Archive of Our Own ^beta

one. 

Tommy feels the rippling force of each bullet against the invisible shield he threw up in the nick of time–like his very bones are swallowing the energy from the pressure. With a flick of his wrist, he sends them flying back to where they came from. 

Only one hits its intended target. It’s enough to send the gunman stumbling backwards. The fresh wound in his shoulder is a little more distracting than trying to gun Tommy down. 

Before Tommy can process it, though, another robber takes the place of their fallen comrade. Tommy makes a wide sweeping motion with his arm. The new man can’t even raise his gun before he’s swept from the ground and crashes into the nearby wall. 

Advancing deeper into the bank, Tommy thinks he has about three more minutes before the cops respond to the alarm. He tries not to dread it too much. Working with the police isn’t the worst thing in the world but Tommy doesn’t need the help. It just makes things more complicated. 

It doesn’t take long to reach the vault that’s being raided. 

Before he enters, Tommy sends a precursory push of his power into the room, getting a feel for everything inside. He counts at least five people inside.

Nowhere near enough to even be a problem. 

His muffled footsteps are unheard by the robbers as he swings into the vault. Tommy pushes forward, wrapping his power around each person and sending them airborne. They slam into the ceiling, a cacophony of painful grunts echoing through the room. Between the surprise and sheer force that Tommy wields, all weapons fall from their grips and clatter to the ground. One hand holds the robbers up while the other sweeps the guns away into the far corner. 

With even more strength than before, Tommy lets them all drop to the ground. 

Three of the five do not get up again. The two that do struggle to get back on their feet. Tommy could almost laugh. 

This isn’t even his first bank robbery of the month. It’s a classic, really, but the criminals executing the crime never seem to get that much smarter. It can get rather boring, if he’s honest, but someone has to do it. 

Tommy moves his hands as if dividing the air before him. With it, the last two robbers soar into opposite sides of the vault. 

For a split second, one is stubborn enough to remain conscious. They start to push themselves up, their entire body shaking and unsteady as Tommy just watches. 

He should really give them a chance, after all. This fight has been entirely unfair up until this point. 

But they collapse into a heap without another noise. 

Tommy sighs. At least he can leave now–let the cops clean up and arrest the idiots that probably won’t be conscious for a little while. 

In the same breath that Tommy turns around to get the hell out of this place, his vision suddenly turns to black. A heavy, thick, nothing swallows him whole. 

He can’t see but he can feel that he’s moving. Tommy doesn’t have a single second to even panic. It all happens too quickly. 

Somewhere, gunfire roars. 

Somewhere, Tommy’s stomach twists in a way that is strangely familiar. 

Somewhere, there are hands on him and Tommy doesn’t even think to fight them off. 

As sudden as it came, the darkness fades, and Tommy finds himself in the hallway leading to the vault. In the doorway stands another member of the robbers that Tommy must’ve missed on his way in. Their gun is pointed exactly where Tommy stood just a moment ago. 

“You’re welcome,” says a smug disembodied voice. 

Tommy doesn’t waste time rolling his eyes, as much as he wants to. Completely done with these bank robbers, Tommy throws this last one so hard into the wall that they crumble instantly. 

Tommy can only assume the friendly shadows have vanished again. He’s found that he tends not to linger once the fight is over. 

Doing his best to ignore the fierce wave of nausea that always accompanies those damn shadows, Tommy takes his leave. 

Blaring police sirens welcome him back into the main lobby of the bank. 

–

When the sun sets, the real crazies start coming out. Tommy would do anything for a nice and easy bank robbery some nights. Something just in and out, something that barely breaks a sweat and he gets to go home and sleep at a reasonable time.

Of course, for as long as Tommy has been in this line of work, he has never been so lucky. 

It’s the first time in hours that he finally has a moment to relax. And he prefers to spend his breaks somewhere the city can’t reach him. 

Tonight, it’s atop a high-end apartment building. From here, he can see the whole city. Distant lights on the horizon shine brighter than the stars in the pitch black sky. The unrelenting rumble of still busy roads doesn't leave a second of silence. 

It’s the place he’s dedicated himself to protect. His home. 

But nights like these, Tommy is just tired. It never ends. 

The crunch of gravel behind him doesn’t startle Tommy nearly as much as it should. Afterall, he’s been waiting. 

Without looking behind him, Tommy says, “Thanks for your help earlier.”

“You looked like you needed it.” The response is quick, rolling off his tongue with such ease that it feels like they’ve known each other for years. He takes a few steps closer, lingering just outside Tommy’s peripheral vision. “Does this make me a hero? Since I saved your life and all?”

Only because Tommy’s face is directed outwards to the skyline, he lets the fond grin spread across his face, unashamed. “It makes you my hero for sure.”

Spencer gags. 

Tommy likes to think that he’s blushing underneath all those shadows. He doesn’t have any clue what Spencer looks like since his voice doesn’t really give Tommy much to work with. His imagination is a bit dry most of the time, anyway. 

In the last handful of months that they’ve known each other, not once has Spencer appeared in any physical way. 

He is a shadow.

The space besides Tommy growing darker is the only indication he really has of Spencer’s presence–that he isn’t just a voice in Tommy’s head. 

“Think that’ll get the cops off my ass?” Spencer says, his tone heavy with disdain. 

Tommy can hear the rolling of his eyes. 

He continues, “‘The personal saviour of the city’s beloved hero’. It has a pretty good ring to it. Oh, they’ll have to give me the keys to the city now.”

When Tommy laughs, the instinct to turn to Spencer is still one he hasn’t let go of. All Tommy can see is the heavy shadow of the night but despite that, somehow, he feels like he’s looking right at Spencer. He feels the eye contact as much as he feels the sudden lurch of his heart. 

He turns his gaze back to the city. 

“It’s not as cool as the Wraith , if you ask me,” Tommy replies, clearing his throat. 

“Oh my fucking god, that’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard,” Spencer complains. 

“Come on, it’s a good name!”

“I deserve to get beat up with that name.”

“What else are people meant to call you, then?” Tommy asks. 

“Anything but that,” he responds. “Literally anything else.”

Tommy says, “The good people on Reddit worked hard to give you a name. You can’t just reject it, that’s not how it works.”

In fairness, Tommy doesn’t know how the naming system actually works. It’s just a stable part of the city. He never agreed to his hero name and yet one day, it’s just what the news articles and journalists were calling him. The name appeared as suddenly as Tommy did, really, but both are too well established to be replaced now. 

Spencer, however, doesn’t seem to have the same amount of respect. He snorts a laugh. “It came from Reddit?” he says, incredulously. “That makes it so much worse–wait. What were you doing on Reddit ?”

“Listen–”

"I think you just lost your hero status, Tommy. You might be the worst villain this city has ever seen,” Spencer says with the utmost sincerity. 

Fighting a burst of laughter, Tommy shoots back, “You’re the one that told me about the subReddit!” 

“ Hey . I’m not the superhero here. I’m allowed to be a scumbag, you are a pillar of morality.”

“Oh no, we’re fucked.”

The laugh that falls from Spencer’s mouth is sharp, quickly sliding into a silent wheeze. Tommy imagines the way his shoulders would shake as he laughs, eyes squeezing shut, the rosy tint to his cheeks when he laughs so hard he can’t breath. 

If anyone else were to witness this, all they would see is Tommy laughing at nothing, standing at the edge of a building alone, his gaze firmly fixated in front of him. 

He doesn’t mind, of course, that Spencer stays safely embraced in his shadows. No matter the state, Tommy just wants Spencer around. 

“Nah, as long as we’ve got you, we’ll be alright,” Spencer says, his words echoed by his laughter. 

And then Spencer says things like that and all Tommy wants is to look at him. To see what emotion is resting on his face because sometimes his tone just isn’t enough for Tommy to understand. To figure out if he’s reading too much into this strange little relationship they have. 

“That means a lot–y’know, coming from my Wraith,” Tommy says, earning an exasperated sigh but Tommy can hear the smile behind it. 

Tommy still finds himself looking over his shoulder, as if he’ll suddenly be able to see Spencer clearly. He thinks he’ll always be looking for Spencer. 

two. 

“You ready to head out?” Courtney asks, a slight slur to their words as they lean on Tommy’s shoulder. 

Tommy wraps his arm around her waist, supporting her weight with a little help from his power. “Only if you are,” he replies. 

If they’re asking that, though, it’s definitely time. 

He so heroically offered to be the designated driver tonight, letting his friends get wasted at a new bar while he sips away at mocktails so he doesn’t feel too left out. Tommy just can't help but be self-sacrificing. It’s definitely not because the last time he got drunk in public, Courtney knocked over their drink and Tommy caught it mid-air from the other side of the table.

That was not a conversation either of them were sober enough to have. And it’s not something Tommy can ever let happen again. 

At least the bartenders tonight are cool, giving him every other drink on the house for his suffering. Besides, he doesn’t really mind being the driver for everyone if it means a night out. Tommy needed it desperately. 

It’s a difficult balance to find–not letting either of his lives bleed too much into the other. Sometimes, he just needs a night to forget about supervillains and low-level criminals. He needs to not be the city’s hero and just be him. 

Courtney hums gently. “I think Angela’s done for the night,” they point out. 

Across the booth, Angela is all but cuddling Amanda. Their arms are linked together and Tommy is pretty sure that Amanda is already half-asleep. Chanse has already left a little while ago. 

Tommy shuffles out of the booth to settle their tab. When he gets back to the group, it surprisingly doesn’t take much rousing to get everyone up and stumbling out. 

The air outside the bar is brisk, a welcome chill compared to the heat inside. It wakes Tommy up from the haze of booze and sweat. In the parking lot, there’s a few other people hanging around their cars but still, it’s so much quieter. Tommy can finally hear himself think. 

