Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He stands on the rooftop across the street, hands clenched tightly by his sides, glaring at the burning building, the heroes had done nothing. They’re such useless fucks, they took his brothers and now his mother’s gone too. Tommy carelessly drops into a sitting position onto the edge, the cold from the concrete seeps into his trousers. Now sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the building, he comes to the realisation that he’s not afraid of falling. 

In a strange way, the fire across the street is mesmerising. It flickers, light fading for a moment before returning brighter and hungrier than before, as it eats its way through the building with his mother’s corpse inside. He can’t say he regrets dropping that match on the carpet, but he does regret that his mother refused to leave their cat. He swears his mother loves that fucking cat more than she loves him. She was probably burned alive after trying to bring writhing, squirming, hates-being-touched-Molly with her out of the flat. 

He didn’t mean for her to get caught in it, but he can’t go back and change the past no matter how much he wishes he acted differently. 

There are shouts of panicked alarm as the heroes finally arrive much too late, he can see Crowfather swooping down and circling the roof of the building. He knows something Crowfather doesn’t. He felt everyone in that building die. The burning in his heart that usually accompanies the pain of others’ wounds was agonising. It took his breath away as he gasped for air, as he screamed soundlessly, writhing in pain. Death by fire is painful as fuck and even worse when its the pain from multiple people. 

His power is possibly the most inconvenient anyone would ever encounter. Crowfather still circles around the building but seems to decide it isn’t doing anything and so he swoops down to the concrete sidewalk and lands next to the paramedics at the ambulance. 

Wait. 

A survivor. 

He can feel their weak heartbeat as they’re moved out of the building as the paramedics work urgently to save them. The building Tommy’s sitting on is just short enough for Tommy to be barely able to sense their heartbeat. They’re in too dangerous of a situation to be moved any further. He can feel their grip on life slipping and is pulled abruptly into their mind. 

He feels a hot panic and erratic heartbeat before it slows to a barely steadier beat and he feels a cold acceptance from them, eyes flickering open, seeing only glimpses of paramedics talking to them and bright flashing lights through fluttering eyelids. It feels like fire is roaring through their veins and burning up the inside of their body, severe burns likely covering their entire body. Their heart lets out a final beat and their eyes slip closed, the fluttering eyelids stopping. Tommy is jerked rudely back to his own body with a gasp and he takes in a shaky breath. 

He overheard a conversation this morning, Primes, that feels so far away and found out that a vigilante has access to power suppressing cuffs, so he’ll have to just pop in about that. He doubts they’ll want to cooperate, however if it means he can get rid of his horrid power then he’s getting them no matter what. 

“Hey…” A voice sounds gently behind him. Tommy stiffens as he recognises the voice. Their heartbeat is fast, pounding quickly and racing too fast for him to put together any comprehensible emotions. 

Turning, Tommy stands, stepping backwards so his heels are on the very edge, “Hello, Siren.” 

He can feel the man’s breath hitch at Tommy’s movement and calm indifference. His heartbeat has a weirdly familiar pattern. Each heartbeat is unique, he had learned that after one too many detentions of slouching at his desk and ignoring the teacher in charge, allowing his mind to drift across the school, occasionally catching a glimpse of other people’s heartbeats. He brushes off the feeling, he’s probably just walked past Siren in civilian clothing on the street at some point. 

“Let’s… step away from there.” Siren says carefully, his voice dripping with honey, sickly sweet. 

He’s one of the heroes that Tommy has a grudging respect for, after he saved all those people around a year back. He remembers it like it was yesterday. He had been washing dishes in the sink, his mother too weak to get out of bed that day. Their small television set had been blaring the news channel all afternoon as the sun set outside their windows. The sky was turning an orangey colour in the dusk lighting, his hands soapy as the news person reported a massive explosion not that far from the hero tower. 

He shakes his head, clearing his mind and at the same time answering Siren’s question. “I’m good.” He then sits down rather dramatically at the edge, back to the street, and mindful the weight in his backpack doesn’t make him topple over the edge. Siren radiates his nervousness and caution, his heart beating faster and moving forward slightly, Tommy doesn’t even have to try to look for it to know it’s there. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He mutters, half expecting the man to not hear him. 

But Siren tilts his head, “Is someone with you?” 

He mimics the hero ’s head tilt, “No, your head is just rather loud.” 

Siren freezes, “My… head?” He stiffens, “Are you… a mind reader?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.” Tommy holds back a laugh as he grins, the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

He can sense a shiver go down the hero’s spine. 

“They’re all dead.” He says, preventing the hero from saying whatever he was about to say. 

“ Excuse me? ” 

“Everyone who lived in that building.” He waves his hands around vaguely, gesturing towards the burning catastrophe of a building. 

Siren regards him strangely, “And how, do you know that?” 

He shrugs, “I just do.” He yawns, sitting back down at the edge but this time with his back to the busy street below, he’s sitting right at the edge, another centimetre backwards and he’s a splat stain on the concrete. 

