Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy Innet, a sixteen year old boy with golden hair and dulled blue eyes, the heavy bags under his eyes seeming to disappear any time he brings out his signature customer service smile and 'what can I help you with?' attitude. 

Tommy has been in the system for as long as he can remember, the first real (and very distant) memory he has from when he was younger was of his first foster home. Nobody knew what happened to his parents, he -as an infant- was just found alone by himself one day, and his biological parents were never found. They were either missing or dead, and Tommy has known that for a long time.

His very first foster home wasn’t the kindest, his guardians weren’t abusive or terribly neglectful, just made the mistake of fostering a two-year-old when they were only new to fostering. In other words, they had no fucking clue what they were meant to do with a literal infant. Tommy only had a little less than a year with them before he was moved onto his next home. 

The home he went to when he was five is when he first learned of his powers, what he could really do, how powerful he was. His foster brother, who was older than him by about three years, was the first person he ever truly considered family. They grew close quickly when he first entered the home, the older boy always looking out for him and staying by his side through even the worst of nights, when nightmares or night terrors clung to his young mind so hard it felt as if the monster in his closet or under his bed would follow him for the rest of his life; his first real older brother was there for him in a heartbeat.

So when his foster parents got greedy, and decided that making money off of Tommy’s abilities was better than their only son having a little brother, it quite literally tore both of them apart. Both boys were devastated at the prospect of possibly never seeing each other again, but unfortunately, neither could do anything to stop it when Tommy was sent to the next set of foster parents; the Crafts.

The Crafts were just about as nice as you can get. Kristin, Tommy’s new foster mother, with her dark brown hair and galaxy purple eyes, had the sweetest smile and the kindest voice he’s ever heard. And he means that, because for once, even with how young he was, he could hear the genuine undertone to her voice whenever she spoke, and not something harsh and dishonest.

Philza, or just Phil, Tommy’s new foster father, is- well, there’s really no way he can describe him is that he was just Phil. The man had a seemingly infinite amount of patience behind his sharp blue eyes and kind smile, never once raising his voice at Tommy in a way meant to scare him or get him to shut up because he’s being too loud. Tommy really liked Phil.

Both of his foster brothers are interesting, to say the least. Techno, who had long pink hair and bright red eyes, was very laid back. His monotone voice made it hard to tell whether he was upset or not, but over time Tommy seemed to understand what he really meant and loved to listen to Techno read him stories no matter what kind, finding the olders voice calming.

Wilbur, admittedly, was the first to break through to Tommy, and the first of the Crafts he considered family. He always enjoyed playing around with Wilbur, goofing off and causing chaos and just being a general nuisance to Techno or anyone around the house. Both of them were tricksters if left alone, and neither would let the other take all the blame if something got broken. They were inseparable.

When Tommy thought of home, he thought of Kristin's kind voice and the lullabies she would sing to him occasionally if he ever called her at night when the nightmares plagued his mind. He thought of Phil, with his endless amount of patience who would take time to sit with him so he could work through his homework. He thought of Technoblade and his deep voice that was able to calm him, whether by just talking to him or reading him stories. He thought of Wilbur and the nights when Kristin and Phil were busy with work and Wilbur was there to lay down with him through the night to help him sleep.

When Tommy thought of home, he thought about the Crafts.

But that was years ago, now. Years before the panic, the anxiety, the fear.

Before the night Tommy fucked up.

Before his world, even for a split second, was filled with Wilbur's voice was no longer comforting, Techno's hands held him still as if he wanted to hurt him; when Phil's patience had finally run out, and Kristin's voice was no longer kind, but instead screaming in fear.

Before Tommy did the only thing he could think of, and he ran.

Ran until his legs were sore, until his lungs burned and his feet nearly bled from how hard they hit the ground.

He ran, and ran and ran and ran. 

And Tommy's still running. Even in his small one person apartment near the edge of town he has, where the walls are stained with something he doesn't even want to know, where the floor creaks with every step you took, where the water didn't fucking run a majority of the time. Even with his two jobs; one at a Walmart a little further into the city and one at a little coffee shop with the owner, a green haired man who's been nothing but nice and fucking lovely to him. Even with his new nightly job he does but doesn't get paid for and is incredibly illegal, vigilantism, where he goes out and patrols the neighborhood, stopping petty theft and taking down smaller villains if he's able to; even with all of this, all the nights he still spends stuck in paralysis when the nightmares and terrors return, all the hours of the day he spends at both of his jobs, even his newer nightly job where he's saving people-

Even with everything, Tommy is still running.

