Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy was decidedly not freaking out.

No really.

It was sort of becoming routine to come home and find a famous super lounging on his couch and eating a tub of ice cream or rifling through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for supplies. A few days ago it was the head of the most infamous villain group, the Syndicate, cooking stir-fry in his kitchen, and today it was apparently the number 2 and 3 heroes bickering in front of the TV as they played Mario Kart.

This…this had to be normal. Everyone occasionally came home to have a villain, vigilante, or hero just chilling in their home, right?

… Right?

The number 2 hero shoved the number 3 hard enough to knock him clean off the couch and win the race with a howl of victory. 3 quickly retaliated with a shrill shriek and lunged at his unsuspecting prey.

"Oi! Don't you dare break the controllers you assholes!"

What was even his life.

To know how he got here, he'd have to go back about six months ago, when it'd just been him, his rinky-dink apartment, and (eventually) his little hole in the wall cafe.

Tommy, newly 17 in age but 21 on paper, did a few select things and a few select things only. He got up, did his routine, went job hunting without success, went home, ate what he could scrounge up, and hit the hay, only to do it all again in the morning. Suffice to say, it was a boring existence that he did not enjoy, but wasn't sure how to change and still make a living.

Acquiring the cafe had been a lucky break for him. The owner hadn't wanted it, and sold it for dirt cheap since business traffic was poor. The place hadn't originally been outfitted for a cafe —it'd been a florist upon both opening and closing— and there wasn't much need for plants in the lower sectors. The building had all the amenities needed for growing plants, including a larger back area with drainage and water access so it wasn't particularly useful other than growing plants, but that was all the better for him considering his power.

See, people's powers came in when their age first hit double digits, and then they had to register those powers to the government. This would allow those who wanted to test to try and see if they were more suited than others to be a hero. Tommy did absolutely none of this. 

Tommy’s powers came in at the wee age of fifteen instead of ten, which led to his parents abandonment of him at eleven due to lack of powers, leading him to be unable to register his power unless he wanted to be tossed into the system until he was of age. Not a chance in hell that he was taking. He would figure out how to live on his own, thanks.

Heroing was the dream job (ha, get it, dream job since the number one hero was Dream) for most, even if their powers weren't particularly useful for it. There were some powers, on the other hand, that were basically incompatible with being a hero. Naturally, Tommy’s was one.

He called it Rejuvenation . Stupid, he knows, as was the power itself. It was the ability to "make someone feel healthier." Didn't actually heal anything, but boosted their mood and energy somewhat for a bit after being affected. Sound familiar? Yeah, it sounded like coffee, so Tommy decided that if he couldn't be a hero, he was gonna make the most poggers coffee ever with his power and everyone was gonna be jealous and wanting to try it.

So that's what he did. He did research whenever he could, took odd jobs for cash, looked for prime real-estate, and dumpster-dived for pieces and parts. He learned in the process that his powers worked fantastically on plants, and honed them to the point where he could harvest something small like, oh I don't know, coffea plants, every week without issue. This made the florist shop the perfect place to grow them. Not only did that mean he wouldn't have to buy coffee (though he really didn't want to think about the work, time, and effort needed to process it), it also meant that he could tailor the flavor profile to exactly how he wanted it.

His powers also kept food fresh, which would be incredibly helpful for making things both taste better and last until finished off. He made sure that he bought quality ingredients since he didn't have to worry about the expiration dates, and then spent weeks testing out different combinations and ratios. He would serve some typical shit in his cafe, but he knew he wanted some original ones too, so he worked extra hard on those.

He started giving others a taste once he'd gotten the hang of it. The exhausted couple next door adored him for it, and often gave him a breakfast sandwich before he left to fix up the cafe. Niki, who owned a bakery a few blocks up and technically in a different district, loved it and promised to promote his cafe once he opened it. The computer kid a district down that he sometimes found tech scraps for, Tubbo, had been suspicious at first like always, but once he'd had a sip, demanded that Tommy bring him coffee everyday.

Tommy had stood there, eyes wide. "No, bee boy!"

They had argued for over an hour before Tubbo relented, and instead they traded coffee for the machines Tommy would need to make coffee on a larger scale. He still had no idea where Tubbo had gotten them.

Through the grace of a few old ladies that lived in the same complex, he received a single table and a few mismatched chairs. Later, he found a table with a bum leg on the side of the road in one of the higher sectors. It was a bitch to drag it down from sector 11 all the way to 14, and took the better part of several days to do so, but with a not so neat new leg in the form of a stack of old books, it was worth it. Within the cafe, he hung plants like vanilla, mint and other herbs he could use along the sides to make it more welcoming, and made sure that the menu was legible on the slightly busted chalkboard that hung over the main counter.

With exactly three chairs, a dubious light that flickered, and a cafe full of plants, Tommy finally opened Pogtopia .

-

A week ago, Tommy had let Niki know of the day Tommy planned to open his cafe Pogtopia. She had smiled and giggled at the name, and promised that she'd direct any customers looking for a drink his way.

The rumor mill and gossip channels were in full swing, likely facilitated by the plethora of old women that liked to baby him —specifically Clementine— because not an hour after he'd opened at 8, there was someone ambling their way inside.

Tommy caught sight of red and blue tinted shades and broke out into a grin. "Jack Manifold! Lookin' good big man!" Jack was a security worker for the hero base in sector 10, and every Monday he would go pick up donuts from Niki's, since she was technically in sector 12, for the crew on shift. Tommy had met Jack while Niki was letting him take a shift at her bakery for a bit of cash.

Today just so happened to be Monday.

Jack's smile widened as he slid up to the counter. "Tommy! Just the person I wanted to see. Do you wanna hear an interesting story? See, I was—"

"Over at Niki's bakery, wanted some caffeine, and she directed you here?" Tommy knowingly said with a grin, having already spotted the paper bag in his hand with Niki's bakery logo on it.

Jack stared at him with a gobsmacked expression, 3D sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. How did you know?"

Tommy snickered, and wiggled his fingers at the man. " Magic. "

Jack barked out a laugh. "I'll be damned. I guess you're a wizard then. Looks like you don't even need a power."

Tommy swallowed through the sudden tightening of his throat. Yeah, that was the thing. No one knew he had a power, because if they did they'd report it and having an undocumented power was sort of illegal. Being powerless was an anomaly in today's society, meaning it was about as rare as seeing a unicorn. Naturally that meant some people treated him like shit, no one would hire him, and he couldn't buy much if the person selling it knew. The heroes, or at least the government, would descend on him like a pack of vultures if they found out he hadn't registered his power at 10 like the law demanded (not that he could since it had come in late, assholes), he'd go straight to prison, and he was too spiteful to go to prison.

Clapping his hands together to dispel his sudden discomfort, Tommy asked, "So what can I get for you then? Menu is above me, but if you're looking for something specific I'll see what I can whip up."

Jack looked up to the menu, expression thoughtful. "You know what? Surprise me, but it's gotta be strong enough to wake me from even Hypno's sleep."

Tommy raised an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at his lips. "From the number 3 hero's power? Are you sure Jack Manifold?"

"Do your worst."

Tommy blood pumped with an excited thrum as he whirled towards his machines. One Las Nevadas coming right up. The other was going to regret challenging him.

(Jack did, back the next week to complain that it'd kept him up for over 30 hours straight, but very tellingly ordered another.)

-

Let it be known that Tommy was not a medic.

He was good enough when it came to his own injuries, which occurred far too often for his own liking, but those never extended beyond a twisted wrist or a handful of cuts and bruises. Although there was that one time he nearly broke his arm. Point was, it was not nearly enough experience or knowledge to justify the insane idea he was currently contemplating.

But he was thinking about doing it anyway.

With an agonizing groan and a hand raked through his hair, Tommy stared down at the unconscious and bloody vigilante slumped in the shadow of an alleyway, their dark outfit ragged and torn. Judging by the black and dark purple color scheme, he was pretty sure this was one of the newer vigilantes that had cropped up in the past few years. Void was the name and vigilantism their game. From what Tommy knew, Void had only appeared in the media a month ago, but had been on the scene for nearly four. His power was shadow manipulation, which made him seem villainous until you got to see his personality. He was good people, always friendly and willing to lend a hand, but was more skittish than most, often vanishing even before the first sign of oncoming authority, be it police or heroes.