The hero inches forwards, closer to him. “Who are you, kid?” 

“Tommy.” He pauses for dramatic effect, “And the heroes killed my family.” 

Siren sucks in a sharp breath. “Who did what? ” Tommy doesn’t need x-ray vision or mind reading to know that Siren’s expression behind the mask is shocked, eyes blown wide and mouth hanging open. 

He shrugs, “I think they’re dead anyway.” He says, as casually as he can manage without bursting into laughter at the hero’s shocked expression. 

“What are you-?” 

“Kidding.” Tommy interrupts, “But my Mother is in that building. Was.” 

The man has fallen silent and is standing stiffly. “I’m sorry.” He says, after a moment. “But… can you uh… move away from the edge, please.” 

Tommy stands, and for a split second, Siren tenses up, his heart beating faster, ready to move forwards in an instant if Tommy falls backwards. Tommy steps forwards, stumbling off the ledge and onto the stable roofing. He knocks his shoulder roughly into Siren as he walks past to the stairway down and Siren lets out a small oof at the impact.  

“Bye.” Tommy says abruptly, not looking back as he yanks the heavy door open and his heavy footsteps vanish down the stairwell. The door slams heavily behind him, making Siren flinch. 

The hero lets out a sigh of relief. “I’m here now, Ph- Crow Father.” He says, pressing down on the earbud, “What do you need?” 

He was going to watch and enjoy the show as the failure of heroes helplessly tried to stop the building from burning down. But that hero, Siren, saw him and made a pity stop, ruining Tommy’s plans for the night. 

The steps down are metal and they reverberate as he walks down. They aren’t quiet but they don’t need to be.  

If it came to it, Tommy was going to sleep on the roof, it’s not like anyone goes up there aside from heroes, and apparently teens who murder their Mothers. 

He was hoping the hero would piss off all by himself, but, oh well. He’s gone now. He sits down in the stairwell on the next platform he reaches, he can’t be fucking bothered to walk down seven flights of stairs right now, he’ll do it in the morning. He drops his backpack onto the floor, using it as a pillow. 

Propping it up behind his head as he leans back into the corner, he closes his eyes, trying to ignore something in his bag digging into his neck, attempting to catch some sleep. He has an organisation to destroy and he ain’t gonna be doing anything on zero hours of sleep. 

He keeps waking up throughout the remainder of the night, images of the burning building ingrained in his mind. 

Right. Tommy’s had fucking enough of constantly waking up. 

He’s been lying in this stairwell for far too long as sleep continues to evade him. His neck is sore and his tiny wings are stiff and becoming painful. 

He grabs his bag and stands, swinging it onto his back and using the wall to support him. Checking his almost flat phone, he finds that it’s four am. Holding down the off button, his phone goes into sleep mode. 

Ideally, he needs to find a job. A job that won’t ask any questions. Either that or he will have to resort to thievery. 

He starts down the stairs, his footsteps echoing obnoxiously loud through the stairwell, he doesn’t even bother trying to be quiet. It’s not like anyone’s around to hear it. 

Chapter Text

Tommy tries to unlock the flat door with his new key, jiggling it around in the keyhole. The lock seems stiff and unwilling to move. He wonders briefly whether she gave him the right keys before the lock finally clicks, and he stumbles forwards into the room in relief. Primes, he thought he was never going to get through that door. 

He grimaces at the state of the flat, although it may have been sprayed a million times with freshener before he arrived, it still doesn’t smell the best. He swears he can smell a dead rat somewhere because he certainly can’t hear its heartbeat. He shuts the door gently behind him, he doesn’t want to give Clementine a reason to kick him out. Not when she’s been so nice. She hadn’t even asked for any ID. 

This flat’s the best he can get, he’s been to a few places over the last couple of days but this one’s the only one who didn’t kick him out almost immediately after seeing him. Sleeping on the streets for a few nights certainly has an effect on a person. 

Tommy sighs, inspecting mystery stains on the wall as he enters. The main room is quite small and he drops his backpack on the practically decaying couch before peeking through the other two doors. 

One leads to a tiny bathroom, a toilet, shower and sink. The bare necessities. The other door leads to a just as small bedroom, it’s empty except for a single size bed in the corner of the room. He groans, the bed is of course way too small but Clementine had told him that she hadn’t bothered getting rid of the furniture that had been there for practically half a decade already. 

Fuuuckk. There’s no cupboard to store clothes, oh well not like he has that many anyway, he can just lay them on the floor or over the back of the couch, it’s not like he’s expecting company or anything. He’s much more preoccupied with trying to find a job so he actually has a steady income and can actually afford to eat. Unluckily for him, Avians have very specific diets and if they don’t eat what they need then everything just comes right back up. 

Fuck that shit. He ignores it on the daily and he’s able to keep it down by now. He lifts his sweater off, revealing a thin baseball t-shirt with slits in the back for his wings, he holds the shirt in place so he pushes his wings through the gaps. He stretches his wings gently and sighs in relief, they’re stiff and it’s painful to do so, but he has to unless he wants to have chronic pain in his wings. 

