

“Tommy,” he choked out, breaking the suffocating silence after what felt like hours, but was in reality only a few minutes. “My– I’m Tommy,” he clarified.

Wilbur stared at the bent over form of the boy– Tommy.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy.”

All further conversation was cut off by the thundering noise of several pairs of feet bounding down the corridor. The kid– Tommy's head snapped up, and Wilbur continued to rub circles on his back. “That’s us,” he said to Tommy. “Nothing to worry about.” His com crackled to life, revealing Techno’s slightly static-sounding voice.

“Back-up’s here.”

Chapter Text

Almost as suddenly as Tommy had woken up, there was an influx of people he didn’t recognise in his dingy little room, as if it hadn’t been enough with Siren barging in.

The pounding in his head and lingering pain in the rest of his limbs really didn’t help the situation at all, either. Now that his skin was exposed to the air, he felt hyper-aware of every little thing touching it. The rashes from the bands seemed worse than before, now that they weren’t covered, and Tommy was pretty sure they had or were still bleeding. And despite the pain that littered his body, his chest felt like it was filled with something blooming, and his head stuffed full of cotton. It didn’t matter, though, because he was preoccupied with being hauled off on some sort of stretcher, which he obviously didn’t need.

For some reason, Siren was still there. He was walking next to his stretcher, and Tommy couldn’t help but stare. Siren wasn’t the coolest hero, not in any capacity, but come on, it was Siren! He was no Philza, but Tommy thinks he already made that clear. Or he didn’t, he can’t really remember.

A voice started cutting through the jumble of words and thoughts in his head, and Tommy turned to look at Siren. He saw the heroes mouth move– it was only covered on the left half of his face– but he couldn’t make out the words. Instead, he stared at the man, as if he would hear it better if he just stared hard enough.

“What,” he rasped out.

“Are you alright?” Siren repeated, and a jolt of excitement cut through the nerves in Tommy’s chest. Holy shit, Siren was asking him if he was alright. That’s fucking insane.

“You’re Siren,” he said instead.

Siren made a weird face, moving to talk to someone who was currently carrying him. Haha, people were carrying him right now. “Yes, I’m Siren. Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”

Tommy squinted at his hand, inspecting it thoroughly. It was hard, given he was bouncing around a bit from the footsteps of the paramedics. But after a while, he could make it out. He was holding up three fingers.

“Holy fuck, you’re Siren.”

Siren made a dying noise, once again speaking to the paramedics and almost ignoring him. Tommy didn’t care if he ignored him, because wow, that is the Siren. Suddenly, everything sped up, and the bouncing of the stretcher became a little bit jolting. He heard voices around him, some of which were familiar. Not that he knew them, but he recognised them. It made his head hurt– trying to figure it all out. His arms were starting to hurt more now, and the light steps sounded like thunder in his ears.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed it to go away. And he didn’t have to wait long before the darkness swallowed him again.

—

When Tommy came to again, it was a lot less hectic that the last few times.

Shockingly enough, he was on a soft mattress, warm and comforted in a way that he wasn’t even in his own apartment. Which meant he was not held captive by Dream anymore, but he still wasn’t home. The only thing familiar was the hunger in his gut and the dull throb of pain and exhaustion in his limbs.

With a small groan, he opened his eyes. His field of vision was assaulted by shining lights and white sheets, almost stabbing him with how bright it was. On instinct, he took the sheets to pull them over his face to shield his eyes. A strange tug and sense of pressure accompanied the movement, and when Tommy squinted at his arm, he noticed some weird plastic tube running from the fold in his arm, secured with tape. The sight made him uneasy, so he quickly turned to look at the ceiling instead.

The tiles were white and pristine, nothing like the pure cement roof of the old room. It was comforting to see a difference, grounding him, and reminding him that he was somewhere else now.

After a few minutes of stewing under the covers, he took a breath in and decided to sit up a little straighter and get a good look of his surroundings.

It was… strangely cosy, for a hospital room.

Instead of a rickety plastic chair next to his bed, there was an armchair coupled with a pillow and blanket of its own. It didn’t offset the fact that he was apparently surrounded by beeping machines and heavy-duty medical equipment, but it made it more bearable. The floor was linoleum, speckled grey that looked sterile (fitting for a hospital-room, Tommy guesses). The room was pretty big, and had even bigger windows, letting in midday sunshine, opening up the room. It was partially blocked out, though, thanks to the thin and quite sheer curtains. Outside the windows, he could see the city skyline and a blue sky, almost free of clouds.

He hadn’t seen the sky in a long time. He still didn’t know for how long he was in there, but it hit him suddenly how much he had missed it. Knowing whether it was day or not, being able to breathe fresh air, walking around– he had been too panicked with the threat of his own death dangled in front of his face to realise how much he had missed it. Maybe he hadn’t been expecting to ever see it again, but that was neither here nor there.

At the far end of the room, there was a wooden table with two wooden chairs accompanying it. If Tommy had a family to visit him, he guesses that’s where they would be sitting as he dosed off. He quickly moved on, staring at the small matching bedside table to the left of him. It was littered with old trashy newspapers, the kinds you only read at the doctors and in waiting rooms in hopes of offsetting your nerves. Along with the newspapers, there was a glass of water and a pot with some green plant in it. Without much thought, Tommy grabbed the glass and started downing the water, cringing when his throat flared in pain as he did so. Right, he had screamed. Even for someone like him, that much screaming was bound to fuck up his throat.

Just as he put his glass down, the sound of the door opening caught his attention.

In came a man– clearly a doctor, or at least dressed the part. He had short, curly hair that was a dark shade of brown with eyes to match. Under his white doctor’s coat, he had a turtleneck that was speckled with black, orange, and yellow, which was strange for a doctor, but who’s Tommy to judge. He was reading something on a clipboard as he walked in, finally glancing up when he was headed to the foot-end of Tommy’s bed. 

“Thomas Barton, nice to see you awake!” The doctor’s voice was cheery yet soft, and his words clanged with an unfamiliar accent. It was an inviting accent, it suited the guy’s voice, Tommy decided. “I’m Doctor Ponk Drops. You sustained some injuries from,” he trailed off, clearly trying to find the right words as to not upset Tommy.