Crawling into the backseat of Tommy’s car, Angela and Amanda assume the same position. Tommy is already planning on taking them straight to Angela’s place since it’s closet and letting them deal with things from there. Courtney is shuffling into the passenger seat, a good deal less drunk than the other two so Tommy doesn’t have to worry about her. 

Once he’s sure the two in the back at least have their seatbelts on, Tommy moves for the driver’s seat. 

The muzzle of a gun presses into the small of his back. 

A deep, gravelly voice says, “Your wallet and phone and everyone goes home safe tonight.”

Really, Tommy shouldn’t be surprised. This is the exact side of town where this would happen, and to him, of all people. Tommy’s just mad that he was snuck up on. Any other day, this asshole never would’ve gotten close to him–to his friends .

He’s tired and distracted and wondering just how drunk his friends are–whether they’ll remember anything from tonight. 

Tommy pushes his power behind, unsure which of the people in the parking lot are innocent bystanders or backup. Either way, he can take the man with the gun. 

Just one night. It’s all Tommy asked for. 

One night to himself without needing to stop some sort of crime. 

As Tommy readies himself to tear the ground from underneath this son of a bitch, the man starts to freak out. 

Confused yelling suddenly overtakes the parking lot. The pressure against his back suddenly tears away. 

Tommy takes the opportunity to face his would-be mugger but can’t make out a single feature of the man’s face. It’s obscured entirely by writhing black tendrils snaking over his eyes and mouth.

Without warning, the tendrils explode, growing in size until they swallow the man completely. 

In the pale glow of the street lights that don’t quite illuminate the lot, all Tommy can really see is the twisting movement of something . There isn’t much for Tommy to do other than watch and wait for the shadows to dissipate, really hoping that his friends aren’t watching. 

After the frightened shouts stop with a sudden grunt, the darkness pulls back to reveal the mugger lying limp on the pavement. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks, somewhere just beyond the unconscious man.

Tommy picks a point in the darkness and narrows his eyes. “Are you following me or something?”

The sputtering that tumbles from Spencer’s mouth definitely means that he’s blushing. “ No . I just–I was in the area.”

“In the area?” Tommy echoes. Even if he can’t see Spencer’s face, Spencer can see his–can see the incredulous look he’s wearing. 

“I was actually on my way to something really important but I saw you here, just so helpless, needy, really–”

“ Needy ?”

“–so I just had to intervene. Y’know, since I’m your hero and everything. I think a thank you is in order, actually."

Tommy clasps his hands over his chest and lets his brightest smile spread across his lips as he–hopefully–looks at Spencer. “My darling, dearest Spencer, thank you so much for saving my life from this very scary man,” he says, letting the cheesiness drip from his tone until it’s unbearable for the both of them. “How ever could I repay you?”

“I can think of a few ways,” Spencer retorts, too quickly to have thought those particular words through.

Tommy raises an eyebrow. 

“You heard me.” At least he’s not afraid to stick by his own stupidity. 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to distract you from the very important thing you were doing,” Tommy replies. 

Spencer clears his throat. “Yeah. Right, I should probably get to that.”

“See you around, then?” Tommy doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question but it falls from him unbidden. He has no reason to think that Spencer will just suddenly disappear, that they won’t run into each other within the next week, but saying it aloud has Tommy doubting himself. 

It’s become too ingrained, now, that Spencer will be in the edges of the shadows whether Tommy goes. 

“Hopefully I won’t be saving your ass,” Spencer says. 

Tommy laughs, a loud burst that’s a bit too sharp for where they are. “Hopefully.”

three. 

His breaths come out in ragged heaves. His heart beats like thunder, threatening to break through his ribs. His very bones feel like they’re about to crumple under his weight. The pain radiating from his abdomen throbs in time with each rush of blood in his ears. 

Tommy can’t look down at it. He knows what happened. 

It moves with each step he takes. He’s trying to hold it steady as he moves but his hand is slowly becoming soaked in his own blood, a sticky crimson staining his pale skin. Tommy can’t just rip it out either. He’s seen people bleed out in minutes–and dying alone in a piss-stained alley is not how Tommy is going out. 

He refuses. 

But he doesn’t know what else to do. 

Tommy’s not making it to a hospital. Even if he did, he doubts he can put down his hero name on all the forms. Who’s his insurance? The city council? In his state, he’s nearly tempted to try it, even if it means risking his secret identity. 

In the distance, Tommy can still hear the fight he retreated from taking place. He feels an ounce of guilt for leaving the fray. It was his battle against the villain of the week but it quickly grew bigger than himself, and another of the city’s beloved heroes came to his aid. They’ve worked together before–most heroes have had a run in or two with each other–and Tommy knows they would’ve gotten the job done. 

And then the shrapnel found a home in Tommy’s abdomen.

He turned and got himself out of there. Now, though, after his legs gave out and he can’t get up again, Tommy is really wishing he trusted the other hero to help him out. 

Tommy’s only ever had himself to turn to. The problem is, it always worked before. He can ice his own bruises and clean his own wounds but he finds that he can’t save himself from blood loss as a rod of rebar has torn through his body. Tommy can’t even call for help. 

If he could just get back to his feet, maybe Tommy won’t be so helpless. He could go somewhere , find someone , do something . 

One hand keeps the metal steady, each jostle sending flares of agony through him, while the other is planted firmly on the brick wall behind him. Through some miracle, Tommy manoeuvres himself into a kneeling position. 

Breathing heavily, Tommy readies himself to stand when movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention. 

On instinct, he raises a hand in front of him. It must be the villain coming to finish him off. 

Tommy’s not going down without a fight, even if it means he loses his balance and falls against the wall again. 

Something emerges from the other wall of the alley. A dark swirling mess extends from the brick, stretching and growing until a mass of shadow consumes nearly the entire width of the alley. Tommy presses himself further against the wall, realising he’s trapped himself.

Like it’s eating away at the sunlight, everything suddenly darkens. It’s the middle of the day but Tommy can see the shadows slowly swallowing the edges of the sky from his vision. 

But for as much as Tommy’s heart is racing violently, he doesn’t think it’s fear. He doesn’t know what it is but Tommy is captivated. 

It’s when a wavering voice says, “Holy shit, Tommy,” does he realise just what he’s seeing.

He’s never seen Spencer in daylight before.

He’s beautiful. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Tommy quips, wholly unsurprised that Spencer has managed to find him. At this point, he should’ve expected it. 

“Are you okay? I mean, obviously you’re not but like–okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” Spencer says, the words tumbling from his mouth so quickly they fade into each other. But the sudden shift from panic to conviction is all Tommy really picks up on. 

Something about Tommy trusts Spencer’s word without questioning it. He falls back onto the disgusting pavement. A grunt of pain escapes his clenched jaw. 

The pain hasn’t relented for a moment but having Spencer around is enough to distract him. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Tommy says, if only to say something. 

The darkness presses in further. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Spencer starts. 

Something cold hovers over Tommy’s hand, holding the rebar with him. It’s not a real hand–it’s too wispy, like freezing smoke–but it’s somehow just as comforting.

“We gotta take this out.”

Tommy breath catches in his throat, already imagining the pain. “Yeah, I got that far by myself,” he says, doing his best to plaster on a grin. It falls without the strength to maintain it. “Just do it.”

Spencer hesitates. “I can’t just rip it out.”

“Why not?” 

“It’ll do more damage, you know, fuck up your insides. And I’m guessing there’s a reason you chose to die in an alley rather than anywhere else,” Spencer says. His shadows slowly reach out to Tommy, like they’re scooping him in an embrace. 

Tommy takes a deep breath. 

He’s cold enough on his own and Spencer’s shadows are making it worse but he wouldn’t give it up for anything. The only word he has for it is safe . He’ll push off his slow march towards death to properly enjoy being held by this darkness. 

“So what now?” he asks. 

“You’re going to take it out.”

Tommy is sure that he heard Spencer wrong, that his dropping adrenaline is messing with his head. But when the shadows don’t so much as flicker, Tommy’s heart drops. 

Later, he’ll dissect how he understands the movement of shadows as body language. 

‘Don’t know if you’ve noticed, bub, but I’m a little busy,” he says, gesturing to the metal rod sticking out of his stomach. 

Spencer huffs a little laugh. “I know but you’re the only one that can do this.” The sheer earnesty in his voice has Tommy captivated. “You can hold it steady enough to get it out and then I can take it from there.” 

“Spencer,” Tommy says.

“Tommy,” Spencer says. 

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I can.”

The shadow that’s wrapped around Tommy’s hand tightens, and he swears that the new pressure takes the shape of a real hand. It’s so close to physical, so close to really being Spencer’s hand. 

“You can,” Spencer says, his voice has never been so firm–always half-joking, always leaning towards humour but right now, he is nothing but sincere. “It’ll be okay, Tommy. I promise.”

Releasing a breath, Tommy nods. If Spencer believes this hard about something, Tommy has to trust him. 

Tommy’s hand tightens around the rebar, letting his power spread over the rod, feeling every ridge and bump, until he can sense the entire thing from end to end. The shadow of Spencer’s hand tightens even more, supporting him, keeping him steady. 

The first slip of movement has Tommy biting his lip to keep himself from crying out. 

But he keeps the steel level. It moves slowly. Inch by inch, his blood coating the metal, it is pulled out of his body. 

Spencer never relents in his presence, holding Tommy’s hand the entire time, muttering soft reassurances into the air. 

The last edge of the rebar finally escapes Tommy with a soft gasp. 

“There we go,” Spencer whispers. 

Tommy latches onto the stilted way the words come out, like he isn’t used to saying them, to being a comforting figure. He has to wonder where Spencer learned this, whether he’s dealt with a similar situation and had to figure that out the hard way. Anything other than the rhythmic throb of pain radiating through his body. 