Crouching down to eye level, Tommy took a closer look. Void's face mask was cracked at the bottom, revealing a small patch of black skin that Tommy determinedly avoided along with the tuft of black and white hair peeking out from beneath his hood. Secret identities were touchy and he really didn't want to hold any secrets but his own. Maybe that was a sign he shouldn't take him home to patch him up.

Still, Void didn't look good from what Tommy could tell. His breathing looked to be too shallow and his dark outfit a mess of tears and holes, but his pulse was strong, meaning he'd probably be okay if Tommy just left him there. 

Tommy grimaced. That begged the question, could he, Tommy Big Man Innit, in good conscience, leave the vigilante there looking like a limp noodle and practically asking to be arrested, or even worse, killed? 

Was he actually going to take this guy home? Without any prior medical knowledge or even knowing the guy's motives? Was he actually going to be insane enough to do this?

Void let out a small, unconscious noise that reminded Tommy of a hurt child, and he buried his face in his hands. Dear Prime, he was really gonna do this, wasn't he?

Fifteen minutes later, after carrying the lanky bitch (like seriously, no one had the right to have that much leg on them) up far too many flights of stairs to get to the third floor, Tommy stepped into his apartment and locked the door behind him. He laid Void on the small patch kitchen tile cause like hell was Tommy gonna let the guy bleed on the single good piece of furniture in his entire apartment. The asshole could deal with being uncomfortable until Tommy got him all wrapped up.

He dug for a bit beneath the bathroom sink for the med kit he kept in case of emergencies, before emerging victorious, and plopped down to the vigilante's side. He wasn't really all that keen on stripping the poor guy, but he didn't particularly have a choice if he wanted to assess the damage.

With a grimace, he began peeling off layers. It was easy considering how torn the fabric was, but Tommy was sure to be gentle and methodical about it. Once all but the boxers and mask were off, he took stock of the damage, and it wasn't pretty (he ignored the dual black and white skin that screamed mob hybrid, not his business). There were a series of shallow knife wounds on his arms like he was blocking, a pretty deep stab wound in the meat of his thigh, and his chest was covered in blooming bruises meaning his ribs probably weren't doing too hot. Suffice to say, Void looked beat to all hell.

"First thing's first." Tommy made sure to start disinfecting the cuts first and wrap the vigilante's ribs to keep him from moving too much once he woke. There was nothing he could do for damaged ribs so that would have to do. Afterwards, he inspected the stab wound and determined that it probably wouldn't need stitches, but he didn't actually know, so he stitched it up anyway. It wasn't neat, not by a long shot, but Tommy had gotten used to repairing his own clothes so he knew the stitches would hold at the very least. With some gauze he made sure to fasten tightly, he wrapped the larger cuts but left the smaller ones. He didn't have that many supplies to spare. As it was, he'd probably have to go get more regardless.

"C'mon big guy," Tommy huffed out as he hefted Void into his arms, "Upsie-daisies," and transferred him to the couch. For a few seconds, he stared at the way that Void's feet hung over the arm of the couch (lanky bitch, he emphasized), before shaking his head and going to go put the supplies away and wash up. He had dinner to make, possibly for two tonight.

Around two hours later, after having stitched up the larger holes in the vigilante's outfit to redress him and only just now draining the pasta, there's a long groan from the couch. Tommy looked over the bar into the living room in time to catch Void stir, then roll himself off the couch with an undignified yelp and land in a heap. He hissed in pain before going abruptly silent. Like he was given a straight shot of adrenaline, Void was up on his feet with his head darting around in a panic, tail flicking nervously. 

"Take it easy there, Void," Tommy spoke calmly, hands in clear view for when the vigilante's attention predictably snapped to him like a frightened rabbit. "The name's Tommy. I found you passed out in an alley and took you home to wrap your wounds. Pasta?" He hefted the steaming bowl.

Even with the mask, Void looked like Tommy had given him whiplash. "Uh, sure?"

Tommy dished up two bowls and poured a generous amount of sauce over top and set them on the bar. He poured two cups of one of his sweeter coffees, decaf, thanks, because it was too late for caffeine even though he was infusing some of his power into this batch, and set them above the plates before grabbing two forks afterwards. He slid onto a stool, and chanced a glance towards Void. He still hadn't moved. 

"Don't worry, I wouldn't poison you after going through all that work to patch you up." Tommy pat the stool beside him, and consequently the only other stool he owned.

"Well," Void started on a shaky breath, a hint of good humor in his tone as he sat down beside the blond. "If I wasn't worried about poison before, I am now."

Tommy grinned conspiratorially as he held out a fork. "Just keeping you on your toes, V boy."

Hesitantly, Void took the fork, and Tommy politely looked away as he detached the slightly broken bottom half of his mask. Void stuck his fork into the food, twirling the pasta and taking a bite. There was a pause in his motions, before he picked up the mug in his other hand and took a sip. Tommy busied himself by stuffing a pasta filled fork into his mouth and determinedly chewing. For reasons he couldn't name, he really wanted the vigilante to like his coffee at the very least.

"This— It's surprisingly good, actually," Void said at last, thoughtfully surprised in his statement. "I don't really like coffee much but I'd be quite willing to drink this again."

Something warm unfurled in Tommy’s chest at the admission, because his coffee was good damnit, and he wanted everyone to be able to try some.

"Your pasta could use some work though," Void only half teased.

Tommy screeched in outrage. " What!? "

They spent the rest of the night bickering in only the way friends could, no matter the fact that they'd barely known each other. Tommy… Tommy felt good. Taking care of Void had been a gamble, one that could have just as easily blown up in his face had he been any less careless or more volatile. Void could have deemed him a threat and just vanished into the shadows or flat out attacked him, though the latter wasn't very likely considering the vigilante's track record, but he should have been more careful than he was. Still, he’d done something good and it had actually helped . He’d made a difference.

After eating, Tommy offered his couch for the night, knowing that Void wouldn't take it, and gave a lazy wave as the vigilante stepped into one of the darker shadows of the room and vanished in a shower of purple particles.

In the morning, Tommy woke to a sticky note stuck on the bar where Void had sat, reading, 'I owe you a favor.' Tommy scowled at the note. He didn't want any favors.

When he'd met Tubbo at 14 trying to steal from an electronics store, instead of calling the cops and turning him in, Tommy had taken him to a 24 hour diner and given him a meal. Tubbo insisted that he repay the favor, and that's when Tommy had learned that favors were a big thing in most circles that weren't civilian. Favors were like precious gems with no nameable price value. No super liked to owe another, so favors were generally few and far between. The more powerful or connected a super, the more valuable one of their favors was. Rumor had it that the Blade, right hand to the Syndicate leader, only ever owed Dream a favor, so his was more sought out purely by being rare, but if you wanted information, Jester of Las Nevadas was the way to go. As much of a wildcard as the man was, he had connections to Quackity who was the ringleader of Las Nevadas and the one who supposedly knew everyone's secrets.

So yeah, having a favor from Void should have been a good thing, but Tommy really didn't want to be holding leverage over anyone who could snap him in half like a twig, which was every super ever. People like that tended to get antsy the longer you held leverage against them, even if they'd given it in the first place.

Tommy groaned and pillowed his head in his arms, sticky note crumpling in his grip. Stupid vigilantes and their stupid favors.

(Minor updates as of 4.8.23)

Chapter Text

It took two weeks for business to be anything but a trickle.

Businesses were built on reputation, and Tommy’s little hole in the wall cafe, stashed away and buried in sector 14 instead of in the commonly patrolled sectors 10 to 1, had very little of that. Of those who did come by, a few began coming by regularly, but sales still didn't pick up until he caught wind of a rumor that a vigilante had been sighted nearby his cafe. After that, he began to serve multiple people a day, finally reaching double digits, which ended up being almost enough to break even with what he was spending. To be fair, he wasn't spending a ton.

After he heard that the vigilante that had been seen recently around the area was Void, who had apparently moved his patrol route to pass by this area, Tommy huffed, and saw the message for what it was.

Favor repaid.

