Chapter Text
The market is full today; far more full than it should be. It's bubbling with life and energy and people, filling the streets, shouting demands at underpaid vendors. Loud, angry, and a mess. L'Manburg was built to be a place of honor and escape– a place for the wellbeing of the people. Yet here everyone is, starving, bartering all they have for a thin slice of bread.
And Tommy fits right in.
It's not everyday that Tommy comes to the market with full pockets. Usually, he comes empty-handed and leaves with a suspicious amount. But today is different– today, he has money.
Well, not his money. He's running errands, which is all he's apparently good for. No one wants to hire a loud, scrawny thief. People do, however, want to hire an assistant. It's a bit demeaning, tending to Dream's every need and want and biting his tongue when an insult is directed at him, but he manages. The pay is... well, the pay is suboptimal, but he's provided with housing, and the occasional free meal.
All he has to do is just get... Fuck, what does he need to get?
Dream's words bounce around in his head. "Coal, iron, copper." That's what his boss wanted. Coal, iron, copper. Or was it gold? Coal, iron, gold? No, no. Surely Dream wouldn't trust him with something as expensive as gold. It must be copper.
He takes a peek inside the bag.
That's a lot of money. He'd surely received too much to not buy gold. Maybe he should just get a little bit of both to be sure. Or.. or maybe he should just trust his gut. When he tries to listen to his gut, though, it's silent. He has no inclination either way. Fuck, Dream's going to kill him.
He makes his way through the stands, glancing at the items sold and trying to find the correct station. There's a lot of food out here. Luxury goods like gold are hard to come by. Maybe Dream told him to get copper, actually. Surely he doesn't want pure fucking gold. It's Dream, though– the man's a bit extra.
He watches as a man begs for a free apple, claiming that he'll die without food. The vendor stares him down and curtly shakes his head once, sending the man into a fit of tears. Someone in line pushes him out of the way, commencing the swift trading that was natural to this market.
The man is hard to spot, but he sits on the floor, getting trampled by passing people who don't care enough to ask what's wrong. People die every day– it's hard to care anymore. Tommy doesn't blame them. Still, though, he approaches, pushing his way through people using pure force. He clutches the bag of money desperately, protecting it from being stolen, and finally gets to the man.
He's still crying, eyebrows pinched in pain and clutching his stomach. No doubt he's starving. Still, though, it isn't the usual reaction to hunger. Most people here have become accustomed to being hungry. It's not a rare event; food is hard to come by, money even scarcer. This man must be new to this lifestyle. It makes Tommy much less empathetic. He shoves the bag of money deep into an inside pocket of his coat, making sure it can't be stolen, and offers a hand.
"You'll die from a stampede before you die of hunger if you stay here," he calls over the loud cacophony of the market. The man looks up, wide-eyed and confused. Tommy wiggles his fingers, drawing attention to his outstretched hand. They can't stay here forever. People are avoiding them narrowly, but someone will move them out of the way eventually.
The man– a brunette with big brown eyes that are far too naïve for Tommy's liking– finally registers Tommy's words, and he takes the kid's hand. Tommy pulls him up (or, rather, he lets the man use him as support to pull himself up) and leads them to a less crowded part of the market.
They come across the luxury goods part of the market, with wool rugs and mouthwatering meats on display. Tommy would give anything for a lamb leg. Or, really, anything that isn't bread and vegetables, or the occasional slice of cheese. He shoves the man ahead of him, who's shaking now, apparently.
"What's wrong with you?" Tommy demands. "Are you new or something?"
The man shifts, swaying slightly as he stands in front of him. It makes Tommy even more annoyed. Eventually, he rasps, "Food, please."
"If you don't have the money for food, that's on you. Don't come to the market expecting things– no one here owes you anything."
The man suddenly grips Tommy's shoulder, knuckles white with effort. Tommy, startled, goes to shrug him off, but finds that he can't.
"What're you doing? Get off of–!"
"I'm dying," the man gasps. "I can myself dying. Please, I just– this wasn't supposed to happen. I need–"
"We all need food, get used to it," Tommy says scornfully. His stomach rumbles agreement. "You're lucky I saved you from getting trampled. Don't push my kindness."
The man has the gall to look disappointed. "You don't have food?"
"No one has food here," Tommy scowls. "You are new, huh? Well, get used to it. And keep off of the ground!"
He goes to turn around and head back to the more crowded part of the market, but the man's grip on his shoulder doesn't budge. Tommy struggles, trying to free himself, but it's in vain. For someone so supposedly weak and starving, this guy is worryingly strong.
"Get off of me," he demands. "I'm done here."