The door chime trills as the door opens and Tommy looks up to greet the new customer. 

Surprisingly the duo that owned the small cafe asked little to no questions about his identity and why a teenager with a clearly fake ID wanted to work at their café. Clearly, that worked out great in Tommy’s favour. 

The customer who walked in is a man with a yellow sweater and dark jeans with a brown messenger bag hanging off of one shoulder. He has a maroon beanie jammed over his messy hair and his circular glasses are askew. 

He also looks tired as fuck. The man stops in front of the counter and blinks a couple of times before his breath hitches and his heart speeds up before slowing again. “You’re not Niki.” 

“No shit, Sherlock.” Tommy replies. 

Surprisingly, the man grins at Tommy’s comment, “Do you treat everyone like this? …Tommy.” 

“How do you know my name?” 

The man points at Tommy’s name badge, “Maybe you shouldn’t wear one if you don’t want people to know your name. I’m Wilbur by the way.” 

He scowls at the man. “Fuck you, man.” 

Wilbur ignores him and squints past to the menu, “I’ll have a… black coffee with four pumps of espresso for me and a chai for my brother.” 

“Four pumps. Are you sure about that? If you drop dead, it’s not my fault.” 

Wilbur shrugs, “I have it almost daily.” 

Tommy looks at him with a deadpan stare, “What the fuck. Three-fifty” He says, changing the topic as he rings up the total on the machine. 

Wilbur holds out three-hundred-and-fifty fucking pounds for him to take. Tommy gapes at him. “ What. The. Fuck. ” 

Wilbur looks taken aback and slightly confused at his statement. 

“THREE DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS NOT THREE HUNDRED BUCKS. HOLY SHIT.” 

“Oh. Eh, keep the change.” Wilbur shrugs and pushes the money towards him again. 

Tommy just gapes at the man and slowly takes it, placing the majority into the tip jar. What the actual fuck. This guy must be a real rich bitch if he’s just waving money around, paying a few hundred extra. 

Oh well, he isn’t gonna tell some rich ass to not give money to the poor (aka Tommy). 

“Name?” He asks as he grabs a coffee cup from the stack. 

“I already told you.” 

“ Name .” He says again, slightly more aggressively this time. 

The man lets out a dramatic sigh before dignifying him with a response, “Wilbur.”

He scribbles a name onto the first cup and something else on the second. 

“Wil!” He calls out, pretending to be scanning the almost empty coffee shop and bakery. 

Wilbur approaches the counter and Tommy slides the drinks across the counter to him with a shit-eating grin. 

“This says Wilbitch .” He says slowly, looking up at Tommy with his eyebrows raised. 

Tommy gives him a smug look. 

“And this one says, ‘ Bitch’s brother’ but spelt wrong. It’s–” 

Tommy cuts him off, “Like you can spell at all.” 

Wilbitch splutters, “What? Of course I can.” 

“Spell–”

“Where’s Niki and Puffy?” 

Tommy scowls, “Not here, clearly.” 

The man groans, “Fine, gremlin child.” The man’s heartbeat rises quickly and Tommy realises what he’s doing at that moment as Wilbur stalks over to the end of the counter before pushing the door to the backroom open and striding through. 

“HEY!” Tommy screeches at him before lunging out from behind the counter and through the door. 

Tommy scowls fiercely at the man as he pushes him out of the door into the little café. “Don’t come back, you fuckwit.” 

The man throws up a middle finger behind him as he starts to walk down the street, coffees in hand. 

Grumbling, he returns to his place at the counter and stares longingly at the clock as it ticks slowly, letting him know he has over an hour left on his shift. 

He’s surprised Niki and Puffy even hired him with his shifty looking resume and claiming to be 19 years old as they shared a look that showed it was blatantly obvious they didn’t believe a word of it but he received an email on his cracked dusty phone he hadn’t touched in years that he’d been hired anyway. 

It’s not the best pay but it’s obvious that the duo were struggling already and he’s not going to complain if they’re doing the best they can. 

Tommy swings the door out of his flat open violently and hears a solid thunk as it hits something in its trajectory. 

There’s two guys standing outside his door and the taller one is rubbing his elbow and looking somewhat regretful. Their heartbeats are quick and the shorter one reaches out a hand. “I’m Tubbo.” 

Tommy looks at his hand for a moment, “Tommy.” He says in response, completely ignoring it. 

Tubbo has brown fluffy hair and two short horns poking out of the fluff. One side of his face has been blatantly burned and the eye on that side is grey, almost white. The other eye is a dark brown and the teen gives him a warm smile. 

The taller fucker has half white and half black skin as well as alternating hair colours. He’s significantly taller than the other one. 

The shorter’s smile widens as he nudges his friend with his elbow in the side none too gently. He mutters something under his breath before being hit in the side again, this time he yelps at the pain. “I’m Ranboo.” 