“Being fuckin’ ‘napped,” Tommy supplied eloquently, not even giving the man time to think. Only then he noticed how whistly and scratchy his voice sounded. It grated like sandpaper against his throat, and clearly Doctor Drops noticed, too.

“…Yes, that. So, you were brought here. This is the Bullseye tower’s own hospital, you will be supplied with health care and other accommodations until you’re feeling better, standard routine.”

Despite the man telling Tommy this was standard routine, it still blew his mind. He couldn’t help but stare at the man, wide eyed and open mouthed. Dr. Drops caught his not-so-subtle shock, giving him a sly smile as he walked over to a computer screen that stood next to Tommy’s hospital bed.

Tommy started flailing for words, staring out the window now. The view made sense, then. “I’m in the heroes’ tower,” he whispered out, half a question and half a reassurance for himself. If Tommy wasn’t in shock from being in the literal Heroes Tower, he would maybe react to how childish he sounded, but who cares.

Dr. Drops let out a chuckle. “Yes, you are.” The man ignored the use of the wrong name– the tower was named after the hero corporation that owned it– Bullseye– but no one really called it that. The clatter of a mechanical keyboard filled the room, leaving Tommy to wallow in the truth he had just been told as Dr. Drops did something or other. “More importantly, how are you feeling right now Thomas?”

Tommy stumbled with his words for a few seconds. “I– Just Tommy,” he mumbled out, trying to keep his voice lower to not anger his throat. “I’m alright,” he croaked, looking over at the doctor again.

The man stared down at him with a sceptical look for only a few seconds before he returned looking at his computer screen. “I think you’re lying.”

“I’m fine, really,” Tommy assured, cringing at his own voice. At this point, Tommy knew he wasn’t going to convince anyone, not even himself.

“Now I know you’re lying,” the man said, eyes glowing a tiny bit. “I’ll be up front with you, I can tell when someone’s lying, and I get a basic read of their emotions. You,” he said, stopping whatever he was doing on the computer to shoot a glance over at the boy. “Are not ‘fine’. You’re with a doctor, let me do my job.”

With a sigh, Tommy leaned back into the pillows, openly admitting defeat. “That’s a cool power,” he said, voice cracking.

“Not what I asked,” Dr. Drops said, not missing a beat.

“My… throat hurts,” he admitted. The doctor hummed. “And– I feel sore. M-my arms hurt. Especially the left one,” he continued, avoiding eye-contact with the other in the room. “But my arm hurt before this.” Better to come clean than have the guy interrogate him.

The doctor lifted an eyebrow, looking over at the boy with… shock? “We did a health-scan, turns out you broke your arm a while ago. It healed incorrectly. When did that happen?”

Tommy stared at the man, completely dumbfounded. Had he? No, he probably hadn’t. He couldn’t have! He’d remember something like that. “It was probably a fracture,” Dr. Drops continued. “You would only have noticed that your arm hurt, and it could’ve gone unnoticed if you didn’t see a doctor after it,” the man said, giving the boy a meaningful look as he said the last words. “Did you? Or was this while you were…”

Suddenly, a memory flooded back into Tommy’s mind, and it forced him to let out a cheap little laugh. “I, uhhh… No,” he started, treading very lightly. “It was before this whole thing.” Dr. Drops seemed a bit terrified but stayed silent, letting Tommy continue. “It… I slipped?” It wasn’t a lie– it was just embarrassing. “Black ice, you know,” he tacked on, trying to appeal to the man by seeming a bit more relatable. He could feel his face burn, ears turning hot from the embarrassment.

“You– this winter?” the dark haired man asked, disbelief evident in his voice. Tommy just nodded, watching carefully as the other’s face morphed from mild shock to horror. “That was– it’s almost May,” he exclaimed. “You must’ve noticed something?”

No shit, Tommy noticed something. His arm had hurt like a bitch if he moved it too much, but if he kept still enough, it was pretty alright. It only hurt when he was sitting down. And laying down. And sleeping became a pain. And don’t get him started on using the espresso machine at work, it was a pain in the ass to try and use only one hand, so of course he would start using it again soon. When the pain never resided, Tommy just shrugged and continued on. “I– yeah,” he admitted again. “The show must go on though,” he tried to grin at the man, but he only received a pitying look in return.

“Well, you’re lucky we have some good healers here. You’ll still need to go under for us to fix it, but it should be a pretty light surgery,” Dr. Drops explained, trying to give the boy a comforting smile despite his clear exasperation. “As for your throat, just try to not speak a lot. The healer we bring in might be able to fix that, too, seeing how Siren wants to talk to you pretty soon.”

Again, Tommy’s world was turned upside down with only a few words. “Siren,” he rasped, eyes wide as saucers and glittering with admiration that he would deny was there. “Siren wants to talk to me,” he continued, looking at the doctor for confirmation.

The man in question nodded with an amused smile. “Yeah. He was with you on the rescue mission, he needs some info about what happened.” Drops’ eyes glittered with mischief. “Don’t tell him I said this, but I think he’s worried, too.”

Tommy gasped, and Drops let out a laugh.

Drops closed some windows on the computer monitor and picked up the clipboard, making his way back towards the door as he talked. “Alright, I’ll get in contact with a healer and get you fixed up soon as possible, alright? Siren will come and ask you some questions since he was one of the head-honchos of this operation, then he’ll give that info to me, so be sincere with him,” he said, and the tone he said it in reminded Tommy of a strict but kind parent from those movies. Drops stopped himself right before he exited the door, reading something on his clipboard and halting, then turning towards Tommy.

“Oh, about your uncle,” he said, this time more sombre. Tommy sucked in a breath.

He had completely forgotten about his non-existent uncle. Sometimes, it made things more difficult for him, but seeing how he got the fake papers when he was fourteen and couldn’t lie about being eighteen at that point, they had opted to make him 16 and say he was living with his uncle. Now that two years had passed and he was “legally” 18, it only tripped him up.

“O-oh, he’s…” Tommy struggled to find a good excuse, not even daring to look in Drops’ direction. “He’s on a business trip,” was the flimsy excuse he came up with.

Drops’ eyes glowed, and fuck, Tommy had just lied to the person with a built-in lie-detector for a power. But the man didn’t press, instead he just gave him a sad smile and nodded at him.

