Chapter Text
“Fuck off!” Tommy yelled to his roommate— ex roommate— as he struggled to drag his suitcase down the staircase. He would have taken the elevator, but it was fucking broken, again.
“Get a damn job!” His roommate yelled again in blinding hot rage, his face flushed pink from the exertion, throwing a black hoodie to the ground in front of him— of which he greedily scooped up (clothing is expensive , okay?).
“This place is a fucking shit hole anyways,” He says, turning to unhook the suitcase wheel from where it was caught. “And you’re a fucking asshole! I’m not coming the fuck back!”
“Good! You’ve only burdened me! No fucking wonder you’re a fuckin’ junkie now, pathetic. ” The man spit at his feet, disgust crossing every feature in his face.
Damn . That hit far closer than he would have prefered; tears involuntarily welling in his eyes. Tommy turned back before the man could have any pleasure in it. He tugged himself down the stairs, suitcase knocking each step with a loud bang .
At one point they were friends— until Tommy turned to the “wrong people”, as his roommate so kindly put it. He doesn’t believe that. It’s not his fault the man can’t handle change in his life; his outbursts always ending in some kind of damage. He was allowed to do his own things, for Christ's sake.
Tommy was half glad to see this place gone; but upset nonetheless. He was just coming down from the fight, anger still fueling out of his system.
He scoffed one more time, glaring at the tenants who came out of their caves to look at the scene. He pushed his way through the door, feeling the wind tussle his hair, managing through the streets to an alley he knew was nearby, having changed there (embarrassingly) many times.
He’d go on patrol when he’s stressed; being one of the only things he can do to release energy without punching a hole in the wall. Which he should’ve done before he left— next time, he supposes. No one but Tubbo and Ranboo knew of this side hobby, being his two best friends.
He snuck into the alley, quickly changing his clothing after looking around one more time. He covered the suitcase with a thin, matted blanket in the dark corners. If it got stolen… oh well. He could thieve it back.
As a vigilante, he felt free . He typically liked to help in the shadows, having done it for two years now.
His outfit was a thick, black hoodie— since it was easy to hide blood stains in, and easy to blend into his surroundings. He used green cargos he stole from some thrift store months ago, after his old pair of jeans ripped beyond repair. He wore red kneecaps to protect himself from any hard falls, as mistakes have been made.
He added extra pockets and handles throughout the outfit to safely hide knives and guns, without being stabbed as he maneuvered around, and anything else he’d need. He’d usually hidden a cart or a lighter somewhere on his body.
He had fingerless, leather gloves covering his hands— admittedly, he only got them because he thought they looked badass; but they had come to be pretty helpful in protecting his hand from any injuries.
His hair, which he would pin back behind his hoodie as it was highly identifiable, had grown into a shaggy mullet— he’d recently dyed it a vibrant, deep red. His blonde roots were just starting to peek through. It was the first time he’d ever attempt to dye his hair, but it was pretty fuckin’ cool to him.
The lower half of his face was covered by a red bandana— simple, sure, but it worked. Although his face was covered, he’d gotten a septum piercing impulsively and off his fucking head high a while back, which he thankfully didn’t regret in the morning.
However, his outfit wasn’t the cool part— his powers were. He could best describe it as matter manipulation— even though he didn't know the full extent of it. It slightly scared him. As far as he was aware, he was the only person with this power; or atleast to this… extremity . It appeared as red sparks in the air, where he had gotten his vigilante name Red from, and allowed him to change things. He could make things go flying, or with more practice, change an object entirely. And hell, it even let him fly. (He just doesn’t question these things anymore.)
Red was a vigilante well renowned in the lower districts; even if the Heroes hardly paid a mind to him. He preferred it that way, wanting not to spend his time fighting the Association. Instead, he helped his community: stopping the petty crime and villainy. He helped drop the crime rates significantly , but he was still considered “dangerous”.
He breathed out again, shaking his head, before releasing his power and shooting up to the roofs of district twelve.
He loved the feeling of flying— the wind flowing through his hair and pushing against him, it was like the world finally went quiet. He felt bad for all those who would never experience this.
He released the hold he had as he reached the rooftop, dropping down to the roof in a quiet thump. He breathed out a smile, and he could almost forget about all the worries and stress of real life. He picked his pace up, running across the roof and to the edge, where he jumped across with a boost of his power.
He’d stopped a few times to help people cross the street, or prevent some small robberies, but he kept a steady pace across the district.
