Chapter Text
"Flicker," a familiar voice called from beyond the door, causing Tommy’s gut to churn. "Are you there?" Tommy jolted from where he sat, unwrapping bloodied bandages from his arm.
He bit back a pained cry as he unwrapped the bandages, the deep scratches left by Styx's talons having left bloody indents in his flesh even after Tommy’s poorly done patch-up job days prior. He winced as he moved the bloodied bandages to the side and picked up another fresh roll, biting on his lip to stop any noise as he re-wrapped the wound carefully. "Yeah, Warden?" He managed to force the confidence to say, lifting his head as he stared at the door of his living quarters.
The space was cramped, fitting only a bed, wardrobe and his desk, which ate up any other possible legroom. Warden probably chose not to enter, deciding to stay in the spacious, well-decorated hallway and await Tommy there.
"The Council requests your presence," the hero said casually, ignoring the way Tommy stilled. "Take a few minutes to get ready."
Tommy swallowed thickly, biting his lips and trying to comfort himself. "I'll be right there," he said back, shoulders slumping as he heard the hero's steps grow quiet.
Tommy sighed, standing up to retrieve his mask and suit. He was grateful he'd had the time to re-wrap his recent injury at the very least, his injuries spared from being on display for his superiors. The Council hated to see him injured. Imperfections, signs of failure in their eyes. Tommy had always scoffed at that, but openly disagreeing with his superiors always brought consequences.
It'll be fine, probably , he thought, trying to reassure himself. At the very worst, The Council wanted to hear of any progress they expect him to make. The thought offered some reassurance, of course, but Tommy felt bitterness follow after. The Council were a bunch of pricks in his mind, fine with working him to death if it meant a sliver of the city's praise. He grit his teeth as he finally finished putting on his uniform, a black and red jacket and dark cargo pants joining his mask to make a simple but recognizable brand, almost as stark as the Council's logo on his sleeve.
He turned his head back to his table and to the metal object next to his bloody bandages, making a mental note to dispose of them once he returned. His mask sat mockingly on his table, Tommy holding it in his hands for a moment before slipping it on, clipping it to the back of his head with a click as it sat nestled in his curls. He took a deep breath, getting used to the gas mask's filtered air, a precaution decided upon by the Council. The thought of them made him shudder, and he quickly shook his head to get rid of the instilled fear of his superiors.
"M'coming, Warden," Tommy replied quickly, opening the door and hoping the hero was still close as he stepped out to greet him. Warden was still there, of course, the Commission requiring Tommy be accompanied when he walks around the compound
Warden nodded his head as Tommy obediently walked to his side, giving him a quick, indifferent glance before he began to walk down the hall. Tommy knew to follow, quickly tailing after the older hero so nobody would think he's roaming the halls alone. He's the Council's special little weapon after all, can't have him wandering off. Bitterness swells in his gut as he walks, head down as he attempts to ignore Warden's presence.
It wasn't like the hero was bad, no. Well- yes. Warden worked closely with the council, closer than the other heroes, and that got him access to Tommy, who isn't.. really a hero just yet.
The Council treats him like one when they feel like it, otherwise preferring to regard him as more of a weapon and less of a person. The official title was "underground hero," but Tommy was well aware it was just to keep the fact the Council's favorite hero was a child with some interesting abilities away from the public. He wasn't the only one at first, his position shared by many other promising teens, but… he was the only one left now.
It made sense why he had initially been chosen, at least. His teleportation could prove useful in stealth missions as well as in heated battle, as long as he maintained the necessary momentum to power it. It's proven a wonder in spars as well, bouncing from wall to wall of the training room to avoid blows. Warden was especially slow compared to his "dashes" as he called them, earning him the wondrous reward of surviving a training session without bruises every now and then.
Teleportation isn't that helpful though, considering his opponents.
The Syndicate, a trio of villains regarded as the deadliest there could be. Most heroes are ordered not to engage with them if spotted, and those who do usually aren't heard from again, unless it involves cleaning up their remains. Tommy was an exception to that, of course. In fact, he was ordered to not only engage but hunt down the villains. Styx, Phlegethon and Asphodel aren't known for their mercy, quite the contrary. They steal, murder and practically run all organized crime in the city in some way. They're known for brutality and bloodlust, and Tommy is the only hero to have survived an encounter with them, out of both fully fledged and his former fellow underground heroes.
