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Tommy slammed the door behind him as stepped out of the pungent-smelling deli and into the glaring midday sunshine.
… or at least, he tried to. The door had some kind of spring-close mechanism that made it shut slowly and gently, goddammit.
Scowling, he stomped down the sidewalk. At least the smell of exhaust was slowly clearing his nostrils of onions and sour relish. At the intersection, he paused and slowly scanned the area for a tell-tale mop of blond hair. Nothing. Fuck, he couldn’t believe Tubbo had ditched him! And in his hour of need! Where had his best friend fucked off to, anyways? Hadn’t he even waited for Tommy so they could go get food somewhere else? Tommy was starving –
“Excuse me,” a breathless, harried voice said behind him. “Could you wait one moment, please? I just wanted to check –”
Tommy spun around. Was it someone from the deli, following him out to apologize – as they rightly should! But then he caught sight of the speaker. He frowned, taking a step backwards.
Hovering a bare half-meter away was a youngish man Tommy had never seen before. His sandy hair, obviously freshly-trimmed, was curling in the humidity. Very oddly, he was wearing a neat black suit. Tommy frowned a bit more, with disapproval. Pretty much everyone out on the street was casually dressed for the summer heat, like Tommy himself. This guy though, he was in full formal getup. He looked like one of the drivers who would pick up Tommy’s dad ahead of business meetings, or one of those security dudes at galas or shit.
Who the fuck was this guy? And what the hell did he want?
“What?” Tommy asked grumpily. He really wasn’t in the mood to talk with some stranger. Not now, while he was so keenly aware of the twin pangs of his empty stomach and his aching heart because his best friend had so callously abandoned him before they could get lunch.
The man was staring at him with an earnest and surprisingly intent expression. “I just wanted to confirm your orders, from a few minutes ago.”
He gestured down the street, towards the deli Tommy had just stormed out of.
Tommy blinked. “Huh?”
He’d already gone over his orders in pretty excruciating detail with the clowns working in that hellhole that claimed to make edible food. What more was there to say? Or was this guy a manager or something, conducting some kind of customer-satisfaction survey or shit? If he was, Tommy had some words for –
“The sandwich shop,” the man repeated briskly. “When you said you would ‘end them,’ did you mean you prefer the business to be shut down, or for the building to be physically demolished? The second option will take more –”
“Huh?” Tommy repeated, incredulous.
The man blinked at him, startled. Then he repeated more hesitantly, “Just to confirm your orders, sir –”
“Sir? Wait – how the fuck d’you know what I said in there?” Tommy demanded. “Were you – wait, were you following me?”
Shit, was this guy a reporter or something? Paparazzi? A sinkhole seemed to abruptly open in Tommy’s stomach.
There was only one reason why someone might be following him, eavesdropping on his conversations and waiting for him to trip up.
While nearly everyone would agree that Tommy was a happy-go-lucky soul (you mean ‘asshole’, Tubbo’s sardonic voice seemed to ring in the back of his mind) who generally didn’t give a shit about anything, there was one thing Tommy did actually care about – and very much. That was his family.
(And his friends, obviously, but it kind of overlapped. Tubbo was basically his third brother and he’d pretty much adopted Tubbo’s boyfriend Ranboo now too –)
But along with that, Tommy did also care about his family’s reputation. He knew they worked hard on building and maintaining it, so that meant it was important to him, too.
As a result of being, well, filthy rich, his parents were prominent members of Greenville society. But, as Phil and Kristin had always drilled into all of their children, their status couldn’t just be about their fantastic wealth. No, the Craft family’s reputation was carefully cultivated like a garden, fertilized in the rich soil of the various successful business endeavors under the Craft Conglomerate umbrella and watered by an array of Good Works throughout the greater metro area.
And obviously, any vibrant and healthy garden required pruning. Tommy knew that. While he didn’t know the details, he knew his parents were very, very good at dealing with hostile, upstart competitors and other threats to the family’s interests – and also at keeping those incidents selectively quiet, out of the mainstream press and only in the right rumor-mills. And he knew that his older twin brothers, now adults, were also brilliant and talented and by all accounts, pretty fucking handy with shears.
So yeah.
That meant Tommy wasn’t about to let his family get written up in some silly tabloid or hassled because of some stupid shit he did. He wouldn’t, no matter how much that sandwich shop bozo may have deserved it.
He turned his nastiest glare on the besuited man.
“Stalking,” he said haughtily, “is illegal. And I’m technically still a minor, so that’s even worse, innit?”
The man blinked, his mouth forming the ‘o’ of oh shit.
Suddenly, a second suit-clad man materialized next to them.
Tommy blinked at the newcomer. What the hell, it was a hot summer afternoon. It was literally boiling out. Every sensible person, Tommy included, was in shorts. Who were these fuckers?
