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“I mean, I heard the reviews were pretty decent. Wi–uh, Spectre was all like, oh it looks underwhelming, blah blah but he’s a downer, I think it looks sick.”
Short-Circuit swings his legs loosely, feet kicking hundreds of feet up in the air. Tubbo wants to tell him to get back away from the edge, a chiding “If you fall, that’s on you, man,” but he keeps it at bay even as his stomach lurches at the height. Tubbo’s come to learn that no matter what power he’s borrowing, the ability to be used to it doesn’t come along with the package. Tubbo could jump from this building and reach the ground on feet light as a feather, but it wouldn’t stop him from getting sick on the way down.
The view is pretty cool, though. He’ll admit that. It’s dark, midnight grey sky lit up by the light pollution of thousands of neon lights from the city below. Matchbox cars drive down inch-long streets. It’s too dark to even make out the people as anything but tiny specks.
It was Circuit’s idea to come up here. Icarus is still down on patrol, and Circuit wanted to see if he’d figure out where they were and fly up to get them. If not, he’d said, he’ll just grab onto Tubbo and they’ll both jump.
We won’t, Tubbo wanted to say, because using a power that isn’t his for something like that sounds terrifying, but Circuit is enthusiastic about it. Whatever.
“They used really sick special effects,” Tubbo says, rerouting his attention back to the conversation at hand. “I was doing some research into it. It’s like, way less CGI then they typically put in. I kinda wanna see it just for that.”
Circuit glances back at him. Tubbo can’t quite read his expression, between the dark and the mask over his face, but it looks like something crackles in his eyes. The faintest bit of static electricity. “We should watch it together. It comes out next weekend, right? Opening night, me and you. I’ll ditch Spectre, he’ll be obnoxious to watch it with anyway, cuz he talks during films and it’s annoying as shit. I think he does it on purpose because he knows it’ll piss me off.”
Tubbo finds himself grinning a little as he listens to Circuit ramble and complain. “That sounds horrible.”
“It is,” Circuit agrees solemnly. “Never have an older brother, Nova. It’s the worst.”
“I have an older brother,” Tubbo says, before he thinks better of it, and then he’s kicking himself. He doesn’t like accidentally giving out information, as small as it is.
“Does he talk during films?”
Tubbo doesn’t want to admit the truth, which is that both he and Quackity tend to have running conversations whenever the two of them watch something together, so instead he says, “Yeah, it’s the worst.”
“Brothers.” Circuit rolls his eyes and leans back, hands braced against the roof of the building they’re both sitting on. “So what do you say? Next Friday? There’s a theatre near where I live, we could meet there.”
And then Tubbo realizes what he’s nearly gotten himself into. There’s no way he can go see a movie with Circuit as Nova. He’ll be without his suit, no helmet and no mask; just him. Just Tubbo. And there’ll be no undoing that.
“Sorry,” Tubbo says, and Circuit barely seems disappointed. “I think I have plans next weekend.”
It’s not even a good excuse, and he’s waiting for Circuit to call him out on it, because that’s what Circuit does - argues and bickers for a few minutes every time Tubbo turns down an offer to hang out, and then eventually lets it go and never mentions it again. He’s grateful for that part, at least.
But this time, what Circuit says is, “Okay, that’s fair. Theatre’s a pretty big public place, right? I should’ve thought of that.”
Tubbo blinks. “What?”
“I mean, you don’t like being out in front of people without your mask, right? I’ve noticed.” Circuit waves one hand. “That’s okay. We can watch it when it’s like, on Netflix or something.”
And for some reason, there’s something warm in his chest at all of that. Circuit is… well, he’s a little off, but it’s sweet that he’s thought that much about it anyway. “Oh. Yeah, that sounds fun.”
“Deal, then.” Circuit raises one hand for a fistbump, and Tubbo meets it.
They’re interrupted by the sound of flapping wings then as Icarus finally locates the two of them, and the subject is dropped - at least for now.
Circuit asks again a week later. They’re cleaning up after a fight - an easy one luckily, some new villain putting up a fuss that was over practically before it began when The Blade got his sword against the guy’s throat and he buckled instantly. There was no way they needed all five heroes - they barely needed more than The Blade at all - so now the rest of them are on clean-up. Literal clean-up. The villain had thrown a piece of debris through a restaurant’s window during the fight, crushing some tables and chairs but luckily not injuring anyone. Tubbo has a broom and dustpan as he sweeps up glass all over the sidewalk, while Circuit’s carrying broken chairs outside.
