Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

'ONE DAY- I KNOW THAT YOU WILL BE THERE
'ONE DAY- I'LL FOCUS ON THE FUTURE
'MAYBE ONE DAY- OH BABY ISN'T LIFE SO'

"FUCK- ING- IN-CON-SIS-TENT!"

The words were yelled so deafeningly loudly by everyone present, Wilbur almost had to cover his ears, but he couldn't ruin the song for his fans. The parking lot of the Cloud Nine Café was completely packed, with cars parked on the street with people perched atop them. A crowd surrounding the café, screaming along as Wilbur played and sang. Among them all, he could pick out Techno and Ranboo towards the back, the latter with headphones on to lessen the noise. Above, Phil was hovering over the crowd, wearing his iconic green and white hat from his hero days, while Dream and his team hung back atop Schlatt's van, dressed in full hero gear, having come to the gig directly from work.

Schlatt himself was towards the front of the crowd with Tubbo and Tommy at his sides, all three of them in costume, masks and all, shouting the lyrics to Wilbur's music louder than the rest of them. Aimsey and Eryn were stood atop one of the cars in the street, wearing a bunny and devil mask respectively, with Bad leant against the car between them.

It was truly touching that so many of Wilbur's friends made it to his first gig, even if it was just outside Puffy's café. The song came to an end and the crowd roared with applause. Purpled and Punz sent gold and blue firework illusions into the air above them, and Wilbur waved to his fans as he walked off-stage.

Schlatt barrelled into him the second his foot was off the wooden stage and onto the concrete. A sudden, jarring pain spiked through his head, disorienting him for several seconds. "Oi! You can't keep doing that, you know." he grinned, phasing intangible to escaped his friend's death grip around his arms.

"Can't help it." Schlatt shrugged, quickly using his cane to correct his posture. He quickly pulled up his ram skull mask, revealing his bright smiling face. "That was incredible!" he grinned, pulling Wilbur into a hug again. Wilbur was glad he refrained from headbutting him again.

"You think so? It kinda sucked that the guys couldn't make it." Wilbur looked again at the now dispersing crowd. Foolish had taken immediately to selling refreshments and snacks from the café as the people began to leave, weaving between them all with a tray of hand-made biscuits and cupcakes, decorated on theme with Wilbur's band.

Would-be band. The backing tracks were pre-recorded in a studio, played over speakers set up on the small stage. The other members had cancelled last-minute, leaving Wilbur to perform his first gig alone. And while, yes, it had been incredible, he couldn't help feeling disappointed, and a little betrayed.

"Fuck yeah! That was mint!" Tommy shouted, coming up behind Schlatt. The boy had pulled off his opaque veil, but left the white silk wrap over his eyes. It's not like he needed them visible anyway.

"Agreed." Tubbo chimed. He had removed his gas mask from the lower part of his face, but seemed content to keep his thick bangs over his eyes. Wilbur didn't mind.

He smiled, somewhat flustered by the praise, and pulled out of Schlatt's embrace. Only to immediately be dragged into another from his father. Phil had landed silently behind them, now trapping Wilbur once again in a tight hug. All he could do was sigh. Exasperated, but glad for his families' support. Techno had, at some point, arrived to the little group, Ranboo beside him, clutching to one of his hands, and Dream's team above them shrouded in a green glow from Dream's powers.

"That's was so fucking cool!" Sapnap yelled the second Dream's power released the trio onto the concrete, presumably having been forcibly shut up just seconds ago.

"It was." Dream agreed. Wilbur knew they were smiling behind the mask. George made some incoherent noise of agreement, though it looked as though he'd slept through the whole thing.

"Is he.." Techno began, pointing vaguely at George. As if on cue, the brunette snapped awake, standing up straight and smoothing down his shirt like nothing had happened. Techno threw his hand about in some gesture of 'oh, okay' and tucked it back into his pocket.

"My boy's a famous singer! I'm so damn proud of you!" Phil cooed, finally relinquishing Wilbur from his hug, only to spin him around and squish his cheeks. Wilbur felt his face flush and phased intangible, letting his dad's hands slip through him. "Oi!"

"Sorry, not in the mood for face squishes." Wilbur apologised, his voice echoing around his own head. "Also I can't bend down that far for too long."

Phil made an offended squawk and attempted to swat at him, his hand once again passing straight through Wilbur. Instead, Tubbo stomped on Wil's foot for him, eliciting a startled yelp from the singer. He cursed a quiet 'bitch' he knew the kid wouldn't hear with his hearing aid turned low, and glanced around. The parking lot was almost entirely empty now, only Tommy's friends still lurking about, along with Karl and Quackity waiting for Sapnap, and Punz waiting for his brother Purpled.

Foolish was chatting with Quackity's associate, Charlie if Wilbur recalled, while his two kids ran circles around the lot, chased by Eryn while Aimsey looked on, still sat on top of the car. "I reckon it's probably time to head home." Wilbur said after a while. It was late, and the only light in the area came from the lights posted at the entrance to the parking lot, and inside the café itself.

"Aww, I don't wanna go home yet." Tommy whined.

"Come on, kiddo, we gotta be up early tomorrow." Dream sighed, ruffling his son's hair.

Nearly Three years had passed by since the adoption had been finalised. Four years since the heroes had been liberated and the system had been changed. Schlatt had done well in upholding the new standard and ensuring Tubbo's future. But it was still strange to think about. Sometimes, Wilbur would wake up in a panic, so sure he was late for work. Then, he'd find Fundy in the kitchen making pancakes for them both. He'd see Techno lounging on the sofa, the news on while he scribbled out ideas and drafts for his stories, and Ranboo running through the list of things they needed for that day.

Quackity would stop by the balcony for a chat before he headed for work, or Dream would bring his sister over to walk with Wilbur to drop Michelle and Fundy off at high school. It was strange. It was nice, just living his life without constantly fretting over the sanctity of the entire city. Or worrying if his son was next to be dragged off and beaten into submission by the wretched rat bastards at the hero academy.

Fundy was talking with Aimsey now, the two of them laughing about something, though Wilbur couldn't hear what. It was good. Life was good.

The drive home was a calm one. Quiet music playing through the stereo. Techno driving, with Wilbur in the passenger seat. Ranboo and Fundy in the back, the former sleeping against the window, the latter watching the nightlife of the city pass by as they drove, his tail gently flicking whenever they passed something remotely interesting. Wilbur was watching the city as well. Watching the streetlights pass overhead. Watching people wander by along the streets. Watching the lights in shops and apartment complexes flicker out as people retired for the night.

It was peaceful. The gentle rumbling of the car, the quiet radio filling the air- it was almost enough for him to drift off to sleep. Almost. Something kept him awake. Whether it was his instinct to protect, or the feeling of being stared at, he couldn't tell.

Chapter Text

It was kind of strange to be working in the building he worked so hard to destroy. Tubbo had become a hero not long ago, only a few months, and he'd quickly become a fan favourite. Maybe it was his correlation with Schlatt, or because his codename was so similar to what it used to be all those years ago. Back when he was a villain fighting for the freedom of kids forced into the broken, corrupt system XD had in place.

