Chapter Text
It was a day like none other. Actually, that’s wrong. It was a day the exact same. It was the 11th of November. A cloudy day with no rain, which was honestly shocking for city weather right beside a lake. But other than that, it was an average, dull, and dreary day. With an average cold chill wind whistling between alleys and dead leaves from sidewalk trees littering the ground, average people either stayed inside or kept their heads down as they walked to work.
The Watson’s were decidedly not average. For they smiled, joked and teased their way to the building, they called their work. Phil Watson, the father, was covered up with a black coat and hand-sewn purple scarf his dear wife gave him for a long past birthday. Underneath, he wore an equally purple waistcoat and black dress pants. If it weren’t early morning, many would think he was going to a party. But, of course, those garments didn’t stop his nose or ears from being tinted pink, but even with that, he was a jolly blond with warm sky blue eyes and a matching welcoming smile.
Kristen Watson, the mother, was wearing a mulberry purple dress coat, buttoned up to the last button. She didn’t wear a scarf but instead was wearing simple black gloves to protect her delicate hands from the cold. Underneath, she wore a purple, the exact same shade as her husband’s waistcoat, form-fitting sheath dress. She sported tiny ebony black pumps and a briefcase in one hand. Her other hand was safely wrapped around Phil’s arm.
Then the twins. Two young adults on the opposite spectrum for happiness. One, reserved and quiet, with his hands in his pockets and a barely-there quirk to his lips. The other, loud and attention-grabbing with wild hand gestures and a laugh that would make the sun look dim. Both happy, satisfied, and gagging at the lovely sights of their parents kissing on the walk to work.
The older twin, by two minutes, Techno Watson. An eye turning name, but one his mother chose that was supposedly after a great war hero from times gone away with. He was dressed in a loose ivory button-up tucked into plain ink-black pants. Over his top, he had an unbuttoned garnet red coat hanging from his shoulders. The red would’ve been his fashion statement if it weren’t for his bubblegum pink hair that, even when braided, reached all the way to his hips and waist. Yet, shockingly, even though he’d been dying it since middle school, his hair was undamaged and shined like silk in the morning rays.
The younger twin, much to his dismay, Wilbur Soot Watson. The middle name was chosen by Wilbur when he was only ten and is, by his standards, a must when saying his name out loud. He was wearing an open muddled brown trench coat and a turtleneck just a few shades into the purple category. Along with his turtleneck, he sported black plaid pants. However, the most outrageous and supposedly ‘fashionable’ part of his outfit was the red beanie he insisted he must wear over his fluffy brown hair.
The family stopped in front of a tan building with stone pillars and elegant carvings. Their work. The Museum of Heroes and Villains. This is where we meet two other characters in our tale. Two teenage volunteer docents, Ranboo and Tubbo. They were huddled together on one of the benches a few inches from the steps leading up to the door.
Tubbo had an untucked green button-up and stained uniform pants. He wore over those garments a brown bomber jacket with a fur lining. His mop of chocolate hair was in need of a cut as it took him using clips to keep it out of his face. He had a wild grin as he spoke rapidly to his friend and green eyes that sparkled with most likely dangerous ideas.
Ranboo was listening carefully, but his mouth was covered with his black and white scarf he refused to take off even inside the museum. He would say for an explanation that he was always cold no matter what. He was wearing a plain tucked button-up and deep violet pants. Attached to his pant loops were golden chains, and attached to one of the chains was an emerald pendant. The most shocking thing wasn’t anything he wore, however. What caught everyone’s gaze was how he made even tall people look average at best. If he wanted, he could rest his elbow on Tubbo or even Phil’s head.
Noticing the Watson’s, the pair stood up and followed them up the cracked stone steps to the front door. Taking a plain key from his pocket, Phil unlocked the wooden doors and kept them open as the group walked in. They all removed their multiple layers of coats, scarfs-minus Ranboo-and gloves. Wilbur kept on the godawful beanie. They all gave each other pleasant introductions as Kristen went to turn on the lights for the entrance.
The museum was a marvellous thing that had lasted throughout generations of Watson’s. Marble floors and freshly polished walls were plastered in every room and section. Artificial candlelight gave the whole scene a classic look. The foyer couldn’t compare to any exhibit but had a front desk in the middle of it. The desk was a circle desk with a wall behind it showing off the first painting the Watson name ever collected. On top of the desk, maps and other information guests needed were out in the open. The room had four doors. One to the outside, two were openings with grand trims depicting different historical scenes that lead to various exhibits. A fourth one in the very back was a closed-door with the word staff only on it, leading to the back and staffroom.
The museum was like a tree in the way that the foyer was the trunk while the two doors were the starts of branches. Those exhibits lead to more exhibits and so on until you have a whole tree with at least 30 branches with 50 pieces acting as leaves.
Phil went behind the front desk to grab a clipboard with weekly schedules on it. He tapped the clipboard twice to get the group's attention and spoke.