As the sun dropped and set, he boosted himself up to one of the apartment building roofs overlooking the city. This was one of his favorite spots to go. It was quiet; since no one ever came up here, and it had a perfect view.
He sighed, sitting himself on the ledge, legs dangling over the side. He dug through one of the pockets in his pants, pulling out his cart. He’d usually steal them, (don’t judge him, okay), since they were fucking expensive . He’d only taken from chain stores, so was he really that bad?
He brought the cartridge to his lips from under the bandana. Inhaling for ten seconds, and holding it for a bit longer before exhaling. He held the bandana up as he released the smoke into the air, watching it fizzle out.
As he was going to take another hit, a voice behind him monotonously stated, “that’s not very good for you.”
“Fuck!” He startled, nearly jumping off the roof as he whipped around and jumped up. His fists instinctively went to rest on the handle of his knife.
“Fuck.” He said again, when he realized who was behind him, pocketing the cart. Of course, the one night he wasn’t in the fucking mood , the number two hero Blade has to show up, poking in his business.
Blade wore a thick, red and white fuzz lined cloak. It looked fucking heavy . Underneath, he had a white dress shirt, gray pants, and black combat boots. He had a sheath on the left side of his waist, his most commonly used weapon he aptly named Peace . Which Tommy found fucking pretentious, by the way, considering who he was working for.
His identity was covered by a thick, pink pig skull. Which must have been some kind of cannibalism, considering the man was a piglin hybrid. His hair reached nearly halfway to his waist, pink (he was starting to notice a theme) and flowing.
Blade preferred to use hand-on-hand fighting rather than his powers, which Tommy thought was stupid seeing how powerful blood manipulation powers were. But it made it easier for him, he concludes.
“You know, I’m really not in the fucking mood right now Blade, ” he nearly spit out the last word, venom lacing his sentences.
“Neither m’I, kid. Part of the job.” Blade shrugged, “I don’t want to fight you. Jus’ come in quietly, and this whole thing’ll be a lot easier on us.”
Tommy scoffs, “like I’d ever.” He pulls out a knife, positioning himself defensively if the hero decides to make a move.
Blade sighs, pulling out a sword. Tommy didn’t see how that could be easy to handle in battle, but it was also the man’s whole brand.
Blade lunged at him, he used his power to push against the man, hoping to stumble him enough to knock him down.
Now, Tommy wasn’t stupid. Blade was basically all brute force and skilled weaponry— if he could keep enough distance, there was hardly anything the guy could do to him. But he was also built like a fucking truck , so keeping him away is a harder challenge than it sounds.
His best bet would to be run away; but that’s a fucking Pussy move, and he was anything but a Pussy.
His power didn’t do anything to truly hinder the man, so with a flick of his wrist, he grabbed the sword out of the man’s hand and threw it across the roof. He could see his use of power throw him off— Tommy had never really, publically, used his power, and has never garnered much attention from the Heroes— but the man decided to continue without it.
“C’mon, Blade, let’s just call it a day,” Tommy calls, making more distance between them.
“Sorry, no can do,” he grunts, running towards Tommy again.
Tommy groans, deciding to take a more offensive approach. He ran towards Blade, momentarily distracting the man, sliding behind him kicking his knees in. The hero stumbled for balance before quickly whipping around, and getting a kick on Tommy’s chest. He kicked like a damn bull.
Tommy grunted, hand instinctively reaching to hold his ribs, probably fractured by now, “asshole!”
His face flushed with anger, and he sent a flare of energy flying to Blade’s stomach. This, being overtly run by his anger, gave enough force to knock the man back, to the ground.
Tommy barely had time to revel in the victory before he shot up and jumped over the building. He could head Blade stumble over to the edge with what little energy he had left, looking for where Tommy had gone.
By that time, he was already shooting up way past the buildings; red sparks leaving in his wake.
Blade was left gaping, standing on the roof watching the vigilante fade into the horizon. Number two hero Blade bested by a teenager. That would make headlines.
Who the hell was this kid?
—
Tommy stumbled back into the alleyway, every breath giving him a dull pain. He was sure he didn’t break his ribs, just bruised them. Badly.
He changed his shirt back into his previous green sweater, opting to keep his cargos on. He placed the knives and mask carefully into his suitcase, shaking his hair out and rubbing his eyes.