He hears the clatter of the metal as it lands somewhere beyond him. 

And as he expected, blood begins to pour freely from the wound. Everything that was being held back by the rebar quickly flows from him. 

Cold shadows settle over the wound, an attempt to hold back the flood of blood.

“Okay, your turn,” Tommy says. The gushing feeling has him struggling for breath, trying to gasp for air in between the spluttering of blood. 

“We’re gonna go for a ride first.” The shadows reach out. Somehow the feeling is both physical and not. For all Tommy knows, Spencer doesn’t have a physical form and this is the best he’ll ever get. “I’m sorry.”

Tommy shakes his head. “I trust you.”

Spencer doesn’t respond. The darkness becomes impenetrable, like a coffin closing over Tommy’s face. He knows what’s about to happen. 

The familiar wrap of shadows makes his stomach twist. He hates Spencer’s shadow travelling. It never gets better, no matter how many times it happens. He’s always left on the edge of throwing up.

But fortunately, Tommy doesn’t have to deal with that symptom this time. 

Tommy is unconscious before they’ve even properly slunk into the shadows. 

–

Blinking his eyes feels like wading through chest high mud. Too much effort for such little movement. But Tommy forces them open, even if his vision takes a moment to clear enough to even see anything. 

There’s a faint pounding in the base of his skull, a dull drumming that, at first, is the only thing Tommy has to be sure he’s even awake. 

When his body finally gets the message that he’s not dead despite feeling that way, all Tommy can see is a textured, grey concrete ceiling. It’s so utterly nondescript that Tommy has a million places he could possibly be. But slowly, his senses are awakening again, and he starts to feel the plush pillow underneath his head, the lumpy mattress beneath his body that presses into all the wrong places on his back, the heavy blanket pulled up to his chest. 

All Tommy knows is that he has no idea where he is. 

Fear is slow to rise in his chest, like his body can’t quite muster the strength to be afraid but is instead working on instinct. 

Tommy props himself up on one elbow and starts trying to push himself up. When his vision is no longer consumed by the lifeless ceiling, Tommy drinks in the features of his surroundings as fast as the slog in his mind allows him too. 

It could be a typical room if it weren’t for the staircase leading upwards to a heavy door. A basement. He’s in a stranger’s basement. 

Fantastic. 

He pushes himself up further, unable to stop the grunt of pain that emanates from his stomach. 

The space beside this little bed he’s been placed on darkens. Without thinking, Tommy realises it’s Spencer. Of course it is. Memories start to filter in–Tommy didn’t really have any idea what Spencer meant when he said they were going for a ride but he wasn’t exactly expecting to be taken to Spencer’s house .  Or basement or whatever. 

The shadows are a welcome sight. A pair of pale white hands stretch out from the darkness, deft fingers curling around Tommy’s shoulders and attempting to push him back down. 

“Careful, dumbass,” Spencer says, his voice too strained for the insult to land, “you’re gonna undo my work.” 

“Help me up, then,” Tommy retorts. He doesn’t have a drop of strength to fight against Spencer’s hold on him, but they both know Tommy’s stubborn enough to keep trying with or without Spencer’s help. 

It’s a little amusing how a mass of writhing shadows can look so annoyed. It’s a good look on him, Tommy decides. The light in here isn’t as intense as sunlight, doesn’t reveal every inch of Spencer’s shadows but it’s enough to nearly take Tommy’s breath away again. 

Something so extraordinary is hard to take in. 

Spencer sighs. “Okay, here, let me–” and he adjusts the pillow so that Tommy can rest against it while leaning on the wall. 

It takes a little teamwork and a lot more energy than Tommy thought to get him sitting upright. 

The wound on his abdomen makes its presence known again, screaming in protest at any little movement although it’s whole and stitched together again. 

Tommy swallows a grimace, trying to save face lest Spencer pushes him back down again. Something must slip into his expression because Spencer pulls back for a moment. Tommy doesn’t see where he goes but movement in the corner of this basement reveals his position. 

Pressed against the far wall from where Tommy is a little kitchenette area. Equipped with everything Spencer could need, it’s reminiscent of a shitty studio apartment. 

Just minus any windows, naturally. 

A small fridge swings open and closes again before the shadows return to Tommy’s side. 

The hands reach out again and pass Tommy an unscrewed bottle of water. Chilled to perfection, Tommy doesn’t waste time thanking Spencer–he thinks the small gasp of relief says enough–and becomes acutely aware of how desperately thirsty he is. It pours down his dry throat like honey, pooling in his empty stomach. 

“Okay, chill, you’re gonna drown yourself.” There’s a lightness in Spencer’s tone now.

The bottle is gently taken from Tommy, who, in all fairness, was about five seconds from choking in his desperation. He still grumbles as Spencer takes it back into his hands. 

And with his head a little clearer now that he isn’t on the brink of death, Tommy finds himself staring. 

Staring at Spencer’s hands. 

Uncloaked in shadows. His real physical hands. 

Up until this point, Tommy hasn’t seen so much as an inch of Spencer’s body. And now he’s just been given this sight? 

Now he can see the curve of his fingers gripped tight around the water bottle, the unblemished skin that slowly disappears back into shadow, the shifting of bone and muscle with each flex of his fists. 

Tommy forces his eyes to tear away, instead finding an approximation of where he thinks Spencer’s face must be. He wants to apologise for staring but he knows that won’t be taken well. The last thing Tommy wants is to make Spencer uncomfortable and pointing this out would only achieve such. 

And by the slight shake in Spencer’s hands, he’s already uncomfortable with the seconds Tommy forgot himself. 

Even if Tommy is internally freaking out over seeing a pair of hands , he won’t make that Spencer’s problem. 

“Please tell me this isn’t your mom’s basement,” Tommy says, reaching for the first thing he can think of. It’s not exactly what he wanted to say, but in all honesty, it’s an important detail to know. 

“Would it be a turn-off if it was?” he throws back, sounding thankful for the quick turn of subject. 

Tommy nods, pinching his brows in regretful honesty. “Yeah, bub, a little bit. If you’re a mama’s boy, I love that for you, but I will be leaving in that case.” 

Spencer makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “I promise this isn’t my mom’s basement,” he says. 

“Oh god, are you a neckbeard?” Tommy continues as if Spencer hadn’t said anything. 

“Is this how you thank me for saving your life? Again ?”

“No wonder I’ve never seen your face. I would be embarrassed too.” Tommy holds an apology behind his teeth the second the words leave his mouth, waiting to see how that comment lands. He’s never felt like he was allowed to joke about that, never wanting to cross that line. 

He’s willing to blame the blood loss for making him an idiot. 

The shadows offer absolutely no hint as to whether Tommy just messed up. 

Until finally, Spencer says, “I can take you back to that alley and let you bleed out, if that’s what you want.” 

Despite the threat, there’s enough playfulness in his tone that Tommy relaxes. 

“Hey, listen, God wanted me dead and now you get to find out why,” Tommy retorts, letting a soft smile ease onto his face.

Spencer sighs. “Last time I do anything good,” he mutters. 

–

“As…cozy as this place is,” Tommy says, hoping Spencer sees the displeasure in his expression as he makes a show of looking around, “I think it’s time I sleep in my own bed.”

“Are you rejecting my hospitality?” Spencer asks, offended. 

“Yes, absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt.” Tommy hears the soft laugh emit from the darkness. “Thanks and all that shit for saving my ass for the thousandth time, but I’m good to go.” 

A tendril of shadow flickers. 

“Seriously,” Tommy adds, knowing when he’s being called out on his bullshit even without words. 

“You need to rest,” Spencer says. “You were like, ninety percent dead not even two days ago.”

“And I’m a hundred percent alive now.” Tommy’s been asleep for most of that time, hardly awake for more than a few hours before crashing. But that’s besides the point. “I’ll rest at my place.”

Again, the darkness emotes Spencer’s disbelief well enough. Nonetheless, he says, “If you get within five blocks of a crime or some battle or anything, I’ll kick your ass, and we both that I’ll win.”

“Don’t sound so confident,” Tommy says. 

“Okay. Come over here and prove me wrong.”

Tommy just rolls his eyes at Spencer’s smug attitude. They both know that a strong enough breeze could take Tommy out right now but that’s meant to remain unspoken . Just like the fact that Tommy can see Spencer’s hands as they clean up the remains of the take-out they just finished. 

Tommy tried asking how Spencer actually got it but he remained tight-lipped about the whole thing. 

With a sigh, Tommy states, “I won’t do anything stupid, Spencer. But you know I’ll have to go back to work eventually.” 

If he doesn’t make a public appearance soon, he’ll probably be declared dead or something. Especially with the way his last fight ended, it wouldn’t be surprising if the city was already preparing his obituary.

“When those stitches come out,” Spencer replies bluntly. “That’s some of my best work, you know, the last thing I need is you messing it up.”

Tommy just stares. They can go around in circles for hours if they’re not careful, neither willing to relent in their stance for the fun of conversation. 

After a while, Spencer moves to sit at the edge of the bed. The swirling shadows don’t even phase Tommy anymore. He’s gotten accustomed to seeing Spencer in the light during the few times he’s been awake these last few days. 

“Okay, so there’s just a little issue with getting you home,” Spencer says. 

“What’s the problem?” Tommy asks. He’s trying not to get worked up but Spencer's vagueness is not helping at all. 

“You’re gonna hate it.”

“No.” Tommy doesn’t need him to elaborate. 

“Yeah,” Spencer draws the word out in apology. 

“Don’t you have a car or something?” he wonders. “We can travel the good old fashioned way. Like normal people.” 

Spencer laughs, a small regretful thing. “Well, why would I need a car if I can just be slurped into the shadows?” 

“Don’t describe it like that . You are so not helping.”