“When do you guys think you’ll reopen?” he’s asking the guy behind the counter, who’s directing Circuit as he carries the furniture around. “You guys make the best sandwiches, no joke, I fuckin’ love your food. Good shit.”
“We’ll be back tomorrow, I imagine,” the guy says. “Long as that window gets fixed, I’ll be back in the morning getting everything set up.”
“Fuck yeah,” Circuit says. Tubbo just laughs at him, and he just points at him with one mangled chair leg. “Laugh at me now, Nova, but you won’t be laughing when you try the sandwiches. They’re to die for.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Tubbo says.
“I’m bringing you here first thing tomorrow,” Circuit says. “We’re skipping patrol and coming to get lunch together, me and you, all right, you’re not talking your way out of this one.”
Tubbo just shakes his head. “I’m not even working tomorrow, Circuit.”
He pouts. “We could hang out anyway. Could meet you here, noon?”
“I don’t know–”
“Too early? How about one?”
“Circuit.”
“Dinner better? We could try for six.”
“Circuit,” Tubbo interrupts again. He pauses now, leaning against his broom. “I’m busy tomorrow, I’m sorry. It’s my day off, I wanna do some other things.”
Circuit wrinkles his nose. “Sounds like you just don’t believe me. Don’t think the sandwiches are actually that good.”
“I’m sure they’re delicious,” Tubbo says. “Maybe another time, okay?”
He knows these excuses aren’t going to hold out forever. Circuit just keeps giving him that suspicious, disappointed look, and Tubbo’s not sure how much more of that he can take. He keeps waiting for Circuit to give it up, and maybe for him to get annoyed, frustrated that Tubbo won’t just give it up. He wonders how long it’ll take for Circuit to start hating him instead, to go cold and stop offering these always-declined invitations. To realize that Tubbo’s not someone he wants to hang out with, anyway.
Here’s another step towards the inevitable, Tubbo thinks. He sweeps up another dustpan of broken glass.
“Nova!”
The sudden shout startles him in the hall of the Hero Force’s headquarters, between the training room and lounge, where Tubbo normally holes up to work on homework in between training. Tubbo nearly jumps out of his skin, and then turns around to see Circuit racing down the hallway, half in costume with his suit under a red hoodie and his mask in one hand.
“Hey, hey, wait up,” Circuit says, slowing to a jog at Tubbo’s side. “Hey, I gotta go out on patrol tonight cuz it’s thunderstorming, so, y’know, my day! You wanna come along?”
Tubbo blinks. “I thought Spectre was on the schedule for that tonight.”
“Yeah, he is,” Circuit says. “But I thought maybe you could swap with him. He’s being a little bitch boy tonight, actually, cuz it’s his birthday tomorrow and he and Techno are like, so fucking annoying every year on their birthday–”
“Wait,” Tubbo interrupts. “Spectre and The Blade have the same birthday?”
“I mean, yeah,” Circuit says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s what happens when people are twins, innit?”
Tubbo just stares at him. “They’re twins?”
Circuit laughs. “Did you actually not know that? Yeah, they are. And the point is, they’re both so fucking annoying on their birthday and make everyone do everything for them and I just really don’t wanna go out with him on patrol tonight. He’s just gonna sit and make me run everywhere for him and he’ll blame it on being the fuckin’ birthday boy. I’m gonna get struck by lightning, like, five times, guaranteed. Please, Nova, please.”
And Tubbo stands there in the hallway with his homework under one arm, and a long list of things to get done today just waiting for him, and Short-Circuit standing in front of him with his hands all but clasped together looking at him with pleading eyes, and he just… doesn’t know what to say.
This is work, right? This isn’t hanging out. This is just going out on patrol. They’ll just walk around for a bit, stop some crimes, keep some people safe, and then head back home after. That’s it.
Then something else occurs to him. “Are we even allowed to go out on patrol just the two of us? We’re both junior heroes.”
Circuit stops. “Oh. I hadn’t considered that.”
Tubbo almost laughs, but before he has the chance to say anything else, a new figure appears around the corner.
“There you are,” Spectre says. He’s properly in costume, unlike Circuit, glasses in place over his mask. He’s got the same basic suit that the rest of the team wears, grey with the SBI logo emblazoned on the chest, though Spectre’s got blue stripes where Short-Circuit’s are red. Today he’s added a poncho, presumably to fend against the rain. Now, the older hero stops to sling an arm over Circuit’s shoulders - a familiar motion. Circuit does it to Tubbo all the time. “You ready for patrol?”