Now XD was gone. Imprisoned forever, never seen nor heard from again. And Tubbo had chosen to join his father in the hero business. He didn't have an important job. Not really. He worked mostly as an underground hero, staying out of the spotlight as Stinger. Tommy worked at the hero tower now as well. Shifter, they called him, and he was basically the opposite of what Tubbo was.

He was an attention hog, to put it simply. He adored having the paparazzi focussing on him. Being seen by fans and recognised as the second best hero. Second only to his dad, Dream- Admin. It had been a surprise to everyone when Dream, George, and Sapnap re-joined the heroes as official officers. George went more underground as of last year, while Sapnap and Dream were still front-and-centre- practically mascots for the hero tower and system.

Tubbo liked the way it was. He liked crossing paths randomly with Tommy at work. He liked having long conversations with Sam about tech, and sparring with Ant on the training floor. He liked Tommy taking all the attention and fame while he hung back, and he liked being his own hero. Tommy had joined the Dream Team the second he became an official hero the same day Tubbo did, while Tubbo decided he'd rather work alone. He worked better alone. With his own plans and his own ideas for how to deal with situations.

Tubbo's actual power kind of went hand-in-hand with Schlatt's. While Schlatt could manipulate and manoeuvre metals to his whim, Tubbo manipulated technology. His power allowed him to fashion an entire mech suit, fitted to his form, with thin, practically indestructible metal armour, wasp wings on the back. With electro transmitters in the arms and hands, laser cannons in the palms that mimicked Sapnap's fire blasts, and a voice modifier that works as well, if not better, than Callahan's. All hand-made by the wearer, and a technological marvel, according to anyone who saw it.

The real fun began for Tubbo when he got up close and personal with villains and criminals he was sent to face. Hand-to-hand combat was something he specialised in, and the stingers on the wrists of his suit and knuckles of his gloves made it so much more fun. Each one was loaded full of simulated bee venom, not strong enough to kill, but enough to send his prey to their knees in pain. And maybe that was a little morbid. A little twisted. But Tubbo was Tubbo. He'd pretended to murder thousands, caused severe emotional and physical distress to others, and even kidnapped a top hero. He was a little twisted.

Another bank robber crumpled to his knees, arms wrapped around his torso. Tubbo stood over him, looking down at the scum with disdain. Around him, the world was muted, his hearing aid having been turned off for the sake of focus. Focus on beating the shit out of a trio of scumbags who thought they could get away with robbing one of the banks Tubbo's dad owned.

"That's for my father, bitch." Tubbo spat, clicking his hearing aids back on again. It was a slight shock to hear how similar he sounded to Schlatt using his modifier. It seemed a shock to the man in front of him as well, judging by the fearful dilation of his pupils. Tubbo kicked him in the stomach again, right where his stingers had connected and marched out of the building.

The police were there waiting, administering the antivenom to the two robbers that had already been detained. A pair of officers passed him to grab the third guy, and Tubbo hopped easily down the steps, using the mirror built into the back of one hand to ensure his whole face was covered. The lower half by his black and gold gas mask, the upper by his thick brown hair. Everything seemed in order. The criminals were detained in power cancelling cuffs, no longer in pain from Tubbo's artificial venom, the press were keeping their distance as they should, and the officers had the situation under control. The bank hadn't been damaged by the fight, only some minor damage to the décor inside, and that was outdated as hell anyway, so Tubbo flicked open his wings and took to the air.

The wind was still biting despite the layers Tubbo wore, nipping at his ears and though the gaps in his armour, passing straight through the thin black turtleneck he wore underneath it. He could put up with it for the time it took to return to the tower. He landed lightly just outside the entrance, the doors sliding open with a whirr as he came to a stop, adjusting his balance before striding inside. Tina was behind the front desk, writing something down with a pen shaped like a carrot, though she smiled and waved when Tubbo walked inside.

Tubbo waved back as he wandered towards the elevators. One slid open as he arrived, permitting an older hero- one with a mask covering their mouth and nose, but only one eye- into the lobby. Corpse, if Tubbo recalled. He'd been a hero at the tower for two years now, and was regarded as a 'violent but promising' recruit. The two exchanged a nod as Tubbo stepped into the elevator, hitting the button for his floor as soon as Corpse was clear of the doors.

Callahan popped up on the screen as the doors closed, a little pixelated image of a deer hybrid in a Captain America hoodie dancing back and forth on the blue backdrop. "Yes, hello, Callahan." Tubbo sighed, removing the modification from his voice. It was nice to speak with his own voice for a while. "Enjoying the new sprites?"

In response, the sprite gave a brief thumbs up before returning to his little dance. The sprites had been designed by Alyssa and Tommy together, made to look similar to Callahan's soon-to-be android body, which resembled a faun from Greek Mythology, or just a deer hybrid from the real world, with a screen that looked like a visor on its face. The body was constructed, but Alyssa and Tina were struggling to program it, which was probably what Tina was writing about downstairs, thinking about it.

The elevator came to a stop at Tubbo's apartment and office with the Callahan sprite giving a bow, extending one arm towards the open doors. "Thank you, Callahan." Tubbo smiled, stepping out of the elevator.

The apartment was organised similarly to the others, the main room split into a living area and a kitchenette with a bar between them. A shoe rack sat against the wall beside the elevator, where Tubbo left his armoured work boots in exchange of a pair of plush pink slippers (that were actually his dad's), before heading for the corridor that ran along the windowed wall.

There were three rooms running along the wall of the corridor, the furthest away being a bathroom. The first was Tubbo's office, and the second, where he went, was his bedroom. A large, open room, with scuffed wooden floors, a large grey rug in the middle, his bed directly to the left of the door, pressed into the corner. A tall closet sat on the right side of the door, again pressed into the corner with the doors facing the bed, and a corner desk took up the far right corner. The far left corner was occupied by a pet bed and cat tower, the former of which had a large ginger cat curled up in it.

The curtains were drawn shut, and the sunlight outside bathed the room in a dim blue glow through the navy fabric. Tubbo closed the door and sighed, kicking off his dad's slippers as he crossed the room. He yanked off his mask, tossing it aside onto his bed, followed closely by his arm and shin guards. He paused then, taking a deep breath and sighing, resting his hands on his hips. He lifted his hands just slightly, unfastening the straps that held his body armour closed before lifting the piece up over his head.

He turned it around and crossed the room, sliding the chest plate onto a mannequin, checking over the fibre glass wings once, then twice, running his hands along each edge of the metal frames.

"You sure are taking your time." came a voice from the door. Tubbo startled, whirling around, almost knocking over the mannequin as he did. Ranboo was stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, their arms crossed over their chest.

"What are you doing in here?" Tubbo demanded, stepping towards the shapeshifter. "You can't be in the tower, you know this." he stopped as Ranboo came away from the doorframe, shrugging nonchalantly as they perched on the edge of the brunette's bed. "Get out!" Tubbo shouted, pointing at the door.

Ranboo smiled, a stupid, smug little smirk, and leant forwards, resting their elbows on their knees and their head between their hands. "No." he said sweetly, giggling almost ominously.

"Ran, I'm changing, leave." Tubbo tried again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Please." he muttered after a pause.

"Don't let me stop you~." Ranboo hummed. When Tubbo looked again, they were lying on his bed, his cat on their chest.