“Alright, today will be a slow day. No shows or field trips. That means I’ll be with Tubbo and Ranboo helping educate people.” Tubbo and Ranboo smiled at each other and gave each other a high five, walking through one of the doors leading to an exhibit.
“Kristen, we have no new pieces coming in, so you’ll be the front desk.” Kristen smiled and walked over to the front desk. She opened a drawer and pulled out a nameplate with her name on it, putting it on top of the desk near the stack of maps.
“Techno, one of the paintings cracked, so you’ll be in the back restoring it to its former glory.” Techno gave a thumbs up and left the group, walking to the back.
“And Wilbur, great job on the french exhibit, but no new exhibit yet, so take a look around and get inspiration for one in the coming months.” Wilbur smiled and left to walk through the opposite door from where the two teenagers left.
With that, Phil flipped the sign that said open or closed and left to walk one of the many branches of the museum.
This is when our main character makes his appearance. He doesn’t look special and looks average. Messy blond hair, dull blue eyes that didn’t glimmer or shine like Phil’s, and a red and white t-shirt with cargo pants. He shows up 15 minutes after 11 A.M and doesn’t raise any suspicion as he buys a ticket. To her and the few people still in the foyer, he is nothing more than an average teen missing school to visit a museum. Okay, the museum part is a little weird, but he could be interested in art or history.
He doesn’t cause Tubbo or Ranboo to turn their gaze as he passes them. Phil only gives him a pleasant smile as he passes him as well. His hands are in his pockets, and he only stops for a couple seconds to look at some pieces and read what they are. Sometimes he hums as he reads. Other times, he scoffs and rolls his eyes before moving on. But, even this doesn’t raise any brows.
This is until he walks into a room the youngest Watson is in. Wilbur is sketching on a pad and paper. Not figures nor landscapes, but floor plans and ideas he has as he walks. But for now, he is sitting on one of the lush mauve benches placed in the middle of the room. This exhibit he’s found himself in is the final room of his renaissance exhibit.
Wilbur scribbles over another failed floorplan, huffing; he looks up only to spot the out of place blond teenager strolling through the museum. Almost every teenager he’s had in this room has been bored or tried to speed walk out of it. All the famous paintings and other art pieces are in previous rooms, so everything that people wanted to see is gone.
But not this one. He’s walking slowly, and something glints in his eyes as he spots a painting. His pace quickens as he stops in front of the painting. Intrigued, Wilbur stands up and walks over to the teen. Looking at the painting, Wilbur is perplexed as the piece doesn’t hold any popularity or significance. It was a plain painting of a woman, standing with one hand resting over a chair. The paint was delicate and shimmered with a freshly applied varnish, but what did that matter when nothing about the painting was eye-catching. A woman in a black dress, thickly filled collar, a long pearl necklace and an oddly placed hat. The woman wasn't beautiful nor had anything that would make you think she was anything but a lady of the court. But this teen was, for some reason, entranced by it.
“It’s a portrait of Elisabeth of Valois, the third wife of Philip The Second of Spain,” Wilbur speaks up. The blond turns to him before nodding and turning his gaze back to the painting.
“Who painted it?” The boy asked. His voice was harsh and was anything but melodic, but Wilbur still felt the strange urge to smile and continue.
“If I’m not mistaken, Titian. He also painted a portrait of King Philip The Second.”
“No, it’s not,” the teen said with a slight scowl. Wilbur blinked with shock, and his friendly smile became forced and sharp as he tried to keep pleasantries.
“Say again?”
“Titian didn’t paint it. He was in Venice at the time, painting the Annunciation. This portrait was painted by one of the only female painters in Italy, Sofonisba Anguissola,” the blond said with a tone like he expected Wilbur to know it like he knew common sense. This was when Wilbur realised this teenager was anything but average.
That’s when he looked closer at the teen and noticed something he didn’t see before. The dirty blond hair Wilbur barely noticed before now almost shimmered like it was freshly woven gold. Between the strands of gold, thin streaks of white only earned with age scattered from his part.
His skin was soft and flush with health for his grimy exterior and lower-middle-class look. But like the age earned white hair, parts of his skin held wrinkles only gained after time. Smile lines creased below his brow, and his hands had blue veins parting from the sunken skin. Everything about him looked young and old at the same time.
Everything but his eyes. In his eyes, there was a haze in their endless sea of blue that could only be compared to a diamond. A raw diamond that was yet to be polished or even found. Decades-old and still being pressed by the heavy crust of the world above him. Pure in every way, just waiting to be discovered and chiselled to become a world-famous jewel put on display.
This was a diamond Wilbur wanted in his grasp, one he wanted to never leave his side. Never leave this museum. His smile loses its strain, and his eyes glint with an almost possessive look. The blond doesn’t look at him but instead looks at the painting still.
“You must know your history. Wilbur Soot Watson, the middle name is necessary,” Wilbur says, extending his hand out for an expected handshake. At this, the teen stops staring at the painting and shakes Wilbur’s hand, staring at Wilbur with those diamond eyes.