Short-Circuit scrunches up his face and whisper-whines, “Nova. Please. Help me.”
“Don’t tell me you’re trying to shirk off your work onto Nova,” Spectre says, grinning. “Come on, Circuit. You can’t just run off and splash around in the rain puddles tonight, we have work to do.”
Circuit gapes at him, mouth open and face darkening, and then he says, “I’m trying to shirk my work off? Me? You’ve been saying all day that you don’t want to go out tonight and I’m the one trying to make sure we actually do what our job is –”
Tubbo takes this as his cue to leave. “Bye, Circuit. Uh, happy birthday, Spectre. Have a good patrol.”
“Aww, you remembered my birthday!” And then he glares at Circuit. “You told him my birthday?”
“Nova,” Circuit pleads, ignoring that last bit, “You could just come along too–”
“See you, Nova,” Spectre chirps, taking Circuit by the arm. “Have a nice night!”
Tubbo’s in the lounge doing his homework again later on in the week when Circuit tries again. Honestly, his perseverance is admirable, Tubbo has to admit it. He really thought he would’ve given up by now.
But Circuit - or Tommy, since he’s always trying to get Tubbo to call him by his first name, especially when he’s got no sign of his suit, like he is now. No mask, no logo, just his red hoodie and a pair of cargo pants and blonde hair still messy from training. He sprawls down across one of the couches in the lounge, just barely missing Tubbo’s pens. He gathers them up now to avoid losing them to a misplaced kick.
“Hello, Nova,” Tommy says. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Tubbo says. “Just doing homework.”
“Hero stuff?”
“Nope,” Tubbo says. “Geometry.”
“Ew.” Tommy rolls over and props his chin up on his hands, looking down at the papers and calculator. “Maths are the worst.”
“They’re not really,” Tubbo says. “I like it.”
“Really?” Tommy sits up now. “That’s weird. Wait, I can go get my homework, actually. We can study together.”
Tubbo narrows his eyes. “Why do I feel like that won’t actually be studying with you?”
Tommy scoffs. “Excuse me, I resent those implications. I’m very good at staying on track with homework, actually. I have a routine and everything. Work for five minutes, eat a snack, work for another five minutes, take a twenty minute break–”
“This is what I mean,” Tubbo says. He writes down the answer to another problem. “That’s not very productive.”
“Well sorry we’re not all machines like you,” Tommy jokes, shoving Tubbo’s shoulder. “Some of us have to take breaks, you know.”
“Man, that sounds rough,” Tubbo says, mock-serious. “You should work on that. It’s incredibly inconvenient to have to rest.”
“Shut up,” Tommy says, laughing. “You really gotta work on that.”
“I’ll pass.” A few more buttons pressed on the calculator. The scratch of pencil against graphing paper.
“You could come to my house,” Tommy offers. “Phil’s making lasagna. We can study until it’s ready.”
Tubbo doesn’t even look up. “I’m not supposed to go anywhere after training until my guardian can pick me up.”
Which is completely untrue - he could text Sam that he’s spending time with a friend, and all Sam would say is “have fun” and ask if he needs to be picked up after. Sam would jump for joy at the idea that Tubbo has friends. Even if that friend is just the guy that Tubbo works with every single day already.
Tommy leans back on the couch, head tipped back against the cushion. “Why not? That sounds strict.”
Tubbo shrugs. “I dunno. It’s dangerous to go places alone, you know. You never know when somebody might not be who they say they are. How do I know you’re not some creep?”
“I’m your friend,” Tommy says, offended. Tubbo wants to laugh at his expression, but he just shakes his head seriously at him.
“Even still. You could be lying to me. You could be a shapeshifting alien who’s stolen my friend’s face and is masquerading as them to lull me into a false sense of security before you strike and like, eat my soul or something.”
Tubbo expects Tommy to play off of that - maybe dramatically reveal that Tubbo is right and has caught on to his evil plan, tackle him off of the couch and pretend to be a face-stealing alien for a little while, or just argue about it or something, but all Tommy does is give him this huge smile.
“So you admit it? I’m your friend?”
Oh. Tubbo hadn’t realized he’d said that. “Uh… I mean…”
“Nope,” Tommy says, still grinning. “No take-backs. You said I’m your friend. We’re friends now.”
Fuck. Shit. He had not meant to say that. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes you did,” Tommy chirps. “You definitely meant it. I’m your friend! You’re my friend! We are friends, and we’re gonna hang out and eat my dad’s lasagna.”