Styx is the leader of the Syndicate, his power cementing fear in the hearts of all who surround him, activating fight or flight and leaving opponents disoriented before a fight can even ensue. His mechanical talons have left Tommy with countless injuries by now. While his power lets him plunge his foes into a blinding panic, Styx himself always remains chillingly calm, always there to taunt and sneer as Tommy struggles to keep up with the experienced supervillain.
After Styx is his right hand, Phlegethon, the brute of the Syndicate. Unlike his silver-tongued leader, Phlegethon tends to prefer bloodier methods for his battles. Drawing blood only enhances his natural strength, leaving Tommy hopelessly unmatched. The villain's always thrilled for a hunt, effortlessly chasing down Tommy whenever he tries to run, making sure he'll be bloodied and bruised after being caught.
Frankly, Tommy owes his survival to the third member of the Syndicate, Asphodel, who took interest in him during their first encounter.
Tommy was still terribly inexperienced, yet despite that the Council had sent him and the other underground heroes out to go test their skills against the most dangerous supervillains in the world. Of course they'd been beaten to a pulp, the group of teens brutally slaughtered during the incredibly short-lived fight. Tommy had been the last one standing when it ended, suffering heavy wounds but having at least avoided a killing blow with his teleportation unlike his peers.
He was sure he would be killed soon enough, but Asphodel had seemingly taken a liking to him during the massacre, politely asking Styx to not slit his throat once the villain had him pinned.
"You're a fun one," Asphodel said with a hum, looking down at Tommy, still struggling to try and escape getting torn open by Styx's talons. There was a smile on his face that made Tommy feel sick. He grit his teeth, glaring at the villain with as much hate as he could muster as his breath rattled in his chest, body paralyzed by fear.
"Asphodel," Styx looked at his comrade, not moving his talons an inch from Tommy’s throat.
"Styx," the villain retorted with what almost sounded like a whine, as if the criminal was a mere child, before his gaze landed on Tommy. "Why don't you explain why your Council sent a group of children after us? Do they really think that can thwart any of our plans?" He asked, tone dripping with mockery and amusement.
Tommy closed his eyes as he felt tears well up at the reminder of the horrific sight around him, the scattered corpses of the heroes he'd known his entire life under the Council. "Not children," he spat out a pained cough, Styx's claws not leaving his throat as he listened to his fellow villain's impromptu interrogation. "Underground heroes."
Asphodel quirked a brow, curiously tilting his head. "Hm- and what are those?" He replied, smile not leaving his face as he crouched down to Tommy’s level. "What is the Council doing, keeping little ones like you away from the prying eyes of society?" He thought out loud, studying Tommy’s panicked face, still mostly hidden by his mask and hair, curls glued to his forehead by sweat. "Trying to keep you safe, I presume?"
Tommy blinked up at him, eyes sparkling with terror. Asphodel didn't pay his fear much mind, continuing to speak, his expression suddenly dropping to a deep frown, eyebrows furrowing under his skull mask. "Or.." He said carefully, thoughtfully, "to keep something hidden."
Tommy froze as Asphodel stood up again, brushing imaginary dirt off his dark trenchcoat, embroidered with asphodel flowers, the villain's namesake.
"I think you'll be interesting to keep around, hm?" Asphodel finally said, gaze lazily shifting from Styx to him. it's been getting dreadfully boring."
They'd let Tommy run away that night, tail between his legs as he tried to fathom the impossibility that was his survival. He owed it to Asphodel, the villain not even bringing it up in their next encounters. He and the other members of the Syndicate had seemingly come to the agreement that Tommy wasn't to be killed, as he'd survived all his run-ins with them so far. The Council had grown fascinated by that, ecstatic they now had a source about the supervillains that hadn't been immediately killed after trying to report information, sending him after them again and again and punishing him when he was incapable of arresting the villains.
He didn't know what had led Asphodel to spare him that night, but it certainly didn't make him any less bad in his eyes. Asphodel took after his leader in terms of manipulation and cunningness in battle, and worst of all, his powers were shrouded in mystery. Tommy had managed to figure out he could make him obey a command with physical contact, but a deep part of him knew that wasn't it. Every time the villain forced him to obey a small order, he felt tendrils of power wrap around his mind, powerful, threatening to consume his entire being. Tommy knew the villain's powers stretched further, as far as the tendrils could reach into his core.