And today was no exception.

All he'd been doing was restocking the shelves. All he wanted was to get this over with so he could go home and rest before going out again tonight, even with how badly bruised and beaten up he'd gotten the night before. Tommy just wanted to leave already.

But no, fate had to go and get in the way again. 

Whether fate was cruel for suddenly bringing them back together or kind enough to, Tommy still has yet to decide. But when the very last thing he'd been expecting to hear, the very last person he'd expected to see was suddenly at his side and using a nickname he hasn't heard in years, what did you expect Tommy to do? Not look over and see who had the audacity to distract him while he was trying to restock the fucking shelves?

So you can only imagine Tommy's surprise and utter shock when he turned and found Wilbur Craft, someone who he missed more than he cared to admit, standing next to him with his hand reached up to the shelf to grab a can of soup. It was as if time came to a standstill.

All Wilbur and Tommy could do was stare at each other, both at a loss for words and in complete shock, simply taking in each other's appearances.

But, then Tommy registered who it was, and it was as if his legs moved on their own.

In a blink, Tommy was moving. In a blink, Tommy was running.

He'd taken off is a random direction, trying to get away from Wilbur as fast as possible, but, as fate would have it, Tommy ran into Techno in that direction.

The teen came to a screeching halt the moment he made eye contact with Techno, turning as quickly on his heels as he could and taking off in another random direction, decidedly not the two Techno and Wilbur were in.

He didn't know where his legs were taking him, didn't know where he was trying to go, didn't notice that his shoelaces had come untied. At least not before he stumbled trying to get past a janitor and tripped over because he stepped on his shoelaces.

Time slowed again as Tommy watched his world shift downward and the floor came ever closer. He'd barely had time to close his eyes when he felt the floor impact with his shoulder first, and could only watch as his world went black as his head collided with the hard granite floors.

Tommy's vision swam at first, his head pounding and only a cacophony of a loud ringing and muffled voices of all kinds sounding like white noise. The only voices he's able to make out are those of Wilbur's concerned and terrified sounding voice, and Techno's familiar monotone but incredibly concerned voice before everything went to black and Tommy lost consciousness.

But throwing this at you all at once and moving on from here is, at least to me, poor storytelling. I can't just throw you into things like that, it seems unkind and cruel to give you no more context than simply all that is above. So instead, I'll do something different. Instead, I'll find it in my cold heart to give you more story before I continue from here.

Now then, let's go back in time a bit, shall we?

Chapter Text

4 weeks ago

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep!

Tommy woke up to the sound of his alarm blaring in his ears. Blinking open his eyes, Tommy glared at the device, dull blue eyes staring at it with a silent wish he could smash it into pieces, if he didn’t need it to wake up in the mornings.

The teen groaned, he’d been up into the late hours of the night working on something. He had class assignments he needed to finish, even if he didn’t actually go to school and technically didn’t need to turn them in, he still wanted to get them done before he went to bed, he knew he wouldn’t have the determination to finish them the next day. 

Tommy made a noise as he heard the alarm continue to blare, begrudgingly sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes quickly before reaching over to shut the damn thing off. God it was so fucking annoying. 

Tommy spends a few moments just sitting in bed, waking himself up enough so that he wouldn’t immediately fall over as he got up and stepped out of bed. A choice he sorely regrets with every fiber of his being. The floor is freezing as it meets his bare feet, making a chill run up his spine, making him shiver as he forcefully becomes more awake. He curses quietly to himself, grumbling as he rushes over to his tiny dresser to retrieve some socks to put on his feet.

He’s so glad he doesn’t have to work at the department store more into town for the next couple of weeks, its going to be fucking freezing and none of his current clothes are nearly thick enough to keep him warm in the up-coming cold front. But at the same time, he really hoped they would fix the building faster so he could get both his streams of income back again, he really didn’t want to ask for his landlord to give him extra time, and Sam is a fucking mindreader or something -the thought of that legitimately being the mans powers crosses his mind- because he somehow always knows when Tommy is struggling. It’s honestly quite annoying. 

Tommy shakes his head to get rid of the last lingering feeling of sleep that was still present before going and getting ready for the day.

Tommy didn’t usually eat in the mornings -not that there is much to eat in his apartment in the first place- so it didn’t take him long to be out the door and heading to Sam’s coffee shop, Fran’s Cafe.