“We’re not,” Tubbo says, but Tommy doesn’t seem to hear him. “Is Icarus actually your dad? I thought he was younger than that.”
“Well–okay, no, he’s not. But he is my guardian, so it’s like, close enough, right?”
Tubbo shrugs. He wouldn’t call Sam his dad, but Tommy definitely seems closer to the rest of his team than Tubbo and Sam are. “Sure.”
The distraction works - Tommy starts talking about something else, forgetting about the invitation for the next ten minutes while Tubbo keeps working on his geometry homework. Eventually, Icarus - Phil - reappears and drags Tommy from the lounge, waving goodbye to Tubbo.
Another day, another close call. Tubbo spends the rest of the night pretending he’s not wishing he’d said yes.
Tubbo’s been having a shit day to begin with.
It’s one of those days where you just wake up wrong. His head feels stuffed with cotton, and he’s convinced Sam is pissed at him because he overslept and needed to ask for a ride to HQ to be on time for training. And then he fucked up two different exercises, and he botched a quiz, and he was supposed to take a nap to be rested for patrol but he just couldn’t and then he forgot to eat dinner so his hands have been shaking all night.
Overall, it’s just been a shit day and he’s ready to go home and go to bed. Luckily, he’s assigned to patrol with the whole team tonight, even if The Blade’s already ditched them for some other mission he got a tip on. It’s quiet tonight, so they don’t really need him, even if Tubbo’s too stressed out to do much.
(He’s got a shit power right now, anyway. Accidentally borrowed fucking water breathing from a random bystander last week. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that? Oh, look, a robbery in progress! Let him just quickly jump in the nearest pool and demonstrate how cool his new gills are!)
So it’s a damn good thing it’s been quiet so far tonight. Icarus is up in the skies, occasionally passing by overhead. Short-Circuit and Spectre are bickering, which is typical for them, and keeps them both entertained enough that Tubbo can just keep to himself and not be expected to contribute much.
Except for when Circuit tries to get him to take his side. “Nova. You agree with me, right? That’s such bullshit.”
He has no idea what they’re arguing about, so he just raises both hands. “I don’t wanna be involved in this. Leave me out of it.”
“He agrees with me,” Spectre says. “He just doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, because he’s nice, unlike you.”
“Fuck off,” Circuit says. “You’re such a bitch–”
And there they go again. Tubbo tunes them out once again.
That works for another twenty minutes, until Short-Circuit abruptly stops arguing and says, “Did you guys just hear that?”
Both of them freeze in place. Tubbo tries to get his brain to start paying attention and catch whatever it is that Circuit’s just noticed. God, he really does not want to get into a fight tonight. Can’t the criminals be respectful of him for one night? Just give up crime for once?
There’s a long moment of silence, and then another, as if none of them are breathing. Waiting for the next sound. Tubbo’s heart nearly beats out of his chest.
“What was it?” Spectre asks, finally breaking the silence in a hushed whisper. “I don’t hear anything.”
“I heard a cat,” Circuit says.
The adrenaline begins to dissipate. Tubbo thinks he’s never been this close to punching Circuit before.
“Oh my god,” Spectre says. “I thought you were serious.”
“I am serious! I heard a cat.” He spins on his heel and starts walking down an alley. “I’m gonna go find him. Here, kitty-kitty. Where are you?”
Tubbo just watches him walk away, disappearing around a corner and out of sight. “Should someone go with him?”
“Nah,” Spectre says. “He’ll be fine. You feeling okay, Nova?”
“Hm?” The way Spectre doesn’t even pause between the two statements catches him slightly off guard. But Spectre’s looking at him expectantly, eyes unreadable behind the dark-tinted glasses he wears, and Tubbo struggles to come up with an answer. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’m fine, thanks.”
“You sure?” Spectre leans his shoulder against the wall of a building, tilting his head towards Tubbo’s hands. “You’re shaking.”
Shit. Tubbo puts his hands behind his back, as if that’ll salvage anything. “Oh. Yeah, that’s just–it’s nothing. Forgot to eat earlier.”
Spectre clicks his tongue in disapproval, moves away from the wall. “We can’t have that. C’mon, there’s a McDonalds a couple blocks from here, they’ll be open still.”
“That’s okay,” Tubbo starts to say, but Spectre’s already walking. “It really is fine, I’ll be okay until we’re done with patrol.”
“You’re literally shaking,” Spectre interrupts. His tone is cheerful, but firm, like there’s no use arguing. Tubbo gives up and falls into step beside him, walking quickly to keep up with Spectre’s longer strides. “We’re getting you something to eat. Look around, there’s nothing to do anyway. Icarus and Circuit can handle it on their own for a few minutes.”