Sometimes the Syndicate's victims wouldn't just die, rare as it was. Sometimes, their fate was much worse. There had been many encounters with former heroes presumed dead who had seemingly lost their minds all of the sudden, driven by empty obedience to the Syndicate's commands. There had been many reports of their empty eyes and muddled minds, rumors of the horrors they endured to make them break so badly.
Tommy didn't like thinking about Asphodel's powers.
The halls were silent as Warden led him from the private wing to the less secretive corners of the hero compound. The private wing was quiet, always was. Tommy remembered when it was bustling with life from the underground heroes, when he wouldn't be able to sleep because of chattering from rooms next to his or when training would be against dozens of others like him, young teenagers fighting to prove themselves to the Council together.
But they were all dead now, Tommy was the only one left. And he was getting used to the silence.
"The Council wants a word about the Syndicate," Warden suddenly piped up as they approached the Council's meeting room, empty halls slowly growing more extravagant and elegant in decor. Tommy wanted to roll his eyes. When do they not? They saw Tommy had survived one encounter, why not send him to dozens? He's bound to either do something or die at some point.
"I see," he replied instead, continuing to walk alongside the hero. Warden huffed at his lack of response, as if seeing him aggravated by the unfair situation would've been preferable. Tommy didn't dignify him with a response as they arrived at the double doors leading to the Council's meeting room.
Warden opened the doors silently, nodding as a gesture telling Tommy to enter. Tommy did as told, Warden closing the doors as soon as Tommy went through, remaining to guard the entrance.
The Council's chambers were grand, with polished quartz and engravings coated in gold. Natural light flooded the room with an ethereal glow, shining behind the Council members themselves who were sitting at a rounded marble table, their chairs plush and elevated as if to symbolIze their pure superiority and authority over the heroes.
"Flicker," The Council member at the head of the table spoke, voice full of an emotion Tommy didn't care to identify, familiar with the dangerous undertones. "Nice of you to join us." Tommy grit his teeth, head low to avoid the gaze of the council members. He could already feel them glaring at him with disapproving scowls as they murmured among themselves, doing his best to stand still and obedient as they lectured him.
They didn't seem to like his silence, deciding to skip pleasantries.
"It's been a while since your last report. How is your mission progressing?" One of the other members piped up first, puffing out their chest as they spoke in an authoritative tone, basking in their own superiority. If it wouldn't result in punishment, Tommy would roll his eyes, but he knew they expected an immediate answer.
What was he supposed to say? He was no closer to arresting the Syndicate than he was that first night. He had no clues to their civilian identities, no idea of what hidden schemes they were plotting, he wasn't even accustomed to their fighting styles despite their numerous encounters. He bit at the flesh inside his cheek nervously, the stinging pain keeping him grounded.
Sighing, he attempted to speak. "The Syndicate is... difficult," he started, words careful. "Tracking them down is near impossible, but recently I've been able to find them attacking hero related targets more than anything else. Warehouses, training facilities-"
He was cut off by a council member's harsh voice, putting all his effort to avoid flinching. "That's it?"
He nodded courteously, lifting his chin to meet the sneers of the council. "As I said, they're experienced, they aren't keen on revealing information-"
" Two months ," the head of the council snapped, Tommy taking a step back immediately, falling quiet. "Two whole months since your first encounter, and you're still incapable of even pinpointing them. What were you even trained for?"
Tommy grit his teeth, racking his brain as he tried to think of a worthy response. Fuck, he could never win in these conversations, incapable of coming up with a suitable reply for his superiors.
"We took you in," they spat, words dripping with disdain and malice. Tommy tried not to give a reaction. "We ask a simple task of you, expecting competence, only to be met with excuse after excuse, failure after failure ."
The words dig into Tommy like a dagger, twisting his gut as he lowers his gaze further, shrinking into himself. He knows they're probably mocking him by now, he doesn't need to see it. "I apologize," he says, trying to keep his tone even. "I assure you I am doing my best, the Syndicate aren't just a common enemy-"
"And you aren't just some brat we took off the street, are you?" Another of the council members retorts, words oozing with contempt. "You were trained to handle any threat to the Heroics Commission, not to give empty promises about doing your best."
