Chapter Text
Tommy’s coffee shop was off-limits to supers. The oldest building in the central district of L'Manberg, it had somehow miraculously escaped any damage from the many fights in the area. Many thought it was due to Callahan - Tommy’s boss - whose power had only ever been described as old and powerful and strong.
Whatever it was, Tommy didn’t care. As long as it kept him outta shit and he got paid, it didn’t matter.
Of course, right now he was literally healing the number one hero so maybe, he thought bitterly, maybe shit just magnetised to him.
—
Only four hours ago, everything was completely fine. It was normal, relatively speaking. Clusters of customers walked through the steamy door, eager to get out of the bitter cold of L’Manberg and into the relative safety of the coffee house. Ponk was being their usual charming self and flirting with every guy that walked through the doors, desperately trying to distract their customers from the skirmish behind them: Callahan was frantically signing instructions to Tommy as he pummelled his worst enemy into an inch of its life. Callahan circled the two, eyes peeled for fouls, Tommy cussing his foe out.
“-I swear to you Callahan, it’s a fucking useless piece of shit and it barely works on a good day-” he spat, wiping his forehead with an oily rag.
That’s only because you don’t treat it gently, Callahan signed. Check the filter, it’ll be clogged.
Rolling his eyes and muttering a few more curses under his breath, he pulled on the handle leading to the espresso machine’s filter, but before he could open it, there was a sharp sting and he yelped, drawing his hand back. “Hot. Shit, that was fuckin’ hot,” At Tommy’s cry, Ponk turned their head, wiping the counter down absent-mindedly.
“You alright there, Tommy?”
“Shit,” He whispered again, grasping his burnt hand in the other, examining it. “Yeah, I’m alright, just scalded my hand on the worst coffee machine to ever exist.” He said, directing the last part of the sentence to Callahan, who just folded his arms in response. A tingle alerted the trio to another group of customers entering their café, young and handsome, all smiles and cocky bets.
Ponk rushed off to ‘take their orders’.
You should put that in water, Callahan signed, gesturing to his hand. It looks bad.
“No it’s fine,” Tommy grumbled, though he put down his rag and stretched out the red skin. He glanced around edgily before letting his hands form the words he wanted to say - sloppily, as he hadn’t ever learnt to sign, choosing instead to pick it up slowly from Callahan and Ponk, who seemed to be fluent. I heal. No person see.
Callahan frowned. It’s busy today, T. Quite a big risk.
No see, He insisted. Callahan chewed on his lip, he heard a small exhale.
Be careful, He signed, And fix the fucking espresso machine.
Tommy snorted. “Will do, Calla. I’m not an idiot, y’know.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I can do it and not be noticeable.” Callahan just snorted, gesturing to Ponk.
Just go help him out. Tommy gave him a miniature salute, skipping over to Ponk as they smiled at a man, counting out change for him. Callahan watched over them both with a fond gaze for a moment, before disappearing into the back room.
“And there’s your change… Sam.” They said, dropping it into his palm. Sam blushed. “Order should be over in a minute.” Sam sauntered over to his friends, who were already cackling at a small table near the window. “Hey Toms,” They said, before dropping their gaze to Tommy’s hand which was now bright red and shiny. They pouted, lifting it up and massaging the skin lightly. “Ouch, that looks pretty bad big T. Want me to fix it up for you - or are you going to magic it all better?” Ponk dropped their voice at the last part: Tommy smiled in spite of himself.
“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”
It hadn’t exactly been his choice that his two co-workers knew about his power. Callahan was obviously required by law to know and had confronted him about an hour into his training day as to why he had lied about his abilities on his resume once he had spotted Tommy healing his finger over a small paper cut. Ponk was a newer addition - after having a run-in with Cerberus on their way to work, Tommy didn’t have time to explain things before he re-attached Ponk’s arm to their body.
It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, them knowing. But fuck it. They didn’t care. They’d never report him to either side of supers and maybe it was nice to have two people who he could completely let his guard down with.