“Our sincere apologies, sir,” the second man said formally to Tommy. Then, turning to his companion, the man hissed, sotto voce, “Have you lost your mind, we’re not supposed to engage –”
The first guy’s face, his mouth still gaping, was starting to look pasty and congealed.
“We’re really so sorry,” the second suit-clad man said again to Tommy, seizing the first guy by the elbow and starting to drag him away, down an adjacent alley. “So very sorry!”
Wait, what?
“Hey –” Tommy began to jog after them, his long legs eating up the distance. “Hey, stop! Wait!”
He caught up to them halfway down the grafitti-tagged alleyway. Their suits looked even more terrifically out-of-place in this setting. Tommy absentmindedly registered that a gleaming, newish black town car was incongruently parked at the end of the alley.
“Sir?” the second suit reluctantly turned to face Tommy, his posture stiff and formal. The first guy was still pale-faced and trembling, and now also looked on the brink of vomiting.
“Please accept our most abject apologies,” the second suit intoned, his voice shaking only slightly, “and – and our assurances that this won’t happen again.”
Tommy squinted at him. That what wouldn’t happen again? And while he had meant to scare the first suit off, wasn’t this reaction a bit overkill? In his heart of hearts, Tommy didn’t think he was actually this scary. What the fuck was wrong with these guys?
“Who are you?” he asked instead. “What were you talking about, before? About orders and shit?”
The suit-clad men exchanged a wary glance.
“We … uh.”
“Please don’t mention this to Mr. Craft!” the first suit blurted out, his eyes wide and teary, ignoring his companion’s horrified hisses to shut the fuck up. “I really, really need this job. I just wanted to be sure what you wanted! I’ll be more discreet from now on, I promise –”
“Wait – Mr. Craft? You work for my dad?” Tommy peered at them disbelievingly. “Like doing buildings and shit?”
Was that why the first suit had said something about demolition, before? Craft Architecture and Construction was the crown jewel of his family’s business empire. Through it, Tommy’s dad had taken a hand in shaping practically every new and renovated district in the city for decades, now. One could argue – and many people had argued – that Greenville was growing into a city built in Phil Craft’s vision, his own urban bonsai.
But – Tommy swiveled his head around, looking up and down the alley – he didn’t see any new buildings under construction around this grimy alley. Or any slated for demolition. There were definitely no signs or placards bearing the famous green-and-black Craft sigil anywhere in the vicinity.
“There’s no site here,” Tommy observed, his eyes narrowed. “So what the fuck are you doing here, then?”
“We’re really very sorry, sir,” now the second suit’s face had also gone sickly pale. “Please – we won’t trouble you again, we swear it.”
“But –”
The two suits didn’t wait around to hear the rest of Tommy’s protest. Before he could get another word out, they’d sprinted to the waiting town car, jumped in, and sped off.
He stared at the now-empty mouth of the alley. What the fuck was all that about?
“Tommy.”
Tommy spun around again to see Tubbo standing a few meters behind him. His best friend wore a resigned expression, and was holding two grease-spotted paper bags bearing the logo of one of their favorite fast-food spots.
“What the hell? Why didn’t you wait for me?” Tommy demanded.
“Why were you hassling those guys?” Tubbo returned bluntly.
Tommy’s mouth dropped open at this injustice.
“Oi, what the fuck? They stopped me!” he exclaimed hotly.
“They’re just doing their jobs,” Tubbo shook his head impatiently. “Listen, boss man, between the deli shit and this, you really need to just let people be –”
“Their jobs?” Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck d’you mean? These guys, they were saying some shit about my dad, Tubbo! I’ve got to tell –”
“Tommy.”
---
A short while later, they were sitting in a small park nearby. Having already inhaled his burger, Tommy was nibbling on the last of his french fries and was eyeing Tubbo’s still half-full carton longingly.
Meanwhile, Tubbo was staring at him with an all-too-familiar expression, the one that said ‘you’re lucky you’re my favorite dummy.’
“What?” Tommy demanded, bristling.
“Tommy.”
“Uh, yeah?” his tone dipping into something more wary as he eyed Tubbo’s face.
“Please tell me you know that your family runs this city.”
“Huh?” Tommy stared at his best friend, dumbfounded.
Tubbo sighed, scrubbing at his face. “Oh my God.”
“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Tommy squawked. “My family does, like, construction and shit, you know that! They build stuff, like hospitals and offices and condos! They –”
“Run this city,” Tubbo interjected.
While Tommy gaped at him, Tubbo continued, “Everything big that happens here – and a lot of the small shit, too – it’s not by accident. They’ve got a hand in it. They run everything.”
“Noooooooo,” Tommy dragged the word out, shaking his head and wishing he’d paid more attention in the school module on local government. “The mayor runs the city, big man. And – and the city council, innit? And –”
“And they all do exactly what they’re told to, by the Crafts,” Tubbo cut in, his voice parchingly dry.