"Fuck off!" Tubbo's voice pitched with his frustration, and he could feel his cheeks burning.

"Alright, damn, calm down, baby, I'm jus' playin'." Ranboo whined teasingly, sitting up again. "Where's your sense of humour gone, hm? This job has ruined you, 'Bo." he grinned, sauntering out of the room, winking playfully at Tubbo as the door closed.

Tubbo waited until he heard Ranboo teleport away before letting out a long sigh. Ranboo didn't talk often, but when they did, Tubbo often found himself wishing they didn't. Maybe that was a little messed up, but it was true. The constant teasing and taunting just wasn't something he wanted to put up with. It wasn't something he had to put up with. It pissed him off to no end, making his cheeks burn and his heart race. And he would just turn off or take out his hearing aids, but he didn't want to upset Ranboo. He'd done that once before, and Ranboo didn't speak at all for nearly three months, only breaking that streak when Tubbo took them and Tommy to the arcade as an apology.

He sighed again and moved to take off his jumper. Only for Ranboo to reappear in his bedroom, returning the cat to his bed, and taking a moment to whistle at him.

Chapter Text

Eliza's feet met the ground with a thump, sending the girl tumbling hard over herself. She grimaced as she righted herself, a shock of pain emanating from her wounded shoulder. Another feathered arrow landed mere inches from her leg, and she took off sprinting again.

Techno frowned at the half-written paragraph, squinting through the crack in his glasses lens. He sat back, folding one arm over his chest and raising the other to provide a rest for his chin. He stroked his stubble and sighed, leaning farther back in his chair so his head hung upside-down over the top. Behind him, his bedroom was a disorganised mess. Crumpled paper was scattered across the floor, his mesh trashcan overflowing with abandoned writings, spilling across the carpeted floor.

He groaned- growled, and tore the page from his notebook, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder with an agitated grunt. He huffed, growled again, and threw the notebook and pen along with it. His head hit the desk with a resounding thud just as his book sent the overfilled trashcan spilling across the floor. His ear twitched as someone knocked on his door, and he let out a hard sigh. Writing could wait. Not like he was making much progress anyway.

It was Ranboo at the door, with news of a pizza delivery, curtesy of Fundy snatching Wilbur's credit card again. Techno sighed, unsurprised, and followed his kid towards the dining room, making sure the shapeshifter didn't see the absolute wreckage that was his room. He was startled to see that Wilbur wasn't actually in the room when he arrived. He was usually the first to arrive to dinner, usually to scold Fundy for, once again, ordering something with his money. Instead, Fundy was sat alone at the dining table, two pizzas and a serving of cheese-drowned nachos in front of him, and several of those nachos in his hand.

"Dad's on a phone call." the fox hybrid said nonchalantly, struggling to keep the melted mess of cheese from dirtying his clothes. "Yellin' at his bandmates or some'in'." he added through a mouthful, having succeeded in his endeavour.

"Gross." Ranboo muttered, taking a seat beside Techno. They snapped their fingers and a slice of pizza appeared in their hand with a flurry of violet stars.

Techno stared at them for a minute, bewildered by the sudden new ability, then looked to Fundy. Unfortunately for him, the fox was just as confused, staring wide-eyed at Ranboo as they repeated the trick, replacing the pizza crust with a fresh slice from the box. Swapping the items' places like it was totally normal and something they'd done a billion times before.

Wilbur joined them several minutes later, clearly in a foul mood, his eyes dark and his brow furrowed. He said nothing to his son about the stolen credit card, simply taking a few slices on a plate and disappearing off again.

"What's wrong with him?" Techno asked, watching his brother leave.

"No idea." Fundy shrugged, flicking an ear. It was slightly concerning how used to being ignored Fundy was. Techno understood why, of course. Fundy had grown up being told he was a monster for existing, and being ignored and neglected the rest of the time, so it made sense. But that didn't make it any less worrying.

As a writer, backstories were important to Techno. In recent years, he had found himself making up stories for random people he saw on the streets, thinking of ideas and jotting them down for his own characters, in his own novel, based on strangers he passed in the street, or saw in Cloud Nine. It was a good exercise, he found, to scrawl out random slice-of-life style paragraphs about people. Helped him keep his mind ready for when he got home. One of those paragraphs had evolved into a whole novel- a mystery story based on a young woman he saw once in Cloud Nine, dressed in a leather trench coat, sunglasses on, sipping a latte and staring thoughtfully out the window.

That was Eliza, a teen detective trying to figure out the real story behind her brother's disappearance, and getting mixed up in all kinds of trouble, unravelling mysteries and long-buried family secrets as she did. He was stuck though, and had been for a week now. He thought it was the stress of trying to get his first book published, trying to find a publisher willing to work with him. Being an ex-hero made it harder than it would have been otherwise, and it probably didn't help that his first novel was a post-apocalyptic dystopia, full of gore, horror, and death, with a not particularly happy ending.

He sighed, placing down a half-finished slice of pizza, and excused himself. It was late and he had another meeting early the following morning. Ran mumbled a quiet 'goodnight' and Fundy hummed, unable to speak for the food in his mouth. Techno entered his room and paused in the door, eyes falling on the pile of crumpled papers beside his bookshelf. Eliza could wait a little longer, he was tired and needed to rest before another stressful interview with Pixandria Books Ltd.

Techno woke up in a forest. Dark, crooked pines reached high into an inky black sky above him, devoid of stars, or even a moon. He sat up, shaking the pine needles from his arms. He was still in his pyjamas, which he supposed made sense if he had been sleepwalking, what didn't make sense were the tiny mushrooms printed on his outfit. He had definitely fallen asleep in his crown-patterned shirt and matching pink pants. Where the hell did the mushrooms come from?

He shook his head and looked around. He couldn't see far into the pitch-black woods, he could barely see his own shirt to notice the mushrooms, and ,when he stood up, he could no longer see his own feet. He had very limited night vision due to his powers, but living his whole life in the city, where the nights were polluted and overtaken by blinding streetlights, that had faded to be virtually useless. His eyes could adjust to pitch blackness over time, but that took time. Time he likely didn't have.

The tree branches above his head rattle together and he froze. There was no wind. His hair, messy as it was, wasn't being carried by any kind of breeze. The air was unnaturally still, and oddly cold for the time of year it was. That settled it for Techno. He was dreaming. He had to be, what else could be happening? There was no one in his apartment building able to simulate dreams or memories- no one he knew of- and if there was, they wouldn't be stupid enough to break into his apartment. Both Techno and Wilbur were ex-heroes, and Fundy and Ranboo both had elite training with their powers.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He was dreaming, he just had to wake up, and he'd be back in his bed. It was simple. Or, he could lucid dream. He'd done it before, when he was first brought to the hero training academy. His dreams had been an escape from the harsh reality he was forced into. It was a way for him to get away from the God-awful instructors and the constant pain he was made to endure.

So, he thought. Imagined a nice, quiet beach and his favourite book- the Art of War, of course- and opened his eyes. Nothing had changed aside from being able to see a little better. The trees rustled again, drawing his eyes upwards. The tops of the boughs were swaying and swinging, all blown in one direction, dark shadows against the now indigo sky. Stars were beginning to glitter against it, and a crescent moon had appeared beyond the treetops.