"I know," Tommy quickly replies. "Again, I apologize."
"That seems to be all you've said in this conversation," the first council member sneers, Tommy curling his fingers into his palms, nails digging into the soft skin in an attempt to steady himself. "You were cherry-picked from dozens, chosen for your prime potential of defeating the threats to our city, and yet after all these years of training, you've still done nothing."
Rage pooled in Tommy’s gut, rearing its ugly head at the harsh words. He hadn't been picked, he'd been taken, taken to be beaten down under the guise of training into a loyal attack dog for the pricks managing the Commission, corrupt to their rotten core. They had no right to demand the impossible of him.
"I'm fucking trying !" Tommy snapped, raising his head and lifting his chin to face the council head on. "Throwing someone into a couple of encounters with the worst villains known to mankind and expecting immediate results is-"
" Exactly what you were made for." Another member cut him off, tone cold as they stood up to face him. Tommy took another quick step back, lowering his head in immediate surrender and apology. The council member sneered.
"I think this conversation has been.. fruitful , Flicker. But I believe it's for the best if you get back to training."
Tommy recognized the disgust in their voice, wanting to be rid of him as soon as possible now that they were done throwing insults his way. He nodded sagely, turning around and beginning to leave the room.
"One last thing, Flicker?" Tommy turned to face the council a final time, heavy dread pooling in his gut.
"Come back with results, or die trying. Nothing more."
"Understood." He replied quietly, finally reaching the large doors looming over him, opening them and slipping out quickly, letting out a breath he hadn't even been holding as tears welled in his eyes and his form flickered ever so slightly, trying to keep himself in place as he wished for nothing more than to bury himself in his bed and wither away.
Come with results or die, they'd said, that second option was looking far more optimal.
A discourteous huff caught his attention, Tommy whirling around to be faced with Warden, unbothered by the boy's state. Tommy steadied himself quickly, his anguish replaced with fragile neutrality. Warden tilted his head, gas mask and goggles hiding his emotions from the underground hero.
"What did they want to speak to you about?" He asked, and Tommy knew it'd be better to reply. Warden would poke and prod at him for hours if ignored, driven by curiosity and a grudge against Tommy the whole universe seemed to share. There had been a time where he'd seen the hero as a mentor figure, but he now knows that was nothing but a lie to keep him in line.
Warden had been the first hero he'd met as a child, new to the Commission with no control over his abilities or fighting capacity, worthless to the Council without proper training. Warden was the one chosen to cultivate his talent, as they'd said. Warden's explosions had forced Tommy to learn to be quick on his feet, dodging endless blows with his teleportation and overcoming the disorienting effect of his powers no matter how exhausted he was. Warden had trained him to have endless stamina, forcing him to spar against both his fellow trainees and fully fledged heroes under the guise of "teaching" him to battle different opponents.
Tommy had once wondered if the hero just found it funny, watching him get beat up and force himself to keep going, as if watching as he pushed himself to his limit and beyond was entertaining.
But Warden had also been there to comfort him after, wrap up his wounds and let him cry on his shoulder when he needed it most. Even if his body was littered with explosions from Warden's own blows, if he trained himself till he fell to the ground exhausted almost every day due to the hero's teachings, Warden had been something.
Until Tommy grew, until he realized the hero- his hero's indifference to him. He was nothing more than a sidekick to Warden, something to show off to the Council for status. When Tommy had been the only survivor of the trainees, Warden had given him nothing more than a few empty comforts before pushing him in front of the Council to boast about his apprentice being the one to survive, thanks to his teachings.
Tommy had needed comfort, needed kindness, needed Warden, only to be met with apathy. Warden would never value him like he did his heroic status, seeing Tommy as nothing more than another way to not only appease but impress the Council. Whatever bond Tommy had been desperate enough to dream up was empty, a fake comfort.
Sometimes, it was nice to pretend it wasn't. "The usual," he sighs. "They want results, and I'm not doing enough."
Warden seemed to notice his bitter tone. "Maybe you aren't doing enough, thought of that?" He offered as if it were friendly advice and not the recycled words of the Council. Tommy wanted to teleport himself off the roof.