Now that Pogtopia was decidedly on the map so to speak, even if just a footnote, Tommy decided that the place could use some decoration beyond the plants and the sad mishmash of tables and chairs. He didn't have the funds for decoration, as he had to focus on the essentials, but now that things were picking up a bit he could start considering design. Or at least he would be if he wasn't completely shit at it. Time to bring in a second opinion.

Tommy always closed early on Sunday so that he could tend to the plants properly and harvest them for use. This time, he was closed the entirety of Sunday, so that once he was done with the plants he could take a trip up to district 9 to see an old friend.

He was a Big Man, so he absolutely didn't feel any trepidation walking up to the brightly colored and well cared for building with a bubble lettered sign that read, Puffy's Daycare . He definitely didn't feel nerves wash over him when the bell above the door jingled merrily when he opened it, and he'd deny it to his dying breath that hearing the excited clamor of kids in a nearby room made his heart stutter in his chest.

There was a small reception in front of him devoid of people, but a door off to his right opened, revealing a bedraggled employee who closed the door with a heavy sigh. The name tag on the man's pink shirt read "Michael McChill'' and his hat was skewed with tufts of brown hair sticking out. Michael looked up, jolting when he spotted Tommy but smiled anyway. "Hey there! How can I help you?"

"Uh-" Tommy shifted on his feet. "I'm looking for Puffy? I heard this is where she worked."

Michael's smile brightened. "Ms. Puffy! The fantastic Puffy! She's dealing with some of the rowdy kids right now but she'll be free in a bit if you're willing to wait." He gestured to the seating area.

Tommy nodded with a commiserating grin. "Will do. The extraordinary Puffy can take all the time she needs."

Michael grinned brightly at him, before going down a hallway and ducking into another room, leaving Tommy's attention to wander.

The place was colorful, like a rainbow had exploded in the building. The couch he was on was a darker blue but the pillows were all warm colors, and the two chairs across from him varying shades of green. Both the side table and tea table looked like they were colored by pour paint, and don't even get him started on the walls. Those looked like someone had flung paint in all colors onto the walls and called it a day, while the square floor tiles were a more muted set of blues. The only thing that had been spared from the carnage was the pure white reception desk.

He… never thought he'd actually see this place completed. Years and years ago, when Tommy was still a child, kicking his legs back and forth on the kitchen stool as Puffy cooked with a smile, she always talked about how she loved children (and turn around to boop his nose making him scowl) and how she wanted to do more with that. Make a daycare or become a teacher. She was already a foster mother of two, the oldest one being in hero training (probably an official hero by now), the youngest only a little younger than Tommy and already largely independent, and her biological middle child who was always out playing with friends. That left Puffy home alone a lot of the time when she wasn't working, and it subsequently became the time Tommy decided to pester her.

When he was on the streets at 12, Puffy had been one of the few people to show him kindness, and the only person to continue to do so. She likely knew that he was homeless since it was fairly obvious, but she never told the authorities about the clearly underaged kid she found digging in her garbage bin. She just gave him some of her freshly made goods with a smile, and told him to come to her next time he felt like rooting around the trash for food. He'd stayed away for weeks afterwards, spooked by her kindness because he’d learned that people weren’t kind for no reason, but eventually went back to see if she'd follow through on her promise.

She did. He'd come back more often after that. 

He wasn't stupid though, regardless of what others thought of him. He noticed the dated pictures of three recurring children lining the walls, noticed how the children in the pictures got older but not by much until it reached the present date, noticed the occasional toy lying on the floor.

Noticed how empty the house always felt, no matter the time or day he came. 

Noticed the longing in Puffy's eyes when she gazed down the hallway at the three closed doors.

Tommy made sure to be extra loud and distracting when he noticed.

Eventually a few months had passed, and Puffy finally told him more about her foster kids. Two boys and a girl, the oldest and youngest were biological siblings that she adopted because they couldn’t bear to be separated, and the middle child who was her own. She spoke so proudly of them with love and care evident in her voice that Tommy almost wanted to meet them. Almost. But still, she was kind and didn't yell at him and she cared about Tommy, just like his parents had used to. 

If Tommy hadn't had his lack of power to worry about, he might not have minded if Puffy had wanted to adopt him. 

Things had been all and well between the two until—

The sound of a door opening jolted him out of his thoughts, so he turned to face the noise.

There stood Puffy, her back currently facing him, but the cloud of hair was unmistakable. She was gently consoling a child who looked like he wanted to come with her. She said something in a low voice, lovingly brushing his hair back, and he nodded with watery eyes before heading back into the room. She shut the door behind him and turned, a customer service smile on her face.

"Welcome! What can I do.. for…" She trailed off as she saw him, smile falling into disbelief and expression heartbreakingly hopeful.

"Tommy?"

Tommy smiled weakly, his chest painfully tight at seeing her again. "Hey Puffy. What'd I miss?"

Puffy was in front of him in a blink, scooping him into a tight hug that Tommy wasn't sure he could escape, even if he wanted to. He hugged her back just as fiercely, burying his face in her hair, careful of her sheep horns.

She was starting to cry hard, face tucked in the crook of his neck and whispered unintelligible words into it. He wasn't sure which one of them was shaking, or maybe it was both. He squeezed her, and she sobbed. "You were gone . I looked for you for months."

Tommy’s throat closed, guilt flooding his veins. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "I'm sorry I was gone but I'm alright. I just had to deal with some things."

They stayed like that for a bit, before Puffy pulled back with a sniffle, gingerly grabbing his face with her hands and trying her hardest to smile. "Look how much you've grown. You're taller than me now. To think it's only been two years."

"Yeah." Tommy let out a watery chuckle. "And you've already got the age lines to show for it."

"Oh, stop it, you." She pinched his cheek in reprimand, but now her smile was wider and a bit more genuine, so he counted it as a win. "Willing to indulge in this old lady's whims then? I want to get to know my little boy again."

Tommy choked up, vision blurring and something deep in his chest aching fiercely. She had called him hers . All he could do was nod, because if he opened his mouth he was positive he was going to ugly cry.

Puffy softened, rubbing a thumb against his shoulder blade. "Give me fifteen minutes to settle things here and then we can go wherever you want for lunch, okay?" He nodded again, and she lingered for a few moments more, before heading back to the room she came out of and ducking inside.

Tommy allowed himself to collapse onto the couch and slump over. Puffy— Mom — still wanted to see him, even after he'd ditched her at 15. He had recently gotten his powers and had been so excited to tell her when he saw her, as she'd invited him over for Christmas Eve, but he'd gotten there and seen extra figures behind the curtains. He'd peeked inside, and there she was, sitting on the couch they both liked so much with two blonde kids, an older boy and a young girl, tucked under each arm and a brunette kid making wild hand gestures sitting at her feet. She had the largest smile Tommy had ever seen on her face, directed towards them, not even noticing him in the window.

It had felt like something punched out all the air in his chest at the sight, because those were the kids in the photos, those were her kids. Those were the ones she'd chosen to take in and adopted, the ones that were rarely home but who she'd always waited for.

Not like Tommy, who she hadn't chosen, hadn't adopted ( not like he was in the system to adopt , his mind had traitorously whispered), who was always around and bothering her.

Who she hadn't waited for.

So he'd turned around, chest tightening until painful, the setting sun turning the air cold and enhancing the chill of the newly fallen snow. He'd left, because she had her kids now, and didn't need him around anymore. He'd left and never saw her again.

The Tommy of now swallowed thickly as he waited. Who knew what she'd thought happened to him? Did she think he'd become a criminal (well, more of one than he was already)? Did she think another family took him in?

… Did she think he died?

He never got to tell her about his power, and although he'd never said he didn't have one, he was pretty sure she'd figured it out and just hadn't pried. But now that he's seen her again, that she wanted to see him again, his resolve to tell her about his power wavered. It'd been just under two years since he'd last spoken to her, and he'd changed a lot. She'd probably changed a lot too, and while the Puffy he'd known wouldn't turn him in for not having registered his new power, who knew what the Puffy of now would do? She had a hero son, and was obligated to uphold the law because of him. Would she lie to her own son —who she treasured greatly— for Tommy, a street kid that had only appeared every once in a while?