But there was still no wind. The temperature had dropped, that was certain, biting at his cheeks and ears, but there was no wind. What was bending the trees? He closed his eyes again. He was dreaming- he had to be dreaming- none of this was possible.  He opened his eyes again as a sudden gust of icy air hit his front. Frost had formed suddenly on the needle-covered ground. A frigid wind was blowing between the trees, digging at Techno's face and hands, tearing through his clothes and chilling his bones.

He covered his ears and ducked behind one of the massive pines, squeezing his eyes closed again, willing himself to wake up!

His eyes snapped open. He was back in his bedroom. Nothing had changed. The lamp was still on at his writing desk. His scrapped papers were still thrown across the floor. The- he hadn't left his lamp on. He slowly removed the covers from his legs, turning and rising from the bed, not taking his eyes off the writing desk. He moved carefully over, stepping around the clothes he'd discarded before going to bed. There was a single piece of paper left on the desk, laid on top of his notebook he'd been using to draft his story. Little toadstools and tree trunks had been drawn onto the page like a frame- practically identical to the scene Techno was just trapped in. Three words were written down, in neat, uncomfortably familiar handwriting:

It's Not Over.

Chapter Text

Dream was, to put it simply, confused by his friends. Sapnap had always been confusing, but it was getting worse as of recently. For starters, he was acting really suspicious about his relationship with Karl and Quackity. So suspicious, it was getting suspicious how suspicious he was being. Dream had tried telling Sapnap that. Sap had gotten confused and brushed him off. Which was also weird.

It was a known fact by practically everyone that Sapnap, Karl, and the owner of the biggest casino in the city, Quackity, were dating. It had made the news when they had announced it together, but now Sapnap was acting weird about it. He had stopped talking to Karl a few months ago, then stopped talking to him after Wilbur's gig. Apparently he'd ghosted Quackity as well, since Dream found that he had three missed calls and a billion texts from the shapeshifter. It was weird.

George was also being weird. What was weird, was how tired George had become. It was weird, because, technically speaking, George shouldn't be using his power at all on his patrols. George had recently moved more into the shadows as a hero, working from behind the scenes, out of the spotlight. Not super recently, but recently enough. And it was worrying, because George didn't seem to be sleeping at all, even when he should have been. All he really had to do all day was rest and eat, and instead he was doing neither.

It didn't make sense. Something was wrong with both of them, Dream could tell, but they weren't telling him. That's what confused him.

The three of them had been inseparable since they were brought to the academy. Sapnap had clung to Dream, and Dream had clung back. George was less clingy, but he was the only one to look out for the two of them, and eventually agreed that, yes, they were friends. They'd told each other everything. If one had a problem, they all had a problem and would help one another to solve it. Now, Sapnap avoided answering whenever Dream tried to ask about his relationships, or expressed concern for his friend, and George straight up refused to speak about his night patrols, or why he was so tired all the time.

Dream didn't want to come off a clingy or pushy, but it bugged him to no end that his friends had seemingly stopped trusting him. Not that they needed to tell him everything- he was fine with them having secrets, but..

He was worried.

He was worried, and it was messing with his job. He was still a hero, he still had a duty to protect, and yet he couldn't. He was a part of the 'Old-Gen Heroes', he was there when XD was in charge, he was looked down upon by the public already, and when villains or criminals got away from him because he couldn't focus on the task at hand- well, that just made it worse. The press and media was focussed heavily on him and his teammates especially, mostly on him, as he'd taken the place as top hero after Phil's retirement, and he was letting everyone down.

It wasn't his fault, but he couldn't exactly blame his friends for having personal lives, and problems that came along with that. It was expected that they had their own issues, but, Dream had also come to expect them to talk to him about it. He expected them to share their problems if they had them, because that's how it had always been.

Maybe Dream was clingy, actually.

That was besides the point though.

Sapnap brushed him off again when they returned from patrol, ignoring Dream's question entirely and sulking off to his room instead. Dream lingered in the entrance, watching Sapnap leave around the corner. He didn't move until he heard the door slide closed and lock, then he just sighed and headed for the sofa. The evening news was already playing on the TV, which made sense, as George had just left before they got back, probably to avoid questions, so, Dream simply plopped himself down and spread himself out across the furniture, kicking off his sneakers and putting his feet up.

The news was replaying his earlier fight against a team of superpowered bank robbers. He cringed watching himself go flying sideways into the wall. His arm still ached from the impact, but luckily nothing was broken. What made him stop was what the reporter had said,

"An embarrassing failure for the Dream Team, having to then rely on up-and-coming hero, Shifter, to save them."

Dream paused, then rewound the report. And again. Then again. Sure enough, the reporter was claiming Shifter- Tommy- Dream's own son- had to save him.

"The fuck kind of bullshit is that?" he demanded to know, sitting up in an outrage. "He did not fucking save us! He helped, sure, but that's not- I mean- how do you get that so wrong?"

"What's happened?" Tommy appeared over the back of the sofa, leaning on the cushions, looking confused at the TV.

"They're outright lying about what happened earlier." Dream exclaimed. "Saying you 'saved' us at the bank."

Tommy burst out into a loud laughter that made Dream's ears grate. He said nothing, scowling as his son came around and joined him watching TV- or, well, listening to it anyway. Lounging across the armchair with his legs dangling off the edge of it.

"Damn bitch, they really hate you, huh." the young hero chuckled, still smirking.

"Yeah." Dream huffed, lying back down on the sofa. "It's stupid. It's not like I ever supported XD. None of us did."

"Yeah, but they don't care. You were recruited under XD, and as far as the public media is aware, that's the same damn thing." Tommy hummed, shrugging and closing his eyes. "Naff to do about it."

"Don't talk like that."

"Like what?"

"A Brit." Dream answered, snickering as Tommy burst into an indignant tirade.

Dream didn't see Sapnap until it was time for them to head to their apartment. He was in a sour mood, silently frowning at his phone the whole walk home, locked in a heated discussion through text. Dream didn't even try to get a look at the phone screen, knowing he'd only get yelled at, and there was no point anyway. Sapnap's reflexes made it nearly impossible to see his phone before he turned it off. Tommy was trailing along behind them, listening to Wilbur's band's music through his headphones as they walked.

That left Dream in uncomfortably silence that made his skin crawl. He had forgotten his headphones in the tower, and the news report was still playing on loop in his head. Humiliating him and his friend, shining a spotlight on his kid instead, someone who had faked the deaths of hundred of people, causing grief and heartache all over the city, and yet he was now being praised for it. As if he'd never been a villain in the first place.

He was never more pleased to finally get home, the coolness of the apartment building was welcome after the unexpected heat of the night air outside, though that was likely in part because of Sapnap, who, as expected, went straight to his room upon having access to it. He was acting like an angsty teenager. Which wasn't as amusing as Dream thought it would be, though, that was probably because if he tried to joke about it, he'd be snapped at and called a dickhead

Tommy skipped off to his own room as well, still humming along to Wilbur's music, and Dream was left alone again. He opted to just watch something on Netflix, finding a nature documentary about penguins and settling down with re-heated leftover pizza from the night before. The show wasn't as boring as he'd expected it to be, and soon enough, he was caught up watching the whole series. Hours passed by, and Dream was nodding off halfway through an episode focussing on puffins. He sighed, he could rewatch the episode tomorrow, and it was late enough already.