The cafe is named after Sam’s dog who, unfortunately, passed away while the green haired man was in the process of renovating the building used as the cafe. The only reason Tommy knows this is because he had asked why Sam picked the name Fran, he felt bad for making him relive his trauma in favor of satiating his curiosity, but Sam insisted it was fine because it was years ago.

The only thing Tommy dislikes about the Cafe is the fact that it was at least four or so blocks away, and the only mode of transportation Tommy has is his feet, money is simply too tight for him, and he wouldn't be able to pay for what food he does get or any other need of his if he paid for the bus fare or a taxi. So walking was his only option, and it was freezing outside today. Oh the joy.

Tommy was greeted by the smell of fresh coffee and a light conversation in the air as he walked into the cafe, Sam's voice carrying over the sounds of conversation and the calm lofi music playing from the speakers to call someone to pick up their order.

"Devin, your order is ready!" The green haired man calls out, the person going up to the counter and getting their drink with a thank you.

Sam just smiled, something Tommy always enjoyed seeing, nodding at them as he went to make someone else's drink. The teen does his best to smile back when Sam turns his head and notices Tommy walking up to the counter, something about Sam’s warm smile directed at him always makes something tighten in his chest, and he has yet to determine if that’s a good thing or not.



“Morning Tommy!” Sam calls to the teen as he quickly makes another drink for a customer that walked in right before Tommy.


Tommy did his best to smile as brightly as Sam, but the attempt fell a bit short, he could tell. But Sam didn’t seem to mind, nor care, and Tommy knew that the man only cared that Tommy smiled in general. Rather sappy in Tommy’s opinion, but at the very least it's worth the trouble to smile genuinely, if only for Sam and how kind he’s been.

“Morning Sam.” He replies once Sam has passed on the order to the customer and he got his apron from behind the counter.

“You sleep well?” The kind green haired man asked next, making Tommy give a light sigh. He knew that question was up next, damn Sam’s uncanny ability to sense when he’s dogshit tired.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I slept good.” Tommy replied, grabbing his apron and slipping it on.

Sam eyed the golden haired teen for a moment, quietly evaluating him, damn near putting him under a microscope.

“Are you sure? You look pretty tired.”

Shit-

Damn this man and literally any and all abilities he has to sense the way Tommy feels or otherwise how he is doing mentally. How the fuck does he do this shit? Is he a mind reader or something? God damn.

“Oh,” Tommy muttered, trying to think of a good excuse. It's not like he meant to stay up almost all night working on a stupid homework project for college. “Yeah. I’m uh- I went to bed pretty late, later than usual.”

Sam squinted at the kid, once again seeming to inspect him under a microscope. After a few moments though, he nodded, smiling again as he seemed satisfied with Tommy's answer.

Thank God- he doesn't think he could handle being under Sam's microscope for much longer, the man somehow perfected the hard stare overnight, Tommy swears by it, he doesn't remember him having it during the first week or so he started working here.

"Alright." Sam nods, finishing up someone's drink quickly and handing it to the person who ordered it. "Just try and get better sleep tonight, ok?"

Tommy nodded, knowing that he couldn't fulfill that promise to its fullest, with his.. night job and what not, even sometimes his self given homework. At the very least he'll try when he can, if only to make Sam worry about him less.

"Alright, good." Sam responded, nodding back at Tommy in acknowledgement. "Now hurry and help me at the register, it's starting to get to the first rush of the day."

"You got it big man." Tommy gave a faint smile, getting his hat with the Cafe logo on it, ready to start his work day.

=======================

It wasn’t a particularly long day at the Cafe, but by the time Tommy got home, he was absolutely exhausted. The moment he opens the old finicky door to his old apartment, Tommy breathes out a little sigh of relief, shoulders slumping forward as he slips his bag and jacket off of his shoulders to hang them up by the door.

As soon as he kicks off his shoes he makes his way over to his bed, flopping onto it with a light grunt, sighing as he twists a certain way to try and get himself comfortable. The bed is old, uncomfortable in some places because it's so worn down, but if you manage to find the right spot it still feels pretty good. 

Of course, he can’t get too comfortable yet, he still needs to get ready for bed, brush his teeth, change his clothes…

Tommy is asleep before he even has time to finish making his mental checklist of what he needs to do before bed, unconsciousness taking over his mind and body quickly, leaving him no time to realize he had passed out before he started dreaming.