“Stupid… fuckin’ heroes…” he grumbled as he packed away the last of his stuff into the suitcase. He tugged it along behind him, still close by, and pulled out his phone.
His finger hovered over the call button when he reached Tubbo’s contact. Biting the bullet he anxiously rang him. He didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go, and Tubbo has always offered a place in his and Ranboo’s place before. It’s not like he didn’t want to go, he just didn’t want to burden them.
“Tommmyyy!!!” Tubbo yelled when he picked up. Tommy winced from the loud sound, but laughed nonetheless.
“Hi Tubs,” he says. He took a deep breath. “So, you know. I got kicked out… finally.”
“What?” Concern laced his voice. “Oh, that fucking asshole. Tom, we’re gonna get you.” He heard Tubbo mutter something to Ranboo behind the screen.
He let out a sigh of relief. He was relieved that his friend didn’t question his request, “thanks Tubbo. You— you’re sure though, right? It’s not gonna be a problem?”
“No! I’ll tell Ranboo to go get you, okay? Where are you?”
“I’m… next to my apartment— well, my old one, I guess.”
“Okay, okay. Ranboo’ll be there in just a second.” He heard some scuffling behind the phone, and then a vwoop appeared next to him.
He startled slightly, before realizing it was just Ranboo.
Ranboo had teleportation as their power— perks of them being half Enderian. He could “change” forms between Human and Enderian, which was pretty damn cool. Their Enderian side was a behemoth, standing at a lanky seven feet tall. His skin was split black and white, and his eyes a red and green on either side while in this form. Winding horns appeared on the sides of their face, and their ears were longer and more… elf-like. However, as an Enderian, they were allergic to water ; which is rather inconvenient.
Their Human form wasn’t lacking in the height department either, being six foot six. He preferred his Human form anyways— it attracted a lot less attention, him being painfully socially shy.
As a human, he couldn’t teleport— they had no abilities other than being able to reach the top shelf.
Tubbo, on the other hand, was a goat hybrid— although he inherited no powers or form-shifting from that side. Alongside his hybridity, he had enhanced strength, stamina, and hearing. He could be an absolute tank if he wanted to.
“Hi Tommy,” Ranboo smiled at him, offering out a hand. He hesitated, if only for a brief moment because he knew how nauseating teleporting was, before grabbing his hand. “Ready?”
Tommy nodded, and then they vwipped into the apartment. His head, now lightheaded and woozy, nearly blacked out upon arriving. Teleporting is something he didn’t think he’d ever get used to.
He covered his mouth with one hand, leaning against the couch, bile rising up his throat. Ranboo reached out to him for stabilization while Tubbo laughed in the background, to which he happily flipped off.
“I do not know how you do that all day, Ran.” He says at last, looking at the other two teenagers in the room. The Enderian just shrugs and smiles at him awkwardly.
“I am ex -fucking- hausted .” Tommy says, yawning and looking around the room despite having been here millions of times before. He rolls the suitcase to the corner of the room, beside the TV stand. Tubbo and Ranboo afforded a fairly nice apartment, for district twelve, although still one room— it had heating, and hot water, which was a win in his book.
“Do you want to take the couch?” Tubbo offers, walking over with a pillow and blanket in hand.
Tommy shrugs in affirmation, and Tubbo sets out the bedspread. They’ve had this couch for years , made of cheap, synthetic leather. It worked, though; so who was he to judge?
“Thank you guys. I don’t— I really don’t know what I would do without you.” He manages out, a brief moment of vulnerability passing him by. Ranboo leans over the couch to give him a hug, and he wraps an arm back around them.
“Gotta stick together, Tom. Fuck that asshole you were living with.” Tubbo says, voice muffling as he joined the hug before they separated.
He laughs appreciatively, “yeah.”
“Okay, well… it’s way past my bedtime.” Ranboo says awkwardly. “Shower’s open for you.”
“I don’t smell that bad.”
“No, yeah, please take a shower.” Tubbo says, backing away.
He rolls his eyes, “sure.”
When they both left to the bedroom, he rustled through his bag for a pair of pajamas. He settled on black shorts and a baggy, gray t-shirt. He would never have felt comfortable wearing shorts anywhere but here, feeling like he was displaying his scars and injuries for the whole world to see. It just made him uncomfortable; he wasn’t quite ready for that.
A while back, he’d gotten an arm of tattoos to cover the majority of his scars, but even then it couldn’t hide everything. He wasn’t sure if he’d get more tattoos to cover the scars he had, on his legs especially, but he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.