He turned off the TV, standing and leaving his plate on the coffee table. Stretching his arms above his head, yawning, then dumping the remote onto the sofa before walking off towards his room.

The faint buzz of static stopped him in his tracks. Dream turned. A faint light was coming from the TV screen. Odd, he thought, he could swear he turned it off. When he went to check, picking up the remote again, the screen flickered fully into life. White, glitchy outlines of trees, mushrooms, and wilting flowers outlined the screen, glowing in the darkness of the apartment. Dream dropped the remote again. His heart caught in his throat. He leapt to unplug the TV as a simple message in unmistakable font popper up on screen, bordered by the forest:

It's Not Over.

Chapter Text

Blood splattered across the concrete, adding to the mess already staining the ground. Charlie grimaced, pulling his blade out of the man's chest. Blood stained his oily skin, his hand painted red as it morphed back to its proper shape. He was a little confused as to why Quackity had ordered the two men's deaths, but he wasn't going to complain. It was nice to get his impulses out every now and then.

He flipped his bloody hand about, trying to shake off the red- he never like red, it clashed so horribly with his green- while using his other hand to dial Quackity's number in the burner phone he'd been given. It rang once, twice, three times, and the line picked up.

"Slime."

"Q." Charlie greeted with the same deadpan formality. "It's done." he told him.

There was a hum from the other end of the line, then, "Good, return home safe."

"I will." Charlie affirmed, and the line went dead. He dropped the phone and shattered it beneath his boot, looking again at the blood coating his hand. "Yeesh, did I go overboard?" he wondered aloud, almost questioning the two corpses at his feet. The puddle of blood the two men created was almost touching his shoe, so he stepped back, frowning again. "Ew, keep it to yourselves, guys." he chuckled, turning and strolling away, whistling a song he'd heard from some up-and-coming band- Lovejoy, he though they were called.

It didn't take long for him to arrive back at the Casino. Las Nevadas stood loud and proud at the head of a sprawling parking lot, decorating with colourful flowerbeds, kept alive by someone's powers. He slunk about between the shadows, avoiding the sightlines of anyone still in their cars parked outside, wating for the grand and glorious lights to turn on, signalling the opening of the doors.

It was easy enough to compress himself seamlessly between the two closed doors, and once he took a physical form again, he stopped, one hand on his hip, the other under his chin in a finger gun shape, a smug grin on his face.

"Welcome back, Slime." Quackity greeted, stepping out form somewhere in the darkened building. "Go wash up, we'll be opening soon."

Charlie saluted and darted off, behind the bar, into the kitchen, and down the spiral stairs hidden away in the back corner, down into the offices. A series of long, confusing hallways that led to various offices, bedrooms, bathrooms, storage areas, and, most importantly, the torture room, all designed to keep people out of Quackity's vault. Charlie found a bathroom, finally washing the now dry blood off of his hand.

when he arrived back upstairs, Vixen was getting herself settled in the kitchen. Sable was behind the bar, and Iron and Gold were preparing for the rush of people about to come in. Quackity was adjusting his mask on his face, already stood on the karaoke stage at the very head of the room, underneath the mezzanine, ready to welcome their guests in. Charlie rushed to his side, a mask of his own forming over his face. It covered only his eyes, taking the place of the fake glasses he wore, taking inspiration from a peacock, beautiful vibrant green and blue feathers adoring the sides, golden detailing lining the edges, and his eyes blurring, turning white in the shadow of the mask.

"Impressive." Quackity hummed, seeing the completed piece. "Though, maybe tone it down a little." he added.

"No can do, Quackity, it shows my personality." Charlie grinned, striking a pose with a hand on his chest, and the other on his hip.

"Flashy and over the top?"

"Yep!"

Quackity sighed, trying to hide his amusement, and turned back to the entrance. Iron and Gold had their masks on, matching eyes masks, one silver, one gold, bejewelled with false diamonds, and small feathers lining each side.

"Open up!" Quackity ordered loudly, and the two bouncers obeyed.

The lights inside the casino burst into life, glowing and flashing and showing off an array of brilliant colours. The lights outside the building were just as bright, flashing and bragging about the 'fun' people would have inside.

A pair of shining golden wings unfurled on Quackity's back, spreading and carrying the man into the air, microphone in hand as the first few masked visitors were allowed in.

"Welcome, welcome! To Las Nevadas! Please, make yourselves comfortable! Come on in, try your luck and win big on our coveted slots! Or how about a round of Poker! We've got it all, so spend, spend, spend!!" Quackity's voice echoed around the closed space as people came in through the entryway, startled and amazed by the flashing colours and the sound of slots being played already.

Charlie took the opportunity to slip away, slinking through the shadows, along the skirting board, heading towards the roulette tables, ready to play.

He counted four times within the first three hours he was nearly punched. Each and every confrontation tempted him to lash out. To listen to the nagging  urged buried in his mind. To spill blood across the carpet. To tear someone open and let their guts paint the walls red.

He didn't. He resisted. But when the night was over, and the last few angry drunks were being dragged out by the bouncers, he was itching to hurt someone. He turned his mask back into his glasses as soon as the building was empty, morphing each one of his fingers into a different style of blade. He longed to plunged them into someone, but he couldn't. Yet.

Quackity approached the roulette table he'd been working with a calm smile on his face. "Slime." he greeted, hands behind his back, calm, collected look on his face. Quackity had a job for him.

"Q." Charlie greeted back, straightening up and returning his fingers to their natural shape.

Quackity handed him a simple photo. A pair of older men, sneaking about in the underbelly of the casino, masks off, and knives in hand. Charlie turned it over, finding their address written on the back. Quackity gave a simple instruction as he walked away.

"Deal with them."

Additional TW: attempted s3xual assault, implied underage drinking

It had been a quick job. Almost too easy, and it had done little to silence the urges. So, Charlie found himself stalking through alleyways, searching for someone, anyone, he could reasonably justify the death of, should he get caught. It would be a little harder to do that with Liberation Day only a few weeks away, but he was sure he could handle it. And if he couldn't, well, that's what shapeshifting is for. He didn't look like himself when he was hunting anyway, instead of his fluffy brown hair and bright blue eyes, he had gold eyes, and black hair that hung loosely around his face.

He had no glasses, wearing a mask over his mouth and nose, and instead of his shirt, slacks, and suspenders, he was wearing a dark green hoodie that could almost be Admin merch, and a pair of black sweatpants. He kept his hands in his pockets, minimizing the risk of just offing someone walking by without thinking, but his finger were twitching, and it was getting harder to resist. Anyone could be a target. Anyone could be next. It would be so easy to just split their throats open. He'd never get caught. It was impossible to contain him, even power dampeners had no effect on him.

It would be so easy to just spill the blood of hundreds. But no. Charlie had been raised better than that. He had been taught to control himself with pinpoint precision. He knew how to control his mind, he was in control. He was in control. He took a deep breath and kept walking, turning and wandering up a much quieter street to avoid the people around him. He melded his hands together in his hoodie pocket to stop himself just swinging a blade at any random passer-by. It was easy. He was in control.