“I’ll be back soon to check in on you, Tommy. Get some rest.”

And that was all he said before he left, leaving Tommy alone in the room again.

Tommy sat propped up in the ridiculously soft bed, thinking about the bombshells that had been dropped on him.

His emotions simmered in his chest, excitement mixing with fear, dread, and nervosity. So much had happened in that small amount of time– he was now apparently in the Hero Tower, Siren wanted to see him, and he almost exposed himself completely to his doctor who was a human lie detector. And he apparently had broken an arm a few months ago. It was so much, almost too much. Going from total isolation to whatever this was made his heart go into overdrive, thoughts running faster than he thought they ever could. It felt as if he was teetering on the edge of full fledged panic, dark thoughts nipping at the edge of his conscious but ultimately being out-won by the idea that he was in the hero tower. Stubbornly, he forced himself to think about anything but the last… four days or however long it was with dream.

The sound of talking outside his door caught him off guard, and soon after, his door opened again.

Except this time, it wasn’t Dr. Drops in the doorway.

Siren stood in the entrance of the room, almost awkwardly with how his tall frame looked next to the door. The hero had frozen where he stood, making direct eye-contact with Tommy, or, as much eye contact as he could with the mask covering his face. He was still dressed in his hero uniform, too, a suit with tech built into both sleeves and heavy combat boots, but the trench-coat that the man usually wore like a cape (it seemed impractical, but if he wore it, then he wouldn’t be able to reach the displays on his sleeves Tommy figured) was nowhere to be found.

The man fixed his posture, standing up straighter as he closed the door behind himself. “Hello… Tommy. Are you feeling better?” And it almost sounded a bit hesitant, a bit timid, as if Siren wasn’t one of the top heroes.

“Holy shit, you’re Siren,” he wheezed, which made Siren stand up even straighter and walk over towards his bed, making Tommy jolt in surprise. In a flurry of motion, Siren was now standing next to his bed.

“Are you alright? Do you remember what happened when we got you? Do I need to get Ponk,” Siren asked, the questions flowing from the man as he leaned over the bedside. He was almost leant over him, inching closer to inspect the boy. If Tommy was delusional, he’d probably say that Siren was worried for him.

Tommy brought his hands up weakly, looking at the hero with both confusion and amazement. “I-I’m fine,” he said, almost to awe-struck to speak. Silence fell over the room as Tommy stared at the other, gathering his thoughts and reflecting over the rest of Siren’s sentence. He did remember waking up and seeing Siren, but it was all fuzzy and distant. “A little bit,” he willed himself to say. “You were there… and….” Something in his head clicked. “You fell for my sugma joke.”

Siren’s shoulders slumped and he leaned back with a small sigh. “Thank god. That wasn’t very funny, though.” Tommy would argue that it was, but didn’t want to interrupt. “Sorry for that. I just came here to check up on you after all of that. We have to talk about what happened, but seeing how you just woke up, we’ll save that for another time.”

“Check up on me?” Tommy hated how small he sounded, curse his sore throat, but the question slipped out anyway.

“…Yes,” Siren confirmed, voice sounding awfully strange. “You had me worried there.”

 “Oh.” He clutched at the blanket covering him, pulling it up the tiniest bit again. “I’m– fine,” he assured the man, but even to him, the words sounded stilted and plagued. Really, Tommy was at a loss. What does one say to a pro hero who’s standing over your bedside and acting awfully strange? “Sorry.”

Siren stared at him blankly, so many layers of emotions hidden behind his mask that Tommy couldn’t even begin to decipher it even if he tried. The silence felt tense and made Tommy’s throat close up, and quickly he had to look away from the hero.

“Do you mind if I ask for how long you were there? I won’t ask you all the questions now, I just want to know, if that’s alright,” Siren said, voice silent and careful.

Quick to jump at the opportunity to quell the silence, Tommy snapped his head towards Siren again, only to realise he had no definite answer. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday, twenty-second of May.”

The boy stared a bit more, cogs in his head turning. He had thought he was gone for just about four days, yet when Siren said the date, his heart dropped. First of all, he knew he had work the day he was kidnapped, which meant that it had definitely been more than four days. That, and Tommy remembers the date of the day, too, only because he had been forced to schedule in an extra long shift for that specific day. It made him queasy when he had to say it out-loud.

“It was,” he started, voice unwillingly silent. “Tenth. May,” he clarified, still shaken up. Siren seemed to be a mix between relieved and even more high-strung.

“Twelve days. Alright, thank you for telling me,” the hero said, voice soft and careful, almost enough to distract Tommy from the tidal waves of emotions in his chest.

He was fucked. He’d missed so many shifts, lost so much money, and missed paying his rent that was due the fifteenth. He’d be lucky if he got to keep his job or apartment by this point. His boss was kind, maybe he’d be given a second chance, but Tommy is well aware that apartments can be rented out easily in the city. And even if he was allowed to keep renting it, paying double rent next month, he’d have almost no money to pay for it with. Maybe he could just barely scrape together the funds, but then he’d probably have to sacrifice food. And the hospital bills. Health-care was free, but there’d probably be some emergency fee, just like how it was at the emergency room, and then he’d–

“-eed you to calm down. Can you hear me?”

His head snapped up, and suddenly, Tommy was made aware of his breathing, His tunnelling vision finally fanned out, ripping him back into reality. Along with the noise of Siren’s voice came the annoying beep of what was probably a heart-monitor, going a tad too fast to be normal. He turned towards the voice, meeting the one barely unmasked eye of Siren, now a lot closer than he was before.

“Can you hear me?” Tommy nodded dumbly, pulling his knees up to his chest and gripping the comforter closer. “Alright, good, that’s good. Can you tell me where you are right now?”

Tommy just whined and screwed his eyes shut, being reminded that he was not at work right now, couldn’t be at work, and every second he sat here he was wasting precious time. God, if he didn’t do something soon, he’d end up back on the streets again.

“That’s alright, that’s alright. Look at me?”

He obliged, opening his eyes to look at Siren again, who was now sitting a bit closer than he was before.

“That’s good, thank you,” Siren continued, voice gentle and fitting for a hero he thought. “What’s your name?”