While Tommy gaped at him, Tubbo continued, “What the hell, boss man? I thought you knew this, I thought you were just throwing it around too much. You’ve said it before, fucking loads of times –”
“What the – those were jokes!” Tommy yelped. He thought about – and then shrunk back against – the number of times he remembered threatening some random who was, for whatever reason, being really fucking annoying, ‘Do you know who my father/mother/brothers are? They’ll make sure you –’
And … okay. So it did sound kinda bad, if you thought about it that way. But it’s not like it happened often! It just happened. From time to time. And it was always justified!
Like, take this last fuck-up at the deli! Sure, Tommy had raised a stink, but it wasn’t even for his sake, it was for Tubbo! He’d told them not to put onions in, warned them Tubbo was allergic. He’d said it twice but they’d still –
Tommy stared at his best friend’s implacable expression and wilted.
… Okay, so maybe Tommy talking shit was happening a bit too often, these days. And maybe the situation wasn’t always as serious as allergies.
And it often made Ranboo, the most conflict-averse among their trio, cringe with embarrassment and retreat, pretending not to know Tommy. Tubbo would alternate between rolling his eyes at Tommy and standing there, listening silently, or else shaking his head and following his boyfriend away.
(Although – on rare occasions – Tubbo would take up a bulldog-like stance, backing Tommy up. His best friend would add in his own warnings to the responsible random in a such a cold, menacing voice that it would send a chill up even Tommy’s spine –)
But that was just best buds sticking together! Sticking up for each other! It was like a code, right? And the other times, when shit wasn’t so serious, it was a joke. Everybody knew Tommy was the cherished youngest child of the richest family in Greenville. If they were going to give him shit because of that, he was totally justified in taking a few good-natured swings back, right?
… Right?
For a long moment, Tommy and Tubbo looked at each other.
“It’s no joke,” Tubbo said finally, his voice tinged with reproach. “Your parents –”
“My parents aren’t involved in politics and shit at all!” Tommy objected. “I mean, they always vote, obviously, even in the little local elections. And okay, they go to those stupid fancy galas that the mayor throws, but that’s it.”
Tubbo shook his head in disbelief. “You’re seriously like a goldfish, just swimming around your little kingdom all googly-eyed, not even realizing you’re in a fucking bowl –”
“Oi!”
“– you’ve got a charmed life and you don’t even know it,” Tubbo finished.
“I do not have a charmed life!” Tommy exclaimed indignantly.
“Oh yeah?” Tubbo raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Name one thing –”
“This is bullshit –”
“Name one thing,” Tubbo raised his voice over Tommy’s protests, “that’s ever gone really wrong for you. Like, on a scale from ‘minor inconvenience’ to ‘total cosmic injustice,’ how many things have even happened? And if they did, how many of them got fixed, like right away?”
“Oh yeah?” Tommy said challengingly. “How about that bitch back at summer camp, Ms. Roosevelt? She had it out for me since forever –”
“Ms. Roosevelt?” Tubbo snorted. “Didn’t it come out she was siphoning money from the camp to fuel her drug and gambling habits? She not only got fired, she’s blacklisted from like, everywhere –”
“And what about that prick Mr. Schaller! He –”
“Also fired,” Tubbo said smoothly. “Lost his teaching license, too. Last heard of bartending and drinking himself to death at a roadhouse out in the desert.”
“Dream.”
There was a dangerously fraught pause.
“No one’s seen Dream in years,” Tubbo’s voice was studiously calm, “either in Greenville or outside it. And honestly, nobody thinks they’ll ever see him here again.”
Tommy glared at Tubbo.
“That’s not fair. Bad shit has happened to me,” his voice wobbled rather humiliatingly. “You act like I’ve never been through anything hard, or – or sad or –”
“No,” Tubbo’s face softened. “I know, boss man. That’s not what I meant.”
“Then –”
“What I’m saying is that your family does everything in their considerable power to make sure things go right for you,” Tubbo said, not unkindly.
“But – but that’s what families do!” Tommy protested, rather weakly. “Isn’t it? I mean, we look out for each other –”
“Exactly,” Tubbo said with a nod. “But your family being your family, they operate on a whole other level. And you’ve got to admit your dad is … protective.”
Tommy paused, considering. That, at least, had a ring of truth. Phil and Kristin both kept a watchful eye on their children, but Phil in particular had a tendency to hover.
Especially since the whole business with Dream had gone down.
But still. So his family was a bit smothering, so what? That was just because they loved Tommy! That didn’t mean that they ran the fucking city. It didn’t mean there was some kind of weird conspiracy, it didn’t mean –
“I don’t believe you,” Tommy declared, glaring at Tubbo mutinously. “My dad – my parents are normal people, Tubs.”
Ignoring his best friend’s snort, he continued determinedly, “And my brothers, okay, they’re weirdos, but they’re not –”
“They’re enforcers,” Tubbo rolled his eyes. “They’re the bloody Princes of Greenville, Tommy!”