Except that after he says that, they turn a corner and there’s Circuit, falling into place beside them. “Hi. Where are you guys going?”
“McDonalds,” Spectre says. “Did you find your cat?”
“No,” Circuit says. “I don’t know where he went. Wait, hold up a second. Everybody stop.”
Spectre and Tubbo stop. Spectre raises one eyebrow. “What?”
“I thought I heard something,” Circuit says, and Tubbo stifles a groan. Now that Spectre’s brought it up, he can’t stop thinking about a cheeseburger. He’s so fucking hungry.
“Not another cat,” Spectre says. “I thought I heard–”
And then Tubbo hears the footsteps behind him. He whirls around, and from down the alley they’ve just walked past, Short-Circuit runs out. Again.
“I couldn’t find the cat,” this Circuit complains. “Where are you guys–”
He stops. He falls silent, mouth open in gaping surprise. Tubbo relates to the feeling.
“Uh,” Tubbo says. “Hey, the face-stealing alien thing was supposed to be a joke.”
“What the fuck,” first-Circuit says. “That’s not me.”
“No–what? No! What the fuck? What the fuck is that?” Second-Circuit stares back and forth between the other version of himself, Spectre, and Tubbo. “Is this a joke? Spectre, stop. Not funny.”
“That’s not me,” Spectre says, confusion evident in his voice. “That’s not–I’m not doing–”
It’s at that moment that the ground under Tubbo’s feet decides that it hates him.
There’s a few blades of grass that peek up between the sidewalk, and from that tiny space, something new takes root. Tubbo feels the ground bubbling under him. He glances down just in time to see a wide stem burst through, growing in size and speed as it shoots upward, and Tubbo just has time to think, Are you fucking kidding me? before it slams right into him.
He’s thrown back off his feet, trying to catch himself before he falls too hard, but something wraps around his ankle and tugs him off balance and he falls. His shoulder slams into the wall behind him, and he hears something pop as he slides to the ground.
Fuck. That’s bad. This is bad.
Someone’s screaming - well, screeching. Definitely Circuit. As he struggles to regain his bearings, Tubbo catches sight of three different versions of Spectre spread across the alley, and two Circuits, and he can’t tell how much is his vision swimming and how much is just… whatever the fuck is happening. One of the Circuit’s starts crackling with blue static, though, so he guesses that’s the real one.
“Hey, fucker!” Circuit shouts. “Show yourself!”
Spectre’s drawing a weapon from his belt, but fake-Circuit shouts, “Middle one, Rose!” The concrete under Spectre’s feet crumples and breaks, and another set of vines burst forth. Spectre goes down in a tangle of green and thorns and red roses. The other two mirages flicker out of view.
Circuit screeches again. “Icarus! Could really use some help down here!”
Tubbo climbs shakily back to his feet. The vines that had taken him down seem to have stopped growing, flopping to the ground as he shoves them away, wincing slightly at the pricks of thorns. He definitely fucked something up in his shoulder, but he tries to shove that to the side.
He needs to focus. They’re clearly outmatched, caught by surprise, and Spectre’s already down - useful power or not, Tubbo’s gotta do something.
He’s just… not sure what to do.
The fake-Circuit ripples. His skin rearranges, bubbling like a boiling pot of water, features shifting and melting and reforming until a brand new face appears. Black wings sprout from his back, and then Icarus is standing in front of them, grinning widely.
“You called?”
“Fuck you,” Circuit says. “What the fuck? Who are you?”
“Nobody too important,” not-Icarus says. “Don’t worry about it, kid.”
While Circuit keeps up the conversation, Tubbo scans the area. Looking for an opportunity in the precious few moments of lull in the fight - there. Off to one side, lurking in the shadowy overhang of a building, a second figure waits. There isn’t much he can see, but he makes out a few details. A woman, long hair woven with roses exactly like the ones sprouting from the vines Spectre is still caught up in.
“Circuit,” Tubbo shouts and points, “There!”
Circuit reacts immediately. An arc of electricity leaves his fingertips, racing across the alley. The woman moves too, nearly in-sync as she raises her own arm. The third explosion of vines burst from beneath Circuit, but he leaps to the side just as they do, prepared after already seeing it happen twice.
Unfortunately, the shapeshifter moves too. There’s the flash of metal in his hand, thin blades worn on his knuckles like a set of claws, and he darts forward, quick on his feet as he races towards Tubbo.