Tommy was pretty certain that Siren already knew his name. Kind of rude of him to forget, really. Either way, he took a steadying breath and focused up. “Tommy,” he started, eyes wavering but still finding their way back to Siren. “Thomas Barton.”

“Great Tommy, you’re doing good.” It felt strange to hear his name come from the hero’s mouth. It sounded like an alien word or like he was referring to someone else other than himself. “Are you feeling calmer?”

The urge to snap back with a snarky response was overwon by the sound of concern in the other’s voice, and Tommy faltered. “Y-yeah. Sorry ‘bout that,” he almost whispered.

“It’s alright, Tommy. You don’t have to apologise.”

Silence returned to the room. Tommy decided that staring at his knees that he was still hugging was a good way to pass the time, and a lot more bearable than looking at Siren himself. He could tell the other was looking at him though, which he didn’t know what to make of. The guy was a hero, Tommy would know, but it felt so strange to be on the receiving end of the heroics like this. He had watched as the hero saved many, calmed others down in the way he did for Tommy, but it was like a small stab in the heart when it was for himself.

“I…” Tommy trailed off, not knowing how to start. “Do I have to pay for this? The hospital,” he said, cringing at the state of his voice. But he needed to know, so he disregarded his health for a little while more.

Siren stared, still not breaking the silence. “No,” he finally said, almost sounding shocked. “This is covered by Bullseye. So is whatever else you need to heal.”

The blond bit worried his bottom lip. “…How long will I have to stay here?”

“’Till your healed, maybe a couple of days. Why do you ask?”

“I missed paying rent this month,” he admitted, shame of the sentence weighing down on him even if it didn’t make sense for him to feel this way. Siren seemed to agree, judging by the heavy silence in the room.

“You pay rent?” It wasn’t the answer he was expecting, really. Hell, it wasn’t even an answer, just another question.

“Yeah, live on my own ‘n shit.”

Tommy didn’t know someone faceless could emote this much before this, but the way Siren’s posture changed indicated his feelings clearly. “How old are you,” he asked, voice not unkind, more confused and worried than anything. It almost made him break down right then and there, having someone express so much worry with just four simple words, one small interaction.

“Eighteen,” he said, avoiding Siren’s gaze in fear of breaking down if he dared to look at him for more than a second.

“Who’s your…” the man trailed off, question only half finished but crystal clear either way.

“My uncle. He’s working abroad,” Tommy rattled on with much less ease than usual due to the heavy weight that had settled in his gut.

Siren sat silent again, staring at Tommy with a look that made Tommy retract his previous statement. He had no clue what the hero was thinking. Maybe he was weirded out by the fact that he lived and worked alone. Maybe he pitied him. Maybe he didn’t believe him. The weight grew heavier, and a lump appeared in his throat.

“We’ll pay your rent,” Siren started carefully. “You’ve been missing for almost two weeks, you don’t need to worry about that now.”

The boy’s cheeks grew a little red. “Ah,” he said. How could he forget these people were rich. Bullseye was quite literally the biggest hero corporation in the country, of course they’d have the money to pay his rent. Even if he felt bad about missing out on so much of his regular life, he didn’t have to worry about that anymore, he guessed.

Siren brought him out of his thoughts by leaning a bit closer. “You still haven’t met Philza,” he started, voice gentle and kind. “I promised you he’d be there if you stayed awake when we rescued you, I think you should hold me to my word.”

Tommy’s chest fluttered with excitement, previous blunder and anxiety being drowned out by the admiration for the mentioned hero. “Really?” he said, tone completely incredulous as he screwed around in bed to stare at Siren. The man in question just nodded, crossing his arms over his chest in a self-satisfactory manor.

“Yes, however I do think you should see that healer that Ponk was talking about first. It would be hard to speak to him if your voice is like that,” Siren said, concern again leaking into his voice.

Maybe the man was right, his throat did hurt whenever he started talking, but this was the most interaction he’d had in twelve days, apparently. So he strode against it, ignoring the way he sounded in favour of feeling more human for lack of better words. “It’s alright,” he said, punctuated by an impeccably un-well-timed squeak in his voice.

“Mhm,” Siren hummed sceptically, judging eyes burning into his skin. “I’ll ask him to bring them over quick, alright?” He stood up, lingering at his bed a little while before he started walking towards the exit. “I’ll check with him right now. Take care Tommy, really.”

And with that, Siren was gone, leaving Tommy to wallow in the aftermath of the conversation.

Chapter Text

Wilbur thought that talking to the kid would help ease his own nerves, but as he left the room, the weight in his gut had only doubled.

The kid– Tommy, had gotten a near anxiety attack at the mention of the days he had spent in the room, which wasn’t surprising, really, Wilbur shouldn’t have asked. But the nagging worry of not knowing if the kid had been there for three months or three days out-won his logical thinking. What he didn’t expect was how the boy started asking about his rent, out of all things. Not how his uncle reacted, or if he’d even been asking about him. Wilbur had been shocked to see the room empty, but when he brought it up to Tommy, the boy had just evaded his gaze and almost looked like he was going to cry.

Usually, Wilbur didn’t get this invested in rescue missions, but Tommy had something to him. Maybe it was the way he seemed too young, far too young to be where he was found, or it was the fact that it was one of the more gruesome situations he’d had to help out in, but something made him care just a little bit extra about the stranger.

Subconsciously, his feet had carried him over to where Ponk’s office was located. Office might be too big of a word– it was cleanly, of course, but more homely than you would imagine for one of the head doctor of Bullseye. There was an orange couch, a red minifridge, and several pictures on the walls that clashed with the sleek and modern technology that was standing neatly against the walls. Even his desk was unusual– pens lay scattered on the standup desk, the designated pen holder not being good enough apparently. Wilbur didn’t bother knocking on the glass door as he entered, knowing Ponk was expecting him after his visit to Tommy.

As he opened the door, Ponk’s head snapped up, and the man smiled. “Welcome back, Siren,” he said, looking a tiny bit cheeky. Wilbur just grumbled and took off his mask, causing Ponk to gasp dramatically. “Wilbur! I didn’t recognise you,” he teased, walking away from his stand-up desk to pick up a manilla foulder.