Tubbo, seeming a bit sadistic at this point, ignores the yelp and introduces himself and Ranboo as Tommy’s neighbours. He mentions that Clementine said that Tommy looked lonely and made a point to tell the two to introduce themselves sometime. 

Tommy nods slowly, there’s no harm in becoming friends with some other random teens. 

“So…?” Tubbo continues, waiting for Tommy. 

“What?” 

“Friends?” 

“Sure. Why not.”

Tubbo cracks a grin and launches his fist into the air. “Fuck yeah, come on Boo.” 

Tubbo ducks under Tommy’s arm which was propping him up against the wall and walks into his flat, wrinkling his nose. “What in the ever loving fuck is that smell?” 

“ Tubbo!” Ranboo hisses, “ Don’t be rude.”

Tommy bursts out laughing at the stricken look on Ranboo’s face. 

He thinks they’re going to get along great. 

Chapter Text

They get along like a house on fire. 

It’s been a few weeks since Tommy met Tubbo and Ranboo and can he just say, he doesn’t think they could have hit it off any better than they did. Tubbo is exactly like the type of friend he would have liked to have growing up. A couple of times, Tommy’s wished he could tell Tubbo exactly who he is and what he’s doing purely for the surprised look on his face. After all, Tubbo said to him later that he visited Tommy’s flat a couple of times and he wasn’t home. Tubbo then said that he was worried about Tommy because it was so late at night that he worried whether Tommy was okay. Afterwards they joked about Tommy joining a gang, so Tubbo can’t be too mad about it. 

On the other end of the life spectrum, it’s hard for Tommy’s alter ego to find information that makes undergrounders are willing to share about the hero tower. They aren’t exactly the most trusting of new self proclaimed villains waltzing in after what happened last time. Meaning, he’s going to have to resort to blackmail or find another villain to help him with his… plans, for lack of a better word. 

They were all lounging around on Tubbo and Ranboo’s couch having played a backstabbing game of uno when Ranboo turned on the TV, it opened onto a documentary about leaf insects. 

They returned to playing cards on the floor. 

After another round of uno (which Tommy won, obviously, but don’t tell Ranboo he said that), an emergency broadcast comes onto TV announcing a fight between the heroes and some big shot villain and for civilians to avoid the area. 

“GAH!” Tubbo shouts after Ranboo wins again for like the fourth time, throwing his cards at the TV screen. 

“HAH, I COME SECOND BECAUSE YOU GAVE UP!” Tommy screeches joyously.

“WAIT NO!” Tubbo scrambles to get his cards back as Tommy snatches some from in front of him and starts throwing them further away. Some flutter away and land in the void under the couch. 

“GET FUCKED, LOSER.” Tommy screams, possibly too loud for 9 at night. 

Ranboo sits there amused at their squabbles before standing and retreating to the kitchen. 

“Boo, you hath forsaken me.” Tubbo rolls around on the floor fake sobbing and Tommy tackles him a second later. Landing atop him with an oof , he knocks the air out of both their lungs and they lie there for a moment like stunned mullets. 

“Thou hath bully-eth me. Ran, help.” Tubbo cries out in fake horror as Tommy recovers his breath first and starts tickling Tubbo. 

Tubbo shrieks in laughter as Tommy pokes at his sides and Tubbo curls up like an injured animal, writhing in pretend pain. Tubbo closes his eyes and tries to lie still, which doesn’t work long because Tommy is still tickling him so Tubbo’s just, wriggling around on the floor with his eyes closed and little giggles popping out of his mouth every so often. Tommy finds himself giving up as his victim tries not to respond to his antics. 

He flops onto Tubbo with a sigh and lies still, trying to get comfortable. Tubbo shoves him off after a second and scrambles around the couch and into the small kitchen. 

Tommy lies on the floor in defeat. He jolts up in realisation. “Shit.” He stares blankly at the wall in front of him. 

“You alright Tommy?” 

Shit. Shit. Shit. He’s just realised he’s gone past the rent payment date and completely forgotten about it. Being sick for a whole week was rotten luck, but the lack of money he has due to his low paying job and being off work for a week means that he’s not got enough money for rent and groceries. 

Well fuck. 

Either no food for a few days and survive off food from the cafe or be evicted. He groans. Surely, he can survive off of the cafe’s food for a little bit, just long enough for him to make his rent payment which is already overdue. 

“Yeah, fine.” Tommy grimaces. 

It’s not like he just won’t eat, Puffy doesn’t pay too much attention to what he’s doing when he’s managing the counter, he can sneak something and even if he can’t, he’ll survive. 

“Dinner time!” Ranboo calls. 

Tubbo groans obnoxiously loudly from the kitchen. “Spaghetti again?”

“Spaghetti!” Ranboo replies cheerfully. 

Tommy smiles at their antics. When he’s with them, he finds his worries drifting away like a duck in a river.  

“I won’t ask again.” He growls, pushing the man harder against the wall. “Who’s your contact?” 