Tommy closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. On the best of days, Spencer’s shadow travel has him teetering on the edge of vomiting. The larger the distance, the worse it is. But now, when he was–as Spencer put it–ninety percent dead just a little while ago? And god knows how far he is from his apartment. 

Just knowing how awful it’s going to be is the problem. 

Maybe if Spencer had just scooped him up, it wouldn’t be so bad. Tommy wouldn’t have the chance to imagine the way his insides twist and tighten.

“It’ll be quick,” Spencer promises. “And y’know, if it’s bad, at least you’ll be home.”

He releases a deep breath, phantom nausea growing in the pit of his stomach. “Fine. Okay, fine, let’s do this.”

Spencer hesitates. “Well, first you’re gonna have to tell me where you live. Believe it or not, I’m not a stalker and have no clue where your apartment is.”

Tommy manages to laugh a little and tells Spencer the address. 

Tommy shuffles to his feet, letting himself be consumed by Spencer’s shadows. There’s nothing physical besides his hands, but all of Tommy’s weight is being supported somehow. 

One hand holds Tommy’s arm over Spencer’s shoulders, while the other curls around his waist. Everything in between is something between shadows and corporeal. It makes no sense, even in his head, but thankfully, Tommy is distracted by other things to really question how it works. 

“Ready?” Spencer asks gently.

“Nope. Let’s go.”

As the world shifts on its axis, Tommy scrunches his eyes tight and focuses on the feeling of Spencer’s hands, his fingers curling into Tommy’s skin, his touch light but firm. 

If the only thing Tommy gets is Spencer’s hands, that’s enough for him. 

It’s more than enough. 

four. 

Tommy has two shadows. 

He’s on the verge of kicking the ass of the second one but he’s a little busy at the moment. 

An office building catches fire just before the end of the work day, everyone ready to leave and go home before it turns into an inferno. Tommy knows that it’s not exactly his specialty. Of all the heroes in this damn city, his abilities aren’t the best suited for a fire, but he’ll find a way to help all the same. 

No one bothers Tommy as he presses into the building. Rumours of his death have been proven wrong but he has the feeling people are still a little surprised to see him running around. 

Wrapping his power around his own body, Tommy lifts himself into the air. He quickly reaches the fifth floor, crashing through the window underneath which the firefighters have erected one of those safety cushions. 

Inside, a group of people have collected around the window. Smoke sits heavy in the air. The heat is instantly unbearable. 

Their faces light up at the sight of him. 

“Okay, everyone, we’re going to be alright but first, you just have to–jump out a window,” Tommy says, watching his words have absolutely no effect on the terrified people. 

He knows that he should have something better to say, something a little more comforting than that but right now, Tommy can’t find the words. Maybe Spencer’s bedside manner rubbed off on Tommy. 

Being an actual hero means he needs to know how to deal with people. 

Tommy moves further into the floor, trying to round up all the people he can see. It’s laid out like a typical open floor office–cubicles as far as the eye can see. 

A few people shuffle closer to the opening where a window used to be. Tommy is sure that the firefighters below are trying to coax them out. And just as Tommy is starting to consider giving them a light push, the first person takes the brave plunge, starting a chain reaction. 

Tommy stands beside each new jumper, giving words of encouragement that start getting better with each passing person, and promises to catch them just in case. Thankfully, no one needs it.

The flames are starting to reach the floor he’s on. Thick smoke is stealing visibility in the room, and Tommy can feel his lungs starting to ache with the lack of oxygen. 

They need to move faster.

“Okay, who’s–”

Thunderous crashing cuts him off. 

A section of the ceiling collapses right before Tommy’s eyes. Support beams from inside the upper floor fall to the ground. The entire building shifts with a low groan. 

Tommy fights through the instinct to protect himself from falling debris. He realises the wreckage has cut him off from the last remaining handful of people. Over the roar of the fire, he can hear their panicked screams begging for help. 

“ Fuck ,” he forces through clenched teeth, only because he knows nothing he says will reach the civilians. He can let the worry break through for a moment. 

Reaching forward, Tommy lifts one of the large beams. It’s heavy–heavier than it should be. With sickening horror, he can feel how everything on top is stacked precariously. One wrong move will send everything plummeting down onto them. 

It takes slow, delicate manipulation, but Tommy eventually manages to create a semi-stable gap in the debris. 

“It’s okay!” he calls, still holding everything up, just in case, just to assure everyone that he won’t let them get hurt. “Come on! We have to move!”

Hesitantly, the remaining workers shuffle through the hole. 

Tommy keeps a sliver of his attention keeping the beams up. There’s bound to be people still inside above and below him, and if Tommy can keep this place from collapsing for a minute longer, he’s done his job. 

But he focuses on the people about to jump. Something about his presence is reassuring to civilians, even if Tommy cannot understand that himself, and he needs these people to hurry up and get the fuck out. 

“Alright, your turn,” Tommy says, facing the last person still inside with him.

The girl can’t be any older than mid-twenty. Soot coats her skin, her black hair frizzy and trying to escape the tight bun she’s put it in. Her eyes are wild and bloodshot. Tommy feels his heart sinking in sympathy just at the sight of her. 

She shakes her head furiously. 

“It’s okay. It’s just a little drop but you’ll be okay.” The heat and smoke is cutting away at the gentleness in his tone but he’s trying to be soft. His increasing concern for the structural integrity isn’t her problem. “I promise. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Tommy holds out his hand to her. 

“I’ll make sure you land safely,” he adds, his other hand clenched tightly in a fist. 

This building is going down soon, he can feel it. More and more weight is being piled onto the beams he’s holding up. 

The young woman slowly takes his hand, squeezing him so tightly like she’s trying to break all the bones. Tommy pulls her towards him, knowing that her trembling legs are hardly under her control any more. 

Peering over the edge, she pulls back. “I can’t.” Her voice is timid and coarse from the smoke inhalation. 

Tommy squeezes back. “Yes, you can.” 

Whatever she searches for in his eyes, she seems to find it–her soft gaze growing stronger at a few moments. Her firm nod doesn’t completely cover the fear in her expression but that only makes Tommy respect her even more. 

In a small voice, mostly to herself, she counts down. “Three. Two–”

Tommy spares the rest of his power into making her landing as soft as possible. She disappears from view briefly as the safety cushion swallows her whole. Tommy doesn’t let go until he sees her be taken away from the awaiting firefighters. 

When he relinquishes his hold on her, something from above falls. The sudden slam into Tommy’s power nearly makes him crumble from the force. He manages to get himself steady, holding more rubble from crashing any further. 

He can’t hold it up forever, Tommy knows it. He’s going to have to get out soon anyway. The smoke is only getting thicker. But he can’t just let the building collapse without him holding it. 

Doing one final look around the floor, praying that he didn’t miss anyone still huddled by their desk or unconscious under the growing level of smoke, Tommy starts to lower the pile that he’s holding. 

He sucks in a breath every time something shifts or threatens to topple over. It’s like he’s playing the most fucked up game of Tetris as he slowly, agonisingly slowly, gets everything into a position where it probably won’t collapse instantly. 

As he backs up from the mess of office desks and beams and ceiling tiles, Tommy doesn’t let his gaze waver, waiting for a sign of imminent collapse. 

He relaxes his shoulders for a moment, moving more quickly for the window again. Either he’ll land on the safety cushion or he’ll catch himself a few feet from the ground. 

One way or another, he’ll get out of here. 

In the same instant Tommy thinks he’s getting out of here more or less unscathed, the ground beneath his feet shakes with a deep rumble. 

Tommy is already planning the graceful swan dive he’ll do as he races for the window. 

His foot passes over the edge of the building. 

The sight of firefighters and emergency responders below is replaced by unending darkness. His stomach sinks for more than one reason. 

When Tommy steps out of the darkness and finds himself at the base of the building, now a few floors shorter, he mutters out loud, “We gotta talk,” and heads back into the fray without waiting for a response. 

–

A few hours later, only when the rubble is nothing but smouldering ashes and the surrounding hospitals are inundated with the injured, does Tommy decide there’s nothing more for him to do. For a moment, he debates finding himself a pointless job. Maybe he could start sorting the debris into clean piles, making it easier to be taken away later. But he knows that he’s just procrastinating something he set up. 

Tommy slips away from the thinning emergency service workers and other heroes still finding use for their powers. He finds himself heading for an alleyway between two buildings close to the site. 

In the thin shadow of the looming buildings, Tommy says, “Let’s go somewhere more private.” 

Mid-step, the darkness consumes him. At least this time, Tommy is a little more prepared for it. He swallows back the nausea as he steps into Spencer’s basement room. 

It wasn’t exactly what he meant by private but he figures this might go better if Spencer’s somewhere he feels comfortable. 

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asks, the genuine concern in his voice makes Tommy hesitate for a moment.

It’s easy to get himself worked up over his own feelings but there’s something about Spencer that is always so disarming. 

There’s no backing out now, though. 

“Are you just going to follow me around for the rest of my life?” he snaps. “You think I need a babysitter? That I’m not capable of taking care of myself?”

“What are you talking about?” Spencer throws back, his shadows pulling away from Tommy a little bit. They pull closer to him. 

Tommy feels pressure rise in his chest. He hates feeling like this, hates confrontation with every fibre of his being but he cannot keep this bottled up forever. “You. I’m talking about you freaking out because I got hurt once , and now you’re treating me like some dumbass that can’t be trusted alone,” Tommy blurts, needing to get the words out as quickly as he can before they get locked away in the pit of his stomach. 

Spencer sighs. At least he has the decency not to play dumb. 

“That’s not what I think of you, Tommy,” Spencer says, an edge to his voice. “I’m not gonna apologise for saving you, dumbass.”

The shadows flicker as the insult leaves his mouth. 