He made his way to the bathroom, showering quickly through the luke-warm water and changing into his things. He brushed through his hair while it was still wet, planning on letting it air dry. He, unfortunately, did not have anything for his curls, so he just brushed it out most days.
He looked at himself a last time before going to sleep.
—
“Tommy,” something whispered, he felt his side being prodded. “Tommy,” it whispered again.
“Wha—what.” Tommy sleepily slurred out, finally stirring awake as he rubbed the exhaustion out of his eyes.
“Good morning! You won’t believe the job offering I’ve got for you.” Tubbo smiles cheekily, as he always does when he has a terrible plan.
“Do I even wanna know..?” He asked genuinely, knowing what the answer would be anyways.
“No! So,” he began, walking to the kitchen across, and behind the couch, and flipping the lights on. They flickered in and out before stabilizing, “hear me out on this one.”
“Great…” Tommy groaned, sitting up further to watch Tubbo as the blanket fell around his waist.
“SBI has the position of an intern.” Tubbo plainly stated, and before Tommy was able to protest he added, “you know how much money they make! This could be life changing, Tom. Plus I didn’t go through the effort of forging documents for no reason.”
Tommy looked at him stupidly, a look of bewilderment written on his face. “You’re not kidding, are you?” The goat hybrid just shook his head in confirmation, a grin crossing his face.
Tommy just groaned, burying his head into a couch cushion, “Tubbo, this is the worst idea I think you’ve ever had. I’m a vigilante . Heroes, vigilantes, don't mix too well, in case you remember!”
“Well you won’t be going as Red, dumbass. You’re going as Theseus Innes .” Tubbo threw a document on his lap. “Read that, memorize it. Interviews in a few hours!”
“I am going to go to Pandora because of your fuck ass…” he muttered as his hand opened the file. Tubbo just laughed at him before closing the bathroom door.
Theseus Innes. Not the name he would’ve chosen, but it’s alright. Nineteen years old, aged out of the foster system, and currently lives with his two roommates in upper district twelve. Graduated high school, but never pursued higher education. Yada, yada, yada.
His eyes briefly skimmed the rest of the page, and the resume attached onto it.
This would be a long day .
—
He wore the nicest clothing he could find; a pair of too-big blue jeans that weren’t yet torn or patched under a plain, black t-shirt. He hoped it wasn’t unprofessional to expose tattoos, but it was also just an interning position. He’d live if he didn’t get the job.
He couldn’t help the itch in the back of his mind begging him to get high, even when he knew he couldn’t now. He could feel the irritability threatening him to collapse. After the interview , he promised himself.
Part of the reason he’d not moved in with Tubbo and Ranboo sooner was because of this… problem. He knew he could get it underhand for them; he’d hardly believe it had even gotten bad yet. It was still a problem, though, if he’d admit it or not.
He did his best to shake these thoughts for the time. He ruffled his hair, combing out any knots he found. He patted the stray frizz down with water, similarly washing his face down.
“Tommy!” Tubbo banged on the door, “you gotta get going!”
He groaned, “I still don’t understand how you think this is a good idea. I’m counting on you to bail me out, you know.”
He unlocked the door, quickly throwing on his pair of converse. They were a little ratty by now, but it was a fashion choice . Mhm.
“All grown up,” Tubbo wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye, and Tommy whacked him behind the head.
“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy muttered below his breath. “Don’t die while I’m gone,” he told Tubbo flatly before shutting the front door behind himself. He walked down the set of stairs, a much nicer stairwell than his last residence. Really, anything was nicer than that shithole.
It took him only a few minutes longer to reach the subway: district twelve being one of the only lower districts to have a direct line to upper.
The subway itself wasn’t bad, with the upper districts doing a lot to maintain its cleanliness. The Hero Tower was located smack dab in the middle of district two, where only the wealthy could ever afford to live.
The ride there was hardly past thirty minutes, though Tommy had rarely gone up past eight. District two was nice. Too nice. It gave a near plastic look, but Tommy knew there was more than meets the eye. It was the Association’s doing, he knew.
It was all big, towering, extravagant buildings of no use other than aesthetical. Rich fucks . He could almost appreciate the beauty, though.
As he closed in on the Hero Tower, he could already notice large crowds making their way in. And by fuck, he was underdressed. Tommy did not see the reasoning for wearing a full-blown suit to an interning position. He was so incredibly out of place, it nearly made him embarrassed.