Fuck this. Tubbo stumbles back, reaching for his own weapon, staff in his hands just in time to block the blade. The attack sends slivers of pain through his shoulder, racing down his arm and up his neck and across his chest. Tubbo grits his teeth, holding back any sound other than a hissed grunt.
Icarus’s face grins back at him. “No hard feelings, kid.”
“Yeah right.” Tubbo twists his staff, shoves the guy back. The wings seem like useless weight on his back, dragging him back for just a moment. Okay. He can do this. His next attack goes for the guy’s knees, swinging his staff low to throw him off balance.
The guy’s quick, though. He leaps when Tubbo’s staff swings towards him, neatly clearing the obstacle, and then swipes his hand down.
“Ow!” Tubbo shouts this time as the blades rake down his arm. Fuck, that stings.
“Nova!” Circuit shouts. Tubbo can only spare him half a glance. The other hero seems to be locked in combat with Rose-lady while on opposite sides of the street, just trading shots.
“Kind of busy,” Tubbo shouts back, gaze back on the shapeshifter ahead of him, staff rising to block the next blow–
Shapeshifter catches it, and he twists the staff. Tubbo’s grip is broken instantly, his shoulder screaming-on-fire-fucking- hurts and Tubbo realizes he’s screamed too. Shapeshifter has his staff now, and he swings it before Tubbo can react.
The ground comes up to meet him. He hits it hard.
God fucking dammit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There are tears on his face, his shoulder hurts.
He needs to get up. He needs to do something. It’s Circuit against two villains right now. Tubbo needs to do something. Circuit’s counting on him to be there, he needs to do something –
Shaking, he tries to roll to his side. Hands braced against the sidewalk. They’re shaking even harder than they had been earlier. When he tries to put weight on his good arm, it trembles so hard he nearly collapses right back down. Fucking shit.
He doesn’t have time for this. He can deal with being hurt later. Right now, he needs to get up.
He needs to be useful.
Someone’s standing beside him. All he can see is their feet and ankles - grey, red stripes. Circuit. Or shapeshifter, he guesses. Either way, he stretches one hand out, squeezes his eyes shut, and hopes that this works.
It does.
He feels the familiar tingle down his arms and his spine like a cold chill. It’s hot in his veins, crackling in his bones, as something inside of him rearranges itself to make room for a new piece. The old is shoved out, and the new is replaced like static electricity - like static electricity in his veins.
It is Circuit. Tubbo tips his head up to see him looking down, concern etched all across his face.
“Woah,” Circuit says. “Okay, that feels kinda weird.”
“Sorry,” Tubbo says. “Should’ve asked first–”
“You’re fine,” Circuit says, kneeling down beside him to help him up. “It’s fine, you can have it, are you okay? Holy shit–”
“Where are–” Tubbo looks around, trying to catch sight of the two villains. He sees Icarus across the street, helping Spectre up, and his instinctual reaction is to shoot a bolt of lightning at him Circuit-style. But there are no clawed blades on his knuckles.
“They ran as soon as Icarus got here,” Circuit says. “We just let ‘em go.”
“Sorry,” Tubbo says. “If I’d had a better power–”
“It’s okay,” Circuit interrupts. “It’s fine, Nova. Even Spectre couldn’t do shit against them, and he’s got his actual power. They had the fuckin’, element of surprise. We’ll get ‘em next time. Plus–” Circuit grins and gestures down at the blue bits of electricity still crackling over Tubbo’s fingers. “You’ve got the coolest power ever right now. We can both go get struck by lightning now.”
“Can’t wait,” Tubbo deadpans. Now that the fight is over, he really feels like he’s going to pass out. “Sorry again for just copying without asking.”
“Nova,” Circuit says, his tone dead serious, “Shut up. It’s fine. Like, if you had just stolen my power, I’d be pissed, but you literally just copied it. Now we both have the coolest power ever. We’re like twins. Ha! We’re like twins!”
He turns around. “Spectre! Nova and I stole you and The Blade’s thing! We’re twins now!”
Spectre has a black eye. It just adds to the glare he levels at Circuit.
An hour later, they’re all back at HQ and patched up. Ponk grumbles the whole time he’s healing Spectre, complaining about being woken up and called to come in and “fix up your stupid ass,” and Spectre just smiles and tells him thank you. When he gets to Tubbo, though, the healer visibly softens.
“Hi, Nova,” he says. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Tubbo says.
“Liar,” Ponk says. “Look at your arm! Looks like a cat scratch.”
