Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tommy was in a pitch-black void when he came to his senses. A familiar, deep feeling settled in his bones. Like the feeling you get from a cold wind. But the type that just stays and soaks into your bones.
And he had this uncomfortable feeling in his chest, making him want to claw it out. He just felt wrong.

After everything, with Tubbo, their plans to end Dream, Punz’s betrayal. He was back to square one. He was even further back than square one. He was in limbo, now having even lost his last chance at living.

He didn’t know what to do. He was at a loss.

He didn’t see anything from Dream’s eyes this time. He knew he wasn’t going to be revived again. Not with Dream gone.

Dream…

Tommy didn’t want to think about him. Dream’s last words… Tommy almost believed him.

Now having doomed the whole Essempi along with Pandora, Tommy supposed there wasn’t anything left to do. He didn’t want to play stupid solitaire with Jschlatt. But maybe he could speak to Ghostbur again.

Ghostbur. Prime knows how much he’s missed him. He was still so sorry. It was all his fault. He would never forget Ghostbur’s cries in his last moments. He just wanted to curl up and cry. To let it all out. But he couldn’t do that. Not now, or never again. He was to float aimlessly in limbo until the isolation drove him nuts.

It was ironic, he supposed. A fitting end to him.

Tommy didn’t know how much time had passed when it happened.

He felt like he had just woken up from a deep slumber. Like his head was underwater and everything around him was muffled and diminished, and like his ears were unplugged, and he could hear again-

He felt normal. At peace. The deep clawing feeling in his chest had yet to disappear, but the cold seeping into his bones was gone.

Turning his head around, he saw Mother Death. Kristin, his mum.

He tried to open his mouth to speak, to say anything to her, but his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He slowly moved towards his mother. His limbs felt heavy. Not the type of heavy that he felt after too long sparring sessions with Techno, or the type of heavy that settled on his chest after Wilbur’s death or when he was all alone in exile.

He felt like he hadn’t used his limbs in decades. His limbs felt like they were asleep. An effect of limbo, he guessed.

“Theseus”

Spoke his mother. Tommy wanted nothing more than to fall into her embrace.

As if reading his mind, his mother enveloped him in a deep embrace, hugging him close and tight.

All the wrong Tommy was feeling went away the instant he fell into his mother’s arms. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t say anything. He didn’t trust himself to speak at this moment. With tears building up in his eyes and threatening to fall, all Tommy could do was hug his mother closer.

‘‘My baby, I’m so sorry.’’ Said his mother in a voice that carried too much emotion.

Tommy broke.

His mother cradled him as Tommy cried. His wails echoed through the void.

Perhaps it was the embrace, or having someone apologize to him after everything. Or maybe Tommy was just too overwhelmed with everything. Doesn’t matter what it was. Tommy cried until he let everything out. Until his chest felt lighter, emptier.

‘‘I didn’t want you to come back here sooner.’’

Said his mother. Tommy looked up at her from the embrace. His sniffs sounded too loud to his ears in the empty void.

‘‘I’m sorry. I ruined everything.’’ He croaked. His throat felt raw.

Kristen shushed him and combed her hands through his hair.

‘‘I’ll help you,’’ she whispered.

Tommy for the first time in years felt at peace.

Chapter Text

When Tommy opens his eyes, he’s greeted by light.

He closes his eyes in a grimace.
It always took some getting used to the living world after leaving limbo. It felt like his senses were all dialled up to 11. Everything felt too bright, too loud-

An unfamiliar voice sounds above his head and the position of the light changes. Squinting, Tommy forces himself off the ground.

He looks around and sees trees and grass surrounding him. The sky is covered with dark clouds, but they’re all ranging from colours of pink to red, signalling early morning hours.

Above him stands a strange woman with hair covered by a dark green cap. She’s wearing a dark green uniform that matches her hat with some words written in an alphabet that Tommy doesn’t recognize. She has a lantern in her hand, but a different one from those that New L’manberg had before it blew up, again.

Tommy doesn’t see a flame inside the lantern. It appears to be Redstone-based- something that Sam would tinker with. But this one seems much smaller in comparison. Much more intricate than whatever the redstone expert could ever come up with.

When his mother told him he would be sent to a different universe, one where he could be happy and have a childhood, he didn’t think it would be this different.

Stumbling, Tommy felt something he hadn’t in years. Something he shouldn’t feel, ever since he had to chop off his leg halfway down to the calf to get rid of frostbite during exile.

Gone is the mechanical one that Sam had made him and in its place is his own fleshy foot! As if he had never had to go through intense physical therapy or trauma, his foot stays in place as if it never left.

The woman backs away from him as a cry of surprise leaves his mouth. The woman was now clearly wary of him even more.

He stands up again, trying to catch his balance. The woman yells something at him in a foreign language which he doesn’t understand. Before the woman can yell anything else Tommy breaks into a run, dodging the trees with a skill that comes from years of experience.

The woman doesn’t chase after him.

Tommy realizes he’s losing his breath even quicker than before, and he also feels much slower. His strides are shorter too but he’s too overwhelmed with everything to realize it.

He forces himself to run, then bursts out of the trees onto a jagged dark grey surface with white stripes painted on it.