“Yeah, very funny,” Wilbur shot back, sounding a bit more exhausted than he expected of himself. Ponk seemed to catch on to it as well, face falling into something more sympathetic and understanding in just a few seconds. Even without his powers, the man had always been good at reading emotions. “Sorry, I’m just…” Wilbur trailed off, groaning and rubbing his face, already walking over to the couch at the far end of the room and plopping himself down.

“I’m taking it didn’t go very well?” Ponk leaned an elbow onto the desk, looking down at Wilbur with a small smile.

The man hummed. “He… He started freaking out about paying his rent, Ponk.” Wilbur folded in over on himself, placing his elbows on his knees and holding his face in his hands.

Ponk’s face fell, sombreness taking over the room quickly. “I kind of guessed that he lived alone. We tried calling his contact person– his uncle, but the number just rang out. No voicemail message, either.” Ponk sighed.

“Even if he works over seas–“

“I don’t think he does,” Ponk interrupted. Wilbur turned his face up and looked at the man, confused.  “I told him he didn’t answer, and he… I could tell he was lying, but I didn’t want to push.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Ponk continued. “He also had a fracture from almost half a year ago that he didn’t go to the hospital for. I think there’s more going on than just the fact that he got kidnapped. But who am I to speak, I’m just a doctor,” he joked, the last part of his sentence falling flat. He sighed, giving Wilbur a genuine look. “I’m worried.”

You tell me, Wilbur thought, barely having the restraint of not saying it aloud. “Yeah,” he settled on saying.

“After we get the healer here,” Ponk said, now facing away from Wilbur as he opened and skimmed through the folder he picked up moments prior. “You’ll get to talk to him. But I also think he should go see a therapist before he’s let out. Who knows what happened to him during his stay, and maybe it would be easier for him to not talk to one of his idols.”

Something strange and foreign bubbled in his chest at being called this random kid’s idol. He pushed it down all the same.

“Twelve days.”

“What?”

Wilbur sat up straighter, leaning back on the back of the couch. “He was kept there for twelve days,” he reiterated.

Ponk stilled completely, hands frozen in the air. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Wilbur said in a low voice, sounding almost as exhausted as he felt. “I promised he could meet Philza,” the man continued, now a bit more enthusiasm in his voice. It really was endearing, how much of a fan the kid was. “So we better get him that healer quick. I didn’t want him to meet Phil when his voice is that wrecked.”

The other laughed. “I already put in a request, they’ll bring a healer in a few hours.”

At times like these, Wilbur was grateful for the resources of the hero corp. Of course he always was, but just a bit more than usual. The thought of having to hear the boy talk with that whistly and raspy voice for a second more would make phantom pains shoot down Wilbur’s throat. He nodded, and with a huff, Wilbur was standing up again, striding towards the door.

“Tell me when he’s healed and woken up, alright? I’ll go check with Phil if he’s free anytime soon,” he said, pausing at the door frame to give Ponk a look.

The man looked back at him, a sincere and knowing glint in his eyes. “I will. Don’t worry yourself to death, Wil,” Ponk replied.

Wilbur looked away slightly, turning to head out the door. “I won’t.”

The last thing he heard before he went in the general direction of the elevator was Ponk hollering out a “I can tell when you lie!” at him, which he promptly ignored in favour of making haste out of there.

He fiddled with the loose coin that he had in the pocket of his trench coat as he waited for the elevator, nerves dying down to make room for the bone-deep exhaustion. It had been almost a full day since they came back from the rescue mission, and the paperwork really wasn’t making it easier for Wilbur to take in the whole event and process what even happened. Before he visited Tommy, he had trudged through it for a good few hours, but it was ultimately the same paperwork that forced him out of his chair to go visit the boy. Having to write about some poor stranger instead of making sure they were actually alright didn’t feel very heroic, so he had gotten his suit on and visited.

The elevator dinged, doors opening up to reveal it empty. Wilbur stepped in and pressed the button for Phil’s office– one of the top floors, fitting for a top hero– and again waited as he was brought up.

When the doors opened again, he was met with the sight of the huge windows that overlooked all of the city, a direct view into the common area. Even if it was an “office-floor”, the heroes themselves had pretty much free reign of the interior design, and no one was keen on sitting in a stuffy cubicle. So instead, there was a larger common area with sofas and a small kitchen area for preparing lunch. That wasn’t why Wilbur was there, though, so he continued walking past the room and towards the door that lead into Phil’s office.

Not even bothering knocking, Wilbur barged into Phil's room, only being met by a delighted, if not a little bit confused, Phil, sat behind his desk reading some document.

“Hey mate, any reason you’re barging into my office with no notice?” Phil smiled nonetheless, already shuffling away the documents to give Wilbur his full attention. It made warmth bloom in Wilbur’s chest, and he cracked a small soft smile to himself.

“Phil, are you free soon,” he asked in an almost demanding tone. It didn’t matter, Wilbut knew Phil understood his jokes and him.

Phil, as expected, chuckled. “Depends. When and for what do you need me?”

“Your biggest fan is in the hospital wing right now, I promise you’d visit him.”

Wilbur could see the cogs turning in Phil’s head. “You… Techno?” Wilbur chuckled and shook his head. “Who are we talking about, Wil? Is it just some random kid?”

“Kind of,” Wilbur started, a bit hesitant. It was technically correct, but describing Tommy as ‘some random kid’ felt… weird. It painted him in the wrong light, somehow. “He’s,” Wilbur started, cutting himself off with a sigh as he plopped himself down on the couch that stood opposite of Phil’s desk, facing the huge floor-to-ceiling windows behind the it. “The kid we rescued yesterday.”

“Oh,” said Phil softly. “I heard about that. Did everything go alright?” Concern seeped into the man’s words, making Wil grow even more warm.

“Well, sort of. It wasn’t supposed to be a rescue mission, but then this kid just… He was just there, tied up alone into a room. He’d been there for twelve days, Phil. And when he woke up, he,” he cut himself off, remembering the moment and almost chuckling despite himself. “He was cussing me out for not being as cool as Philza. I promised him you’d meet him.”