He didn't want to test it. He didn't think his heart could take it if she wouldn't.

Puffy came back, a jacket slung over her arm and cross body purse on her shoulder. She smiled at him, just like she used to but not as bright as that night, and he stood to meet her with his heart in his throat.

"Let's go, Tommy. Have you figured out where you want to eat?" Puffy was remarkably more composed than before, although her eyes were still a little red around the edges.

He straightened, meaning to seem more confident than he felt. "The usual place?"

The skin beside her eyes crinkled with a smile, expression warm and nostalgic as they walked out the daycare doors. "The little mom and pop Italian place in district 16? Right next to a pawn shop and the group of working girls who you loved to pester while they doted on you?"

He flushed, jaw dropping, and couldn't help the indignant, "Excuse you, I was flirting! Those women love me, so of course I gave them the attention they rightfully deserve!"

Puffy chuckled, clearly indulging him. "I think they called it their 'Tommy Time.' It wasn't often they got to see a cute child."

He squawked. "Child?! Excuse you, woman, I am a man. The manliest of men and this man demands breadsticks!" He expected her to tease back like she used to, or smile at him again and agree, but she didn't. Her face fell a little, smile dimming to low brightness and eyes sad.

"You are a man now, aren't you?"

Tommy looked away, lips tightening and humor vanishing as they stepped down the stairs into the underground subway. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, honey no." Puffy placed a gentle hand on his arm. "I didn't mean it like that, it's not your fault you left." But it was, in the beginning. He'd chosen to do so, so he wouldn’t get in the way of her family. "I— I won't deny that I missed you. I wondered where you were and when you'd come—" home , his mind supplied when she paused, "But I'm not mad. I've never been mad at you." Tommy chanced a glance at her, and her face held nothing but worry and comfort.

"Even if—" Tommy started before he even realized he'd opened his mouth, and quickly snapped it shut. Puffy only gave him an encouraging nod, and his will power crumbled. "Even if I chose to leave? Chose to not come back on purpose?"

That had her faltering, voice small. "You… you stayed away on purpose?"

Guilt swarmed his chest like moths to a flame, and he wasn't sure whether it was a blessing or a curse that the blaring of a horn meant that the train had arrived.

The underground train slowed to a halt, and the two of them silently boarded along with a handful of other passengers. Tommy absently cataloged them. An older gentleman, two college girls, a teen clearly skipping school, and a group of three guys, a family from the looks of it. The father looked fond but exasperated by his bickering sons, one unfazed and the other getting wound up.

Tommy's stomach clenched at the sight, wondering if he could've had something like that if he hadn't vanished on Puffy.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, soft enough that it almost didn't catch Puffy's attention. "I just—..." His throat tightened. How was he supposed to say that it was because he knew he was just a placeholder for her own children? "I saw it. You had your family. You didn't need me anymore."

" Oh ."

Strong arms wrapped around him, tugging him down into a firm hug. His chest throbbed and eyes stung as Puffy rubbed his back like she used to on the hard days. "You are family, Tommy, even if I never formally adopted you. You'll always be my son." She tightened her hug. "I'm so sorry I never said that before now."

Tommy gripped her back almost desperately, the words hitting somewhere vulnerable and seeping in. "So," he choked out, voice fragile. "You really wanted me then?"

"I still do," she assured. "I've wanted to adopt you since I saw you rummaging through my garbage, racoon tendencies and all." He could hear the warmth in her voice. "I never told you, but that's similar to how I met my oldest and youngest. He was in the middle of having broken in when I found him. He was looking for medicine to help his sick sister, and by the time my son had gotten home from school, he had two more siblings. I left work to take care of them all and that's when I started planning the daycare."

"I'm sorry," Tommy said again, because it was worth repeating. "I'm sorry I left."

"I'm sorry too. I'm so sorry for not making sure you knew you were loved."

Tommy stood wrapped in her arms for a few seconds more, before sniffing and pulling away, rubbing at his eyes. " 'course I'm loved. I'm obviously the best."

Puffy giggled softly, and squeezed him one last time before letting him pull away. "You certainly are." He couldn't tell if she was joking or not.

The train lurched with a high-pitched squeal of brakes, and the two college girls screamed.  Puffy caught herself and Tommy as they stumbled with the force, just as the lights went off and plunged the cabin into darkness. The backup lights flickered on a second later.

"What—?" An explosion rocked the train, Puffy reflexively ducking them both down, and now everyone was screaming. The explosion sounded like it had come from the back of the train, while they were near the front, but it had been enough to knock out the back up lights. Emergency lights began to dimly glow, casting everything in a dark, eerie red hue. "A malfunction?"

"No." Puffy's tone was firm, and Tommy had to squint in the darkness to see a grim set to her mouth, eyes staring towards the front of the train. "This wasn't an accident."

His mind whirred. An attack then. The first one to come to mind was a vigilante whose MO was explosions, but he only attacked the wealthy. Tommy’s blood ran cold, as the only other super with a penchant for explosions came to mind.

(In the back of his mind, he wondered why he instantly believed her judgment, but the urgency of the crisis pushed the thought away.)

The intercom crackled to life. "Hello there passengers!" A cheerful voice, the voice of the top brass Syndicate member, Siren, said. "This is not your captain speaking! I'm here to inform you that you are all our hostages. If the Hero Commission gives into our demands, then you're all free to go at the next stop. If not? I'll let you use your imagination! Siren signing out!"

There was silence, before the panicked shouting started. The train had stopped right in a dead zone, so there was no cell reception, and the closest station was several miles away, which still depended on being able to open the mechanized locked doors. The two college girls were crying, he could only see the outline of the old man, and the teen was tugging frantically at the locked door to the outside. Dread slowly settled in his chest. The government rarely gave into villains' demands, much less the Syndicate's, and when they did it was only for high profile hostages. Tommy didn't need to know who else was in the other cabins to know that none of them were important enough.

"Tommy," Puff caught his attention, her voice unusually level. "I need you to stay here and make sure no one hurts themselves, okay?"

"What?" Tommy balked. "Why would I need to—" Then it clicked, and he caught her arm as she was pulling away. "Puffy don't ," he hissed in a whisper. "You'll get yourself killed trying to be a hero." He didn't even know what her power was, if it’d be enough or if it wouldn't.

She smiled at him, something off about it like she knew something he didn't, and said, "I need you to trust me, Tommy, and I need you to keep what happens next a secret. It's dark so they shouldn't see it, but keep those people distracted, will you?"

Tommy’s mind spun because what , but she was already moving. In front of the door that connected the first cabin and control box, Puffy reared back her fist and punched a hole straight through solid steel with a resounding fwoom. He stared, jaw dropped, as she reached through the hole and unlocked the door from the other side.

"Hey boys, what did I tell you about hijacking subway trains?" Was all he caught before the door slammed shut. Tommy stared a few seconds more, then shook himself. He sort of wanted to know but he also really didn't.

"Alright!" He shouted as he turned, and four pairs of eyes latched onto him. (Something about that felt wrong, made his skin crawl and something in his mind blared in warning, but he couldn't pinpoint what.) "We can't get out, so let's get to the back of the cabin and focus on calming down." The people looked a little confused as to why he was taking charge, but grateful that they had a direction to follow.

It was less than a minute later that the intercom came on again. "Good news! You all are free to get off at the next stop. Thank you for choosing the hostage subway train and may you all have a wonderful rest of your day!" Right on que, the train started back up, lights flickering back to normal as it began to move. While the other passengers were relieved, Tommy couldn't help the thread of tension that grew tighter the longer Puffy didn't come back through the door.

They reached the next station in district 14 and people flooded off, but Tommy stayed rooted to his spot. "C'mon Puffy," he whispered under his breath. "You can do it."

Puffy opened the door looking no worse for wear, and Tommy slumped in weary relief. He nearly bowled her over rushing into a hug and she held him back just as tightly. "You did such a good job Tommy. I'm so proud of you."

"Don't," he breathed out. "Do that ever again." She held him, promising nothing he noted, then began to guide them out of the train car.