"I'm doing my best, you watch me train! They're far stronger, far faster, they have years more experience than me! They can't possibly-"
He was caught off by a hand in his hair, Warden giving his messy curls a disinterested ruffle. Tommy paused, falling silent and wishing for nothing more than to lean into the hand, the touch bringing a tightness to his chest. Warden's hand quickly pulled away and fell back to his side numbly as Tommy internally mourned the loss of contact.
"How about I don't just watch you train for today?" He offered, seemingly kind. Tommy knew it was just an excuse for the hero to toss him around for a couple hours, but he nodded quietly regardless.
"Yeah, that'd be- sure." He said, still lamenting Warden's disinterest in him despite his fake attention. "You could let the Council know I'm working, progressing, right?"
"Hm," Warden gave no further reply, beginning to walk down the halls again. Tommy quickly followed suit, trailing after the man like a lost puppy.
God, he missed Wilbur.
-
"You're slow," Warden reprimanded, sending another explosion his way. Tommy steadied himself quickly, dashing away from the blow and teleporting up to the ceiling of the training room's corner, feet pushing against the walls as he threw himself in Warden's direction. Warden reacted immediately, twisting around as he grabbed Tommy by the scruff of his hoodie, tossing the boy across the room.
Tommy let out a pained cry as his back collided with the wall, coughing as he fell to the floor, hoisting himself up immediately to avoid another explosion sent his way by Warden.
"I'm trying, " he forced out, another cough accompanying his words as he felt the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Warden didn't seem impressed though, another explosion bubbling in the hero's gloved hand.
"Are you?" He asked, his voice cruel. "You've barely managed to land a hit. I even let you use your powers this time."
Tommy sighed. Usually he didn't even get that unless the training was specifically for his powers. He forced himself back into a fighting position, baring his teeth behind his mask as he studied Warden, the hero waiting for his apprentice to make his move.
Tommy ran forward, teleporting away before Warden could take advantage of his direct charge. The most dangerous thing he could do while fighting Warden was be a sitting duck, the hero didn't mind attacking him if he stayed in one place for too long. He ignored the disorienting rush that accompanied his teleportation, maintaining momentum as he forced his power again, just near avoiding another blast. Warden let out a frustrated sound as he once again teleported away. Tommy grit his teeth, letting out his power in spontaneous bursts around the room. He could barely keep his vision straight, his surroundings a blur as he fought to keep himself teleporting in an attempt to disorient his opponent.
Warden was whirling around in a frenzy, his gloves torn as the fabric had been burned to a crisp by the amount of explosions he attempted to blast Tommy’s way. Tommy couldn't stay still, he needed to keep moving until an opening. He needed to.
Warden let out a sudden cough, stopping the barrage of attacks for a moment as Tommy saw smoke filter out of his gas mask, thick wasps of gray mist clouding the hero's vision despite his goggles. Tommy grinned under his mask, sharpened teeth wide in a smile as his plan began to finally work .
He forced a final teleport to the wall behind Warden, kicking off the stone with his legs as he launched himself at the hero who was still gathering his bearings, slamming into him with a victorious cry. Warden let out a pained hiss, twisting to look at Tommy with a murderous expression.
Tommy couldn't let himself falter, recoiling for a second before landing a punch on the hero's face, teleporting away before Warden had a chance to react, his mask torn off his face by Tommy’s attack. The hero let out another chain of desperate coughs, now pained without his mask to filter out the smoke billowing out his mouth. Tommy finally went still, a heavy pounding in his head from overuse of his ability. He wanted nothing more than to collapse and throw up, but instead quickly ran to his mentor, grabbing the hero's mask and handing it to him.
Warden tore the mask from his hand with a damn near growl with a clawed hand, fastening it back on as he heaved a desperate breath. Tommy's shoulders slumped as the hero regained his rigid composure, gaze turning to Tommy, who couldn't help but be filled with pride. It wasn't every day he was able to defeat his mentor.
"What was that? " He hissed, tone full of malice. Tommy's face fell, worry lining his features as he stepped back. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
"I'm sorry," he said instinctively, the hero growing even more furious at that. "You said-"
He was cut off by a clawed hand grabbing his throat, slamming him against the training room's wall. He let out a cry of pain as the back of his head slammed into the wall, headache increasing from a dull thud to thunderous, scrambling to free himself from the grip with no avail. Warden's claws dug into his throat, the hero's composure returning now that he held the upper hand once more.