The other says nothing, but suddenly he lets go, and just as Tommy's about to leave, he tips forward, falling to the dusty ground.
Tommy jolts, diving forward to catch him out of pure instinct. His hands grasp around air, though, and the guy falls straight on his face. When Tommy lifts his head a little to see the damage, it's a broken nose, a bruising forehead, and lip scabs forced open. The man doesn't seem conscious anymore, otherwise he'd be howling in pain.
For a moment, Tommy just stares, horrified. Then, he groans out-loud and heads into the market.
Instead of heading for the ore section, he gets in the bread line. It's not too long– not a lot of people can afford bread– and he leaves the line with a sizable roll of bread. It takes all his willpower to not eat it himself. He wonders if he should get some water, too, and then remembers he isn't responsible for the guy's hydration.
When he returns to the luxury goods area, the man is still laying there, a complete and other mess. Tommy crouches down next to him and pokes at the guy's shoulder.
At first, he doesn't wake, but after more prodding, an eye slips open. It's bleary and confused, but it lands on Tommy and, more importantly, the piece of bread.
Tommy hands over the bread reluctantly, not saying a word. If it wasn't for his morality, he wouldn't be doing this. But the man would've died, and Tommy had the money Dream gave him. Fuck, Dream would kill him.
"Thank you," the guy rasps in between bites. "You saved me life."
It's said with such genuineness, Tommy flushes and looks away, overwhelmed. "Yeah, whatever," he mumbles. "Don't get used to it."
"How could I ever repay you?"
"You don't," Tommy responds. "I don't want to be in anyone's debt, alright? Just fuck off and be smarter."
The man gives a jolt. "You wouldn't be in my debt, I'd– come on, I need to give you something."
"Are you not fucking listening to me? Just leave me alone. I don't want anything."
Tommy makes to leave, job apparently accomplished, but the man stops him. "Wait! At least tell me your name."
Tommy pauses. "Why?"
The man gives a crooked smile, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. God, he is new to poverty. Not a lot of people can afford dental care. "I'll pray for you. Maybe God can help you."
The blond narrows his eyes. "I'm an atheist."
The other blinks, dumb-founded. His smile slips. "Oh. Shit. Um, that's my bad. But anyways, I'm Skeppy. Your turn."
"Tommy," he finally concedes. "Don't pray for me, Skeppy. I've already tried," he huffs, "Doesn't work."
With that, he spins on his heels and makes his way back into the bustling market.
Coal, iron, copper.
Or... Was it gold?
Fuck.
—
It was not, in fact, gold. When he enters the warehouse and brings Dream the bag, he's met with a sharp slap in the face. It knocks him to the ground, where Dream crouches next to him.
"You bought gold?" Dream asks, angry. A hand snakes into his hair and pulls, yanking painfully, and Tommy cries out despite himself. "I said copper, you idiot. Can't you get anything right?"
Apparently not, Tommy thinks to himself. "I'm sorry," he says instead. "I got confused, and--"
"I didn't hire you to get confused," Dream scowls, letting go of Tommy's hair and letting his head hit the ground with a dull thud. Tommy feels a wave of pain hit him, and then Dream's yelling again. "You're wasting my money, Tommy. I can't allow that."
"I'm sorry," Tommy rushes to say, sitting up. "Dream, I'm sorry, I am. Give me another chance, please."
"I'm sick of giving you chances, Tommy. I want results. I need you to be better. All you have to do is just be a good assistant, and you can't even do that! You have the easiest job in all of L'Manburg, and you're bad at it."
Tommy blinks tears away. Dream doesn't like crying. "I'll be better," he says desperately. "I'll- this will never happen again, I promise!"
"I should fire you right now," Dream says coldly. Tommy's heart drops. "I could."
"No, no," Tommy pleads. "Dream, please, I need this job. No one else would hire me."
"Maybe there's a reason for that, Tommy!" Dream's voice lowers. "You're useless."
Tommy's eyes squeeze shut. "I know," he whispers. "I know. But please let me stay."
"Why should I? I owe you nothing, Tommy." It's a direct callback to the words Tommy had said to the man at the marketplace just a couple of hours earlier. Don't come to the market expecting things– no one here owes you anything. Tommy's a hypocrite, isn't he?
Still, he tries to find a reason. "I'll get more food. You know I'm good at stealing. I can do it, and then you, Sapnap, and George will be fed for weeks. Give me a few days."
Dream scrutinizes him for a moment, and Tommy does his best to look capable and not like a whiny, useless child. Eventually, he says, "Fine. Two days, and I want at least three-hundred dollars. If you can't, I'm cutting you off. I'm doing this for your own good, Tommy. Understand that."