“Tommy Aethra. The last name isn’t necessary,” Tommy says with a grin that almost explains the smile lines creasing his eyes. Almost. Wilbur chuckled softly, hearing the last name, and his eyes widened in surprise.
“No wonder you know history with a last name like that! Where’s it from?” Wilbur asks with a voice full of curiosity.
“It’s from Greece, but I’m not Greek. Nor my mum or pa,” Tommy says, but even Wilbur could guess he wasn’t greek. Tommy’s voice was full of a thick British accent. Not even a person who has lived in England for all 80 years of their life could fake an accent so thick, and Tommy was only around 17. No way was it fake.
“Must be a great grandparent then. So tell me, since you clearly know your history, what’s your favourite exhibit so far?” Wilbur asked. Tommy thought for a second before answering.
“Greek classics.”
“You sure love your Greek stuff, don’t ya?” Wilbur asked. They moved away from the painting now and are sitting on one of the plush benches. They are talking not in whispers since nobody but them is in this part of the museum.
“Of course I do. I like reminiscing,” Tommy says without adding to his statement.
“You mean reminiscing for your dead ancestor who gave you that sweet last name?” Wilbur said, trying to figure out what in the world Tommy meant by reminiscing about Ancient Greek.
“Uh, sure, we’ll go with that,” Tommy said quite ominously. That only confused Wilbur more, but even he knew he wasn’t getting a more straightforward answer than what he was given.
Wilbur didn’t know what else to ask, so the pair was left in peaceful silence. Then, seeing as Tommy wasn’t going to create another conversation, Wilbur grabbed his sketchbook from off the bench he left it on and pulled out a graphite pencil. He could feel Tommy’s gaze as he began sketching out the basic floorplan of certain rooms, trying to see what he could put inside them.
“What’s that you’re drawing?” Tommy asked. Without looking up, Wilbur responded.
“It’s a floor plan. I’m the exhibit designer and need a new one in a few months. I was told to look around for some inspiration, but I’ve got nothing,” Wilbur said, proving his point as he tore out another failed plan from the pages.
“How about a hero exhibition?” Tommy said. Wilbur looked at him with a furrowed brow, and Tommy continued. “This museum is called The Museum of Heroes and Villains, but I’ve never seen an exhibition about any heroes or villains. So why not do one about Greek heroes like Heracles, Achilles, or Theseus even.”
As Tommy finished, Wilbur’s eyes were sparkling with ideas. “Tommy, you’re a genius!” He exclaims, which catches Tommy off guard and makes him jump. But Wilbur didn’t notice as he had already flipped to a blank page and was furiously sketching rooms and art pieces. Tommy proved once again how much he knew by naming art pieces and suggesting where to put them.
By the time Wilbur is finished, his pencil is worn and graphite tip gone, and he has five pages filled. Five rooms presenting the great ten Greek heroes. Tommy helped Wilbur list what art pieces the museum might be able to get or already have that would depict these heroes.
“With the number of ancient pieces you know, I wouldn’t be shocked if you said you're a thousand years old and were there when they were created,” Wilbur jokes. He didn’t notice how Tommy stopped breathing for a moment. He didn’t notice the side-eye full of fear the blond gave him.
He didn’t realise he was so close to the truth.
He wouldn’t notice because Tommy laughed and playfully pushed Wilbur’s shoulder. “If I’m a thousand years old, you must be two thousand with that bald head.”
“I am not bald!” Wilbur shrieked.
“I dare you to lift those bangs up,” Tommy said with a tone full of confidence. The confidence was well put when Wilbur’s mouth snapped shut, and all he could do was glare.
“Whatever, child,” Wilbur said with a cross of his arms.
“I am not a child.”
“Mhm, sure you aren’t,” Wilbur teased.
“I am literally-okay y’a know what? I’m gonna head off now. My many wives need me,” Tommy said, standing up and brushing off non-existent dust from his pants before beginning to walk away.
“Wait, what? Hold on!” Wilbur leapt up, leaving his sketchbook again to chase after Tommy. They made it to the opening to the other room when Tommy turned back around to face Wilbur. Other people were in this part of the museum, so Wilbur kept his voice down as he walked up to Tommy.
“Are you gonna come back?” He asked with a voice that only a child would have with a parent about to leave for work.
“Back to the museum?” Tommy questioned. His brash voice was hushed like Wilbur’s to respect the other people mingling around them. Wilbur didn’t speak but nodded furiously and almost gave himself whiplash in the process.
Tommy thought for a second before answering. “Sure.”
“Tomorrow?” Wilbur asked with wide, almost puppy-like eyes.
“Only if I get a discount on a ticket.”
“Deal!” Wilbur said a little too loudly. He quickly shot the people in the room apologetic looks before turning back just in time to spot the blond disappearing into the crowd. Wilbur didn’t follow.
And when Wilbur Watson was questioned on his giddy grin by his family, his only response was that he met a diamond in the rough.