"Can I have your attention please!" Puffy called out once Tommy had loosened his death grip. "Thank you for staying calm everyone! If you could all be brave and wait until the authorities arrive to give your statements it would help immensely to catch the villains! If not, please write down your name, number, and address so that they may contact you at a later time!" Tommy blinked, eyes widening as she spoke. The other scattered passengers might not recognize it for what it was, either because they were panicked or had never been saved by a hero before, but he identified it almost immediately.

That was a hero speech, something that all heroes were required to give at the end of a villain attack to make life for the police easier. She could just be parroting what she's heard her hero son say, but… her demeanor was too calm, too practiced to be anything but the real deal.

"Thank you for your attention!" She finished, and people went back to their own business, most staying for the police to get there.

Puzzle pieces that he didn't even know could be connected were clicking in his mind —her demeanor, the speech, her son, the punch, the off smile like she knew something he didn't — and he wasn't sure how to feel about the picture they were forming.

"Captain?" Tommy croaked, eyes wide, voice only just above a whisper.  

Puffy— Captain , the only hero to ever retire without major injury, smiled at him, a little sad but a lot proud. "Let's chat about this on our way when there's less people around, okay?" He nodded wordlessly, head foggy, and let her lead the way.

It was late afternoon but not yet sunset when he began to shake off his daze. At some point he must have ended up taking the lead, because they ended up back at his cafe. His stomach curdled at the thought of turning around to head to another district for food, and he meant to eventually bring her here for interior decorating assistance anyway, so he unlocked the front door and flicked on the lights. They protested for a moment, flickering weakly before steadying to a warm glow.

Everything looked as he left it. Chairs pushed in, cups set out to dry, and plants glistening with water on their leaves. Tommy absently walked over to a drooping dwarf lemon tree and ran a hand over one of its branches, infusing his power into it. His power had no visible tell and no immediate effect, so he felt comfortable with using it subtly in front of others.

"Uh," Tommy started, remembering that Puffy had entered behind him, and turned to face her judgment at the poor state of his cafe. Instead, he found her expression wide and open with wonder. She spun in a slow circle, silently taking everything in, and Tommy’s palms began to sweat as he fidgeted.

"Did you create this?" Puffy said at last, a note of something wispy in her voice.

"Yep." Tommy swallowed thickly. "After we ate I was gonna bring you back here to help with interior design, since you always seemed to know what you were talking about." Before I left , he didn't say but could tell she heard.

Puffy finally turned to face him, face soft and vulnerable in a way that made Tommy’s heart twist painfully in both hurt and guilt. Guilt for not being around to share his journey with her, and hurt for Puffy having kept her journey from him.

He twisted his fingers around one another, and she reached up to cup them between her hands. Her smiles looked real, for all that it seemed edged by sorrow. "It's wonderful, Tommy. It's very much you, and I wouldn't change a thing."

Tommy felt his lips wobble and he pressed them firmly together, blinking back tears. "Thanks."

"Now—" Puffy let out a huff as her smile turned more wry. "I believe you had some questions."

Tommy was thrown at the subject change, but went with the flow. "Do I ever . Are you really Captain? How many pounds can you lift? Do your kids know? Why did you actually retire? What did you do with your super suit?"

"One question at a time," Puffy giggled, her eyes sparkling. "Let's sit down so I may answer as many as I can."

As Tommy found out over the next few hours, yes, his would-be foster mom was a superhero and had retired for reasons she wouldn't name ("Let's just say that's when I took home my little foolish boy." She smiled warmly but her eyes were distant, lost in a memory only she could see), could deadlift several tons, and had to return her costume to her employers when she'd retired. 

"Aw," Tommy groaned. "I can't even see you wearing it in person? I bet that feathered hat felt about as awesome as it looked."

"It really was," Puffy said with a laugh. She sobered a second later, eyes turning serious and resting on Tommy so soundly that it almost felt like a physical weight. "I'm certain I don't need to tell you the importance of not spreading this. Not only would it get me in big trouble with the hero commission, but it would put my family in danger." She looked down to fiddle with her fingers. "My oldest has only been a hero for a few years, and both my youngest and middle are always out of the house, so it would be so simple to go after them to get to me. I know they can take care of themselves, but…" She sighed, glancing back at him. "Please don't put me in a position where I'll have to choose between their safety and protecting the people, because I know I'd pick my kids every time."

Tommy swallowed through a tight throat, and his smile was shakier than he would have liked. "Course I won't tell, Puffy. You know me, I'm good at secrets. I'm a man and a man always keeps his word."

Even though she knew he wouldn't tell —she wouldn’t have exposed herself if she knew he would— something seemed to relax in her at the admission. Her smile was a little less tight, and she rested more casually in her chair.

"Now, let’s see what we can do for food, shall we?"

Tommy led her to a nearby out of the way named The Mexican Dream that made the best Enchiladas he’d ever tasted, thanked the cook, Q, and they chatted about interior design and budget for the entire meal. He gave her a hug goodbye and promised to visit her more often or she would come to him.

He sighed once the train she’d gotten on was out of sight. Another super in his life, huh?

In for a penny, in for a pound. Two supers' secrets acquired and over a dozen more to go , Tommy thought jokingly.

(He just fucking jinxed himself, didn't he.)

Chapter Text

Of all the things that Tommy had been expecting to come across while taking a late night detour home, spotting a mercenary feeding ducks in an empty park was not one of them.

Tommy didn't really know mercenaries that well. What he knew boiled down to that they were swords for hire that would do just about anything for money, making them as morally grey as you could get. Meaning he didn't really wanna get any closer and risk the merc spotting him, but a detour would add on another 10 or so minutes and Tommy was beyond tired at the moment, ignoring the fact that he still hadn't taken a sip from the travel coffee in his hand. 

With a sigh and internal yolo, Tommy continued on his path determined not to look at the merc and act like he wasn't there. At witcher-o'clock people usually paid you the same courtesy you paid them, right?

The merc glanced up and his gaze beneath the gold helmet locked onto him.

Guess not.

It was a bit unnerving for the mercenary to just stare silently as he passed by, but Tommy resolutely kept his eyes forward. There was movement where the merc was, and Tommy glanced at him from the corner of his eye. The mercenary's posture was slouched and his head rested in a palm, gaze back on the ducks. Frankly, it looked like the man was going through a minor crisis.

It being nearly midnight with the addition of exhaustion pulling at Tommy’s bones was clearly degrading his mental facilities, because he paused, before doing a 180 and making his way towards the bench the merc was sitting on.

The other's attention had already latched back onto him like he had been expecting Tommy to confront him, which was weird because Tommy didn't even know he was going to confront the other until a second ago. 

Without preamble, Tommy plopped down on the opposite end of the bench and mirrored  the other’s slouch. "Honestly," Tommy started, resisting the yawn that wanted to bubble up, "I couldn't care less who you are, but sometimes it helps to spill your problems to a stranger, so I'll be here for the next–" he checked his beat up watch. Looked like he'd be using up that detour time anyway, "–Ten minutes before I'm heading home. Need my beauty sleep and shit."

Tommy could tell that the mercenary was staring incredulously at him from behind the helmet. Frankly, Tommy felt the same, but he made his bed and he'd be damned if he didn't lie in it.

The mercenary leaned towards him, likely trying for menacing but landing somewhere closer to tired. "What makes you think I have problems I'd be willing to spill to you?" He spoke in low tones, voice sounding oddly robotic with the voice changer.

"I can think of no better way to describe a mid-life crisis than feeding ducks in the dead of night," Tommy said with an eye roll, breezing past the second half of his question.

The mercenary nearly spluttered, losing his composure. "Mid-life? I'm in my twenties!"

"Old man alert!" Tommy teased, forgetting for a moment he was legally twenty-one.

"If I'm an old man then you're a child!"

Tommy gawked, inordinately offended. "You take that back! I'm 21 you bitch!"

That seemed to sober the mercenary for some reason. "You're 21?"

Tommy huffed and crossed his arms indignantly, lying through his teeth. " 'Course I am. I'm an adult who has women and does drugs and everything."

The merc snorted, but the heavy atmosphere stayed as he turned back to the pond, tossing a chunk of bread to the birds. "An adult, huh?"

Tommy elected to stay silent, slowly uncrossing his arms to appear more open, feeling as though this was the heart of the mercenary's problem. Best to let him get it all out now without interruption.