“I didn’t need you to save me. That’s the problem, I was fine on my own.” Tommy knows that his words aren’t having an effect on Spencer but that doesn’t deter him. “I don’t want you following me around just waiting for the opportunity to undermine me.”

“Fuck, that’s not–” the shadows tighten, squeezing together into a narrow pillar of darkness. “Okay, jump outta all the buildings you want. See if I care.” 

“Come on.”

“I don’t know what you want from me. I know you don’t need me to save you but it wasn’t a problem until today,” Spencer says, his patience running thin. 

Tommy has the brief thought to imagine how his face would look screwed up in annoyance. It softens his resolve so he quickly throws the image out of his mind. 

“It’s not just today,” Tommy replies. 

Spencer sighs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know you’ve been following me since I got back to work.” 

“What? H-how?” he stutters. 

“Because I know you, Spencer. I can tell when it’s you,” Tommy says simply. 

Spencer’s shadows do something strange–growing and shrinking and writhing so quickly that when it stops, Tommy almost thinks he was just seeing things. 

Neither of them say anything for a long moment. Tommy is usually pretty decent at reading Spencer, despite having nothing but faceless shadows to go by but right now, with the slow swirling of the darkness, Tommy doesn’t have the faintest idea what Spencer’s thinking right now. It’s hard to remain angry when there’s nothing to be angry at. 

What feels like an eternity later, Spencer speaks again, his voice faint and flickering. “You have no idea what it was like to see you like that,” he whispers. 

Tommy nearly doesn’t hear him. And then he wishes that he didn’t because he can feel a throb of phantom pain from the scar on his abdomen. 

Spencer continues, “It scared the shit out of me, okay? And I’m sorry that I made you think that I don’t trust you–because, honestly, dude, I think you’re the strongest hero in this entire fucking city. It’s my own stupid problems getting in the way–”

“Spencer,” he whispers. 

“–I promise I’ll back off. I know you’ll be fine without me–”

“Spencer.”

“–I just don’t know what I’d do without you–”

“God, Spencer .” 

Finally, the shadows stop talking. Tommy can feel his eyes directly on him, waiting for him to speak–to say anything but all Tommy can think about is reaching out for Spencer and wrapping his arms tightly around him and never letting go. 

Instead, he can only settle on words. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to expel as much frustration from his lungs as possible. “It’s okay. I–I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that, I just…”

Spencer is still quiet as he says, “It’s fine. You don’t have to–you don’t owe me anything.”

Tommy really wishes that he could see Spencer’s face just for the opportunity to see how his next words affect him. “I literally owe you my life, bub.”

He lets it sink in, trying to figure out if he really understands how much Tommy means it. 

“Getting hurt and beat up and nearly dying is kinda part of the job, you know,” Tommy starts, not quite sure where this is coming from, “but there’s no way to actually prepare for it. And I just–I was already doubting myself. The last thing I needed was you thinking the same way.”

The shifting shadows start to recede, folding in on themselves again and again until, before Tommy’s eyes, they ease into an actual shadow . A figure of a man. Still wrapped in darkness, Spencer has never looked so much like a person, so physical . 

Tommy can make out the width of his shoulders, the length of his arms hanging loosely at his sides, the way his weight is shifting from one foot to another like he cannot stand still under the burden of Tommy’s gaze drinking him in. 

“You’re the only hero I believe in, Tommy.” 

God, he can even see the movement of Spencer’s jaw . 

“I guess you can believe in me for the both of us,” Tommy says, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

Spencer shrugs–Tommy could watch that movement for the rest of his life and never get sick of it–and says, “I can manage that.”

Tommy can’t find anything else to say. He came into this with resentment burning in his chest, fueling his thoughts, and now there’s nothing left but the dead ashes of a pyre. It feels like years ago that he felt like that, that he could summon an ounce of anger towards Spencer. He’s mostly just tired and stuck in awe now. 

Never did he think he’d get to see this much of Spencer. Tommy’s still recovering from seeing his hands –this is going to take weeks to process. Years, even. 

“You’re staring,” Spencer says bluntly. 

“Am not,” Tommy throws back, even though he’s mostly definitely staring. 

He opens his mouth to say something else but snaps it closed when he thinks better about it. Tommy doesn’t know whether he’d be pushing it too far. Spencer’s only just decided to lessen his shadows around him–Tommy’s burning question can wait a little longer.

All he wants to know is why Spencer feels the need to enshroud himself with impenetrable darkness. When they first met, Tommy assumed it was an unfortunate side effect of his powers. He’s seen it before. Sometimes powers are more of a curse than a blessing but if Spencer was able to make do with his, then who was Tommy to judge? 

But Spencer clearly has expert control over his shadows. 

If he’s willing to unveil himself this far, what’s stopping him from going further? 

Tommy never let himself think about things like that before because–well, he never thought he’d be the one that brings down Spencer’s shadows. 

And yet, here he is. 

Here they are. 

Tommy thinks he’s earned the right to a fantasy. 

“Tommy?” Spencer says, a pinch of worry growing in his voice. 

He clears his throat, scrambling for something to say other than you’re beautiful . “You’re shorter than I imagined.”

The laugh that tears its way out of Spencer’s throat sounds like the gates of Heaven opening up. “I’m letting you die next time,” he says without a trace of sincerity. 

five. 

Like all people stuck at work on a Friday afternoon, Tommy is thinking about his weekend plans. The only thing getting him through the whole week has been meticulously planning the next few days–it’s going to make everything worth it. All the blood, sweat, and tears from this week will mean nothing in comparison to what he will get to experience. 

Tommy wonders whether Spencer is as obsessive in the privacy of his mind as Tommy is. Whether he’s daydreaming about their plans. Whether a mixture of excitement and nerves have collected in his stomach and he’s channelling it by punching criminals.

As the day starts to stretch into the evening with a quiet yawn, Tommy promises himself that if he isn’t needed within the hour, he’ll head home.  There’s no official roster for the heroes in the city, of course, but he’s confident there will be a couple others starting their long nights of work. Despite the constant crime and danger, the city is well protected. 

Besides, he doesn’t want to be exhausted or nursing new injuries when he sees Spencer tomorrow. 

And he absolutely will not dissect what that means. 

He counts down the minutes atop a building. From here, he can see the gaping hole of the office building that burned down. Tommy casts his gaze away from it, scanning the city from the horizon littered with skyscrapers to the bridge reaching across the river below to the thickly packed residential areas. 

He’s close enough to the water that he gets the faintest hint of the salty spray. A breeze passes by. It sends a shiver down his spine, just enough to be biting cold rather than a welcome chill. 

Just as the goosebumps start to settle down, a thunderous snap echoes through the city. 

Tommy watches from his perch as the bridge, packed bumper to bumper with cars, sways as a series of cables splinter. 

He’s moving before he can even process it. This area of the city is so packed that Tommy can run from rooftop to rooftop without even needing to jump all that far, but when he does, he wraps his power around his own body to propel himself further. 

In just a few minutes, Tommy lets himself drop onto the pavement. 

The bridge is shaking violently when Tommy finally reaches it. Traffic is frozen, terrified people debating whether to ditch their vehicles and flee or not. Tommy pushes past them all, sprinting for the detached cables. He can hear the ground groaning under the strain. 

Tommy reaches out with his mind and grabs onto the cables, pulling them back to where they’re meant to be. 

He has the entire weight of the bridge in his hands. Almost immediately, the exertion is too much. He plants his feet firmly on the wavering pavement beneath him and holds tight. 

Metallic creaking fills the air and Tommy feels the vibration through the bridge before the other side howls and another violent crack sounds. Further down the bridge, on the opposite side of the already broken cables, another set snap in half from the strain. 

Before he can grab onto the broken wires, the ground tilts. The world tilts. 

Tommy’s feet are knocked out from under him, unbalanced, the pavement smacks into his face with an unforgiving force. 

For a moment, he relishes in the relief of nothing in his hands. The emptiness is almost enough to distract him from the deafening wave of screams and cries–Tommy jumps back to his feet, working mostly on instinct to recover. 

Without much thought, he regains his hold on the first set of cables, biting the inside of his cheek at the load. And as he reaches for the other ones, Tommy sees exactly what he’s working with.  

The bridge itself is twisting under its own weight. Cracks run down through the concrete, racing towards the centre.

If Tommy lets go, the entire bridge is going down, and all of these people with it. 

Both hands are outstretched, Tommy clenches his jaw. This is by far the heaviest thing he’s ever carried and every footstep of the running civilians feels like being impaled again and again. He has to wait until everyone’s clear. Wait until he’s the last man left. Wait until he physically can’t anymore. 

Impatient, Tommy scans the slowly crumbling bridge. Most big crowds of people have managed to get to either end but Tommy realises that with the harsh shaking, multiple vehicles have crashed into each other. 

People are still trapped inside their cars. 

People that Tommy can’t get to. 

He would really love it if one of the other numerous heroes in this fucking city would hurry up and get to work. 

Tommy tries to pass the entire weight of the bridge into one hand. In response, the ground rumbles, the middle cracking even further. Tommy readjusts his mental hold on the cables, unwavering for another second. 

His arms are already trembling. He’s not strong enough–he knows that he can’t last much longer. 

Tommy hears cries for help from the people still stuck, their desperation echoing in his mind. He wants to tell them to hang on, that help is coming, but he can’t spare the energy to speak, can’t find it in himself to lie. 

What if no one is coming? 

Will he just stand here until the bridge opens wide and the river below swallows them whole?

Some distant part of him recognises the trickle of blood seeping from his nose. 

Spencer’s going to be so mad if Tommy drops dead. The thought spurs a delirious grin onto his face. 

And like speaking of the devil, Tommy instantly notices the blur of darkness as it appears on the bridge. Not even remotely physical, Spencer moves like a spot of shadow on the ground. 