“What?”
“And so are you,” Tubbo finished blandly.
“What the fuck! You –”
“And those last guys you were hassling today?” Tubbo raised his voice over Tommy’s garbled protests. “They’re just part of your detail, boss man. You’ve got to leave them alone to do their jobs.”
“My what?”
“They’re just making sure things are okay, and if anyone’s hassling you, they’ll handle it. They –”
Tommy gaped at his still-talking best friend, shaking his head. Nothing about this made any sense. His parents … were normal parents. Sometimes strict, but overall loving and attentive and affectionate. And his brothers might be obnoxious bitches, but Tommy knew for a fact that Technoblade and Wilbur doted on him, and that they were just as devoted to their parents and each other. Sure, all four of them were busier than Tommy would like, true. And they traveled for work more than Tommy wanted – especially his mom. But they were normal people! And sure, they were rich, but they weren’t uber-rich, they weren’t politicians, they weren’t anything like what Tubbo was suggesting. None of this made any sense.
“You’re wrong,” Tommy said abruptly, cutting off whatever Tubbo was still saying.
Tubbo eyed him rather patronizingly and opened his mouth, but Tommy spoke again first.
“You’re wrong, Tubs. And I’ll prove it. Just wait.”
---
Proving it was proving to be difficult.
In retrospect, Tommy wondered if Tubbo had foreseen that, and had somehow deliberately set him up for failure. Wasn’t there some kind of logical impossibility about proving a negative, anyway?
In any case, over the next few days Tommy didn’t see any sign of the two guys in suits. Or other guys in suits. Or strangers in general following him. That … technically didn’t prove anything, but it supported his point, right?
“They’ve probably learned to be more discreet,” Ranboo said wisely, leaning his elbows on the counter of his family’s bakery. It was late afternoon and the shop was officially closed, but that just meant it was the perfect time for Tommy to come hang out and sample the day’s leftover goodies.
Tommy was sitting at the side table that permanently housed a Go board, nibbling on the remains of a cheese danish. The game – which he and Ranboo insisted on calling black-and-white checkers in order to rile Tubbo up – was mostly the domain of Ranboo’s mother, grandmother, and Tubbo himself. Tommy was just pondering whether to move a few of the pieces in the ongoing game, just to fuck with Tubbo and his current opponent, when Ranboo’s response to his complaint penetrated his brain. He stared at his friend in dismay.
“Not you, too!”
Ranboo quirked his lips in amusement. “Do you really still not believe it? What did your parents say?”
“They’re still out-of-town,” Tommy said sullenly, slumping forward and randomly moving two pieces. Where were Phil and Kristin, anyway? He vaguely remembered hearing something about some stupid business meeting in a faraway city that Kristin had to attend. Phil had accompanied her because some of their boring friends were getting married or shit near that same city a few days after. Whatever it was, they were both away, and on a long trip to boot. It rankled at Tommy. “They’ll be back in a few days.”
“Well, what about your brothers?” Ranboo prodded, popping a piece of apple crumble into his mouth. “Did you talk to them?”
Tommy scowled.
“Like they’d ever give me a straight answer. I can already hear the mockery, all the way from here.”
“But think about it this way,” Ranboo said, clearly trying not to laugh, “if those guys aren’t on your family’s payroll because your family isn’t running the city, your brothers’ll probably be really upset to hear some random guys were following you, right?”
Tommy paused, considering this.
“But in reality, since those guys are on payroll ‘cause your family does really run Greenville, they’ll just laugh at you.”
Tommy looked up into Ranboo’s smirking face and glared.
---
“These two weird guys were following me,” Tommy said experimentally, that night at dinner.
The only other occupant of the dinner table quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t look up from their book – which, rude.
“Why, what’d you do to them?”
“Oi!” Tommy glared at his older brother, incensed. “I didn’t do anything to anyone! I’m the victim, here!”
“Sure, Tommy,” Technoblade drawled, turning a page.
“I’m telling you!” Tommy exclaimed indignantly. “They’re stalking me. Next time I see ‘em, I’m confronting ‘em, I’m thrashing ‘em –”
That, at least, prompted a reaction from Techno. However, Tommy couldn’t characterize it as neatly as one of the two options Ranboo had presented.
“Don’t go confronting random people, Tommy.”
“Fuck you, I’ll do what I want,” Tommy declared, slumping back against the plush cushions lining the heavy wooden chair. He stared mournfully up at the smaller crystal chandelier hanging over the center of the second, less formal dining table where they sat.
“Tommy.”
He turned his head a fraction to meet his brother’s keen, implacable red eyes. He’d seen that exact expression before, all too recently.
Shit, was Tubbo getting to be more and more like Techno, or was it the other way around? Either way, this whole ‘Tommy has three (or four) brothers’ shtick was getting to be annoying.