The mercenary ran a hand over his helmet in a facsimile of running a hand through his hair. "When does someone really count as an adult? When they're physically 21? When their mentality reaches that?" He sighed heavily and ducked his head into his arms, seeming much smaller than before. "Does someone else have the right to force it?"

Tommy considered the coffee cup he held in one hand. He shouldn't drink something caffeinated so late, and this guy looked to need it more. Without a word, Tommy infused a touch of his power into it and set the cup next to the merc. The other picked it up absent-mindedly.

Tommy leaned back on his hands, head tilted up towards the faint stars above. He couldn't claim to be smart, but he'd gotten really good at reading people over the years and this guy wore his guilt like weights around his ankles. "I guess the question is, are you actually forcing them?"

The mercenary turned to look at him again, but Tommy kept his eyes up. It'd taken a bit for his tired brain to put two and two together. This was one of the most sought out mercenaries, Gold —identified by his gold biker helmet and the gold medallion hanging around his neck— who had picked up an apprentice in the last few months, or sidekick depending on who you asked, called Silver with corresponding accessories. Tommy was betting that Gold was talking about Silver because the kid was obviously younger than him, and he'd mentioned he was only in his twenties.

Gold's chuckle was humorless. "I might as well have."

Tommy frowned. "That wasn't what I asked. Did you or did you not force them? Did they have the opportunity to do something else and still choose to follow you into the thick of it anyway?"

Gold was silent, and Tommy took the time to mull over his own circumstances. He was 17, and the only reason he was legally 21 was because of Tubbo. He'd gotten a favor from the other when they'd first met, and having been 14 at the time, Tommy had relented and asked Tubbo to change his legal age to 18 so that he could get a proper job. The ram hybrid had grinned, and said that it'd be done within the next few days. Low and behold, Tubbo found him a few days later (he still didn't know how and didn't question it) with official looking papers changing his age. He'd then given Tommy his number and address, saying he was welcome to pester him anytime, and the rest was history.

"I… I can't tell," Gold spoke at last. "It's my job to take care of him, but due to my line of work, he wasn't really exposed to any other kind of opportunity growing up." (A dependent, then, probably a younger brother. Tommy ignored it, it wasn't his business.) "Being a mercenary is dangerous, so he's had to grow up with the threat of being hurt by sheer proximity to me and the jobs I take. He's… he's never really had the chance to be anything else."

"So give him that chance."

Gold jolted up. "What?"

Tommy stared steadily at the helm's opaque visor. "You're a mercenary. Can't you people take jobs from anyone you want?"

A pause, before Gold sat up, resolve straightening his spine. Tommy hid a smile. They'd be just fine.

Tommy exaggerated a yawn that'd been threatening to break free for the last few minutes. "Looks like that's my ten minutes. Hope you got closer to fixing whatever you were angsting over," he said, staunchly ignoring the fact that he'd seen the problem being solved in real time. He stood up and stretched, spine cracking with a satisfied pop.

"I suppose I owe you a favor then."

"No," Tommy snapped with fervor. He didn't want any more supers' favors, thanks. Having gained and used one was enough. "You don't owe me shit. All I did was be a sound board for your thoughts. Anyone could've done that," he scoffed. Giving a half hearted wave, he stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket and began heading home again. Gold's oddly assessing gaze followed him all the way up until he turned a corner and slumped against the wall. That was way too nerve wracking for him. Although he was glad he could help, he really wished he had made the decision to do so with a sound mind instead of his current sleep-addled one.

"Gold!" A young voice shouted.

"Silver!" Gold shouted back, worry laced in his tone, and Tommy resolutely did not look back around the corner. "What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be at home?" He needed to leave. It was not his business. His feet did not move.

"Well I was but you were out later than you'd said you'd be again. It's nearly one in the morning." Silver complained, but Tommy could hear the underlying thread of worry. "Wait, is that coffee? Gimme."

"Yes it is and no you can't have it. It's too good to let you get your grubby fingers on. And put your visor back down. Who knows who could see you?" Gold scolded in an almost amused tone to a Silver who did not have his voice changer on holy shit —

(Not his circus, not his monkeys.)

"But you put yours up to take a sip!"

Silence.

"Fine, fine." There was shuffling, and then Silver's voice came back, muffled slightly and altered enough to where it wasn't quite recognizable anymore. If Tommy hadn't heard Silver's real voice already, he would have had a real hard time telling that they were the same person. "Happy?"

"Very."

Tommy made a face, and quickly sped walked away and out of earshot. He should not have heard that. That was another super's secret he was going to have to keep under lock and key. Prime, how did these start to stack up in the first place? This was the third one yet. He wanted nothing more than for this to be the last one.

(He really really had to stop jinxing himself like that.)

-

Tommy knew that he'd put up the 'Now Hiring' sign a few days ago. He knew that help likely wasn't going to come anytime soon so this was merely a preemptive measure. He knew that there were plenty of people looking for jobs, especially ones that paid more than he could, and that he probably wouldn't recognize any applicants.

He also knew that apparently, now it was his circus, his monkeys, because he was almost entirely positive that the kid who'd just walked up to apply for the position was the mercenary Gold's apprentice, Silver.

Tommy hadn't even considered the possibility at first. The kid looked to be around his real age, but with bright blonde hair and blue eyes that nearly looked purple in the morning light. He was several inches shorter than Tommy and wore a slightly oversized purple hoodie that suited him well. The kid had come in at the right time, just before opening on Monday, and he seemed perfectly ordinary until he opened his mouth.

"Hey there, I saw that you were hiring and watched to check if the position was still open?" He said with an infectious smile.

Instantly Tommy was hit with a wave of familiarity, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Although his voice was familiar, his face wasn't, and normally Tommy was good with faces but this seemed to be an exception.

Temporarily brushing the feeling off, he said, "Yup. I'm the owner of Pogtopia, Tommy," and held his hand out to shake.

"Purpled," the kid said with a bit of cheek, shaking his hand.

The edge of Tommy’s lips twitched up,  amused despite himself. "Alright then Purpled, you know it's for a busboy position, right?"

"Yessir."

"Ever done a job like this before?"

"Nope, but I've been told I'm a fast learner."

Tommy finally let himself smile back. "Then let's make today a test day. You do well today and if there's no one else who wants it by Wednesday you're hired."

"Sweet." Purpled grinned. "So what exactly am I supposed to be doing?"

"First, let's get you into an apron." Tommy gestured to the spare aprons hanging on hooks just out of sight. "Don't want to muck up your clothes."

Purpled gave him an almost incredulous look. "Do I really need one just to clean tables?"

Tommy merely gave him a look that said, 'Do you want to risk that?'

Purpled quickly caved. "Fine, fine," he griped, before sliding the apron over his head and doing a sarcastic twirl. "Happy?"

That's when it hit him. Tommy knew where he'd recognized that voice from. It was from Gold's sidekick, Silver, who's voice Tommy had heard without his voice changer just over a week ago.

"Nope," Tommy managed to wheeze out through sheer will and the sudden presence of adrenaline. "You didn't even tie it."

Purpled grumbled petulantly, but moved to tie the strings behind his back nonetheless, fumbling with them to do the knot. Tommy let him flounder, still struggling like Atlas under the weight of his own revelation instead of the sky. Fuck, he really hadn't wanted to be tied to supers any more than necessary. It was bad enough that he'd already sheltered an injured vigilante and the woman who had basically been his foster mom was a retired hero, but now his potential employee was the new mercenary Silver?

Tommy could just not hire him. That would solve that problem in one fell swoop. No muss no fuss, but…

He watched as Silver— no, Purpled , if that was his real name, practically wrestle with the apron strings in order to get them tied. Gold knew who Tommy was, even though he hadn't introduced himself, probably because the coffee cup had his cafe name on it. It was stupid to think that the mercenary wouldn't try and find out who the person he'd spilled part of his life to was, and it was even more stupid to think that Tommy could actually stay out of his radar. Maybe having Purpled apply for the position was his way of keeping an eye on Tommy, just in case.

Though, as Purpled got his fingers stuck in a knot behind himself with a curse, that theory seemed less and less likely by the second.