The man groans but doesn’t respond. 

Tommy grabs a fistful of the man's hair and bashes his head into the wall. “I need information from them. Where are they?” 

He can feel the blood dripping through the hair, and the man's forehead is glistening with sweat. The information he needs is extremely time sensitive. 

“Fine. Give me a name. One. And I won’t kill you.” He practically growls the next statement, blinding hot anger flowing through his body as naturally as his blood and he resists the urge to violently smash the man’s head against the wall. His fists tighten, holding the man's hair tighter and jerking it upwards. He can hear the man’s heart beating frantically as he does. 

The man whimpers, “Okay, okay. Let go of me first.” Voice strained and words desperate as he pleads. 

Tommy slowly releases his hair but keeps his hand clenching the front of the man’s shirt tightly. The last man refused to crack. Their blood flowing down the front of his outfit and they refused to say a word even until their dying breath. Bled out. Wasteful. 

The man pants but says, “A few blocks south of the hero tower, there’s a pub. Ask for Striker and say Dom sent you.” 

Tommy flashes him a winning smile. The man wouldn’t be able to see it as he’s wearing a mask but it’s the thought that counts. 

“You some new villain or something?” The man questions him gruffly. 

“Or something.” Tommy releases the man’s shirt and steps back so he doesn’t have a chance to grab at his mask. 

It’s not the first time he’s had to get information from people the hard way, and it certainly won’t be the last. 

The man, sensing he’s distracted, starts to lunge but Tommy can feel the man’s heartbeat abruptly start to beat erratically before the man swipes at him with a knife. It’s too late to dodge even though he knew it was coming. The blade slices thinly through the fabric of his hoodie on his arm, bringing droplets of blood to the surface. 

Tommy manages to avoid the next blow and strikes back, the metal baseball bat that had previously been hanging on his belt coming into use. The bat swings clumsily through the air but the man has no space to move backwards and it strikes him in the shoulder with a harsh sound of the impact of heavy metal against flesh as it impacts as the man attempts to deflect it. 

Not wanting to be trapped in such an encounter, Tommy takes advantage of the man’s brief surprise and pained groan, so he sprints down the alleyway, hooking his bat back onto his belt as he sprints around the corner. After running around for a while and going through random alleyways, he scurries up a rickety metal ladder that creaks with every movement until he pauses atop of the building to catch his breath. He may only be 17 but he knows the ins and outs of the business. 

He lays low and out of sight from the alleyway and stays on top of the building for a few minutes, following the man’s heartbeat as he appears to be too confused to figure out where Tommy went. The heartbeat retreats back to the direction of where he entered the alleyway is and dissipates as it gets too far for Tommy to sense. 

A slow steady heartbeat he somehow hadn’t picked up before is behind him and he stands abruptly, metal bat back in hand as a hero stands before him. Tommy tenses, he may know how to deal with lowly thugs and street criminals but he’s not fought a hero before. Extra emphasis on fought . 

The hero spreads their hands placatingly and inches towards him. As Tommy squints in the dark, he can make out the shape of Siren’s mask and groans inwardly. 

Today is really not the day he wants to be dealing with his psychotic asshole. Multiple times this fucking bitchass man has shown up and distracted Tommy, the Red Devil long enough for the thugs he’s interrogating to get away. Losing countless amounts of precious information because of this man. 

Tommy slowly backs away to the edge of the building. 

“Hey.” The hero practically coos at him. 

Tommy’s feathers fluff up indignantly at the noise, and he has to physically hold back a hiss. Harshly tugging himself away from his instincts, he jolts himself back to reality. He pretends to drop off the side of the building, catching himself on a window ledge and swiftly pulling the window open and sliding inside. Siren's heartbeat accelerates as he does so and it moves rapidly to the edge of the building just as he makes it inside the flat. 

He doesn’t normally make a habit of going into random strangers’ flats because it’s a massive invasion of privacy but he deems it acceptable this time. Inside the room is a small kitchen and all the lights are off. He crouches next to the counter in case on the off chance someone walks in that they hopefully won’t see him immediately with his dark red hoodie and black gas mask on. 

Tommy snorts internally as he imagines Siren’s face as he rushes to the ledge and doesn’t see hide nor hair of Tommy’s alter ego. 

He sighs after a few minutes of waiting as Sirens heartbeat fades into the distance and he waits to make sure Siren doesn’t double back. 

He stands and climbs onto the counter, squeezing himself out the window and grabbing the rickety ladder on the side of the building. He follows the winding alleyways back until he finds the spot where he had the man against the wall, marked by blood splatters on the ground and bricks of the building. 

Emerging from the alleyway and onto the dimly lit street, he starts in the direction of the manky old flat he calls home. 

After having to half brute force open the door to his flat after the key got stuck in the lock, the adrenaline wears down and the pain from the cut on his upper arm registers. He emerges from the small bathroom, the first aid kit in hand. He brings it into the living room where he can see better as the bathroom light is kinda dying. 