“Can I watch you do it?” Ponk asked over the hissing and spitting of the milk frother. “I mean, I have seen it before, but last time I was kinda… barely conscious so-” Tommy hit them lightly on the shoulder.
“Fuckin’… fine. Yes. Just shut up about it, okay?” He glanced around cautiously - taking a step in front of Ponk so that his back was facing the counter, he slowly grasped his burnt hand in his unharmed one. Taking a long breath, he shut his eyes and calmed his mind down until he could barely hear the fizzing of the frother, the chatter of the customers behind him.
Inhale.
Exhale.
And then with a tug of his gut and a wrinkle of his brow, he pushed and his hands lit up gold, grew hot and then even warmer until his hands felt nearly numb. He kept pushing, letting the affected area warm with the energy in his hands and as he opened his eyes he let go of the pushing, letting his hands cool down once more, leaving him breathing hard and with a sharp headache. “Fuck,” He said, panting, “Fuck.” Ponk patted his arm gently.
“Is it always this hard for you?” There was a trace of guilt in their voice, their other hand almost unconsciously moving up to their arm where only the slightest of scars remained from their encounter with Cerberus. Tommy shook his head, swallowing to keep the dry scratch out of his throat.
“No,” he said hoarsely. Ponk immediately crossed to the tap, filling a small glass with water for him. Tommy accepted it with jittery fingers. “It’s a lot harder to-” He cut himself off, signing a shaky fix, “-myself than other people.” Tommy gulped down the water, rolling his shoulders.
Is your hand fixed? Ponk asked, eyes fixed on the coffee machine as it spurted out hot water into Sam’s coffee cup.
“No,” Tommy said again, a twinge of pain creeping its way into his fingers once more, “It made it less bad, I think, but not quite done.” Ponk hummed, letting the coffee settle before pouring the milk into the cup with a steady hand, creating a heart with the foam. “I’ll fix it later, it’s fine.”
Ponk shot Tommy a frown, picking up Sam’s order (macchiato) and delivering it to his table, dropping the frown when they caught Sam’s smile. Tommy smirked at the pair, catching the eye of a blond next to him (bottle of water - seriously what the fuck). The man looked like he’d seen a ghost as he stared at Tommy, leaning over to a brunet beside him (hot chocolate with extra marshmallows) and whispered something in his ear. The man frowned, now also staring right at Tommy and-
Shit. What if they saw? Tommy bit his cheek hard, frowning back at the table.
Shit.
But then the brunet smiled at Tommy, smacking the blond light-heartedly and sipping at his hot chocolate. The blond grinned, letting out a light wheeze at whatever the brunet had muttered into his drink.
Heart steadying, he turned back to the espresso machine. He narrowed his eyes, remembering the scalding bastard’s one great weakness: oven mitts. Donning his armour, he charged into battle, determined to make his enemy meet its demise.
—
“Are you sure you’re okay to close up today? I mean, I can always push back the date for an hour - Sam’ll understand and everything.” Ponk said, stress building up in their voice as they spoke and signed at the same time.
“Chill, Ponk. I’ll be fine - just gotta finish moppin’ and I’ll be right out after you.” Callahan appeared from the bathroom door.
Are we all ready? He asked, his mouth twitching upwards into what resembled a small smile. T, how’s your hand?
Tommy rolled his eyes, now mopping the floor behind Callahan. “It’s fine, big man. Little scalded still, but I’ll fix it once you lot leave. Ponk says I can lock up.” He made a grabby motion with his hand for the keys, which Callahan reluctantly passed over.
Fine, He said, pulling on a lurid green Morpheus merch sweatshirt, Remember, put the keys inside the-
“Broken doorbell out back, yes I know Big C,” he finished impatiently. “Have a good fuckin’ evening.” He grinned at both of them.
Ponk tugged at Callahan’s arm, wrapping their arm around his shoulders. “C’mon, C. It’s not like he’ll blow it up. See ya, Tommy!”