Tommy nods swiftly. Three-hundred is manageable. It's a lot, but if he spends his time wisely, it's achievable. He just has to... not sleep for a while. "I do. I do. I'll get on that, Dream, thank you."
After a moment, Dream smiles. "I like you, Tommy. You're a good kid. You need to stop being stupid, though."
Tommy hurriedly agrees, "I'll work on it." His mouth is faster than his brain, and he just keeps babbling, "Thank you, Dream. I'll do better, I promise."
"I know," and then there's a hand on his cheek, swiping over the swelling bruise Dream's slap had left in its wake. It hurts a bit, but Tommy presses into it, eager for affection. "But you need to get a lot better, and really quick. If not, there's nothing I can do for you."
For a moment, this is the highlight of Tommy's week. Dream stroking his aching cheek, being gentle after being terrible, and Tommy's head is reeling. He nods. "I know. I will. Let me prove myself, I can do it."
"Then get to it," Dream pulls away, straightening up and adjusting his French cuffs. With a few quick steps and a slamming door, Tommy's alone in the room, thrown on the ground and trying to come up with a plan to get two-hundred dollars.
—
The first day is successful. Tommy goes back into the marketplace, where the people barely threw him a glance and the vendors watched him with wary eyes. Everyone knows to be cautious of kids like him; the kind that steal and run and get away with it. Tommy can't avoid suspicion for long. He barely manages to walk to a stand without being eyed, much less be able to steal something.
He eventually develops a system though. Most people in the market know to keep their pouches hidden; some people, though, don't understand the concept of being careful. They walk with their pouches gripped in their hands, not carefree, but not alert. It just takes Tommy bumping into them to drop their money, leaving Tommy to steal a few coins, and occasionally a buck.
Even better, he manages to steal a few watches. A distracting hand on the shoulder diverts the attention from his quick fingers opening the watch's latch, and then Tommy scampers away, unseen, forgotten. It's the most he's stolen in weeks. Dream doesn't let him steal much. It's ungraceful, undignified. There's no dignity in being a thief; apparently, though, there's plenty in being an assistant.
Today is different, though. Tommy's more than capable of proving himself, of getting a nice haul and impressing his boss. He just needs to keep it up, and not be stupid. Before the sun even set, he's he stole four more watches, a bracelet, enough coins to buy a small slice of cake, and even a ring. Now he makes his way to a local pawn shop, one of the only ones that hasn't gone out of business or tried to scam him.
Sam greets him with a warm smile and a, "Tommy!" that makes his heart shine. Sam, somehow, has always been more than L'Manburg. In the old days, when Tommy was jobless and couldn't steal if his life depended on it, Sam would share the occasional meal and sometimes even let Tommy sleep inside.
Sam's wife had passed away just a few years ago, along with their son, Elliot. There had been an incident at a town square; a peaceful protest turned fatal as guards became aggravated. Sam's wife and Elliot were caught in the crossfire, and just around that time, Sam had found Tommy, coursing through the streets, trying to live another day.
It's mutualism. Tommy needed a guardian, Sam needed a replacement.
He walks up to the counter and dumps the contents of his bag under Sam's gaze. "Hi, Sam. I brought stuff."
"I see," Sam responds, getting to work immediately. He shuffles through the items, taking a special interest on a silver watch Tommy had stolen from some hazy-eyed woman when she wasn't paying attention. "Dream's letting you steal again?"
"For a few days. I messed up a purchase, and he's making me earn back the money," he pauses. "I think. Or maybe it's a responsibility thing. I forget."
"Uh huh." The man holds up the ring, bringing it closer to his eye and scrutinizing it before grabbing some... long, sharp instrument that Tommy can't remember the use of. It becomes obvious, though, when Sam starts dismantling the ring with it. "Tommy, I think there's a ruby in this."
Tommy gapes. Rubies are expensive. "Really?"
Brows furrowed in concentration, Sam nods wordlessly. Tommy watches as a small, red gem is removed for the hoop. It doesn't shine in the dull light of the pawn shop, but Tommy bets it would under the sun.
He grins lopsidedly. "Good work, Tommy?"
"Incredible work, Tommy! I can really sell this for a lot. God, kid, what do I owe you?"
Tommy wants to say nothing, that it's on him and a gift for everything Sam's done, but he really needs money. He tilts his head, thinking. "For the whole haul? A hundred-fifty? Is that okay?" Sam deflates a little, and Tommy rushes to lower the price, but then the man smiles tiredly.
"Yeah, that's a good price. Here, I'll ring you up." Tommy thinks it's a lie, but he can't afford to change it. Dream needs to be impressed.