Pulling off the hoodie, he squints at his arm, the cut is definitely deeper than he thought it was. He could probably get away with just sticking a plaster over it instead of using stitches. That’ll work. 

He doesn’t particularly want to go through the pain of stitching himself up without painkillers if it isn’t necessary. It’s not like it can get any worse than it is already. 

Chapter Text

Surprisingly his arm hasn’t been bothering him at all. The blood hasn’t seeped through the plaster at all other than staining it a bit red. His work shirt’s sleeves are just long enough to cover it as well so he’s not even getting curious looks from customers, that’s a win in his books. 

“Tommy!” Comes a very familiar voice. 

Ever since Tommy called him Wilbitch the day he met him and insulted him repeatedly, he’s been coming into the small cafè almost daily… for some reason. 

“The usual?” Tommy asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question. 

Wilbur nods and sits at a table in the corner, opening his laptop and typing away. Tommy turns away, preparing the order. Coffee, sweet as fuck. His arm is a little stiff and he is loath to move it too much in case the plaster decides it isn’t strong enough. Preparing this nightmare coffee, Tommy strides over to the table Wilbur is sat as and plonks it down obnoxiously loudly, making sure none of it spills. 

Wilbur looks up, “Thanks, Toms.” 

Tommy finds himself frozen for a moment, no one has called him Toms in a long time. He gives a smile and jerkily moves away, a small smile on his face. He drops his arms to swing them by his sides and like an idiot, smashes his arm into the side of the counter. 

He cuts off a yelp and grits his teeth, holding his arm tightly and keeps it stiffly by his side before rushing into the backroom. He takes in a shaky breath, before looking down at his arm. No blood. It hurts like a mother fucker though. He presses his sleeve down gently and no blood seeps through the fabric. He sighs in relief as his arm throbs. 

He returns to the counter with the best smile he can muster to serve the customer waiting grumpily. “Sorry for the wait, sir.” 

The customer glares at him but lists off his order and Tommy notes it down before taking their payment. As there are no more customers in line, he begins making their coffee. It’s only him working today, partly due to the fact that both Niki and Puffy are sick as well as the little cafe being in a secluded spot in the middle district, one of the two lower districts. People with money generally stay in the Higher District. To be fair to them, he probably would avoid the lower districts too if he could. Even the middle district was not somewhere anyone should hang out too long in. Only Prime knows why Wilbur is here, his practically flaunting his money about like that is going to get him mugged or worse. 

Tommy hands the customer the drink with a thin smile and fiercely thinks terrible things towards him as he leaves the cafe in a huff. Tommy surveys the shop, only a few of patrons are still here, Wilbur in his seat directly across from the counter and the couple in the corner, softly laughing together. Sensing no heartbeats coming into the cage, he turns away from the counter and begins to wipe down the back bench. He senses a singular heartbeat rise and approach the counter and Tommy turns, offering the payment terminal thing or whatever it’s called. 

“You gonna grab your brother’s chai while you’re here too or nah?” Tommy asks before Wilbur’s eyes widen in shock.

“Tommy! You’re bleeding!” He half shriek-whispers. 

“What?” 

Wilbur storms around the counter, gently grabbing Tommy’s other arm and pulling him into the backroom. Wilbur’s heartbeat is erratic and panicked. 

As they stand in the backroom, Tommy shifts awkwardly as Wilbur looks through the shelves before finding Niki and Puffy’s first aid kit. 

“What the fuck is that.” Wilbur jabs his finger towards the blood dribbling down Tommy’s arm, coming out of his sleeve. Curse that stupid plaster. 

“Ah. I uh, got mugged last night, it’s fine,” Tommy says quickly, giving Wilbur a weak smile. 

Wilbur is already muttering to himself, crouched on the floor going through the first aid kit. He pauses before pulling on rubber gloves. He gestures for Tommy to bunch his sleeve up so he does, wincing at the movement.  

“I fuckin’ hate heroes.” Tubbo mutters as if an afterthought, glaring at the broadcast announcing a list of places to stay away from due to the hero fights and massive amounts of damage they caused to the city. Tubbo freezes for a second before forcing himself to relax. 

Tommy cocks his head at the sentiment, “Agreed,” He says lightly, testing what Tubbo would say in return.

Tubbo looks up in surprise, tension melting out of him. “You hate the heroes too?” 

“Yeah, they’re always wrecking shit.” He practically breathes a sigh of relief that he hadn’t misheard Tubbo and completely misunderstood what had been said. 

Ranboo hums in agreement, nodding his head as he ponders it. 

MIDFIC

“Comms. Call Tubbo.” He gasps out. 

“Calling Tubbo…” 

The line rings out, reaching his voicemail as Tommy desperately tries to reach him. “Shit. Shit. Shit. Tubbo, what are you doing?” He mutters. “This is a fucking emergency.” 

The siren is ear piercing, ripping brutally through his eardrums. It’s a high pitched hell. 