Chapter Text

3 and a half weeks ago

Atlas, this part of town's favorite vigilante as far as he could tell (no he totally didn’t ask anyone he saved what they thought about him, of course not), and he took a lot of pride in being able to help people. Maybe he got a little too prideful and cocky sometimes, but that was only sometimes.

It totally didn’t get him into his current situation, definitely not. Atlas being a little too cocky for his own good definitely didn’t him being chased by a particularly strong person who had telepathy and stupidly good aim. 

It wasn’t his fault this particular asshole was really fucking easy to annoy the absolute shit out of. Could you really blame him? The dickhead wouldn’t shut the hell up about his stupid strength while he was attempting to rob a few people in an alleyway. Was Atlas truly not allowed to mock how idiotic he sounded? 

It was only fair that Atlas got to tell him how stupid he sounded after getting him away from the civilians. In fact-

“Oh c’mon! That’s the best you got? With the size of your ego I thought your aim would’ve been a little better!” Atlas goads with a cackle, only to screech and duck his head as a garbage can gets chucked at his head. Ok, maybe he needs to tone it down a little bit, the stuff the bastard was throwing at him was starting to grow in size, and Atlas really doesn’t want to have another entire car thrown at his head again.

The vigilante takes a sharp turn into an alleyway, as soon as he gets close to one, needing the extra cover for a moment so he would be able to breathe. If he was going to have any chance at beating this dickhead, he needs to charge up his powers a little bit, and he can’t do that while he’s running for his life.

So the moment he sees an opening, Atlas skids slightly as he slows himself down, only to pivot on the ball of his foot and spring himself into the alleyway, narrowly missing the letter box being thrown at him in the process.

But because luck never has been and never will be on his side, Atlas has to come to a screeching halt the moment he enters the alley, because of fucking course he would run into one that was a dead fucking end. Once, just once Atlas would appreciate fate or whatever to be on his side, is that too much to ask?

The vigilante turns around as he hears the man lift something from the depths of the alleyway, cursing quietly as he ducked out of the way as shards of broken glass were sent flying at him.

“Heeeyyyy, Big Man,” Atlas started nervously, holding his hands up to try and placate the anger he can see seething in the man's eyes. “I know we've had our grievances, but what do you say about calling it a truce here?”

Atlas yelps as he's suddenly lifted off of the ground, struggling against the invisible force that's grabbed him by the shoulders and shoving him up against the back wall of the alley. The force holds him there, pressing his back painfully against the brick, thankfully he wasn't anywhere near the glass shards that had been embedded in the wall, but the anxiety of them being there keeps him struggling.

Watching the man, with much more anger in his eyes than Atlas remembers being there when he first got him away from the people he tried to mug, approach him with quick, long legged strides was fucking terrifying.

Atlas continued to struggle, wiggling and writhing against the wall with a new found panic as he watches the man start to wind back his arm, looking about ready to deck the vigilante in the face. Atlas shriveled when he got close enough, curling in on himself a little bit as he prepared for the inevitable blow he knew was coming. And as the man got within arms length, he sent his fist flying.

And the fucker missed.

Atlas blinked and watched as the man's fist met hard brick, almost able to hear the way his skin tore open as he punched right where the man had sent the broken glass, the vigilante shrinking back and bringing his hands up to his ears when the telekinetic shrieked in pain. As the man drew back his fist, Atlas was able to see the blood that lined his knuckles, as well as a few small shards that actually stayed in his hand. That can’t feel pleasant, Atlas would feel sorry for him, had the asshole not thrown a whole fucking car at him earlier. That was just a dick move.

But something else Atlas noticed as the man pulled his bloodied fist away, and as he was released from the invisible force that had pinned him to the wall, was a strange green-ish tint that seemed to shimmer when he tilted his head a certain way.

Although it did take a moment, a wide smile appeared under Atlas's mask as he realized what was going on, and oh was he so ready to watch this dickhead get his ass handed to him.

Then not even a moment after the smile spread across his face, a figure suddenly appeared from what looked to be an invisible sheet that blocked the entrance to the alleyway, brandishing a bat made out of a shining white crystal substance. 

The figure wore a black long sleeved shirt and black pants that almost blended into the steel toe work boots he wore to give his kicks a little more power. Over the long sleeved shirt was this weird looking wrap thing that wrapped around the top part of his chest, leaving the rest of it to look like a handmade green cape which reached down just past his mid back that gave him a hood he could pull over his head. Covering his entire face was an odd looking white mask with a smiley face on it.  