He stopped at the mouth to an alleyway. He had heard someone screaming from between the buildings. He turned on his heel, practically foaming at the mouth, charging down the alleyways, skidding to a stop as he found two people in the alley. A girl, clearly drunk, and clearly too young to be drunk, being held against a wall by a visibly much older man who was very clearly not drunk.

"Hey!" Charlie spat, disgusted. The whole idea of the scene made his blood boil. He knew he could get away with this one. "Leave her alone you creep!"

"Get lost, brat, this don't concern you." the man snarled back, gripping the girl's wrist with bruising force, forcing her closer to him. She growled, trying and failing to shove him off.

Charlie's blood boiled over at that point. The lower part of his right arm formed into a scythe and he charge. Blade raised, shoulder-barging into the man, knocking him away from the girl. "Run." he told her. She did, grabbing up a tramped jacket as she did.

"Hey! I told you, get lost!" the man huffed, struggling to stand up again.

Charlie didn't move. He was in control. The scythe blade glinted in the sunlight, and he leapt forwards again. The man didn't have time to react before Charlie brought his arm down. Cleaving easily through the man's shoulder. Severing his arm in a shower of blood. A howling scream echoed off the walls. Blood painted the concrete and bricks, splattering across Charlie's face and chest. The man's arm dropped to the ground with a wet thud, and Charlie swung his arm again.

This time it pas into the man's stomach. Getting lodged in the layers of fat, slicing through. Blood came up from the man's mouth. He choked as he tried to scream once more, and Charlie relished in the satisfaction of it.

"See, now, this is what happens, when you decide to be a horrible piece of human garbage." he explained, bending over to get into the mans face. "Remember that while you burn." he swiped again, slicing the man's head cleanly from his shoulders. It dropped off the limp body with a thump, rolling along the ground as Charlie stepped away.

"Impressive." an unfamiliar voice came from somewhere behind him, and Charlie whipped around to face it, morphing his hand back to normal as he did. "Very impressive." the voice was similar to Nightingale's, with the same metallic echo that XD's mask gave him.

Leaning against the wall, just at he end of the alleyway, was a tall, slim young man, wearing a pale blue veil over his mouth and nose. Dark blue eyes, darker brown hair tied back at his nape, and pale skin speckled with freckles, dressed in a deep midnight blue trench coat, a black turtleneck and matching black trousers.

"Who are you?" Charlie demanded. If someone had witnessed him, he would have to deal with them promptly.

"HD. And I believe I may have the solution to your... problem." the stranger answered, stepping away from the wall, his hands in his pockets.

"I don't have a problem." Charlie snapped. He was tempted to stab this guy as well, regardless of his intentions.

"You don't wish to cause harm to others?" HD questioned, tilting his head sideways.

"I do, but that's not a problem." Charlie answered, tapping his fingers against his leg.

"Then, allow me to rephrase." HD said instead, pulling a small card from his pocket. "I have a way to negate your urges." he said, holding out the business card. Charlie took it. Only a number and the letters 'HD' were printed on it. "Call me if you'd like to know more."

When Charlie looked up again, the stranger was gone. He hummed, looking back at the simplistic business card with a frown. He turned it over and froze

It's Not Over. The handwriting. The cursive signature, the slant, the slight wobble on the 'I'.

XD's handwriting.

Chapter Text

Technoblade couldn't sleep for a while that night. When he did, he didn't dream, and when he woke up, he had to rush to the publisher's. The man he met with was called Pix. L. Riffs, the founder and owner of the publishing company, which only made Techno's anxiety spike. He couldn't stop his foot from tapping beneath the desk as Mr. Riffs read through his completed book, asking questions throughout. It was nice that he was actually taking an interest, but it was nerve-racking at the same time. Every word Techno said felt wrong, like he didn't know the language at all.

In the end, he was told he'd get a call back within the next week or so, and he left with a pit in his stomach. He called Phil as he walked, only praying his dad would pick up. Phil had been pre-occupied with a new girlfriend the past few months, a lovely woman named Kristin he apparently knew before he was taken to the hero academy. She had run away before wither of their powers truly showed, so neither of them knew, and they'd started going out after only a few weeks. Techno was happy Phil had someone, but he was admittedly a little jealous that his dad's time was being taken away from him.

Phil did, thankfully, pick up, and Techno invited him out to lunch at Cloud Nine. The café had become a favourite spot of theirs years ago, and Puffy always welcomed their company (and took every opportunity to remind them of the damages they caused back when Discord first emerged). Phil accepted, and even offered to bring Wilbur along, since, for some reason, Techno's brother had decided to go stay with their dad for the day. Techno didn't know why, Wilbur never spoke to him about his problems.

It was only a short bus journey to Cloud Nine, so Techno opted to stand. He got enough shit for existing, he didn't have to make himself more of an inconvenience by taking up a seat. Twenty minutes later, and he got off a block away from the café. Apparently, a few buses refused to get any closer to the 'hero hangout' that Puffy's café had become. Almost understandable, but it had been four years, no one actually cared about what happened to the place back then.

Phil was at the café already when Techno got there, sitting in one of the booths. He looked exhausted, which was weird for recent months. His hair was a mess, his eyes wide and worried, and his feathers looked bedraggled. He perked up when Techno walked in though, smile softly and waving his son over. Techno relaxed as well and half-jogged over, sliding into the booth across from his dad. There was a familiar canvas bag sat on the seat Techno had slid into already- Wilbur's bag, open, and Techno could see a mess of scrawled-on papers inside it.

The scrawls weren't cohesive at all though. They were certainly meant to be, and probably were to Wilbur, but to Techno, they looked like a nonsensical scribble of random notes. Written in haste, barely legible. He was half-tempted to pull the papers out and try reading them, but didn't get a chance to before Phil spoke.

"You wanted to talk?" the older man said, tilting his head sideways. Techno noticed the subtle fall of his hair. It was longer than before- longer than Techno could ever remember seeing, and tied loosely at the nape of his neck.

"Uh- yeah, just-" Techno cleared his throat awkwardly. "-just wanted to catch up. We-we haven't talked in a-a while."

"We haven't." Phil agreed, still smiling softly, just happy to see his son. "Is there anything in particular you wanted to talk about?" he asked, glancing briefly at Wilbur's bag beside Techno on the seat. A quick look at Techno's bag as well.

Techno followed the glances, then looked around the café itself. Foolish was leaning down on the bakery counter, scrolling on his phone with one hand and eating a cupcake with the other. There was a rather disgruntled-looking woman with a bad dye job, sitting with two young children both enjoying what Techno assumed was cups of hot chocolate and cookies. A younger woman with a wavy brown bob slowly sipping on a cup of coffee or tea, going between looking out of the window and writing occasionally on a small notepad set on the table in front of her.

In a corner booth, Michelle was seemingly doing an assignment, visibly frustrated by whatever it was. Behind Techno, maybe two booths over, he could hear a quiet conversation between two older-sounding men, though he couldn't make out any words they were saying.

"You saw it, right? The message." Phil sudden dropped his voice to a whisper, staring up intensely. Leaning forwards on the table, clasping his hands at his chin, and drawing his wings closer around himself.