Circuit lets out a soft gasp behind him. “The cat. Oh my god. He was the cat. That fucker! I just wanted to pet a cat.”
Ponk lays a hand over the cuts along Tubbo’s forearm, and in a glow of yellow warmth, the gashes seal up and the pain in Tubbo’s shoulder eases. There’s nothing left behind but faint scars and the taste of citrus in his mouth, and he knows both of those will fade within the hour.
“So how’s Sammy?” Ponk asks, quieter, as if he’s asking confidentially. “He never comes in to visit when I’m here. Is he avoiding me?”
“I think he’s just busy,” Tubbo says. He’s too tired to get into whatever it is that Ponk and Sam have going on. “You should call him.”
“Hm,” Ponk says. “No. I’m not going to. Anyway, you’re all set. Go home and get some sleep.”
“Thanks, Ponk,” Tubbo, Spectre, and Circuit all chorus, like a group of children.
Tubbo packs his things into a duffel bag. It’s well past four in the morning at this point, and he feels dead on his feet. He’s a little lighter after the healing from Ponk, but he knows it’s only a matter of time before he crashes hard. And he really wants to make it home before that happens.
“Hey, Nova, hold up.” Circuit catches up with him by the doors. Spectre and Icarus are further back in the entry way, clearly waiting for him. “Do you want us to bring you home?”
Tubbo pauses. “Oh. No, that’s okay. I was just gonna walk.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Tommy says. “No, but like, it’s really late, and you - well, you still seem like - you know, like, that fight was kinda rough. Maybe you shouldn’t walk alone.”
Tubbo lets out a quiet sigh. “Tommy, I really do appreciate that. I do. I’ll be okay, though. I’ve walked home through much more dangerous streets, trust me.”
And, okay. Maybe that’s not the most convincing thing he could’ve said, because it just makes Tommy look sad.
“Okay, but like, you don’t have to,” Tommy says. “We’ll just drive you home. Please, Nova.”
And Tubbo wavers.
Is this really too much to say yes to? It’s just a ride home, for god’s sake. It’s four in the morning, he’s fucking exhausted, and he just wants to go home and go to bed. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just him not having to walk all the way back to Sam’s house.
Except then they’ll know where he lives. Shit. He can’t say yes.
“I’ll be okay,” Tubbo says again. Tommy just looks disappointed. He doesn’t look surprised. “Thanks for the offer, though. I appreciate it.”
“Any time.” Tommy shrugs and gives Tubbo a half-smile. “Okay. Be safe, Nova. I’ll see you later.”
And for some reason, Tubbo wants to cry while he watches Tommy walk back to the rest of his family.
He keeps it together, at least until he gets home. If some of it leaks out when he gets home and crawls under his blankets and types out a message to Quackity that he knows he’s never going to send, well - that’s no one’s business but his own.
(4:27am) tubso: miss you.
Tubbo thinks he’s finally done it.
It’s been almost two weeks since Tommy’s last asked Tubbo to do anything with him outside of work. When he sees Tubbo in the lounge, he stops to chat, but doesn’t invite him over, doesn’t bring his own work in to sit beside him, doesn’t offer to walk home together later. After patrols, when the rest of the team starts making plans to get dinner after, Tommy looks at Tubbo, but he doesn’t say anything. He just leaves it hanging in the air between them.
This is it, Tubbo thinks. He’s finally pushed Tommy far enough that he’ll want nothing to do with him anymore.
Except, that doesn’t seem to be the case either.
Because Tommy keeps hanging out with him anyway. He sits beside him in the lounge, he spars with him during training, he walks beside him in the halls and complains about whatever argument he’s having with Spectre. Somehow, the only thing that’s changed is just… the invitations.
Tubbo just doesn’t know what to make of it. What’s Tommy’s play here? He doesn’t know, and he can’t just ask. So time goes on, and he just… waits for the moment that something changes.
It comes two weeks after he copied Circuit’s power. He hasn’t changed it yet, so he’s been getting used to copying more of Circuit. The way he fights, the way he uses the power. It’s easier than previous abilities he’s had, probably because he has such close reference of what to do with the power. It’s almost fun, actually.
Circuit comes up to him in the middle of the day. It’s been thundering all day, and Tubbo’s pretty sure he knows the question about to be asked.
“Okay,” Circuit starts off with. “I have a question. And you can say no, and if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll knock it off. But I haven’t asked you to do anything in so long and I really, really wanna do this.”
Tubbo stops. Circuit had stopped asking him to hang out… because he thought it made Tubbo uncomfortable? “What?”