Maybe, just maybe , instead of Purpled being there to keep an eye on him, he was supposed to keep an eye on Purpled. Gold clearly knew who he was, as stated before, but there was little way for him to know that Tommy knew Silver's voice, much less that he could recognize it. Maybe it meant that Gold trusted him enough to not take advantage of Purpled as an employer.

Maybe this was a sibling's way of getting his younger brother out of a dangerous business.

The tussle with the apron ended with Purpled triumphant but ruffled, and a messy, tangled knot in the back that would be a bitch to get undone.

Tommy couldn't help but snicker before going to fix it. "We'll work on that."

Alright, Gold, favor repaid. He got a new worker after all.

Chapter Text

Things were blessedly silent for almost two weeks. Business was picking up to what could be considered hopping for a small cafe like his, but only on certain days. The plants were doing well, and Tommy —although busy— was having fun making coffee and bantering with Purpled.

However, a few days into Purpled's employment, he'd come to work and winced every time he used his right arm when he thought Tommy wasn't looking. Tough luck, as Tommy was always watching out for him. When Tommy confronted him in the back during a lull in business, Purpled had given him a look of surprise before it slipped into what could only have been practiced nonchalance.

"Huh? I'm not injured. Well, the feisty hanging plant in the back took a swipe at me earlier but—"

"Purpled." Tommy gave him a look , and the other quickly cowed. Tommy held out a hand, keeping his voice even. "Let me see."

With hesitance written across his face, Purpled slowly held out his left arm to him. Tommy cupped his arm gently, and pushed back the hoodie. Purpled hissed in pain through his teeth and Tommy was tempted to do the same. There were slightly bloodied bandages wrapped around the entirety of his arm, and some yellowing bruises peeked above his shoulder. Looking to Purpled for tack permission and getting a slight nod, he unwrapped the bandages. Now he really wanted to hiss like Purpled had. The kid's arm was a sleeve of molten bruises, with shallow but red and irritated cuts marring the outside half. This was just as bad off as Void had been except condensed all into one place. It looked like his arm was halfway to being crushed, and for all Tommy knew, it could have been.

He hadn't heard any news regarding Gold and Silver's recent exploits, so he hadn't the faintest idea how Purple had managed to look like a car had rolled over his arm. He internally frowned. He'd have to keep his ear to the ground from now on.

Forcing down his own worry and panic for the younger (even though Tommy knew they were about the same age, shut the fuck up. Faking being 4 years older took a certain mentality, alright?), he huffed out a short, "Stay put," before going back to the front to dig out his med kit. After Void, he'd had a suspicious feeling and added one to the cafe along with extra supplies, just in case. Looks like it’d be coming in handy sooner rather than later.

Coming back into the backroom, Tommy was met with the sight of a half frightened Purpled stubbornly trying to put on a brave face, and Tommy softened. Purpled must have thought Tommy was going to call for the cops or an ambulance because the wounds he had weren't normal at all, and yet the kid still stayed. Warmth suffused into his chest. Purpled must really want to trust him, despite his doubts. Tommy wondered if Gold had anything to do with that.

The med kit opened with a loud clack and Purpled flinched at the noise, before looking baffled. "What are you—"

"Gimme," Tommy interrupted, gesturing for his arm again with one hand and digging through the kit with the other. Purpled, although still hesitant, seemed much more willing now to hand Tommy his arm. Pulling out some fresh bandages, a splint, and neosporin, he got to work doing what he could. The two were silent as Tommy cared for his wounds, and Tommy kind of wanted to strangle Gold for letting Purpled get this hurt, but the anger dimmed as he realized that Gold was probably beating himself up just as much if not more over his brother’s injury. Tommy internally sighed. Now he felt morally obliged to help out in caring for this kid merc. He was trying to stay out of supers' businesses, not dive right into them, damnit.

Tommy inspected his work, before deeming that it would have to do, and closing the med kit to go put it away. “Take the rest of your shift off, Purpled, and I don’t wanna see you working for the rest of the week either. You’ve gotta let your arm heal at least a little.”

“Uh,” Purpled started, hesitancy written in every line of his body. “You’re not gonna ask how I got hurt?”

Tommy looked at him flatly and raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’d tell me?”

Purpled’s shoulders drooped, which was as good as confirmation.

“Then I don’t see a point in asking.” Tommy slid the med kit back into place and helped Purpled take the apron off before shuffling him towards the door. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t tell me where you got them, but next time you come here hurt, you let me know alright? I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

Purpled’s throat visibly tightened, and his voice came out more than a little choked when he spoke. “Yessir.”

“Good.” Tommy smiled crookedly before pushing him out the door. “Now get! I don’t wanna see your lazy ass here for the next week, got it?”

Purpled’s hesitant grin was blinding. “Yessir!”

So save for that incident and the subsequent time Purpled came in injured after —something to do with his side in what Tommy swore was a bullet wound— things were relatively mellow. Naturally, Tommy now couldn’t go more than a few weeks without something “interesting” happening to him, and on one soon-to-be-special Friday night, things were about to get much more interesting.

Tommy had gotten home at half past ten, which was later than he would have liked but not awful, only to turn around after locking his door to see an apartment that was not as empty as he'd left it a second ago.

Tommy’s heart leapt into his throat and he flinched back without conscious thought, before realizing it was just Void ( just Void , like the guy wasn’t a vigilante that could easily kill him if they wanted or anything) standing in one of the shadows of the main room. He placed a hand to his chest and let out a dramatic breath. “Jesus christ man, you can’t just—” he cut himself off as he turned on a nearby light, illuminating them both.

The vigilante looked bad , like far worse than last time. Blood matted several parts of his clothing, but completely soaked the shredded fabric of one of his arms, the opposite hand clutching his upper arm. He stood crooked, like one of his legs couldn’t support his weight, and his mask was practically nonexistent. The bottom half was missing large chunks and the upper half had one lens cracked but the other one shattered entirely.

“What the hell happ—?”

“Hide me , ” Void pleaded.

Tommy blinked, hesitating for a moment. Hide him? That could easily get him caught helping a vigilante red-handed, never mind the fact that he'd patched up Void before. No one could prove that one. Tommy was already in a precarious position by hiding his power, did he really want to test the waters this blatantly?

To find out, Tommy looked, really looked at Void, and saw the way his visible green eye was dilated and wild, desperately darting around the room, marking escape routes, and more importantly, kept returning to the window that looked over the street. He saw the way Void held himself, hunched, tense, and shaking like a leaf in harsh wind, whether from pain, exhaustion, or fear Tommy couldn’t tell. He saw the blood streaking down the side of Void's face, shiny in the way that could only mean it was fresh.

He saw the way Void was absolutely and unequivocally terrified .

“ Please. ”

In the recesses of Tommy’s mind, he saw a young blond boy in a red in white shirt in Void’s place, begging to an old woman in an orange dress to please, please let him stay in her building so that the older people living on the streets would stop beating and stealing from him. She’d swiftly bundled him up and swept him into her building, introducing herself as Clementine and telling him he could stay as long as he liked.

“Shit. Fuck. Alright, get into the bathroom,” Tommy spoke quickly. “There’s a loose panel in the ceiling above the toilet that leads to a hollow space between the ceiling and roof. You should fit but who the fuck knows, you’re a tall motherfucker who needs to get moving already! ”

Void’s face, from what Tommy could see, was disbelievingly hopeful, but that didn’t change the fact the idiot still hadn’t moved an inch.

“What did I just say?! Go before whatever you’re running from catches up!” That got him moving. 

The vigilante was quick to obey, ducking into the bathroom and closing the door, followed by more muffled noises that were hopefully the vigilante getting out of sight. Tommy slid up next to the window, purposefully obscured by the curtain and not standing directly in front of it just in case. He needed to know what exactly had Void so scared stiff. His eyes scanned the outside, not knowing what he was looking for. Then Tommy spotted him turn onto the street, and the hairs along his arms raised.

Dream sped walk in the center of the street, not a car nor person other than him in sight. The street lights flickered, casting the number one hero in an ominous light. Dream was a fantastic, powerful hero considered the poster boy for the hero commission. Out of the active heroes, he had the highest villain capture rate to date with an impressive record of crime stopping to back it up. No one except higher profile villains risked committing crimes while he was around which had easily tanked the petty crime rate of the main ten districts. That begged the question, what was he doing down in district 14?