---
A few more days went by. Phil and Kristin continued to be out-of-town, Techno and Wilbur (and Tubbo) continued to be bitches, and Tommy finally arrived at a conclusion.
The reason he couldn’t prove that weird suit-clad guardian angels weren't following him at his overly-powerful family’s behest to keep him out of trouble, he had determined, was because he simply wasn’t getting into trouble. Why the hell would a protective detail show up if there was nothing he needed to be protected from, right? And that also tracked, because Tommy was a soft and peaceful soul really.
The only possible solution, then, was to deliberately get into trouble. Stir up a bit of chaos, yeah? Smoke ‘em out!
“This is a terrible idea,” Ranboo said, sounding genuinely alarmed.
The three of them had been out roaming the city as usual. Around mid-afternoon, they’d stopped at one of the many parks dotting Greenville for a rest and had gotten a sudden hankering for milkshakes. Tommy and Ranboo were lounging by the fountain now, waiting for Tubbo, who had surprisingly volunteered to be the sole milkshake-fetcher.
Tommy had narrowed his eyes in suspicion, watching Tubbo trot away. Was it because Tubbo wanted to do something nice for his best friend and boyfriend, or because he wanted to prevent his best friend from interacting with the ice cream shop staff and possibly getting into ‘trouble’?
Trouble to which no suits would show up, ha! Because Tommy was a regular guy who didn’t have fuckin’ bodyguards, and who had a completely normal family who didn’t shadow-run a city!
But it didn’t matter, Tommy thought. He leaned back against the bench and smiled peacefully as the breeze blew fine droplets of cool fountain water at his face. Tubbo could try and gaslight him all he wanted. Tommy was actually the boss man here, and he’d prove it.
“No, it’s a great idea! It solves, like, every single problem.”
“Tommy –”
“I’ll be fine, Boo, don’t stress. And don’t go telling Tubbo. He doesn’t understand shit like this, plus he’s a total stick-in-the-mud,” Tommy told Tubbo’s boyfriend confidently.
“Okay …” Ranboo said doubtfully, clutching his phone tightly.
---
A few hours later in yet another grimy alley, Tommy danced backwards, easily dodging the angry gangbanger’s swinging fist.
… Okay, maybe picking a fight with this particular guy hadn’t been such a great idea.
Since Tommy was Technoblade’s little brother, he could more than hold his own in hand-to-hand skirmishes with most randoms. He’d landed a few good blows, but the problem was this guy had turned out to not be alone.
And unfortunately, Tommy’s dodge backwards had put him within easy punching range of a second gangster – and a third, and a fourth. Fuck! How many of these shits were coming out of this rat-hole, anyway? While Tommy had expected the lone guy he’d first taunted might have backup, this seemed excessive.
Pain exploded in his jaw, and then suddenly Tommy was up-close-and-personal with the pavement of the grimy alley. Someone kicked him hard in the ribs and he cried out, curling up defensively. Then there was suddenly a lot more shouting going on above his head, and then –
From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of black suits running into the alley.
Shit.
---
The door opened with a slow, ominous creak.
Tommy winced, shifting his head on his pillow. Neither the sound nor the glare of the hallway light beyond were doing anything to help his throbbing headache.
The tall figures framed in the open doorway stood there for a moment, as if surveying Tommy’s battered face under the bag of frozen peas. No one spoke.
A moment later, Tommy felt his bed shift and dip both in front of him and behind him. A feather-light touch ghosted over the worst of the contusions on his face before the hand settled on the back of his head, stroking through his curls. Another hand lay warm and heavy on his ribs, a soothing pressure on the bruising there.
“Tell us their names,” Tommy tensed at the flat death in Techno’s voice behind him. “The people who did this – tell us their names.”
“It’s not –”
“Toms,” Wilbur hissed, hot breath against Tommy’s forehead, “names. Now.”
Tommy winced again. It definitely wasn’t a good sign when Wilbur went mono-syllabic.
Shit.
---
The following evening, Tommy stared gloomily at the family group chat on his phone.
After learning what had happened, Phil and Kristin had been so furiously worried that they’d decided to take an earlier flight home. Tommy had tried to protest that things were fine, he was fine, they didn’t need to cut their trip short for his sake, but to no avail. Even Wilbur and Techno had chimed in with variations on “the gremlin’s fine now, we’re handling things,” but their parents wouldn’t be dissuaded. Reading between the lines, his brothers claiming they were ‘handling things’ hadn’t reassured Phil and Kristin much, since the incident that needed handling had happened under their older sons’ noses to begin with. Tommy snorted, despite himself. If he wasn’t so despondent about, well, everything right now, it would sure be funny.
But despite rushing out of their friend’s wedding reception early, his parents still weren’t home. They had been delayed by a foe that charm, weapons, and deep pockets all couldn’t defeat – mass flight groundings due to bad weather.
Tommy’s head snapped up as his bedroom door swung open without a knock.