“It’s just started lightning-ing like crazy,” Circuit says, evidently oblivious to the crisis he’s just sent Tubbo down. He looks at Tubbo, eyes pleading. “Please, please come out in it with me while you still have my power. Just for fun.”
Just for fun. No work. No training. Just the two of them messing around in the thunderstorm.
Tommy just wants to hang out with him. He just wants to have fun.
And Tubbo says, surprising himself with how easy it is, “Okay.”
“I know you don’t really like hanging out, and that’s perfectly okay, you’re allowed to–wait.” Tommy cuts off. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Tubbo says. “Sure.”
Tommy just gapes at him for a moment, and then his expression rearranges into a wide smile. “Oh my god. Yes! Okay, you’re gonna love this, trust me. It’s so fun. If you get struck by lightning, it’s like–like supercharge. You get so much energy. I got struck three times in one storm one time and I thought I was gonna explode. It’s so fun.”
Tubbo has to admit, he doesn’t quite see how feeling like you’ll explode is fun, but he’s willing to give it a shot. “Bet I can beat that record.”
Tommy laughs. “I’d like to see you try, bitch.”
“You will. Give me an hour out in the storm.”
Tommy tells Icarus where they’re off to. The older hero reminds the two of them to be careful, a warning which Tommy simply waves off. He all-but drags Tubbo outside, grinning widely as they step out into the downpour.
“You won’t regret this, Nova,” Tommy says. “This is gonna be so fun–”
Tubbo makes a split-second decision. There’s something about the way Tommy smiles, the enthusiasm; Tubbo’s getting caught up in it.
He’s going to regret this later, probably. But right now, he just wants to have fun.
“Tubbo,” he interrupts. Tommy stops and looks back at him, mouth half-open in surprise. “You can call me Tubbo.”
Tommy blinks, and then the smile comes back, even wider than before. “Tubbo. Okay. Wait, is that your real name? That can’t be your real name.”
“It’s a nickname,” Tubbo admits.
“I knew it. Wait, I’m gonna guess what it’s short for.”
“You never will.”
Tommy starts rattling off names, each punctuated by a burst of thunder and a reply from Tubbo. “Timothy.”
“Nope.”
“Theodore.”
“No.”
“Thomas.”
“Isn’t that your name?”
Tommy’s giggling. “Thibault.”
“That’s an interesting guess, but no.”
“T… To–Trombone.”
“What?” Tubbo’s laughing too now. “Why–That’s not even a name!”
Tommy’s laughing almost too hard to keep going, but he gives it his best effort. “Maybe I’m wrong about–about the T. Maybe it’s a B. B–Bob. Bobby. Bobbo.”
Tubbo cracks up all over again, and Tommy follows in suit. “That’s–That’s just–That’s absurd, Tommy.”
“Bobbothy. Bobbard. Bobmundo the Third.”
“You’re ridiculous. I never should’ve told you.”
Tommy laughs so hard he can’t breathe, stopping right there in the middle of the sidewalk to double over in peals of laughter, wheezing and gasping for breath in between. Tubbo’s caught in a fit of his own, and Tommy just keeps setting it off worse.
And then there’s a crack of thunder above them, and a bolt of lightning leaves Tubbo momentarily blinded. It’s so close he can smell it, like something burnt and metallic on his tongue.
“Yes!” Tommy shouts. Tubbo blinks white spots from his vision, and there’s Tommy, who looks like he’s glowing. His eyes are, literally, bright cyan and crackling with energy that races all over his skin. “Haha, I win! I got the first one!”
Tubbo scoffs. “Since when was that the competition? I thought we were going for most.”
“Yeah, well, I still win. Let’s go find an abandoned building to destroy, I wanna blow something up.”
The rest of the afternoon passes too quickly. It’s full of laughter, and lightning strikes, and at least one fire that Tommy starts by accident. They both rush to put it out, and then sit there laughing in the middle of it.
“Icarus is gonna kill us,” Tommy says. “Don’t tell him, okay?”
“I’m not gonna tell him,” Tubbo promises.
The storm’s easing up, and both of them have used up any extra electricity, so now they’re just sitting here. Tubbo realizes he’s sad to see the sky clear.
“You know,” Tommy says, “You never even told me what Tubbo was short for. What is it?”
“Well…” He drags out the word. Tommy leans in, and Tubbo waits for a solid thirty seconds, letting the anticipation build like the moment before lightning strikes, and then he whispers, “Tuberculosis.”
They both dissolve into fits again.