Tommy lifted his hand as a response, humming listlessly as he scrubbed at the floors. The door shut behind them, letting a soft jingle hang in the air as the only sound other than the friction of the mop against the floor. And the faint gunfire and alarms as yet another hero-villain fight broke out in the main sector.
But fuck that. He could easily tune out the sounds of gunfire, the alarms and screams and howling winds, as could most self-respecting L’manbergians. Came with the territory.
He scowled as the harsh gunfire drew ever closer, the sirens now rushing past the wide windows of the café. A small radio in the corner of the gloomy room crackled to life as it gave a ‘breaking news’ update on the situation at hand. He stomped over to turn it off grumpily, leaning the mop against the wall as there was a thump outside. Immediately, Tommy grabbed a (butter) knife from the kitchenette off the main barista station. He slowly creeped out to the pantry - where the back door was - and with a slight fumble, he opened the door onto a seemingly empty alleyway.
The night was nearly silent now, only the faint sound of sirens remained as the only noise. A cat trotted softly through the alleyway, barely giving Tommy with his knife a glance, before whipping its head upwards, watching something above with an expression akin to suspicion.
A clatter of dustbins breaking someone’s fall, a soft ‘fuck’ and then there was a soft knock on the side of the wall as Morpheus, number one hero, limped into view.
He stared at the hero for a while - his lurid green sweatshirt glimpsed between his leather chest plate. With his sleeves rolled up, Tommy could see the scars decorating the man’s arms. Morpheus was nearly doubled over when Tommy opened it, but now he stood, looking down on him (by barely a fuckin’ inch). Tommy got the feeling that his mouth was wide open in shock.
Tommy decided to say something before the silence got too long. “This is a-” He cleared his throat, “This is actually employees only, Morpheus.”
“I was hoping you’d be here still,” Morpheus breathed, “Thank primes. And you’re alone. You don’t have any unsavoury business partners, do you?” He asked casually, though his voice sounded strangled and his breathing seemed irregular as he clutched at his stomach - seemingly doing all he could to not pass out. Tommy scowled at the hero as he slowly hobbled into the pantry before leaning against the back wall.
“I don’t fuckin’ work for Villains if that’s what you’re asking - I do have a boss. You actually just missed him - if you come back tomorrow, you could meet him instead.” He gestured to the door, feeling churlish even as he said it, “Also, dickhead, you’re going to get blood all over my white wall.” Morpheus smirked, making to stand up, swaying dramatically as if dizzy.
“Sorry, kid. I-” He managed before collapsing, Tommy just about grabbing him under the armpits to lower him (vaguely) safely to the ground.
“You just made it fuckin’ difficult to say no to you, didn’t you,” He growled at the man, who responded by remaining unconscious. Instead of sending a snarky remark back, he turned his attention to the area on his stomach that Morpheus had been clutching at and- fucking hell that was a hole into his stomach. He swiftly looked away, breathing slowly to lessen the sudden nausea that had built up in his throat. Before he could change his mind, he ran to the bathroom, taking out the jumbo first aid kit (for emergencies only, Callahan had signed. He was pretty sure this counted as one). and, with trembling fingers, he unwrapped some surgical gloves from the mess of bandages and paracetamol. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He let out a string of curses as he turned back to Morpheus, glaring at the man lying spread eagle on the floor beside him. “You could’ve asked nicely, dickhead.” Snapping the gloves onto his hands, he sat down on the cold tile next to the Super before placing his hands on either side of the wound, propping flesh together as best he could and he pushed as hard as he could for the second time that day. Gold light spilt from his hands, heating his palms up uncomfortably. Head already searing from the pain, he forced himself up onto his knees, now pushing down onto the wound, the gold light engulfing the wound. With a huge tug from his gut, in between the throbs of his head in time with his heartbeat, his brain somehow just fuckin’ told him that the wound was closing up by itself, and eventually, Morpheus’ heartbeat steadied and his breathing evened.