Phil had a horrified look on his face. The mental image of a person being held captive like that for so long didn’t sit well with anyone, really. It was switched out to a small, sympathetic but hesitant smile after a while. “Sure, mate. I bet he had a hard time,” he said, voice soft and caring. “Plus, I have to prove my superiority to Siren,” he joked, causing Wilbur to actually huff out a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wilbur said, rolling his eyes fondly. “I’m still better than you, old man.”

It didn’t take long for Phil to forget his work completely, instead falling into familiar banter that second by second chipped away at Wilbur’s nerves.

—

Wilbur passed the time as well as he could by doing menial tasks– paperwork, cleaning his office for once, bothering Phil and Niki. But nothing he did fought off the nagging worry in the back of his mind. The only saving grace was Phil’s soothing and familiar company and the small updates he got from Ponk on the situation.

They had gotten a healer to take care of Tommy just a few hours after the whole debacle, but the meeting had to be postponed. According to Ponk, it wasn’t supposed to be a very complicated surgery– healing his vocal chords would be easy, but due to the small fracture in his arm that had healed incorrectly, they still had to make a small surgical incision for it to heal right this time. Wilbur had worried at that, but after some reassurance from Ponk, he went back to biding his time until he could visit again.

But eventually the time came.

After an eternity of waiting (a day and a half, really), Ponk messaged Wilbur to give him the go ahead, now that the kid was awake and not delirious from painkillers.

Wilbur, who had been wasting away his time with picking through one of the several junk drawers in his office, wasted no time in racing to the elevator to tell Phil. All paperwork was forgotten in favour of visiting Tommy, who was finally awake and was owed a visit from the Philza.

“Are you sure this is fine? I’m sure he’s still overwhelmed from what happened,” said Phil tenderly, slowing the pace at which he walked towards the room Wilbur had pointed out as Tommy’s.

“I promised him,” Wilbur bargained. “And I’m pretty sure he’s bored in there. Imagine having to spend two whole days alone in a hospital bed.” Saying it out loud made something in Wilbur’s stomach churn. He shouldn’t have to be alone– he should be having visitors and family over.

Phil seemed to be thinking the same thing, and with a soft sigh and a fond smile, he followed Wilbur to the door. “Alright, but if anything happens…”

“Yeah, yeah, old man,” Wilbur said, securing his mask and pushing open the door.

When the door was finally open, they were met with the sight of Tommy sitting alone in the hospital bed, surrounded and burrowed into the many, many pillows. A small stuffed animal was nestled in next to him, and Wilbur recognised it as one of the stuffed animals they keep for kids waking up after surgery. Nothing had really changed in the room except for Tommy being awake and looking a bit livelier than before. One of the shitty magazines from the bedside table hand been snatched up and laid opened at the foot end of the bed, clearly abandoned a while ago.

At the noise of the door opening, Tommy’s head snapped up, eyes locking onto Siren with a glimmer in his eyes. The hint of a shocked smile could be seen on the corner of his lips as Tommy went to sit up a bit straighter, seemingly a bit flustered to be in the same room as the heroes.

“Sire–“ He started, cutting himself off when he noticed the person behind Siren. “Holy shit,” he mumbled out, clearly not meant for the others to hear.

Phil took a few more steps into the room, giving his signature smile to the boy, not hidden by a mask. Phil didn’t really have a secret identity– his identity was definitely protected, but his face and name were common knowledge. “Hiya, mate. How are you doing?”

Tommy’s eyes looked like they were ready to pop out of their sockets– the teen looked amazed, terrified, and like he didn’t believe his eyes all at the same time. He took a shaky breath and mumbled something. Wilbur thought he could pick up the faintest “holy shit it’s Philza,” but maybe it was his imagination.

“I told you I’d make good on my promise,” Wilbur said with a roll of his eyes, walking over to sit next to the bed, Tommy still spluttering in disbelief. “You thought I was lying,” he joked.

“I– sorry,” Tommy started, clearly not having found his bearings yet. “H-holy shit,” he whispered, flicking his eyes between Wilbur and Phil, who was fetching one of the chairs that stood by the table to also sit down next to the kid’s bed.

Phil laughed which caused Tommy to jump, and it was if he finally became conscious again. Quickly, he took the stuffed animal that was resting next to him and shoved in in under the cover and forced himself to sit up even straighter. The teen’s cheeks had started dusting a slight shade of pink, but Wilbur wasn’t going to comment on it. Both of the heroes in the room had to bite back a chuckle at the little display.

“You’re Tommy, right?” Phil asked, smile still bright as always.

Tommy stared at Phil, mouth slightly agape and eyes glittering as he nodded. “Y-yes sir,” he said, forcing himself to grit out an answer after a few seconds of disbelieving silence. “You’re Philza,” he continued, a bit shy almost.

“Yes, mate. It’s nice to meet you,” Phil confirmed, nodding.

Tommy seemed too stunned to do anything, really, only sitting and flicking his gaze between the two heroes in amazement. He looked quite young, surrounded by all of the pillows and beeping machinery keeping track of him, especially with the childlike wonder in his eyes. Wilbur fought off a smile.

“Phil, he has Philza socks,” Wilbur announced proudly, ruining the moment and turning his whole body when talking to his fellow hero.

The kid let out a squawk, face going beet-red in a matter of seconds. “I didn’t tell– did I?” Tommy grappled with his own memory of the events for a few seconds, only to figure out what happened and stare at Wilbur with a renewed vigour.

“You bitch! You promise you wouldn’t tell him,” he said, voice louder now that it wasn’t absolutely destroyed from whatever had happened earlier. It was loud, and a bit high pitched. Maybe it was the embarrassment, Wilbur thought with a shit eating grin.

Phil let out a loud laugh, leaning onto the arm rest of the chair as his shoulders shook with the laughter. Wilbur wore a smug smile under the mask that Tommy couldn’t see, but could hopefully feel the aura of.

“Oh come on, it was too good not to tell,” Wilbur said in a matter of fact voice. “Plus, I’m sure Philza is very flattered, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Phil wheezed out between chuckles, giving Tommy another smile. “I don’t judge, I have Blade socks.”

Tommy’s face heated up even more, and he balled his fist into the comforter in an attempt to escape his embarrassment. “Thank you, Phi– Mr. Philza,” he corrected, still staring down at his own lap trying to hide his blushing face but being betrayed by his red ears.