Atlas told him he looked pretentious and downright weird once, and he just about cackled at how offended the other vigilante sounded at the statement.

The other vigilante grunted as he launched himself towards the telekinetic man, aiming to hit him upside the head with the bat, and he only missed by a hair. The man fell to the ground with how quickly he had to duck to miss the crystal bat, but this only granted him the disadvantage of being within kicking distance of the hooded vigilante, and he didn’t hesitate to use that to his own advantage, sending a sharp kick to the man's side. The telekinetic hissed sharply at the pain, quickly grabbing the nearest object -a trash bag- with his power and threw it at the vigilante as hard as he could.

Thankfully, there was no broken glass or anything heavy in the bag, so the impact wasn’t painful, but that didn’t stop the startled swear that came from the hooded vigilante. Almost immediately after the trash bag made contact with the hooded man, another vigilante came from the invisible curtain to aid the first. 

This one was wearing a white and black accented hoodie with the hood down, revealing a mop of messy blonde hair styled in a wolf cut, the sleeves were rolled and bunched up just slightly past his elbows, with biker gloves adorning his hands. He was wearing cargo pants as well, this time black with white accents, with boots that were similar to the first vigilantes, but weren’t steel toe. Somehow, even with how ominous the hooded vigilante’s mask is, this one’s mask was, in Atlas’ opinion, significantly scarier.

It was a black face mask made out of thick plastic with golden accents that covered from nose to chin with an interestingly difficult clasp to keep it on his face, but the goggles that covered his eyes were pretty creepy. The lenses of the goggles were pitch black, you couldn’t see through them to look at the vigilante's eyes even if you wanted to. 

Though there will be times that, even through the darkened lenses of the goggles, if you look hard enough; you can see piercing, freezing cold blue eyes staring back at you. Atlas doesn’t for the life of him know how the hell he managed to get the goggles to do this, or if it was just the way the other vigilantes eyes were usually, but to just see eyes glowing from behind really dark lensed goggles was really fucking creepy.

As the other vigilante ran through the veil, he immediately kicked at the telekinetic man, catching his attention with a growl as he moved out of the way, sending another trash bag flying at the second vigilante. Cookies ‘n Cream (as Atlas has expertly nicknamed him) had no problem ducking out of the way of the bag. His sharp reflexes granted him a bit of extra speed as he launched himself at the telekinetic, who was trying to get back to his feet, and managed to graze the tips of his fingers against the man's arm.

After dodging a punch the telekinetic aimed right at his face, the vigilante jumped back far enough to avoid being attacked again. It was then Smiley Bitch (another fantastic nickname in Atlas' humble opinion) who sent a kick to the back of the man’s knees, sending him back down to the ground in an instant. His crystal bat striking the man’s shoulder swiftly then shattering immediately on impact.

The man howled in pain, about ready to send something else flying at Smiley’s face. But before he could, the man was picked up by an invisible force and roughly thrown into the dumpster that was right next to him.

Atlas couldn’t help but smile as he looked over and saw Cookie's hands had a very faint, barely there blue glow to them, a sign that his powers were in effect.

Smiley Bitch huffed as he let his own power dissipate, Atlas watching with a childish sort of giddiness as he watched the veil of his powers fade away in a lightly tinted green mist, only to immediately grimace as Smiley decks the telekinetic so hard he passes out.

“Lights out fucker!” Atlas can’t help laughing out, gaining both of the other vigilante's attention in the process, making him shrink in on himself with a nervous chuckle.

The hooded vigilante just sighs, turning and walking over to Atlas and offering him a hand. “Are you alright?”

Atlas scowls at the hand extended to him under his mask, but he takes anyways, having not even realized that he had sunk down to sit against the brick wall he had been held against, letting the other vigilante help him stand to his feet.

“Yeah I guess,” Atlas grumbles, dusting himself off before begrudgingly thanking his saviors. “Thanks Malachite, same to you Mimik.”

Both vigilantes nodded in response.

Malachite Trickster and Mimik (or Smiley Bitch and Cookies ‘n Cream) were vigilantes that liked to move around a lot. As far as Atlas knew, they weren’t as popular as some higher ranked vigilantes he’s heard of, but they both have been seen all over the city instead of keeping to one area like most vigilantes do.

Malachite Trickster is a vigilante with the ability to create illusions through prisms (or crystals) that he can generate in his palms. He can place the crystals wherever he wants, as long as he’s able to create a barrier sort of area, or at the very least parallel from each other (or even just one crystal if it's big enough), the illusion will remain and he can control what he wants people to see. 