Tommy dropped his hands from his stomach, ripping off the surgical gloves before collapsing on the floor beside Morpheus, chest heaving. Morpheus groaned, sitting up slowly. His mask had come slightly skewed and loose in the fall, and from his perspective, Tommy could just see the bottom of his lip. He adjusted it slightly, brushing back his sandy hair carefully. Once standing, he seemed to notice Tommy for the first time since he passed out, cocking his head as he regarded the panting teen.
“You okay, kid?” He asks, offering a hand clad in leather to help Tommy up.
“You’re a dickhead,” He gasps, though accepting the hand up, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I… needed help, okay?” His head moved minutely downwards, “I am sorry for forcing it on you, Tommy.” His voice, though sincere, made Tommy grind his teeth.
It dawned on him that Morpheus had just checked the name tag that was still smart on the front of his apron, and somehow that thought angered him most out of everything. He tried to rip off his apron, but he was still dizzy and weak, so instead Morpheus pulled it over his head, putting it on a counter that was still laden with medical supplies.
You don’t punch a superhero, you don’t bite a superhero, you don’t swear at a… You try not to swear at a superhero…
“Fuck you,” He spat, leaning against the wall in order to regain his balance. He decided now was the time to test out that one comment on Reddit that speculated that Morpheus could strike people down with lightning, “Get me some water, bitchboy.” Morpheus obliged, seemingly not having any kind of lightning powers.
“You could call me Morpheus, you know,” He said lightly, handing a mug of water to Tommy, “Or, I guess…” He scratched the back of his neck in apparent embarrassment, “Some people call me Dream. You could call me that - if you’d like.”
Tommy sipped at his water obnoxiously, “Who calls you, Morpheus, Dream? If anything you’re more of a nightmare,” He muttered the last part under his breath, though Morpheus seemed to have heard it and flipped him off.
“I mean - it is my name. Translated, roughly. Morpheus was the god of Dreams.” He brought his hand up to his mask (to pinch his hidden nose? Tommy wasn’t sure) before scoffing, “It’s - prime, it’s what my friends call me, y’know? Friendly acquaintances, even.”
“Oh.” Tommy tightened his hands around the mug, forming his face into a wicked grin, “Oh. You want me to be your friend. Do you have no friends, Dream? That’s okay, Dream.” He cleared his throat pompously, doing his best ‘Patronising Customer’ voice, “Dream, I think we can be best friends, don’t you?” Dream swatted at him, though Tommy thought he could just about make out (through the voice changer and mask warping his voice) a smile in his voice.
“Fuck off, Tommy.”
“I would, but we have a fuckin’ policy about waitin’ ‘til all customers have left before we can fuckin’ close,” he shot back. Dream held his hands up in an ‘I surrender’ gesture, before holding his hand out for Tommy to shake.
“Then I’ll leave with a ‘thanks’ and a promised debt to pay.” Tommy hesitated, then shook his head.
“I just don’t want to be mixed up in this shit. I’m leaving this city as soon as I can and I don’t want to be fuckin’ dead when I do.” He said. He gestured to Dream’s midriff, “But you should really go, get some healin’ pots or whatever you supers do. And fix your fuckin’ armour.” He shook Dream’s hand, though. He may’ve been a bit of a dick, but he wouldn’t just leave a guy hanging like that.
“Will do.” His voice was soft, and he gave Tommy a small salute, “Stay safe out there, Tommy. Don’t be a stranger if you need help.” Tommy nodded from his spot on the wall, and with that small confirmation, Dream ran silently through the night.
Tommy watched him go, a bittersweet feeling in his gut.
This is how you stay safe, he told himself firmly, no playing superheroes with Dream.
Standing to full height slowly, he regarded the scene in front of him: a pool of blood where Dream lay just minutes ago, already drying and medical supplies were strewn everywhere as if some crazy banshee had emptied out the supplies everywhere - which, Tommy thought with a slight smile, wasn’t entirely untrue. Though it’d take a long time to clear up.
Even longer with a throbbing head and no one to help.
“Well,” he said firmly, “shit.”