"Training isn't over, Flicker." He spat, and Tommy could feel the smile behind the hero's mask.
-
Tommy held his hands over his mouth tightly, breathing from his nose to try and keep quiet. He peeked around the corner, heart hammering in his chest. He cannot believe that actually worked, he was half expecting to teleport into a wall and suffocate there. But here he was, in the dark halls of the orphanage, the foyer leading to the kitchen right in front of him.
The kitchen was empty, just as the boy had hoped. He just needs to teleport inside, snag the cookies, and get back to his room before any of the orphanage staff finds out he's out of his bed after lights out. They already have it out for him and Wilbur, he can't give them another reason to hate him.
He waited for the bubbling ache in his head to dull, before preparing to teleport again. He could only do it if he was already moving, so as quietly as he could muster he ran down the hall, closing his eyes as he felt the familiar rush of teleporting.
When he opened his eyes, he was in the kitchen, right in front of a tray of fresh cookies.
"Fuck yeah," the child murmured, taking the lack of staff around as an opportunity to curse. Silently, he stood on the tips of his toes and began to grab the freshest looking cookies from the tray, slipping them into the pocket of his oversized hoodie, a hand-me-down from one of the older orphanage kids. He nudged the other cookies on the tray around to attempt and hide the fact many were now missing, rubbing his hands on the soft fabric of his hoodie to get rid of the crumbs, scrunching his nose in disgust at the sticky feeling on his hands.
Anything for cookies.
Once he'd covered up his crime to the best of his ability, he quickly slipped away from the kitchen with a victorious giggle, running down the hall.
It was so easy, almost too easy!
"Is anyone there?" The familiar voice of one of his least favorite staff members echoed from down the hall, sounding upset in a way Tommy knew spelled trouble.
Fuck, he should have waited.
He was almost at the stairs, once he was there, he could teleport up and be gone. He just needed to run before he got caught. The footsteps of the staff member only got louder, sounding more and more upset with each thud. Tommy sprinted down the dark hall, tripping over his own feet, almost tripping at the foot of the stairs in the dark. As he stumbled, he quickly looked at the top of the staircase, closing his eyes as a flash of light filled the room.
When he came to, his head was throbbing and he was at the top of the stairs, the staff member confused at the sudden light yet lack of people. He didn't need to wait another second, running down to the sleeping quarters and desperately knocking on the door to his room.
"Wilbur," he whispered, trying to alert the other boy but not the staff. "Wilbur!"
The door opened quickly, revealing Tommy’s disheveled older brother, hair a frizzy mess. "What-"
"I got them Wil, I got them!" Tommy squeaked as his brother closed the door quickly, eyes lighting up.
"Seriously? Tommy, I was joking-" Wilbur began, cut off as Tommy hopped onto their bed and laid out his impressive treasure.
"You doubted the great Tommy, of course I had to prove you wrong," he teased, a grin on his face. Wilbur smiled, settling down on the bed as Tommy grabbed one of the cookies, leaning against his brother as he nibbled on the fresh pastry, chocolate chips melting in his mouth.
"You're my hero, really." Wilbur rested a hand in his hair, ruffling the blonde curls with a smile as he took one of the cookies. Tommy grinned, teeth stained with chocolate, but Wilbur only returned his smile.
"You.. really think?" Tommy asked after a quiet few moments, Wilbur raising a brow in confusion.
"Think what, Toms?"
"Think that I'm a hero," Tommy replied, voice quiet, the child fiddling with his hands to soothe his nerves. He stared at the small pile of cookies, taking another to distract himself.
Wilbur’s smile returned, softer now. "Of course, Tommy. You're the greatest hero out there. And once we're out of this dump, you're going to do great things, I assure you of that."
Tommy's eyes brightened, a shy smile returning to his face. "Really?"
"Yeah, man! I can't wait to see it all." His brother chuckled, hand returning to ruffle Tommy’s hair. The child batted off the hand with a laugh, before he fell into contemplative silence again.
"You'll.. you'll be there too, right?" He asked, brows furrowing with worry.
"Hm?"
"When m'big and.. when I'm a hero.. you'll be there with me, right?" Tommy questioned, watching Wilbur’s face fall for a moment. His brother didn't have powers like him, he couldn't be at Tommy’s side. Tommy waited for a response, blue eyes full of emotion as he looked up at his brother.