Techno felt a prickle on the back of his neck.  A chill go up his spine, like someone was suddenly staring at him very intently. It wasn't Phil. Phil was looking at him, yes, looking very intense, waiting patiently for a response. Someone else was looking at him. Watching him closely from an unseen location. It didn't seem to be anyone in the café. The only two people he couldn't see were still wrapped up in their own conversation, and no one else was paying much attention to the former heroes.

"Techno?" Phil called his attention back, placing one hand on his, that intense stare softening to be far more worried.

"I- I did." Techno whispered back, swallowing hard as he glanced around again. "I had a dream- a-a forest- and when I woke up-"

"You saw a note."

"'It's not over'." Techno echoed. That all-too-familiar handwriting that he saw on order forms and signatures on documents. He still recognised it. He wished he didn't. He wished he could forget the tells. "It can't be him though. He's locked up in Pandora's Vault- he's been gone for like five years." he muttered though, largely to himself.

"Who? What's goin' on?" Wilbur interrupted as Phil went to respond, wandering up to the table with two plastic takeaway cups of coffee in his hands. "Hi, Tech. Sorry, I've gotta go- pass my bag?" he smiled, though there was nothing positive behind it as he set down one of the cups to grab his satchel.

Techno passed it over after zipping it shut, trying not to stare too much at the nonsensical scribbles inside. If he did, he'd question it, and something, call it instinct, told him that would only serve to upset his brother.

"You can't stay?" Phil questioned, looking a little hurt at his eldest's abrupt dismissal.

"Yeah, sorry, band meeting." Wilbur shrugged, having swung his bag over his shoulder and picked up the other coffee again. "See you at home, Tech." and with that, he left the building, followed briefly by the eye of the brunette woman by the windows before she returned to writing.

Techno watched over his shoulder until he could no longer see Wilbur out in the parking lot, then cast a glare at the woman before turning around to face Phil again. "Did you get a note as well?"

"Woke up to it scratched into a woodblock I was carving, wobbly 'I's and all." Phil answered, looking away now at the empty seat beside him. Techno hummed, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

There was no way it was XD. It couldn't be. He hadn't checked recently, but he knew he'd be one of the first to know if XD were to escape prison. Schlatt would make sure of it. It was part of a protocol that'd been put in place. The Old-Gen heroes directly involved in XD's arrest would immediately be alerted in the case of the villain somehow breaking out of prison. The chances of that happening, with no powers, and no one still backing him up (enough to break into Pandora, anyway), were little to none, but it was still a terrifying thought.

"Whoever left those notes is a liar." Techno concluded. "It's over. XD's not coming back, and there's no one stupid enough to try taking his place again. Not with every one of us set and ready to hunt them down again." claws curled out of his fingertips as he spoke, digging into the table. An unheard challenge to anyone who dared try to hurt him or his family.

Phil nodded, resting a hand gently over his son's, and Techno let his claws slide back in. That was something he'd only discovered fairly recently, so the confused-and-worried look on Phil's face was understandable. He held up his over hand, and sleek black claws slid out from just behind his nailbeds, curling forwards over his fingertips into a razor-sharp tip. Phil looked both confused and impressed by the newly discovered weaponry, pulling Techno's hand down to investigate closer.

Techno let him, smiling softly. It really had been too long since he spent time with his old man. Michelle came up to their table a few moments after, seemingly giving up on her homework to help in the café. The two former heroes placed in orders for drinks and cakes, and the topic was changed from their worries to their hobbies. Phil had gotten into woodworking thanks to one of Kristin's friends, and was very excited to talk about it.

He asked about Techno's books, Ranboo's job hunting, Fundy's search for a college. About Dream and Tommy, Schlatt and Tubbo, since Techno was in more frequent contact with all of them compared to Phil. Techno asked about Kristin, about her projects, about Sam and his old teammates. About pretty much anything they could think about. Even going into strange theoretical topics- like what they'd do in a nuclear apocalypse- even starting a mini debate about something related to crocodiles? Techno barely remembered by the time the conversation shifted again.

Hours passed by, and soon it was late afternoon. Phil's home was across the city, which meant he'd be late for dinner if he didn't leave quickly. Techno took his time. Watching from the Cloud Nine parking lot as Phil flew off across the sky. He got himself a cup of coffee before leaving, meandering down the street and sipping his drink.

The air was oddly cold for April, though it was still relatively early in the month. Techno tucked one hand into his pocket as he reach a crossing. Pausing and waiting for the light to go green before heading across with the rest of the small group that was waiting as well. His walk home was a fairly long one. It was nearing early evening when the door of the apartment clicked open.

"I put dinner on!" Wilbur's voice echoed through the entry and dining space from the living room, and sure enough, Techno stepped into the kitchen to see pasta boiling on the stovetop, and what smelled like garlic bread in the oven itself.

"Techno." Ranboo was stood directly behind him when he turned around, startling the life out of him. "I need your help."

"Hi-" before he could get another word in, Ranboo had a hand on his collar, and the both of them disappeared in a flash of purple.

Chapter Text

It's not right. It's not. It can't be- how, in any way, would it ever be right-

The thoughts were repetitive, and frankly, getting annoying. He hadn't cared to acknowledge them in the four years it'd been, but it was getting worse now. Tommy grimaced as he wandered up the street. People were far too loud for so early in the morning. He heard children yelling in protest against going to school, and frustrated parents dragging them up the street anyway.

He was invisible, so no one bugged him (thanks, Wil), but it was still irritating. A cyclist whizzed past him, partially through his intangible arm. He had half a mind to yell out, but didn't bother, watching the cyclist vanish beyond his limited view. It was worse with the cloth blindfold he wore, but better with the borrowed power.

The thoughts were often quietest when he was out on the streets. His face hidden behind a blindfold and veil, a barrier of wind around him, a clear indicator of movement nearby. Though, it never really left his mind. Everything he did to tear down the hero organisation- only to wind up working for them. The irony of it would almost be humorous if he didn't feel sick to his stomach about what he put his now co-workers through.

At least he joined by choice, right? That was a positive.

Sure, it was a positive, but it really didn't outweigh all the shitty things he did. Especially to Wilbur. He adored the man now, he really did, and his friends did as well. Prime, Fundy called the guy 'Dad'. Tommy really couldn't understand how he was forgiven for it all.

It was just annoying. The guilt that still clung to him, even four years later. The awful thoughts that plagued his mind at night, reminding him what a horrible, rotten, selfish monster he was. He had always been like that. He'd never forgiven himself for it.

He had a friend. Years and years ago, when he was barely old enough to speak. His powers had come to him years before anyone else. Him and one other- a very good friend he only remember as 'Linu'. Didn't even remember the guy's real name, but he remembered what he did. He remembered very clearly stealing the other kid's power. Snatching it away, unable to give it back. He hadn't meant to. He was just borrowing it. But when Linu said Tommy could 'have it', that's exactly what tommy thought he meant.

That power turned out to be the most useful in Tommy's current collection. Allowing him to see, even with his lost vision, but Linu was left without a power. And, although Tommy hadn't seen him in over a decade, he was pretty sure he'd never get another.

Tommy had taken a number of powers away from people. Some of them on purpose, others by mistake. He wasn't even sure how he did it. He could borrow abilities from people easily, that was fine, that didn't remove the person power forever. It just temporarily disable it when Tommy used it. He was borrowing Wilbur's power to stay out of sight on patrol, which meant that, at this moment, Wilbur couldn't use his ability. Which was fine, Wil wasn't a hero anymore, he didn't need to use his power anymore.