“Hey, Toms, what’s up? I’m out with Ran right now.” He sounds calm, the opposite of how Tommy feels. 

“FUCK.” He hisses urgently, “Tubbo, I need your help. The map of the heroes' vents is wrong and I’m stuck.” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Tubbo sounds confused, “You’re stuck? The map is definitely right, did you take a wrong turn?” 

“NO! I dropped down and alarms started going off, I need your help.” Piercing alarms are going off in the background and although he has a background noise filter, it’s still breaking through into the call. 

“That’s impossible.” Tubbo mutters before leaning away from his phone and saying something to someone else. 

“Tubbo!” Tommy hisses, “It’s a little urgent here.”

“The room you were supposed to be getting into has no alarms. Where are you?” 

Tommy groans, “I don’t fucking know, your dumb map lead me here?” 

Tubbo groans and Tommy can hear the obnoxious sounds of Tubbo’s keyboard over their comms system. 

The sounds stop. “Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you say you dropped down before?” 

“Yeah, why?” 

“Oh fuck. You were meant to go up, you’re on the floor with the SBI’s rooms.” 

“Offices?”

“Bedrooms.” 

Well fuck. There’s no way he’s not getting caught. He switches off the comms before crawling forwards through the narrow vent tunnel. Finding an opening after a few seconds, he shuffles slightly ahead of it and kicks at it violently. It dents but otherwise doesn’t move. Lifting his legs up as much as the small space allows him, he brings his legs down with as much brute force as he can muster. 

The opening gives way, the vent swinging open and he sighs in relief, shuffling back and sliding feet first through it. He realises he can hear a quick heartbeat behind him and he spins around, jerkily scanning the room. 

He is indeed in a bedroom, a bed is against the walls with a man in it, breathing quickly and muttering under his breath. 

Tommy sighs in relief. He’s not awake. 

Muttering some choice words to himself, he moves towards the door and opens it slowly. It creaks and he freezes but the heartbeat behind him is slowing down again. They must have had a nightmare then. 

It speeds up again and he turns, sighing to check that they’re not awake. 

The second he starts to turn, an arm is aggressively pressed against his throat and his arms have been pulled behind his back. The previously asleep hero —which can only be Siren— is now definitely, 100%, awake. 

“Hey, Toms?” 

The hero knocks him backwards into the door and Tommy groans as his head slams into the door. 

“Tommy?” 

He freezes before struggling to get free as he wrenches an arm free and knocks them harshly in the side of the head and they crumple to the floor at the blow. 

Scrambling to get out the door, Tommy sprints down the corridor before coming across a kitchen and dining room area. That hero who attacked him has not emerged from the room. 

“Tommy. Hellooooo.” Tubbo calls, “Come in, Tommy.”

“Yes, Tubbo? What did you want?” Tommy snaps. “I’ve been busy fighting Siren.” 

“Woah there, Boss man.” 

“Sorry, Tubs. I'm just a little bit stressed right now.”

“Ranboo wants to know what you want for dinner.” The comms crackles. 

“Oh um, can it wait?”

“Not unless you want to be having dinner at midnight.”

“It is midnight.” 

“No.”

“No?” 

“No.” 

“Oh. Uh. Gimme a minute.” He searches around the room for anything compromising and looks straight at the fridge. Yeah sure, he can fit more stuff in his bag if he tries to. 

He opens the fridge and finds it fully stocked with microwaveable meals. “The fuck?” Never mind then. 

“What?” 

“The heroes’ fridge is full of microwaveable meals.” 

“WHY ARE YOU LOOKING IN THEIR FRIDGE. CONCENTRATING ON THE TASK AT HAND PLEASE.” Tubbo’s voice crackles aggressively through the comms system. 

“Jeez, okay–.” 

He lets out an oomph noise as something slams harshly into his back, breath being expelled harshly from his lungs. Struggling to breath, he spins around clutching his stomach and blade in hand. A very alert looking hero stands in front of him. “Fuck.” They’re very much not asleep then. 

“Tommy? Are you alright?”

“I’m busy.” He trills in response, lunging towards the attacker as they move closer to him, something in their hand. 

He swipes at their side with his knife but they dodge it easily, responding by slicing Tommy’s arm. They manage to grab him in a headlock and he struggles before something cold rests against the side of his head and he freezes. 

“Hello little villain.” The voice rumbles. 

END 1

The building shakes, the bottom crumpling from the severe amount of explosives rigged to blow up the foundation. 

The hero tower falls.

He giggles, watching the spectacle from high up on the roof of a different building. He’s WON! They LOST! Like the big losers they are. He can’t hold back his laughter at the thought, their entire foundation was destroyed by a kid. He clutches the remote detonator in his hand, the button had gotten stuck after one press. No worries, he only needed it once. He leans back, legs dangling off the edge of the building as his weight is pressed onto a hand behind him. That was fun. It was him, a lousy C-class villain who destroyed them. Now he only has to go after the heroes individually. He rights himself, keeping an eye out for any heroes. 