He knew now that there was no way in hell he was going to get hired, but he could say he tried.
He greeted the receptionist at the desk, who noted down his name and pointed him to the floor he’d go to. He smiled appreciatively as he left.
He anxiously stood behind a particularly large group of people, occasionally bumping into someone— to which he got a nasty look every time. He didn’t want to be here either, alright?
He followed the group of people to the elevator, hiding himself in the far corners. He could already feel their judgment, pitying looks that seemed to pry into his mind.
He glared back at each one of them, hoping it got the message across.
The elevator closed and reopened again with ding , to the twenty-third floors waiting room. He had never quite seen such a huge room— it probably held up to forty chairs— full with tons of fancy pricks in suits interviewing for an average, minimum wage job. High demand, he supposed.
He tucked himself away into a far corner of the room, hoping for a minute of silence away from… everything. This was already an overwhelming experience for a job he wouldn’t even get , and he was afraid he’d go batshit crazy if some rich prick tried to talk to him.
The people filtered in and out fairly quickly, some of them leaving confidently, others with their heads hung low. After an agonizingly long wait (really, they should have thought about wasting his precious time), his name was mechanically called out— someone he didn’t recognize beckoning him towards them. Tommy obliged, giving a small nod of acknowledgment as he passed them by into the room. They shut the door behind him.
Into a room with the top two heroes . Oh, fun, they were doing the interviews, he thought. Nothing like being surrounded by the same people gunning for your life everyday.
“Theseus, right?” Angel said, motioning him to sit down.
Blade sat quietly off to the side, a small chair in the corner and a notepad under his leg. He could feel his eyes scour and observe every part of himself: it made him uncomfortable, as if he were to look deeper and see Red.
Angel was a peculiar hero. Even though Tommy was a firm believer that the Association was corrupt, he could hold some level of respect for the man.
He was one of the earliest heroes on scene, in fact having been a vigilante for a short time before his formal employment. The man adopted large, black crow wings— being an avian. Avians were rare , being highly sought after and sold into trafficking most times.
He adorned a long, green cloak over a simple black shirt and jeans. He, more classically, wore a striped white and green bucket hat over his short-cut blonde hair; and a crow skull to protect his identity.
Angel, beyond his wings, had avian telepathy. Which meant, in simple terms, he could talk to birds of his kind— crows . It was rare to see a stray bird or two not following him around.
He was an extremely skilled fighter, and where wings may have been a burden for any other person, he used it to his advantage in warding enemies off. Angel traditionally used throwing knives, if he were to engage in weaponry. The knives were made of netherrite, which was really fucking expensive.
He held a higher level of adoration for the work Angel did; being one of the few heroes who didn’t do it for any popularity. In his opinion, atleast.
Tommy realized he was staring dumbfounded at the man, in a near awe. He quickly shook himself of this, nodding quickly and scrambling dumbly to his seat. “Please, just Tommy is okay.”
Angel nodded, then flipped through the pamphlet on his table. He presumed it was his file.
“So, Tommy, any reason you’re applying for a position here today?” Angel asks him, hands folding together as his eyes stare intently.
“Uhh— well; I’ve always wanted to work with the heroes, I guess.” He blatantly lies through his teeth. “And money, you know, since I’m from district twelve.”
“District twelve?” He could tell Angel was surprised. “I hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle to get here then, mate.”
Tommy shrugged, anxiously rubbing his palm against his knuckles. “Wasn’t too bad.”
Angel smiled and nodded again, eyes still intensely trained on Tommy. “Do you have any prior qualifications for an interning position here?”
“Well…” he thought about it for a moment. “I can adapt well to new climates and such. I’m able to get on my feet in tense situations, and I’ve had a history in self defense training.”
Angel gave an acknowledging noise, “that’s great!” He patted the table, standing up. “I think that’ll probably be it, then. We’ll send a message your way when we make a decision, okay?”
Tommy froze, “what— that’s it?” He cringed immediately, backtracking on that response. “Sorry, but that just seemed quick.”
Angel laughed, “yeah. There’s just a lot of applications out there, so we may have cut down on the questions.”
Tommy gave an awkward laugh, knowing he just absolutely fucked any chance he had. “Yep, I can see that.” He said, hand resting on the door’s handle. “Uh— thank you for your time.”
He got out of the room as fast as he could, not bothering to wait for a response.
That went well.