Tubbo breezed through unconcernedly. Without a word, his best friend dropped the latest edition of the Greenville Times onto Tommy’s lap.
Tommy looked down at it, frowning. He never read the local paper, except for the Sunday comics. Why the hell would Tubbo bring him –
Oh.
‘GANG LEADER SLAIN’ the front page headline blared.
… shit.
The mugshot printed under the headline showed the scowling face that Tommy had gotten way too familiar with, back in that alley. The smaller text below detailed the many crimes in which the recently-deceased gangbanger had been implicated in his previous city, and added breathless, pearl-clutching commentary about how this gang had recently been trying to expand operations into Greenville. It went on to describe how he and his main lieutenants had been brutally dismembered the previous night by parties unknown. Police were investigating …
“Nice job,” Tubbo said laconically, taking a seat at the end of Tommy’s bed and leaning back against the footboard. “You’re finally like, using your powers for good. Cleaning up the city and shit, eh? The youngest Prince of Greenville - I’m so proud!”
Tommy glowered at him.
---
By the next morning, Tommy had had quite enough of his brothers mother-henning him. Wilbur and Techno had unanimously decreed that Tommy was under house-arrest until their parents returned. So obviously, Tommy had climbed out his bedroom window, shimmied down a convenient nearby tree, and strolled through town into the nearby shopping complex.
He was casually browsing the new releases when a familiar face caught his eye.
“Hey, it’s you!” Tommy’s eyes widened. “First suit! Holy shit!”
First suit – who really needed another name, since he was dressed in a retail uniform now – went as white and pasty as the first time they’d met.
“Please,” he begged, making dampening gestures with his hands and looking around wildly. “Please, I just got this job, I really need it –”
“Wait, so you –” Tommy paused, various scenarios flitting through his head. Then he asked cautiously, “You didn’t get fired or shit, did you? Because of the thing with me?”
First suit laughed despairingly, and Tommy’s stomach dropped.
“I really didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to talk to you at all. And then I was late reacting –”
“So it’s true, then?” Tommy asked, a complicated mix of emotions swirling through him. He’d known, intellectually, that Tubbo was right. Everything that had happened since Tommy’s ill-advised plan – the suits rushing into the alley, his family’s fury, the culling of the gangbangers – made it pretty obvious. But he still really wanted to hear it from someone else.
“So you really worked for – for my family? As some kind of weird protective detail for me?”
First suit frowned at him. “Uh, yeah?”
Tommy took a deep, grounding breath. “Did I really get you in trouble, big man? I didn’t mean to –”
“It’s okay,” first suit said, rather despondently. “It was nice while it lasted.”
“So you – d’you want to be a bodyguard?” Tommy asked doubtfully, glancing around the shop. Was his current suit detail watching this conversation from around some nearby corner, right now?
“Well … no, not really,” first suit said with a shrug, “But I’m in college, you know? Studying architecture. This was supposed to be a part-time job. And it was a great one! The hours worked well with my class schedule, and the pay was amazing. And it was mostly just following you around, right? And you didn’t get into that much trouble, so it was an easy gig. At first, anyway.”
See?! Tommy wanted to shout, but neither Tubbo nor his brothers were around to hear, so it was pointless. Here was conclusive proof, straight from an objective source. He didn’t get into trouble. He wasn’t the problem child!
Suppressing a triumphant gloat, he instead gave first suit an awkward and apologetic smile.
“Well … I’m sorry I got you in trouble, big man. If you’d like, I can talk to my dad, ask him to give you another chance? Or maybe another job in one of my family’s companies, doing something else?”
First suit stared at him. “Really? You – you’d do that?”
Tommy lifted his chin. “For sure.”
First suit gave him a rather bruised smile and extended his hand.
“I’m Charlie, by the way.”
“Tommy,” Tommy said loftily, taking it, “but I guess you knew that.”
They shook.
---
Percolating plans to wheedle his parents into helping Charlie out, Tommy was in a much better mood by the time he got to Ranboo’s family’s bakery. Ignoring the ‘Closed’ sign, he walked around to the side door, swung inside, and –
“What happened?” Tommy demanded. His stomach dropped as he hurried to his friend’s side.
Ranboo hastily swiped at the dampness on his face, turning to greet him. “It’s nothing. Are you okay? You look better –”
“Bullshit,” Tommy said bluntly, peering closely at Ranboo. “What’s wrong? Was it some shitty customer?”
“No,” Ranboo shook his head. “Nothing, it’s fine, Tommy. Just forget it.”
“Or,” Tommy’s stomach dropped as he thought of his recent conversation with Charlie, “was it me? Was Tubbo mad at you because you didn’t tell him what I was planning? Or –”
“Tommy, no,” Ranboo laughed wetly. “Tubbo – well, he was a bit annoyed, yeah, but he knows exactly how hard it is to talk you out of doing stuff. We’re fine.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Tommy stared at him pleadingly. “Just tell me, okay? Whatever it is, we can fix it.”