A sinking feeling started in Tommy’s chest. Vigilantes. That had to be it. Void was injured and running from Dream. That, and more and more vigilantes had started popping up within the past few years which helped decrease the crime rate in the areas they patrolled, but it was still illegal all the same. The hero commission must have finally gotten fed up that the lower districts had started to do well again due to a power outside their influence and sent a deterrent to cut back the solution. Who could be a better deterrent to both crime and vigilantes than the number one hero?

Tommy grit his teeth, because the vigilantes were helping , damnit. Their actions were what led him to be confident enough to open up Pogtopia, and the heroes should have been able to see the good they do. True, some vigilantes like Jester, Kitsune, and Atomic were on the… less moral side of things, but they still accomplished what the heroes did. They were —generally— good.

Just like not all vigilantes were bad, not all heroes were good, and Tommy was under no illusion that they were always the good guys like the media like to portray. They weren’t corrupt per say, but they were funded and directed by the government, and the government was inherently selfish.

In his mind’s eye, there was a flash of a red, a tightness in his chest that wasn’t natural, fear permeating the air like smog with the nauseating smell of alcohol and a widening grin —

Not all heroes were good.

Tommy must have peered out too far into view, because Dream’s head swiveled and landed right on him, freezing him in place. The street lighting casted a deep shadow over half of the full face mask along with the rest of him, bright colors and all, wreathing him in darkness. Tommy began to hear his heartbeat in his ears, absolutely certain he was about to be found out and put Void in danger, but the hero merely gave a small wave, and on auto-pilot, Tommy waved back.

A moment of nothing, before Dream turned away. It wasn’t until his figure had vanished from view that Tommy let out a heavy breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Dream, while not in the sunlight, was downright terrifying. Tommy had been newly 15 when Dream had become the number one hero, so it's barely even been two years since his ascension to number one, but with the amount of sheer power Dream's power held —not counting his own intelligence and craftiness— there was no real opposition to his right to be the top hero.

No one really knew what his power was either, only that it was powerful. Something to do with puppetry some people said, some thought telekinesis, some suspected that it was something visual or mental enhancing, but it was all just guess work. Tommy, although curious, really didn’t want to find out. No more super's secrets. The three he had were already three too many.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Tommy walked to the bathroom door and knocked on it lightly with the back of his hand. “He’s gone, Void. You can come out now.”

A silence, before a light scraping sound and a clank of something hitting the toilet lid. Seconds later after some shuffling, Void cracked the door open, reluctant relief apparent on his face. “Really?”

Tommy caught himself mid scowl. He didn’t want to scare away Void just yet, but couldn’t help his offended tone. “Of course he’s gone. I promised I was gonna hide you and I did. Just who do you take me for?”

Void seemed to be torn between feeling embarrassed or bone meltingly relieved. Tommy just sighed, crowding him back into the bathroom to deal with his wounds. Tommy had actually done research on proper wound care and ways to deal with more severe injuries, so unlike last time, he actually (mostly) knew what he was doing.

“C’mon, sit. Your wounds look awful and need to be treated sooner rather than later.” Void more so collapsed onto the toilet seat than sat which was not exactly reassuring. Tommy moved to help take off his jacket, but the other shied away from his touch. Tommy raised an eyebrow. “I’ve already seen your bare skin, not to mention your mask is practically gone right now. If I’d wanted to hurt or turn you in, I wouldn't have hid you in the first place. Now are you gonna be stubborn about it or let me help you already?"

Void ducked his head, but nodded, and let himself be undressed not unlike a child, hissing lightly when in pain. Tommy took stock of his injuries, and swallowed the lump in his throat. It wasn't just worse than last time, it would be debilitating if it didn't heal properly. Thin bloody lines wrapped around the vigilante's body, some deeper than others, which was where the blood patches on the armored jacket had come from. The set of lacerations on his right arm was worse though. It crisscrossed around his bicep and forearm like wire had wrapped around it and dug in deep.

(Strings, something in the back of his mind whispered.)

The other similar looking marks decorating Void's body looked mostly superficial, if numerous, but these cut deep into the muscle. If these were on the torso or leg it wouldn't have been so bad, but Void's arm was skinny , meaning the cuts narrowly missed the bone. He'd have to be incredibly careful stitching these up. Come to think of it, Void couldn't use his left leg either. Looking at the leg, sure enough there were similar lacerations, though not quite as deep.

Knowing how vigilantes worked, he didn’t bother suggesting he go to a much needed hospital visit. Something tightened in Tommy’s throat with the responsibility he now held for fixing Void up. He didn’t want to analyze it.

Grabbing a white towel —easier to bleach later— he wrapped it around the worst of the leg and said, "Keep pressure on that with your good arm. I need to make sure you won't pass out from blood loss on me while I'm doing your other arm." Void complied, slightly shaky, and Tommy really hoped that it was because of nerves and not blood loss. Everything would become far more precarious if Void fainted on him.

Tommy dug out the med kit, making sure to sterilize the needle in rubbing alcohol since he didn't have time to do anything fancy, and quickly threaded the needle. He pushed his sleeves up, and got to work. 

What followed was around an hour of semi-uncomfortable silence as Tommy cleaned, stitched, and dressed all Void’s wounds. He absently noted that all of the injuries from last month were healed, including the knife wound on his leg which still looked a little pink.

Tommy tossed the bloodied towels into the bathtub and stared at his handiwork. It wasn't neat. In fact it was rather atrocious looking, but Tommy had tried his best to be as quick and efficient as possible, all while keeping a nervous eye on how Void kept getting paler and paler. Now, the vigilante looked dead on his feet, so to speak anyway since he was actually sitting at the moment. Hopefully it was just a metaphor here.

Hands pink tinted from blood that hadn't washed away —which he really did not want to think about— Tommy ducked into his room to pull out some clothes that might fit Void. The kid wasn't clean exactly, but Tommy had made sure to wipe away as much blood as he could.

He returned to the bathroom and held up the clothes. "I'm gonna help you change now, get some water in you, and then I'm gonna get you to bed. You look like you're about to collapse."

Void yawned, flashing his sharp canines through the mask's cracks. "Feel like it too." Tommy helped him into his clothes, imbuing the occasional touch with his power, just to make sure Void didn't actually collapse on him. 

Once changed, Tommy hesitated, before asking, "Mask?"

Void blinked, and bleary eyed him. "Doesn't make much of a difference now, does it?"

Tommy huffed, because while it really didn't, as he had more than enough to go off of already if he wanted to turn him in, the point was that it was Void's choice. The vigilante sighed.

"Go ahead."

With tacit permission and something uneasy swirling in his gut, Tommy took several moments to unlatch what was left of Void's mask.

Just like the rest of him, Void's face was split down the middle between black and white, and oddly enough so was his fluffy hair. Two small little fangs poked between his lips, and a pair of green and red eyes stared nervously back at him.

A joke about it being no wonder the vigilante wore his mask —he was so damn unique it'd be child's play to ID him— was on the tip of Tommy’s lips, but he swallowed it back. The kid was on an adrenaline crash from an absolutely terrifying and life-threatening experience and didn't need the callus jokes of a stranger to make fun of his vulnerabilities.

Tommy just sighed and said, "I'll be back with some water. Don't you dare doze off before I get back."

"Sure thing," Void slurred, eyes at half mast and falling quickly. Tommy rolled his eyes, ignoring the fission of worry that sparked through his chest.

Once the glass of water was completely drunk, no thanks to the uncooperative vigilante, Void became increasingly unhelpful in relocation, and Tommy was forced to recreate their first meeting. Meaning he had to drag legs-Mcgee around. Tommy was gracious though, and had dined to give up his own bed and carefully lay down the wounded vigilante instead of dropping him on the ground and letting him sleep there like Tommy was oh-so tempted to do.

Tommy huffed. A fucking Saint is what he was. Now he had to go look up what food could help replenish blood loss and hope that he had the ingredients. He stifled a groan. So much for getting a decent amount of sleep.