“Oh mate, Phil is just fine,” Phil assured.

“But you’re Philza,” Tommy exclaimed, snapping his head up to stare at the man. His gaze was intense, passion dancing in his eyes. “You’re the– you’re the hero!”

And suddenly, something in Tommy’s demeanour changed. Maybe he was ready to embrace the fanboy part of him that he was so clearly trying to stifle, or he was too shocked to register what he was doing, but soon enough he was leaning in closer towards Phil, trying to convince him that he was, in fact, the best hero ever.

“I mean, you– remember when you saved like, fourteen civilians all on your own when back-up didn’t arrive a few years ago on Queens street? It was amazing! And your powers– your wings are so sick!! But since that’s only your hybrid trait you have your enhanced luck as like, an extra power! Or I guess that’s your only power, but the flying is really cool, it should count as two, really. And come on, how can you not be the best hero with a power like that, it’s obvious you’re the best!!”

The other two in the room barely got a word in as the boy went on his spiel about Philza’s powers, so well-rehearsed and cohesive, almost nothing was left out, not even an analysis on the man’s hero costume. When Wilbur glanced over at Phil, he could see the man’s shock quickly warp into an impressed and maybe even fond smile. In his short time of knowing Tommy, Wilbur had learned that that was probably a pretty normal reaction. The kid had a way’s of making people care for him, whether he knew it or not. It didn’t take a genius to see that Ponk was already warming up to him, too.

“Hm, well now that you put it that way,” Phil said, putting a finger on his chin and making an exaggerated thinking face with a sly grin. “I guess you’re right. You seem like our hero expert here, so who am I to doubt you?”

Tommy choked on something, most probably air seeing how he hadn’t reached for the water since they entered. His cheeks flushed again and he smiled bashfully, trying and failing at covering it up. “I–I wouldn’t say expert…”

“You sound like you know quite a lot,” Wilbur pointed out, and Tommy snapped his mouth shut and turned even more red. “It’s impressive,” he backpedalled, not wanting the boy to feel ashamed. “Are you… Ever figuring on becoming a hero?”

“Ah,” Tommy said, shoulders drawing tighter and his posture going rigid. “I… kinda, uh. I kinda can’t, big man. Say’s it on me file,” he said in a stilted joking tone that fell extremely flat. “I don’t have any powers.”

Phil made a sympathetic noise, and Wilbur hummed after sitting in silent shock for a few seconds.

Not having powers wasn’t unheard of, really. Almost everyone had powers, but they weren’t all flashy or extravagant. Some people with powers might as well not have them at all, what with how specific and small-scale they were. And most people could live out their lives without being questioned of that. But it was still quite rare to not have one at all. Wilbur could take a wild guess that it stung quite a bit. People are assholes regularly, but if you’re considered an anomaly, it’s only worse.

“That doesn’t make it impossible,” Phil said, always knowing how to navigate any conversation.

Tommy hummed noncommittally, having gone back to fidgeting with the top of the comforter that lay on top of him. “If Philza says so, it must be true,” he mumbled, some amusement mixed with genuinely and what almost sounded like bitterness. “I’m too busy making gross sugary lattes to be a hero, though.”

Phil let out another hearty laugh. “Making people coffee is being a hero in and of itself, I think people would die if they didn’t get their coffee in the morning;” he joked, like he was an old dad. “I know he would,” he pointed towards Wilbur, and Wilbur feels himself blush only a little. Maybe it was strange for Tommy to see Philza, the number 2 hero, acting like a dad, a total dork.

“I wouldn’t say that–“ Wilbur started.

“No no, Mister– uh, Ph-Philza’s right,” Tommy started, still confused on as to how to refer to Phil; it was awkward in an endearing sort of way. It was like watching a baby deer start walking for the first time– the kid was slowly getting more and more confident, albeit not flawlessy. “I deserve to be called a hero after dealing with those sort of people,” Tommy continued. “I can’t count the number of times I’ve been shouted at over some gross sugar drink at 9 in the morning.”

Wilbur pressed his lips into a thin line. Annoying people came with working in the service industry, but knowing this kid that has been nothing but kind so far has to face those people made him frown. “Next time someone yells at you, you should call the heroes. We can fix that problem right away,” he joked, almost sounding a bit too serious.

Tommy laughed, voice finally growing louder and more confident, only for the kid to fall silent a few moments after. He swivelled his head to look at Wilbur, eyebrows shot up into his eyebrows and eyes twinkling. “Would you really?” Maybe there had been an attempt at hiding the childlike wonder in his voice, but it clearly fell completely flat. It was painful to look back at the kid, knowing that he was only joking. Maybe he wasn’t. Who even is this person? Wilbur shouldn’t be fussing over a legal adult that has his own job and apartment.

“Well, uh, I guess if my schedules open I could,” Wilbur stalked out, trying to figure out a way for this to work. He couldn’t let the guy down now, could he?

Phil laughed, putting a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound the tiniest bit. When Wilbur turned to glare at him, he could see the mirth in the man’s eyes. Sometimes, Wilbur wondered if Phil had some sort of mind-reading power like Ponk. He seemed to know way more than he should, judging by the playful and teasing smirk on his face at the moment.

Tommy spluttered for a few seconds, face going red again. “I mean– I know you’re fuckin’ busy, you don’t– I deal with those people all the time. I just thought,” the blond paused, forcing himself to stop the nervous blabber coming from his mouth. “You’re obsessed with me,” he settled on saying, a joking confidence infusing every word of the sentence.

“You– you’re some random child I found in a basement, I think I should be at least a little bit fussed,” Wilbur countered, leaning back in his chair with his arms over his chest.

“I’m eighteen, you dick,” the child in question said, all prior hesitance gone in a matter of seconds. From the corner of his eye, he could Phil frown before quickly covering it up– not that Tommy noticed it either way, being too busy with taking down the bigger threat.

“Legal adult. You look twelve, and act like you’re six at best,” Wilbur cracked out before he could stop himself. It was a cheap dig, not at all professional, but Wilbur was a menace first, hero second. Plus, it was kind of true.