But Tommy had stolen a person's power to manipulate electrons in the air and levitate. He kicked off the ground and hovered a few feet up as the thought occurred to him, a wave of sympathy passing over him for the person who he'd taken the power from.

He was a monster. He'd been called that a number of times, by a number of different people. Even people he was trying to save. Like the former students of the hero academy- the old one, when XD was in charge. He saved them from a life of misery and servitude under a tyrant's iron fist, and all they'd done to show gratitude was yell and shout and scream that he was a monster- that he was heartless and selfish. That he was evil, a villain.

And he was a villain, but he wasn't being selfish. Lucky for him Ranboo was an intimidating fuck when they wanted to be. Shut all those ungrateful bastards up real quick.

The words still stuck with him. And the thoughts came back each night. He didn't want to believe it was true. But what else could he be when he kidnapped a hero. When he branded Wilbur with a burning iron and sliced his back open until he was sobbing into a pool of his own blood. When he carved his name in his enemies' necks. When he stole away powers and used them to hurt the people they came from.

He raised himself higher above the street, and higher still until he was above the surrounding buildings. A peaceful, if a little scruffy, suburb neighbourhood. He was pretty sure Fundy used to live around here. Somewhere, though he couldn't make out the fox's house specifically.

He did notice a rather suspicious pair of individuals lingering in a space between two alleys in the next block over. He chuckled, zipping towards them through the air, lowering himself upside-down between them.

Sure enough, one was handing over cash, the other, a bag of a odd white powder.

"What'cha up to?" he grinned, snapping in existence between the two. Both men, in black beanies and masks, practically jumped out of their skins. Tommy reacted before they could run, lowering himself and kicking the pair simultaneously in the chins. 

He stood as one swung towards him, the air whipping barely past his nose as he folded backwards. He swung up in retaliation, catching the dealer in the jaw, then swung again, knocking the air from their chest. The other guy had already run, scattered bills now fluttering to the ground, dropped in the panic to flee.

Tommy swept the legs out from under the dealer and tapped the 'call' button on his belt, alerted nearby cops to his location. A handy little feature implemented by Tubbo and Alyssa .

"Seriously, dude? It's literally eight in the morning- what were you thinking?" he was more disappointed in the dealer's time management than the actual crime, holding the front of the guys shirt as he dangled above the ground.

Tommy stepped out into the street when he heard the sirens getting closer, having had to fully knock the guy out to prevent escape. He handed over both the dealer and drugs, whatever they actually were, and the cash to scan for prints or DNA of the buyer.

He left shortly after, disappearing with Wilbur's power again as he went, just for the sake of avoiding fans trying to take pictures. He was wildly popular, for whatever reason- it was truly a mystery with everything else he'd done, but he really couldn't complain, he loved the attention.

It was a slow day. A few petty thefts. A few other drug deals. A vigilante who got out of hand and nearly killed the guy they were supposed to be arresting. Tommy flew around the city, listening to the winds and the movement of the people around him, telling him what to do and where to go next.

The shifting of the air led him to a more secluded spot. An old cemetery, one not many people used anymore. A lush spot of nature- trees overgrown with ivy, grass and wildflowers so tall it brushed his knees when he set down in it. The trees did make it harder, but the unmistakeable shifting of a person still echoed through the air.

Rapid, sporadic movements that Tommy was quick to follow after. The site was a military cemetery. Fallen soldiers from generations ago, when powers first emerged and the world was chaos for a time. Hundreds upon thousands died, and many were buried in L'Manberg City.

Tommy followed the moving of the wind and the rapid patting of footsteps. He was invisible, but not silent. He didn't get even the slightest look at his quarry. He could tell they were somewhere around his height, a little shorter, and very quick. Rapidly leaping between the trees, seeming to almost teleport through the maze of headstones and overgrown nature that no one bothered to deal with.

The hero was forced to stop and catch his breath, chest heaving with the effort of trying to keep up. His legs were burning, his head starting to spin. The breath was knocked forcefully form his chest as a pair of legs slammed hard into his back. He fell forwards to his knees, feeling the rush of air whipping away from him again.

Another gust brushed past on his left, and rolled, getting a glimpse of a pale shape thumping loudly into the earth beside him. It leapt away again, a muttering 'fuck' under its breath. Tommy stood, feeling another burst of speed at his back. He turned, swinging out the baseball bat he used as a weapon. He missed, but so did his opponent as they leapt back into the forest.

A tree shook with an impact, and a fist collided hard against Tommy's bat as he swivelled again. He could barely make out a pair of pale eyes as they pushed off in a hand-spring away from him again.

"Who are you? Reveal yourself- come on, man, make it fair!" he called out, spinning again and getting shoved backwards as they land two-feet-forwards against his bat again, leaping away and disappearing again.

A tree was battered into somewhere above his head, and Tommy leapt to his feet, swinging and slamming the wooden bat into the other's side. They were sent flying and crashed into a tree somewhere to Tommy's right. He stood, panting, and glared, waiting for anymore movement.

It came from above him. A sudden rush of air and energy- slamming hard into the back of his neck. A shock of jarring pain stabbing downwards through his spine. He was sent sprawling into the dirt, a weight remaining on his back. A series of impacts pummelled his spine, each one sending a wave of pain through his limbs and nerve.

Numb pins and needles spread through his body as he lay helpless on the ground, pinned down by the stranger.

Another burst of air told Tommy they had left, but the heavy feeling remained. His arms and legs felt heavy, and an attempt to twitch his fingers quickly clarified. He was paralysed. He could feel his heart begin to pound as he lay in the earth. The smell of must and rotting wood choked his breaths as he struggled to force air past the lump in his throat.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout and cry and call for his dad- Dream would be back at the tower by now. Patiently waiting for his son to return so the three of them- Tommy, Dream and Sapnap could walk to Puffy's place together for dinner. Dream couldn't see him- couldn't find him. The last update of his location he sent was outside an antique's shop nearly four hours ago.

He tried to call out. Tried to scream for his dad. Tried to cry for help. No sound came out. His heart pounded against his chest, getting caught into his throat as tears burned his eyes, soaking down into the already damp ground he was pressed against.

The air around him began to sweep up again with a rapid movement. His already dulled vision darkened further as whatever-it-was got closer. A series of footsteps shifting through the undergrowth. A muffled voice- an unfamiliar voice- speaking as everything faded out. He didn't try to brace or run, his limbs still weighed down by whatever his attacker had done to him. The last thing he could recall was a pair of voices speaking above him- what he was almost sure were demons coming to take him to hell as his eyes slipped shut...

Chapter Text

Hi, I will be orphaning this and all of my works tomorrow.

After learning of what Wilbur has done, I no longer feel comfortable writing him in any way, especially not the positive light in which I tend toward.

This and all my other fic will be orphaned March 1st, and I will no longer be associating with any of them.

I will, however, be re-writing this and my other works excluding Wilbur from the stories. I can't make promises for the dates that I will be posting re-writes, but they will, eventually, be available.

Thank you for understanding, and stand in support with Shubble and all victims of abuse.

<3 take care of yourselves