“It’s not – it’s family stuff. Bakery stuff,” Ranboo shook his head again. “It’s just – you know who Mr. Hawk is, right?”
“Yeah …” Tommy said, frowning. It was general knowledge that Hawk was some old rich guy who ran a construction company based in the neighboring state. He’d lately been trying to muscle his way into the Greenville scene as a direct competitor to Craft Architecture and Construction. He vaguely remembered Wilbur ranting one night at a family dinner about some shit Hawk Enterprises had done, and the curl of his dad’s lip at the mention of this Hawk guy.
“He bought the loan,” Ranboo said tightly, his voice determinedly steady. “The mortgage for our bakery’s building, that is. Now he’s trying to push us out.”
“Huh?” Tommy stared at his friend, dumbfounded. “What loan? I thought your family owned this place free and clear!”
Ranboo sniffed, wiping at his face again. “So did I. But my parents … remember when my grandma got sick, a few years ago?”
Tommy nodded apprehensively. Ranboo’s grandmother had indeed been very ill then, but had thankfully made a full recovery. The old lady was still sharp as a tack, and was one of the few people who still routinely beat Tubbo at Go.
“Her treatment was really expensive, even with insurance. And it was around the same time Niki was starting college, and our parents needed money for that too. So they mortgaged this place. They didn’t tell Niki or me or even our grandma about it, because they didn’t want us to worry. Plus they thought they’d be able to quietly pay off the loan in a few years, so it wouldn’t matter. But …”
“Shit,” Tommy muttered, tugging at his curls.
“It’s one of those adjustable rate loans,” Ranboo’s face was a study in despair. “So now Hawk’s boosted up the interest rate so high, there’s no way we can afford the payments anymore.”
“But why?” Tommy demanded. “The bakery’s doing really well! Obviously you can pay it off in a few years, right? Why’d he want to do that shit, if it’d force you guys out?”
“That’s exactly why. He wants us out. He’s been buying up all the properties on this block,” Ranboo swallowed hard. “He’s sent some lawyers around going door-to-door these past few days. So now they’ve already got everyone else in the neighborhood to sign their buildings and land over to him. My parents didn’t agree, so I guess he did this stuff with the loan for leverage.”
“But why?” Tommy repeated helplessly.
Ranboo shook his head. “Once Hawk’s got all the parcels, he’s going to raze all the buildings and put up some fancy office tower or something here. Niki’s got a friend who works at the city planning office. They said Hawk filed for permits a few days ago, and paid for rush review. We think he’s trying to get everything done really fast, while your parents are out of town so they don’t notice in time. Your family’s company's really the only one who'd be able to object, or put in competing offers.”
Ranboo looked at Tommy miserably. “If all this goes through, my parents said we probably won’t be able to find a new location for the bakery in Greenville. At least not anytime soon. We might have to close up, maybe move back to my grandparents’ old farm out west.”
Tommy sucked in a sharp, horrified breath.
“Have you told Tubbo?”
“I texted him,” Ranboo whispered, blinking fast, “but he only said not to stress. That things’ll work out. But I don’t see how they can.”
At that moment the side door swung open again, making them both jump. A disgruntled-looking Wilbur stood at the threshold, staring at them.
Tommy belatedly remembered his early-morning climb down the tree and muttered, “Shit.”
---
After many tribulations, Phil and Kristin finally made it back home late that night. Soon after, Kristin officially countermanded Techno and Wilbur’s house-arrest orders, and Tommy was once again a free man.
Mid-morning the next day, Tommy shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked briskly through Greenville’s downtown business district. He didn’t usually venture into this part of the city because boredom. There was really nothing there except many fancy office buildings and the posh coffee shops and restaurants catering to the people who worked in them.
But today, he had a mission.
As Tommy turned the corner, he frowned at the office building down the street. The ugly blue HAWK sign stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the neighboring stately facades.
He had debated whether to just march into the Hawk Enterprises offices and confront Mr. Hawk in person. What’s the worst that could happen, after all? But then the entire debacle with Charlie had given him pause. Just because his family had arranged a safety net for him didn’t mean he should abuse it, right?
And there was also the issue of what Tubbo and his brothers would probably do to Tommy if he tried any more risky shit this soon after the last incident.
So instead, he’d decided to go straight to the top. Tommy took a right turn onto Main St. and then loped into a tall building with a darkened glass facade and an elegant green-and-black logo.
He grinned at the receptionist who smiled and waved him through security, and then he jogged towards the elevators. Once up at the penthouse level, Tommy paused to chat with Phil’s secretary for a few minutes before ducking into the corner office.
Phil was on the phone. He raised his eyebrows at Tommy in surprise and held up a finger for silence. Tommy grinned and struck a pose, as if preparing to belt out a song and dance number. Phil rolled his eyes at him, so Tommy decided to instead occupy himself by going round and round in his favorite swiveling chair.