No one else would even know he was there. 

Darting from car to car, Spencer disappears for a moment only to remerge with the trapped civilians looking no less terrified. Though, they all realise there’s no time to question the strange shadowy mass, and sprint for the nearest spot of safety. 

Tommy watches with as much focus as he can spare. He never thought Spencer could move that fast, so agile and graceful as he travels solely through the shadows on the pavement. 

Again, the only word Tommy is left with is beautiful. 

The shadow swims towards him, faster than any person could run. And right besides Tommy, it spits out a woman clutching her young baby to her chest. Frazzled. Terrified. A nasty cut on her temple. Then Spencer disappears again. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” Tommy says, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s choking. He knows how disorientating Spencer’s shadow travel is. At least in Tommy’s worst moment, he got to pass out. 

The woman looks up at him, a glassy look in her eyes. 

“Can you walk?”

She nods. 

“Okay, you need to keep moving. Get off the bridge.”

She nods again, scrambling to her feet. 

As she gets to stable ground, her footsteps no longer rattling Tommy’s bones, Spencer returns. He grows out of the ground until the familiar swirling shadows are before Tommy. 

“Let go,” Spencer instructs. 

Tommy fixates his gaze in front of him when he feels his focus slipping. “Not yet,” he grits back. 

“Everyone’s off. I made sure of it,” he says firmly, leaving no room for argument. 

Fingers curl around Tommy’s wrist. The sensation has Tommy tearing his gaze onto the source. It still amazes him to feel Spencer’s touch. 

Only around the head, the shadows recede, lessening just enough that Tommy can see the faint outline of Spencer’s face. “Trust me,” he says. “You can let go.”

Everything falls from Tommy’s hold without another thought. He can’t feel his arms as they hang by his sides, fingers numb, muscles aching. 

Lacking his support, the bridge starts to crumple into the awaiting water. Cars and trucks sliding into each other as the middle opens up. The utter destruction of it has Tommy entranced, the edges of his vision blurring slightly. 

“Tommy?” Spencer hasn’t relented his grip, staring deeply into Tommy’s eyes. 

It takes a moment to find his voice. “I’m okay.” His flickering grin is no more convincing to Spencer than it is himself. “Thank you,” he says. 

“We really gotta stop meeting like this,” Spencer replies. 

“You fucking dork."

Spencer laughs, a quiet little thing. 

Something behind Tommy catches his attention, the shadows quickly swallowing himself whole again. When Tommy looks, at first all he can really make out is the familiar flashing of blue and red lights. 

At least there are ambulances nearby, Tommy muses, thinking about that poor mother and her likely concussion from the crash. 

But then his eyes clear slightly. It’s not just ambulances. Police, too. A few officers are eyeing Tommy and the massive shadow. 

Tommy knows that, given the fact that Spencer isn’t one of the city’s established heroes, the cops would probably take the opportunity to arrest him right here and now–claiming some bullshit about the stupid laws that Tommy has broken a million times before. 

“You can go,” Tommy says. “I’ll deal with this.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

Tommy smiles, something more steady than before. “I’ll manage. Besides, it’ll go down a lot easier if you’re not around.”

Even if it sounds harsh, Spencer laughs again. “You want all the glory to yourself, don’t you?”

“You know it, bub.” Tommy winks.

One second Spencer is there, the next he’s gone. 

Tommy takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He would much rather crawl home and into bed than talk to the cops but he knows it’s good to foster a relationship with them, to keep each other updated on the happenings in the city. It’s far from anything official but sometimes it’s handy to have the ability to tell the police to back off and they actually listen. 

Just another part of the job, Tommy tells himself. 

He turns to head towards the crowd at the end of the bridge.

Then everything drops . 

The ground beneath crumbles into nothing and Tommy is falling . 

Instinctively, Tommy tries wrapping his power around himself but it’s as thin as paper. There’s nothing left inside of him. He’s exhausted. Depleted. Empty. His limbs flail uselessly in the air, trying to grab onto anything. 

He can’t feel anything around him, can’t reach out, can’t even slow his descent. 

There’s nothing he can do. 

The dark underside of the bridge is the last thing he’ll see. He’s falling. 

And then he isn’t. 

Tommy thinks he’s closed his eyes, squeezing them tight so as not to see the approaching water. To not see his doom. But his eyes are wide open in terror, there’s just heavy darkness all around him.

It’s a comforting darkness. 

It’s Spencer. 

He wraps his arms tightly around Tommy, entangling them midair, and when Tommy’s stomach flips, he’s never been so glad. All he can do is hold onto Spencer with everything he has, unconsciously tucking his head into the crook of Spencer’s neck. 

If they could stay like this forever, Tommy would take it. 

After a few moments, solid ground presses into Tommy’s side. Spencer pulls back first. When Tommy looks at him, they’re both enshrouded in darkness, nothing but the other for company. Even if Tommy can’t see Spencer’s face still, he doesn’t think he’s ever been so intimate with another person. 

Slowly, the shadows peel away and Tommy realises they’re on the river bank. Completely safe on stable ground, Tommy still can’t bring his heart to calm down. 

It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s face to face with Spencer in a way he never thought possible, that Tommy is still clutching onto him like he’ll disappear if Tommy lets go. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks. 

All Tommy can do is nod–completely dumbstruck. How can he even respond to that? The words that want to leave his lips aren’t an appropriate reply. 

“Okay, uh–” Spencer looks up at the bridge above them “–I should go.”

Tommy thinks he makes some noise that resembles an agreement. 

Spencer hesitates. “Are you sure? I can take you home if you want.”

If Tommy thought he wouldn’t pass out, he would take Spencer up on the offer. 

“I’m alright,” he says, clearing his throat when it doesn’t sound convincing enough. “Really. Don’t–don’t worry about me.”

Spencer pulls away fully, untangling his shadows from Tommy. He suddenly feels exposed, vulnerable without Spencer’s shadows protecting him. 

“See you tomorrow,” Tommy says, drawing forth all of his strength to get the words out. 

The shadows flicker, like Spencer is surprised. “Yeah?”

Tommy really hopes that Spencer is blushing because it’ll take away the embarrassment from the fact that Tommy most definitely is. 

He just nearly died and yet he feels all choked up over Spencer sounding surprised that Tommy still wants to see him. It’s so stupid. He’s a seasoned hero. There’s no reason that Spencer can trip him up so easily.

“Yeah,” Tommy replies. That's all he can say. 

“Okay. See you then.” Spencer slinks back into the shadows, as if he was never even there. 

Almost immediately, Tommy is missing the feeling of Spencer in his arms. 

six. 

Beads of sweat trickle down Tommy’s temple, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth are starting to grind. He thrusts out his hands, feeling his power latch around the arms of the villain like a vice grip. 

Tommy pulls him back. Intent on knocking him clean off his feet, Tommy starts to drag the man towards himself. 

The villain’s heels dig at the ground, trying desperately to find any purchase. His hands wave wildly. Tommy knows what he’s trying to do and sends his power further down the man’s arms, encapsulating each limb entirely, unforgiving in his hold. There’s nothing he can do but accept his fate and be brought towards Tommy. 

“Let go of me!” he snarls. 

Tommy realises that he can’t be much older than eighteen–fresh face and filled with an anger that he doesn’t fully understand. 

Tommy can’t count the amount of kids he’s seen like this. Stepping into a world they don’t know with powers they can’t quite control. It’s one of the worst parts of this job. But as long as they’re hurting innocent people, Tommy knows he has to remove any threat to the city. 

“How about no,” Tommy replies, impeccably calm in the face of the spitting teenager. “Let’s just talk.”

He gets no response other than being cussed out but Tommy didn’t expect any different. 

“I’ll let you go when you pinky promise to stop breaking shit, okay? You’re lucky you haven’t hurt anyone yet.” Tommy makes a show of looking around at the destruction. Thank god this dumbass kid chose to tear up main street in the middle of a quiet night rather than literally any other time of day where a single living soul would get in the crossfire. 

“I’ll hurt you , old man.”

Tommy gasps loudly. “ Old man ?” he squarks. 

Somewhere, he knows that Spencer is watching all this and is laughing his ass off. He’ll be hearing that for the rest of his life. 

Putting aside his battered ego, Tommy continues as if the little shit hadn’t said anything at all. “What’re you trying to achieve here?” he asks. “Trying to piss off daddy dearest? Cause this isn’t the way to go about your teenage rebellion.”

The way the kid’s face settles into a dark glare, Tommy knows he’s hit the mark dead on. It’s always daddy issues with these kids. Whether they’re trying to piss him off or make him proud, Tommy has found that there’s nothing fueling teenage villainy like a shitty father. 

As the kid releases a guttural yell, Tommy realises his mistake. 

Keeping the kid’s arms held outstretched has given him something to support his weight as he brings his feet up, kicking Tommy square in the chest. 

Tommy swears he feels something crack. 

Stumbling backwards, Tommy can’t keep his concentration and the kid is let go. 

Before Tommy can even catch his breath, he feels an invisible force snake over his body. It feels strikingly like his own power when he sends himself flying through the air. 

“Shit.”

There’s no time to catch himself or even soften the blow. He crashes harshly into the sidewalk several metres away, rolling to a stop. The air is stolen from his lungs, leaving him gasping as he lays on the ground. 

Tommy pushes himself back to his feet despite the fact he still can’t breathe. The kid is approaching him, painfully smug for someone that just threw an old man into the ground. 

“Did you know he has your power?” 

The voice is sudden and too close to his ear but Tommy doesn’t even flinch. At this point, he’s so used to Spencer emerging from the most random patches of darkness that it’s almost comforting to have him appear out of the blue. 

“Does it look like I knew?” Tommy throws back, his voice brittle and raspy as his words end with a cough. 