"I can get you more some other time. I mean, Dream doesn't have to know everything I do. He's not the–" The words 'he's not the boss of me' die on the tip of his tongue. He winces, and Sam grimaces. "Fuck."
"Fuck," Sam agrees, and then he's handing over three fifties. Tommy takes the money gingerly, carefully stuffing it into the inside pocket of his coat. "You need to come over more, Tommy. I miss you."
A part of Tommy dies, saddening at the fact that he doesn't have a lot of time anymore to visit the man who'd saved his life. "I know," he says, "but Dream's schedule is really hard to stick to. He's working me to the bone, I don't really have time to–"
"I know," Sam says with a sad smile. "But I'm just saying, kid. My door's always open."
"Actually, you close in fifteen," Tommy points out, trying to lighten up the conversation. It earns a chuckle from Sam, which is a win in his book. "I'll be back tomorrow with even more stuff. I have a long night of," he sighs, "more stealing at the market. I mean, honestly, don't people ever learn to not be stupid?"
A part of him feels bad. The people in that market usually barely have money, and Tommy's taking it away from them. Still, though– it's a kill or be killed world, right? He's doing what he needs to do to survive.. and maybe a little extra. If he wants to make it in L'Manburg, he has to abandon his moral compass.
He pointedly tries to ignore the favor he'd done Skeppy, the waste of his precious money that could've landed him in serious trouble had Dream found out. It was a moment of weakness, and Tommy will stick to that story.
"Some people are just born dumb," Sam shrugs. "And then they don't learn to adapt."
"And then they die," Tommy says, mind lingering on Skeppy before adamantly shaking the idiot out of his head. Sam shoots him a quizzical look, but Tommy moves on. "How's business been, Sam?"
"It's been alright," Sam answers with a grimace. "Taxes got a little higher, which sucks, but I've got a new advertisement strategy to combat it. Give me a week and this place will be L'Manburg's official trading center."
"Oh yeah, for sure," Tommy says, trying to ignore the cobwebs starting to build on the display case. "You've got it. For no reason at all, though, here's a five. I got it from– well, you don't need to know, not really. Here, take it."
Sam refuses immediately. "No, no. I don't need it. Keep it, Tommy, come on."
"Sam--"
"I don't need you doing me any favors. I'm alright."
"But I--"
"Tommy," Sam says sternly, and Tommy knows to drop it. "I'm fine. If anything, you need it more than me. Isn't Dream gonna kick your ass or something?"
Tommy fidgets with the hem of his shirt. "He said he'd fire me. I live there, Sam, I can't lose that job. They feed me."
And sometimes, Dream's nice. When Tommy's good, Dream wraps an arm around his shoulder and talks to him gently. They've spent nights awake, talking and messing around like brothers. They have inside jokes, and him, Sapnap, and George are close with each other. Dream's more than just a boss– he's family now.
All Tommy has to do is be good. That's what Dream wants, for Tommy to be the best version of himself. And then he'll be nice. Tommy repeats the thought to himself like a mantra. Dream will be nice as long as he's good.
If he isn't, though...
Tommy gently touches the bruise on his cheek from when Dream had hit him to the floor.
Sam's eyes soften. "Maybe getting fired would do you some good," he says gently, stepping around the counter and getting close. "You can come live with me. I'll let you steal, even. Bad father figure, I know, but--"
"That's really nice, Sam," Tommy interrupts. "But you know I can't."
Sam can barely keep the pawn shop up and running, barely scraping up enough money to keep himself alive, too. He can't feed another person. Besides, Tommy's too much trouble. He can't live with Sam– the man is too sweet, too generous for this world. Tommy would only weigh him down.
And by the way his eyes glint knowingly, Tommy thinks Sam knows that as well.
The man confirms his suspicion. "I know," he concedes. "I just hate to think of you working for that psycho."
"Dream is not a psycho!" Tommy squawks. "He's a bit mean sometimes, sure, but he's just strict. He's done lots for me, and he pays me a good wage."
Sam stares at him for a moment, then sighs. "Sure, Tommy, whatever. Get out of here, alright? And get some sleep! You look two steps away from Death's door."
"Thanks," Tommy says drily, setting off to the marketplace once more.
He counts the money once he's outside. One-hundred and fifty from Sam, and a good fifteen balled-up one-dollar bills from purses that weren't clutched tight enough. One-hundred and sixty-five. God, the wonders Tommy could do if he wasn't kept from stealing.
Sometimes, he considers quitting his job, becoming a full-time thief. He could be great at it.
But he wouldn't have shelter. He wouldn't have food and a roof over his head, and that just wouldn't do.
With a heavy sigh, he sets off into the marketplace. He has one-hundred and thirty-five dollars to make, and only a few hours to make them.