After a few minutes, Phil hung up his call and said, “Well, this is a pleasant surprise, mate. What brings you to our humble – oof.”
Phil winced under the influx of elbows and knees as Tommy clambered up onto his office chair and made himself comfortable.
“What,” Tommy grinned, half-sprawled across Phil’s lap, the leather chair creaking under their combined weight. “I’m too big of a man for this now, right?”
“No,” Phil replied primly, his arms cinching around his son to hold him in place. “You’re just the right size. And so are your brothers.”
He leaned forward to smack a noisy kiss into Tommy’s curls, grinning when Tommy yowled in protest and tried unsuccessfully to wriggle away.
“So, what are you up to, mate?” Phil asked, tucking his chin over Tommy’s head. “Not that I don’t appreciate the visit.”
“I wanted to talk to you about Mr. Hawk,” Tommy said carefully, somewhat glad that in this position his father couldn’t directly see his face.
Phil stilled. “Mr. Hawk?”
“He’s doing all sorts of creepy shit,” Tommy said bluntly, “and he’s trying to run Ranboo’s family out of town.”
He briefly recounted Ranboo’s story, including Hawk’s plans to raze the entire block and build afresh there.
Phil hummed thoughtfully.
“Well, he’ll have a pretty difficult time doing all that, mate,” he said, “given how the Greenville city council's rejected all his permit applications. No demolition or construction can happen here without proper permits, you know.”
Silence.
Tommy frowned for a moment and then began to speak, but Phil continued, “As a matter of fact, since he can’t build on any of that land, his only real options are to sell the existing buildings again or else rent them out.”
“But –”
“And I understand the mayor has communicated quite clearly to Mr. Hawk,” Phil continued mildly, “that Greenville has a robust rent control policy. It would be inadvisable for him to try to offer parcels for rent here at anything exceeding the assessed fair rate. Otherwise the city will pursue legal action.”
“So … what can he do, then?”
“Well, if he can find tenants, he can rent the buildings out, I suppose. But since he seems to have paid a premium for those properties, it’ll be quite a while til he breaks even. Or else he can sell again. But it’s not a great market now. Why, he might even have to sell at a loss. The previous owners might be interested, though, especially if they felt coerced into selling.”
Tommy let out a disbelieving snort. “So that means Ranboo –”
“Ranboo and his family are going to be just fine, mate,” Phil said comfortingly. “I’ve also reached out to arrange refinancing of their loan. No need to worry.”
Tommy huffed out a relieved breath and slumped, rather.
After a moment, Phil murmured in annoyance as a ping from his computer indicated an incoming email. He adjusted his grip on Tommy and leaned over to read it.
“Hey Dad?” Tommy said after a moment.
“Hmm?”
“How’d you find out about what Hawk was doing? And block him? From what Ranboo said, they’d tried really hard to do all this shit while you and mom were out of town.”
He felt Phil chuckle.
“I’ve got my sources, mate. And some friends in high – and low – places.”
Tommy grumbled in irritation. But then his attention was caught by something on the other side of the room. A board with strikingly familiar black-and-white pieces was set up on a side table. The chairs were still pushed back, as if a game had recently been played.
His eyes narrowed.
---
A few weeks later, Tommy loped into the kitchen and dropped into a seat at the table. He snagged a bagel from an open box labeled with Ranboo’s family’s bakery logo and began chewing happily.
A copy of the local newspaper had been abandoned on the table by someone in the family – probably Phil or Techno, no one else read that boring shit. Tommy glanced at the headline, which read ‘HAWK ENT EXITS G’VILLE,’ before snorting and turning away.
Kristin strode into the kitchen a few minutes later, while Tommy was selecting a second bagel and an accompanying doughnut. She dropped a kiss on his head and said, “I’m headed to a banquet luncheon at the university, sweetheart. Want to come with?”
“At the university?” Tommy wrinkled his nose. “What for?”
“It’s in celebration of scholarships being presented in the architecture department,” Kristin smiled. “The awarded students will all be there, too. I think you’d be interested.”
She pulled an invitation of heavy, embossed paper out of her purse and handed it to him.
Tommy accepted it dubiously and scanned through. Then his face lit up as he read the list of recipients.
“Hey, Charlie’s getting one!”
Then his eyes narrowed again, and he turned to regard his mother suspiciously. “How’d you manage that?”
“Me? I didn’t do anything except encourage him to apply.”
Tommy snorted. “Yeah, right –”
“I’m serious. I wasn’t on the selection committee, and I didn’t tell them who to award. Charlie’s a good student, he got it on his own merits.”
“But how’d they decide to award the scholarships in the first place?” Tommy pressed shrewdly.
“Ah, well, don’t you know?” Kristin’s eyes twinkled. “I run this town, kid.”