Wilbur finally spoke after a few moments of tense silence "Of course, Toms. I'll always be right there with you."
Tommy nodded, chuckling slightly. Wilbur took his chance, grabbing the last cookie on the pile with a victorious cry. Tommy's mouth widened in an offended gasp, leaping at his brother to snatch back the cookie he'd stolen. "Bastard!"
"Finders keepers!" Wilbur teased, grinning. Tommy elbowed him in his gut, cursing his brother's height as Wilbur held the cookie above his head with a hand raised high.
"You're the worst, give it!" Tommy whined. Wilbur frowned with fake pity, bringing his hand down and snapping the cookie in half, handing Tommy the larger one. The boy snagged it without another word, letting out a victorious cheer.
"M'not sharing with you next time," Tommy declared, mouth full of cookie. Wilbur rolled his eyes.
"Sure, gremlin," He teased, hands wrapping around Tommy and pulling him close into a hug that he leaned into immediately, finishing off his cookie as he did. "You wouldn't forsake your dear big brother!"
"I would," Tommy decided. "I would and I'd fight you and I'd win because I'm the bigger man." Wilbur laughed, and Tommy found himself laughing alongside his brother, eyelids fluttering with slight exhaustion. He always got tired after using his powers, and of course it was also quite late. He slumped in Wilbur’s hold, resting his head against his brother with a sleepy yawn, trusting he'll be kept safe if he fell asleep. Wilbur didn't reply, only chuckling and leaning back, reaching for his blanket and wrapping it around them both.
"G'night," Tommy murmured after a few moments, closing his eyes.
"Night, Toms."
-
The harsh burn marks on his throat weren't exactly a good look, but the healing wing had done their best to patch him up, so he wasn't going to act ungrateful now. They'd probably fade within a few weeks, and hopefully wouldn't scar, so he felt no further need to complain.
Bitterness pooled in his gut at his thoughts, hating his own patheticness in the face of the Commission's torment. He felt less like a person and more like their attack dog, beaten down into obedience and molded how they saw fit. Warden, the Council, all of them.
He sighed, sitting down on his bed, the old mattress creaking with the new weight. He missed Wilbur, he missed his days at the orphanage. He never thought he'd say those words, but there they were. He'd take the assholes running that dump over the Commission any day.
He'd take anything if he had his brother back. Wilbur had promised, promised, but promises between two children didn't matter to the world. The world wasn't kind, wasn't fair, and so once his powers had been discovered by the orphanage staff, they hadn't exactly been fair as they tore him from his powerless brother and sent him to the heroes.
He wanted to be a hero, craved it so desperately like every powered child should. But god, not like this. If this is what being a hero meant, he wished he was normal like Wilbur was. He wished he could just run away from the Commission, or retire and just be alone.
He wanted the Syndicate dead, he realized quietly. He's sure it's the only reason he's kept around, so the Council and Warden's curiosity can be fulfilled and he can be killed by the villains. He won't be free until either he or the supervillains are dead. And who's to know if he'll be free then either? It'd probably only fuel the Council's fascination, gleefully sending him after the next enemy. He was trapped in an endless cycle he never even wanted to be in.
He wishes he'd died with the rest of the underground heroes. He despised the Syndicate for sparing him, for letting him continue living like this. He hated them, hated them so much, desperate for a force outside the people he was trained to admire to blame for his miserable existence. It was easier than doubting everything he'd been raised to believe, to hate the villains he was forced to try and miserably fail to capture for months now.
He just wanted them gone, wanted a taste of the catharsis that he knew would come.
He stood up quietly, staring at his mask, sitting innocently on his desk. It almost glared back, taunting him. Tommy picked it up, gripping the metal like a lifeline as he placed it on his face, securing it at the back. It felt like a brand once fastnened, a claim from the Commission, a sign of who he belonged to. He looked outside his window, the vivid light of the setting sun casting an orange glow on his room as it filtered through the glass. It'd be night soon, the hours the Syndicate loved to operate during. If he had a chance to find them, it'd be far easier now.
Without another word, he turned away from the window, opening the door to his room and beginning his trek down the halls.
It wouldn't be long until night fell.