“Oh you bitch!” Suddenly, Tommy was worming his way up from under the comforter, pushing against the many pillows. The stuffed animal– a small dinosaur, fell to the ground in the struggle, but Tommy was too caught up in his revenge to care, sights set on defeating Siren.

Wilbur laughed and jumped up from his chair, grabbing the back of it and turning it around to use it as some make-shift shield against the angry child. Tommy grumbled, folding his gangly legs up , looking almost like he would make a jump for the hero, seemingly forgetting IV stuck into the back of his hand combined with the large plastic clip that was monitoring his heartbeat. Just as he was about to lunge off the bed, Phil stood up which dragged all attention in the room to him.

The winged man took a few steps away from his seat to get closer to the left side of Tommy’s bed. Without a word, he bent over and picked up the small green plush that had fallen to the ground. “You dropped this, mate,” he said, completely innocently, holding the small green plush towards Tommy, who looked like he was about to die from embarrassment. Slowly, he sat back down, inching away from Wilbur who wore a victorious smile under his mask. “Be careful with your IV, too. We don’t want that to rip out,” Phil reminded, voice calm and collected, smouldering the small chuckles from the display before. When Tommy didn’t take the plush from his hand, Phil placed it next to where Tommy was sitting.

And just like that, the child had been bested. Phil wasn’t the number one hero for no reason, Wilbur supposed. For most, this probably looked just like any other kind act– Phil is a hero, after all. But Wilbur knew better. The man could be a little teasing shit when he wanted to, and the winged man definitely knew what he was doing in that moment. Wilbur smiled to himself again. He watched as Tommy settled down again, face and ears such a vibrant shade of red it could rival a tomato. The youngest grumbled something, sitting down next to the plush. Phil frowned. “What did the dino ever do to you?” He asked, sounding half genuine in his question.

Tommy spluttered, staring up at Philza for a second, clearly trying to figure out the right response. “N-nothing, sorry Philza.” He hesitated for a few seconds, still avoiding Phil’s gaze. When Wilbur looked over at the man, he was met with a hesitant smile and a shrug. “It’s just that I’m not a little bi–,” he trailed off, biting his tongue. “Baby,” he corrected.

Phil laughed heartily. “Doesn’t make you a baby,” Wilbur argued, leaning over to snatch the small dinosaur plush. He picked it up and held it up to his face, staring into the beady black eyes of the dopey plush. It was cute. “You can appreciate cute and soft things at all ages.” He turned the plush so it faced Tommy, effectively making the little dinosaur stare into the kid’s soul. “If you don’t want him, I’ll keep him.”

The kid sat silent, crossing his arms across his chest as he reluctantly stared back at the plush. After a few seconds of staring at it, he quickly swiped the plush from he heroes hand, mumbling something about “never giving up,” and “keeping it out of principle”. Either way, both Wilbur and Phil beamed a smile at him.

“Great!” Wilbur clapped his hands together, back straight as he wore a cheery face. “Now, Tommy, do you have a phone?”

Tommy went from positioning the little plush appropriately in his lap to looking at the hero. “Uh… I did. I think– I had it on me before I was… you know. Fucken ‘napped or whatever.”

“Ah,” Wilbur cringed slightly. “The hero association can get you a new one. My number will be in there. You’ll also get access to Puffy’s number, she’s a licensed psychologist. It’s procedure that you see her after an event like this. You’ll also get to talk to me about what happened for the investigation, but it’s better if you get some rest and talk to Puffy before that.”

Tommy nodded, looking a bit confused at all the information. “I– alright, sure. Sounds good.” He turned to cast a glance at Phil, only to turn back to look at Wilbur. “When do I… you know, come in here for interrogation ‘n shit?”

“Most employers are pretty understanding if one of their employees are called in by the Bullseye Corp, but if there’s any trouble, we’ll contact your boss.”

“Uh, I don’t,” Tommy started, looking around the room.

“Don’t worry about your pay-check. Your leave will be paid, and if they can’t allow that, we’ll cover your losses.” Wilbur felt something sour grow in the pit of his stomach, knowing this eighteen year old kid was so worried about being able to pay the bills. Phil seemed to be thinking the same thing, judging by the pinched expression on his face.

“Alright,” Tommy said, relaxing back into the pillows. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, Tommy,” Wilbur said, watching as the kid jumped at the sound of his own name. He frowned. “Again, don’t worry about any of the expenses. The phone is on us,” Wilbur stated, hoping of reassuring the other just the tiniest bit about his worries.

Tommy huffed and squirmed a bit in his seat. “Yeah, yeah, I understand,” he said in an almost defeated tone, only to cut himself off. “I mean, thank you– I didn’t mean to sound rude,” Tommy stuttered out, coughing awkwardly.

“You weren’t rude,” Wilbur was quick to jump in. “I get this is all very much for you. It’s okay for you to be tired.”

It was fascinating how expressive Tommy was. Wilbur watched as the boy’s face shifted, eyebrows knitting together and lips pursing. How his shoulders hiked up, how he curled in on himself, how he balled a fist into the front of the hospital gown he had been lent. The uncomfortable fabric that pooled around him, drowning him. His face looked like he had just been sucking on a lemon. His eyes were cast downwards, away from the others in the room. Faintly, Wilbur could hear him hesitating on what to say. “…Thanks,” he said, a lot more silent than just a few moments before.

Had he said something wrong? Maybe it was too soon to bring up the events that had landed Tommy here. A sombreness had taken over the room, and Wilbur couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault. He took a breath in to break the silence. “We’ll let you rest, I’m sure Ponk wants to update you on everything, too. I’ll swing by later to give you a new phone, alright?”

Tommy nodded, glancing up at them again. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thank– thank you, really.”

Wilbur waited. It seemed like Tommy wanted to say something more, but when the awkward silence returned to the room, he just nodded and stood up, patting Phil on the shoulder as he walked past.

Phil got up, ruffling his wings a bit as he stood up. He cast another kind smile towards Tommy. “It was really nice meeting you, Tommy.”

Tommy smiled back, and it seemed genuine. Something gleeful, despite his defeated demeanour from before. Wilbur smiled, too, even if no one could see it.

And with a small wave, they left the room once again, leaving Tommy with his new companion.