Additionally he can make the crystals take the form of whatever he wants, any weapons he makes have a set durability, an amount of uses until they break or how long they can stay formed before they basically disintegrate. Any crystals he places to be used to make his illusions can and will dissipate either after he isn’t using them anymore, or gradually over the span of a few hours.

(Atlas will never admit that one of the reasons he’s a vigilante is because he finds Malachite actually kinda cool, ever. You’re going to have to pry that information from his cold dead hands.)

Mimik’s power is pretty cool as well. He can copy people's abilities, either through touching them, or eye contact. Having a power that can copy other powers is already kinda rare, being able to copy it through eye contact is pretty much unheard of. That’s one of the reasons the lenses on his goggles are so dark. When he uses his power and focuses on copying through his eyes, they start to glow. From what Mimik has told Atlas, he can only try using his eyes to copy for so long before he either gets a headache, or he strains his eyes too much and they start to hurt (and the more he focuses on using his eyes to copy an ability, the brighter they glow. The inside of the goggles tend to reflect the glow back into his and it makes it hard to see apparently).

These two were the authority’s favorite vigilante duo, which is why they were very wanted by The Agency, both because vigilantism is illegal, and because they would be valuable assets. And they are (absolutely, totally true and not alleged at all) his sidekicks, how fucking pog is that? Pretty damn poggers in Atlas’ objectively always correct opinion. And Atlas is like, always correct.

Anyways.

“That’s good,” Malachite hums, and then immediately moves to smack Atlas upside the head, making the smaller vigilante screech and try to back away. “When are you ever going to learn to stop picking fights with people that could actually put you in a body bag?” The hooded vigilante scolds, and Atlas rolls his eyes and rubs the spot where Malachite smacked, glaring at the taller vigilante through his mask.

“You’re gonna give me an aneurism one of these days, I swear-”

“Oh please,” Atlas scoffs, crossing his arms as he looks up at the (honestly kinda stupid) smiley mask with squinted eyes. “I had the bitch right where I wanted him!”

“He would have knocked you out with that punch.” Mimik said flatly, leaning so he could look over Malachite’s shoulder. Atlas gave him the same glare he gave Smiley Bitch, although it does come to mind how hard that telekinetic could have punched him, and how much of a pain in the ass it would have been to hide with where he was aiming.

“Ok, but I also totally could have turned his own hit against him! Could've stolen the energy right out of his fist I could’ve, return to sender or some shit.” Atlas argues, holding his chin high as he keeps his arms crossed firmly over his chest, and he can practically feel the deadpan looks both of the other vigilantes throw at him. 

He has the decency to shrink back a little bit, reeling back in his ego as he clears his throat. Malachite just sighs, shaking his head as he looks over at Mimik, gesturing at Atlas as if to say ‘can you believe this kid?’ before looking back at Atlas.

“Whatever, just try to be more careful with who you pick a fight with, please?” Malachite speaks up again, and this time there's a note of concern in his voice that makes Atlas pause. Malachite has always had an odd sort of care for Atlas, like he knew Atlas was a lot younger than he told him he was (which to be fair, he does sort of a terrible job at hiding sometimes), and he felt the need to make sure he was alright constantly.

Atlas couldn’t help but loosen his hold on his arms, letting them fall by his sides with a groan, pretending he didn’t feel warmth spread in his chest at the thought that the vigilante he really looked up to genuinely cared about him. Absolutely not going to try unpacking that feeling ever.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. I’ll think about it.” Is his only response as Malachite pats his shoulder, then turns and walks back to Mimik.

“We can handle this guy, you can move on and continue doing your thing if you want.” Mimik tells Atlas, helping Malachite as he tries to pick up the unconscious man.

Atlas looks between the two vigilante’s as they haul the man up and start moving him more towards the entrance to the alleyway, watching them for a moment before sighing knowing he wouldn’t be able to convince the two of them to let him help anyways. He fixes his mask and costume a little bit and then dusts himself off, grumbling because he knew he’d have to wash it once he gets home.

Atlas starts making his way up the fire escape as Mimik and Malachite use the rope they carry on them to tie up the man near the entrance to the alley, humming as he watches them for a moment before continuing up the fire escape. He had other places to patrol around for a little while longer before he decides to go back home for the night, so maybe he’ll run into the two of them later so he can tease them about their color schemes and other shit. Just for fun.