Spencer leaves without another word.

Tommy watches as tendrils of darkness seem to grow out of thin air and snap around the kid’s face. Blinded, all traces of confidence vanish. He claws at his face, fingers passing through nothing, thrashing about as if to shake this darkness off. 

Around him, things start to float. Parked cars and parking metres ripped from the ground shake and rattle as they fly. 

Taking the opportunity, Tommy catches his breath. An ache grows in his spine from the impact but the future bruise isn’t a problem he can deal with right now. Shake it out, he thinks. Maybe it’s the bruised pride that’s really getting to him. 

He throws his hands out, taking the floating objects away from the weak grip of the kid. The last thing Tommy needs is a car to the face. 

Approaching the kid like one would a rabid animal, Tommy watches for any sign that Spencer’s shadows are about to give way or vanish. Ready to fight back with a moment’s notice. He’s trying to formulate any semblance of a plan but there’s nothing coming to mind.

It’s just a kid. Tommy’s not about to beat him unconscious and let the cops arrest him. 

“Okay, listen,” Tommy starts, hoping the words will come to him once he’s talking. 

Like he’s honed in on Tommy’s voice, the kid stops thrashing, staring straight ahead at Tommy. He goes completely still except for the heavy rise and fall of his chest. 

“Make this easy for me, my guy. What do you want? I’m sure there’s a much easier way to get it than whatever this shit is.”

“Great speech,” Spencer says, suddenly right beside Tommy. “Honestly, I–I’m moved.”

“Shut up,” Tommy mutters. He doesn’t really want this kid to know they’re talking about him right to his face. It’s not going to help the anger issues. 

Tommy has always wondered about the legitimacy of that old idea that losing one sense heightens the others–whether he could go blind and become some Daredevil knock-off doing acrobatics around the city. But when the kid shifts his obscured focus just to the side of Tommy, the vague direction of where Spencer is standing, Tommy has firm belief in the idea. 

The air tenses. Two powers, nearly identical in their makings, race towards each other. 

Only by a sliver does Tommy manage to knock the kid back before he can touch Spencer. He can feel the invisible force ripple through the air as it disappears into the night. 

Blindly, the kid throws his hand out, latching onto the first thing he can feel. He hooks onto Tommy’s wrist tight enough to bruise, and pulls . Dragged through the air, Tommy uses the momentum behind him, readies his fist. The moment he’s face to face with the kid, Tommy slams a punch into his jaw. 

It rattles through Tommy’s arm, unused to such force. Tommy isn’t one for fighting with his fists, for getting his knuckles bruised and bloody, but sometimes, there’s nothing better than feeling the vibrations through his muscles. 

Nonetheless, it’s probably a good thing that the kid is just as bad at taking a punch as Tommy is at throwing them. 

They both stagger away from each other. 

There’s no possible outcome where Tommy manages to talk his way out of this. He knows in the pit of his stomach that deescalation isn’t an option.  

But some stubborn, hopeful voice in the back of his mind still tells him to try. 

“Please,” and he hates how desperate he sounds, nothing like the self-assured hero he needs to be right now. 

“Fuck you,” the kid spits. 

Something cold and sharp settles into Tommy's chest. With a flick of his wrist, he sends the kid backwards, tumbling over himself as he skids to a stop on the pavement. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Tommy says to Spencer, knowing that he’ll be beside him until it’s done. 

Tommy has learned to put distance between himself and the action when it becomes too much, when his thoughts are too big, when he just really wishes he was anyone else. Too many nights have been spent staring at his ceiling, bloodshot eyes and bruises throbbing in time with his roaring heartbeat. Thinking over everything he’s done in his entire life. The wrong choices haunting his breath. 

Like stepping backwards into his own mind, Tommy lets his body work on muscle memory. 

They throw each other around. Hurling anything nearby they can get their power on. 

Spencer snakes in and out, blinding the kid every chance he gets before he shakes them off. 

An invisible hand wraps around Tommy’s midsection, quickly launching him dozens of feet into the air. The feeling of falling is one that Tommy has had enough of for the rest of his life. This time, though, Tommy wraps his power around himself, a comforting presence that drops him back onto the ground with much less force. 

When he lands, the kid is nowhere to be found. 

Tommy whips his head around. He throws out his power, searching for something that could be the kid trying to sneak up on him. 

He finds nothing but himself–

“You fuck–”

Tommy snaps his attention onto where the voice came from but finds nothing. 

“–kill you–”

Again, Tommy can’t find the source. 

“– shit –”

In the corner of his eye, he just manages to catch sight of something that he might not have been able to describe if he hadn’t seen a million weirder things in his life. The kid stumbles out of a pocket of darkness just long enough to cough out a curse before being swallowed up again. 

Tripping over his own feet, the kid gets spit out. Eyes bewildered. Skin pale. Unable to even speak again. 

Spencer scoops him up, shadow travelling him a few feet away before dropping him off. Again and again. There’s no moment where he’s able to orientate himself, to fight back against the devouring shadows. 

A small twinge of amusement grows in Tommy’s chest. At least he’s not the only one that can’t stand Spencer’s shadows. 

Finally, Spencer lets the kid go. He can’t even stand still, like the entire world is spinning too fast for him to handle. 

Tommy doesn’t even need to do anything for the kid to fall over. 

On his back, staring up at the dark sky, he lays quietly. Finally still. Finally calm–or something close enough to it. 

Tommy breathes heavily, slowly drifting back into his mind to finish this. With slow footsteps, he approaches the kid. He won’t waste any more energy on words, holding his power right at the tips of his fingers, ready to strike at any twitch. 

But no matter how prepared Tommy is, there’s not a moment to react. 

He was waiting for Tommy. Waiting to see the look on his face as he reaches out and takes hold of an unwitting Spencer. 

Tommy doesn’t see where Spencer lands–if he lands at all. He knows that Spencer can move fast within his shadows. But can he slip into them as quickly? 

The answer comes in the form of a deafening crash. 

Everything slows to a standstill. For all Tommy knows, the planet stops spinning entirely.

Across the way, he can see the gaping hole in the upper level of a building. Glass glistens in the darkness. Debris is sprinkling down as the structure groans from the assault. 

Without so much as a flicker of a thought, Tommy pushes his power through the distant building. He ignores everything that doesn’t feel like what he’s searching for, uncaring of any distractions until he finally comes across it. 

A body lays in a crumpled heap in the middle of the floor. 

If it were anyone else, Tommy would feel relief course through his bloodstream. But it’s not anyone else. It’s Spencer. The fact that he hasn’t slipped into his shadows tells Tommy enough. 

His eyes fixate on the kid, slowly recovering from the daze. 

Every nerve of Tommy’s body is on fire. For the first time in years, Tommy feels the raging storm inside his chest, like there’s something in there trying to break free from the cage of his ribs. This force he wields is fighting free from his control–desperate for revenge. 

It takes every ounce of Tommy’s willpower to stop himself from throwing the kid so far he’ll never get up again. 

The kid scrambles to his feet when he sees the look on Tommy’s face. He grabs the first thing he can see–one of those ugly silver cube cars–and heaves it towards Tommy. 

A wave of his hand and it misses him entirely, falling to the side. 

A light post torn from the concrete lands behind Tommy as he flicks it upwards. 

A series of fucking roadcones bounce off the thick shield that Tommy puts up. 

Anything the kid can get his power on, he hurls towards Tommy. He’s getting tired. Sloppy. If it weren’t for the fact that Spencer still hasn’t moved, Tommy would just let this idiot tire himself out. Like a toddler throwing a tantrum. 

But every second that Tommy doesn’t have eyes on Spencer, doesn’t know whether he’s hurt or even if he’s breathing, is driving him insane. 

There’s nothing he wants more than to just turn and run to him. 

As a parking metre clatters to the side, Tommy asks bluntly, “Are you done?” 

For a moment, he thinks the kid is about to accept defeat. 

Slowly, a smile slides onto the kid’s face–overly confident, overly self-assured in the way only teenagers with powers can be. “Not yet,” he says, and god, Tommy wants to cringe. 

He makes a mental note to retell all of this to Spencer later. 

The kid reaches out his hand for something behind Tommy. It doesn’t matter. It’ll be a fun challenge to see if he can stop something without even seeing it coming. 

But it never hits him. 

Instead, Tommy watches as a series of vehicles surge into the ground floor of a building. Glass shatters and the front is destroyed in barely a few seconds. 

There’s only a matter of time before the structure crumbles. 

He looks back at the kid, at the blood seeping from both nostrils, at the way he collapses onto his hands and knees with a crooked grin. 

“Now I’m done."

Tommy knows he can stop the building from falling. He’s held heavier things. He knows he can do it. And he knows that he should because Spencer still hasn’t moved and he’s about four floors above the pile of vehicles. 

But his power would rather waste his limited time. 

Even though the kid is literally on his hands and knees in front of Tommy, he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care if he’s too weak to fight back. 

This was Tommy’s fight. Spencer didn’t have to be here. He didn’t have to help. 

He shouldn’t be the one that’s hurt. 

A loose force wraps around the kid’s throat, not tight enough to cut off oxygen completely, but enough to lift him up with. To have him dangling in the air with the full understanding that if Tommy wanted it, he’d be dead in seconds. 

And he is so fucking lucky that Tommy doesn’t want it. 

Before he can decide whether to drop the kid or lecture him, the creak of a tall structure steals Tommy’s attention. With the foundation damaged, there’s nothing holding the building up. 

Wrestling control over his own damn power takes too much time. When the rolling fury at the kid subsides long enough for Tommy to send it towards the building, it’s too late. 

A wave of dust races towards him. 

It claws its way down his throat, his eyes stinging. 