Crowfather emerges from the ruins, carrying a man with fluffy brown hair, blood dripping from the side of the man’s head. One of Crowfather’s wings is bent in the wrong direction and he’s limping. Blood God appears behind him, appearing to say something as Crowfather turns back towards him. 

He turns back around in an instant as Blood God points at the roof Tommy’s on, his legs swinging on the edge of the roof. Eyes searching for someone, Crowfather spots Tommy, or rather, The Red Devil, who gives him a cheeky wave as he kicks his legs in delight. 

His smile drops and he stands, walking away from the edge. 

END 2

He gasps in pain as the metal rod sinks into his stomach, the building collapsing on top of him. The heroes he had been fighting are nowhere to be seen. They vanished as soon as the building started to crumble. Every time he breathes a sharp pain goes through his stomach, it’s pure agony. Suddenly he’s ever so tired, exhausted even. 

“Si-Siren.” He manages, breathing the hero’s name, and pain wracks his body at the word, excruciating agony spreading like wildfire. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open but still he tries. He can feel no one else’s pain, no one else’s heartbeat. For once in his life, he’s truly alone. 

He can feel a faint heartbeat, someone coming closer, “Hello?” The voice is… familiar. 

“Help!” Tommy rasps as loud as he can manage, trying to still his body so he doesn’t break into a coughing fit and worsen the pain. His voice is a faint wheeze due to the concrete slabs pressed against his chest. 

The person’s breath hitches and their heartbeat comes closer. “Where are you?” 

“Here.” He whispers, hoping they can hear him, chest tightening in dread. He longs to stretch out his legs and arms but there’s no space and he’s not normally a pessimist but there is a metal pole through his stomach. Rubble moves away from above next to him, moonlight peeking through the fresh cracks. A rock falls onto his head, scraping his cheek through the mask. He winces in slight pain before the movement causes the pain in his stomach to flare up. He clenches his teeth together to stop himself from letting out a whimper. 

Once enough debris is cleared, Siren’s mask peers through at him, his face falling as soon as he can make out Tommy’s mask. “You.” Siren growls. 

“Me.” Tommy says, out of breath, “Help.” 

“Why.” He responds. 

Tommy takes a deep breath, ignoring the flaring pain as he does so. “Dying.” 

Siren stills, “What.” 

“Please?” 

Siren hesitates for a moment but pulls rubble away from the trapped villain. He freezes for a moment but continues his efforts faster than before. Before too long Tommy’s free of rubble, and he can feel the harsh wind on his mask and closes his eyes just for a moment. He’s more aware of the blood soaking through his clothes and pooling on the ground under him, the agony not stilling for a second. 

“Holy shit, how are you still alive?” Siren mutters. 

“Spite.” Tommy hums, delirious from blood loss, “Sing.” 

Siren seems taken aback at his request. “I don’t-” 

“My mask. Off.” He manages. 

He has no energy, certainly not even to move any of his limbs. 

“I-” 

“Please, I want– fresh air.” 

Siren grips the edges of Tommy’s mask and starts to pull before hesitating a moment, he tugs it off quickly, knocking the hood on his hoodie back. Unruly blond hair springs free and blue eyes blink slowly at him. Too young, the villain is too young. “Siren?” The villain says, his voice slurring. “Will you sing for me, I want to go peacefully.” It’s difficult to get it out but well worth it. 

Siren freezes, ripping off his mask, “Toms? No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.” 

“Sing?” The boy requests again, unbothered by the reveal of his mortal enemy’s identity. 

Wilbur takes a deep breath, “Do not sleep, my starling,

“Sleep, my doe, 

“She is wrapped in curtains,

“Laid in snow,

“She will bury you inside her fur,”

Tears drip down his face and onto Tommy’s. His voice cracks as he sings but continues the song. 

“Do not sleep,

“She waits for you to sleep,

“Do not sleep, 

“She waits for you to sleep,

“My breath, you breathe,

“It will carry you,”

Tommy’s eyes flutter shut but Wilbur forces himself to keep singing, his breath hitch at almost every note. He feels a tear slide down his cheek as he sings.

“My breath, you breathe,

“It carries you, 

“Do not sleep, 

“She waits for you to sleep,

Tommy’s chest falls and does not rise again. 

“Do not sleep, my starling,

“Do not sleep.” 

Wilbur’s trickle of tears becomes a storm as he sobs over his little brother’s body. Phil finds him clutching the body of his little brother, ruined by the hero system, and Phil can’t pry Wilbur away. “Leave him alone!” Wilbur screams, shoving Phil away with bloody hands. He pulls his little brother onto his lap and his head lolls to the side. “Phil! Get a healer!” 

“Wil…”

‘No! He’s alive!” Sobs wrack his body as he gently shakes Tommy, “C’mon Toms, wake up.”  

A gentle hand presses against Wilbur’s back. “Mate… he’s gone.” A soft voice comes from behind.