Tommy makes a sweeping gesture with his hands, clearing away the haze. He’s not really surprised to find that the kid has vanished. Tommy can’t really find it in himself to care. Not when Spencer is somewhere under a pile of rubble. 

Desperately, Tommy tries to rely on muscle memory. He needs his body to respond to this as if any normal civilian is the one buried, to function smoothly, to act like the hero he’s supposed to be but Tommy is horrifically stuck in his own self. 

Each limb is heavy. Each ragged breath is impossible. Each racing heartbeat is agony. 

He’s not a hero. He’s just scared. 

Like his leg is coated in lead, taking a single step closer has Tommy breathless. But he takes another. And another. 

He’s sprinting, his shaking hands reaching out and grabbing onto the first piece of debris they touch. Tommy lifts and casts the wreckage aside, digging and digging until he can’t feel his arms. 

Tommy may be drop dead terrified for Spencer but he can’t let it stop him. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s been digging for–could be minutes, could be years–but he finally gets a glimpse of a thin mass of shadows. It feels like the clouds opening after days of rain. 

With a little more tenderness, Tommy removes the surrounding debris to completely uncover Spencer. 

His shadows are weak, clinging tightly to his body. Tommy is kneeling at Spencer’s side in an instant, his hands hovering uselessly over him–unsure what he’s allowed to touch.

As his eyes assess Spencer’s still body, Tommy can hardly believe what he’s seeing. To his amazement, there are specific areas that are nearly stripped back of any shadows at all. Underneath these wisps of darkness, dark crimson blood flows freely. 

His temple is bleeding. Something is sticking out at an odd angle from his shoulder. A cut on his thigh is gushing blood. Smaller areas are bleeding, littered across his body from the fallen debris. 

Tommy doesn’t think Spencer’s even conscious but his shadows are showing him all the injuries he needs to see. 

Still doubting himself, all Tommy knows is that he needs to stop the bleeding. His hands cup the outside of Spencer’s thigh. Immediately his palms are coated in sticky blood but he presses harder despite the feeling. 

Once he does, the shadows react to him. 

They move slower than Tommy has ever seen. Snaking up his arm and spreading across his lower body, Tommy has enough time to prepare himself for what’s about to come. So when the world twists and Tommy is spit out in a different location, the nausea isn’t too bad. 

Spencer would be proud that he doesn’t even want to throw up this time. 

They’ve appeared in Spencer’s basement, Tommy’s knees pressing into the cold ground with Spencer still bleeding. 

Tommy’s hands are still holding onto his leg. Onto the ripped denim of his blue jeans. 

The sight captivates Tommy's attention until he can process what it really means. He doesn’t think about Spencer’s clothing, doesn’t think about his pale skin–even more white than the last time Tommy saw his hands–doesn’t think about the fact that Spencer would not let his shadows vanish like this. 

Releasing a deep breath to force himself to relax, Tommy gently wraps his power around Spencer and lifts him onto the small bed. 

It’s only then does he realise that the shadows forgot to take with them the piece of debris in Spencer’s shoulder. A new gaping wound bleeding freely is the only thing that can truly distract Tommy from everything else. 

With his power still holding onto Spencer, Tommy makes it hold him tighter. He doesn’t think he can stop the blood flow of each individual wound, so he simply compresses Spencer’s entire body with the same grip. 

Luckily Spencer isn’t conscious to feel the pain. 

One hand keeps Spencer secure while the other opens every drawer that Tommy can see. Somewhere, there must be medical supplies. Spencer was able to stitch Tommy up before so Tommy knows he has to have something laying around. 

After some rummaging around, Tommy finds what he’s looking for. 

He keeps pressure on Spencer’s wounds until he’s sure the bleeding has stopped. Then the fun stuff begins. 

Tommy has to use his power to thread the needle, his own hands shaking too much to do it. Slowly, he begins the process of stitching up the wounds across Spencer’s body. 

He will not look at his face. 

When everything is put together again, Tommy gathers a bowl of warm water from the kitchen and cleans the patches of skin with smeared blood. 

He will not look at his face. 

With some more searching, he finds some antiseptic. Tommy probably uses more than he needs to but he doesn’t care, anything to fight against infection. 

He will not look at his face.

Eventually, there is nothing more that Tommy can do. Waiting is the next step. Tommy has never thought he was particularly patient but tonight, he’s just plain restless. 

Being useless isn’t something he’s ever been comfortable with. He’s a hero for a reason. The need to do something, to help, to be needed itches underneath his skin, and nothing will settle it. Tommy wants to turn around and fret over Spencer, even if he is unconscious and probably will be for a while. 

But his naked face is just lying there, and Tommy knows it’s not by choice. 

Every piece that Tommy has witnessed was a deliberate choice by Spencer–a sign of trust that Tommy can barely comprehend. He won’t take this away from Spencer, won’t do anything that would betray that. 

He briefly entertains the idea of putting a pillow over Spencer’s face just to remove the chance of accidentally seeing him. When he realises that’s probably not his best idea, Tommy settles on the fact that he can’t even look in Spencer’s general direction. 

And there’s not really anything else to do in this enclosed space. 

He takes in Spencer’s basement. There’s a TV across from the bed, stacks of DVDs and video games scattered around haphazardly. Snooping through the small kitchen reveals a cupboard filled with pot noodles, and the fridge is stacked with Mountain Dew Kickstart. 

It’s simultaneously not what Tommy expected but it also fits Spencer completely. 

Eventually, Tommy decides to settle down. He sits with his back against the foot of the bed, removing any chance of seeing Spencer’s face until he can recover. 

He’ll stare into nothing until Spencer wakes up.

–

Tommy has no idea what the time is when Spencer stirs. 

He thought avoiding his face was difficult but knowing that Spencer is awake has Tommy desperately wanting to turn and face him. To comfort him directly. 

But he forces himself to remain still, to keep his gaze in front of him as he says, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here. Take it easy.”

Spencer mutters something under his breath.

Tommy continues, “Don’t mess up my hard work.”

He hears a small huff of a laugh, followed by a groan of pain. 

“Yeah, I know. Hang on.” Tommy gets to his feet, rummaging through the Kickstart in the fridge for a bottle of water. 

It floats over to the bed, all without Tommy looking back. He makes sure to unscrew the cap before it reaches Spencer. The crinkle of the bottle is the only indication Tommy has that it actually gets to him. 

Even as Spencer gulps down the water, Tommy keeps his power around the bottle in case it drops. 

Relief is flooding through his system. Just knowing that Spencer is awake is enough for him. His body finally allows him to relax, the tension in his muscles unwinding until Tommy feels like he could melt into a puddle. 

“Is that better?” Tommy asks with a little laugh.

Spencer swallows with an audible gulp. “Tommy?”

“Yeah? What’s wrong?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Tommy nearly looks over his shoulder to check whether he’s passed out again. It wouldn’t surprise him. 

But instead, Spencer says, “Why aren’t you looking at me?”

“I–uh–you…your shadows.”

That’s all Tommy can say. He doesn’t know how to describe the situation but it’s enough for Spencer to understand. 

“Fucking shit. Fuck me–I–”

Tommy doesn’t look back, hearing Spencer shuffling around on the bed. 

After a while, Spencer clears his throat. “Okay, I’m good…I think–no, yeah, I’m good. You can look. If you–if you want.”

At first, Tommy can’t really decipher what Spencer means, but then figures that he wouldn’t be saying that Tommy can look if he didn’t mean it. 

Slowly, letting Spencer have plenty of time to change his mind, Tommy turns to face him. The shadows are wrapped around him but they’re so light that all they achieve is obscuring Spencer’s features. Tommy can see the less fine details–the line of his jaw, his hands fidgeting in his lap, his legs crossed under him. 

It’s exactly what Tommy is used to. The familiarity helps him relax further. 

“I promise I didn’t look.” The words slip from Tommy’s tongue unbidden. “I just–had to stitch you up and everything but I didn’t look at anything I didn’t have to. I can go, if you want me to–it’s okay. I think you’ll be okay…I’m sorry. 

The weak shadows are still enough for Tommy to gather the uneasy nature of Spencer. 

Tommy has the instinct to keep rambling, just to fill the silence, but something about the writhing of the shadows shuts his mouth. 

The two just stare at each other for a while. There is so much unsaid running through Tommy’s mind–the fragmented pieces that he got of Spencer have been nothing less than beautiful, that the few moments they were separated were some of the worst of Tommy’s life, how he’d give everything to keep Spencer around even if they cannot touch. 

“You didn’t look?”

“Of course not,” Tommy says. Did Spencer think he would? 

Is that bare minimum amount of respect something he cannot comprehend?

Without warning, the shadows seem to roll off of Spencer. 

Tommy closes his eyes tight, thinking that Spencer has spent all his energy and is about to pass out. He can find his way around this room enough to get back to his waiting place. 

But then he hears, “Tommy. Look at me.”

He hesitates. What if this is just the bloodloss talking? 

“Please.”

And the quiet anguish in Spencer’s voice forces Tommy’s eyes open. 

Spencer sits there, bare, devoid of a single trace of his shadows. 

Brown eyes meet blue–a shade Tommy’s never seen before. Like a man dying in the desert, Tommy drinks him in, desperate and starving for something he never thought he needed. 

His gaze bounces over every aspect of Spencer’s face–his dark beard tracing over his jawline, his hair bouncing against his forehead, drifting down his neck, the softness of his cheeks and the curve of his nose and the pinch of worry between his brows. Everything, Tommy is consuming like he’ll never get to see it again. 

Maybe he won’t. He’d be okay with that. 

This one moment is worth never getting to see Spencer’s face again. He will happily live with the shadows so long he keeps this in his mind. 

Spencer seems as speechless as Tommy, but manages to regain himself quicker. 

“I want you to stay.” 

So Tommy does.