Machines that resemble huge minecarts rush along the surface. The surrounding buildings are the tallest Tommy has ever seen in his life- unless you count Pandora, which doesn’t really count.

These buildings are even taller than his hotel. The tall lanterns along the odd path give off the same artificial buzzing light as the woman’s lantern. But only half of the lanterns work and the ones that actually do just flicker uselessly.

And now that he’s looking closely, the neighbourhood seems extremely rundown; shattered windows are boarded up, there’s paint and posters everywhere on any surface he can see and there’s litter all around.

The air feels heavy and dirty. When one of the wagons rushes past Tommy, it leaves behind a cloud of dark smoke that makes Tommy cough his lungs out. It makes him think back to times when the smell of gunpowder seemed to have sunk in his hair and he had to walk around too narrow corridors stuck with Wilbur.

Brushing those thoughts aside, Tommy runs through the lanes without stopping or looking back.

After some time he settles into a brisk pace, weaving through the crowd as he ducks between people walking along the sidewalk. When he looks up to the sky he sees clouds promising rain. He shudders at the thought of getting soaked to the bone again—he’d rather not end up in a situation that might harm his newly regained foot. He decides, with urgency, that finding shelter is his top priority before the storm hits.

The buildings here are strikingly different, their architecture unlike anything he had ever seen before. Back in the Essempi, little effort went into architecture- what was the point, when most of them were destined to be blown to smithereens anyway? But here the buildings had a dated air about them. There were no old buildings in the Essempi. Sure, it was because the place was relatively new, but even so, the rapid pace at which the oldest structures seemed to collapse—whether from neglect or conflict—was staggering.

The people are just as alien to him. As he observes the crowd bustling around him, one thing becomes glaringly clear—there are no hybrids. Everyone here appears to be entirely human. Back in the Essempi, humans were a rarity, their presence was far outnumbered by hybrids of all kinds.

The absence of animalistic features or traits felt strange and kind of disturbing, like a missing piece of the world he once knew.

Tommy’s gaze catches on a display in one of the buildings. There’s writing again in a language completely foreign to him. He steps closer as if inspecting the writings will make him understand them better.

As he approaches, his reflection in the grimy glass catches his eye. For a moment, he freezes. The face staring back at him is unfamiliar and yet unmistakably his own—a younger version of himself, the boy he was many years ago. It felt to Tommy that the last time he had ever seen this face was a lifetime ago. Memories from Pogtopia bubble unbidden to the surface, but something is different.

This version of himself looks... healthier. His cheeks are rounded with baby fat, free of grime or exhaustion. The sharp edges carved by hunger and stress are softened, and both of his eyes, a vibrant, clear blue, meet his gaze in the reflection. The damage Dream had done to his left eye—the scarred, darkened aftermath of smashing his head against obsidian—was gone.

Losing vision in his left eye had thrown him off completely. The damage had ruined his depth perception, leaving him unable to aim properly or shoot arrows like he once could. It was a blow that cut deeper than he liked to admit, robbing him of a skill he had once taken pride in.

And now it was restored. As if it had never happened. He felt embarrassed that it took him such a long time to realize he now again had two seeing eyes.

Yet, there remained things that didn’t belong to his eleven-year-old self—things he knows for sure he didn’t have back then. The most obvious is the white streak in his hair, a permanent reminder of his revival. No matter what he tried—cutting it, dyeing it—it always came back by the next morning, stubbornly defying any attempt to erase it. Somehow, that streak had followed him into this world, just like his blown-out pupils.

The pupils, too, were a lasting effect of his revival. The trauma from the fatal blow to his head had caused the distortion, leaving his left eye permanently dilated while his right remained normal. The contrast was stark against the bright blue of his irises, an unsettling reminder of what he’d tried so hard to forget.

They remained, along with a few others. Among them is the thin scar tracing his cheek—a faint yet permanent reminder of his duel with Dream, where an arrow had grazed him. Unlike some of his other scars, which seem to have faded away, this one persists, etched into his skin as a quiet testament to his battles. Taunting him about his first lost life.

It felt as though his fifteen-year-old body had somehow merged with his eleven-year-old self, creating this strange in-between version. He couldn’t help but wonder if the other scars that littered his body were still there, just hidden beneath his clothes. Probably, he guessed.

He spends the next few hours continuing to walk around as if in a trance. He was still kind of out of it, thanks to the effects of limbo.

Knowing that in a neighbourhood lighted up like this, there probably won’t be any monsters roaming around. But he still focuses on trying to find a place to stay for the night and shelter from the rain.

When the sun rises completely, the city becomes slightly more alive. People take to the streets in strange clothes and more of the strange minecarts start to appear.

Tommy spends an hour slumped by a dumpster in a back alley, his head cradled in his hands as he tries to will his pounding headache away. The city was too much—too loud, too bright, too overwhelming—especially after the stillness of Limbo.

Adjusting to the living world after his first revival had been easier, even though he had spent far more time cut off from his senses. The Essempi had fewer people, sure it was chaotic but most of the time people kept to themselves unless there was conflict compared to the relentless sensory assault of this bustling city.

Here, every sound seemed sharper, every light too bright, and the sheer presence of people was suffocating.

Even the air in this city felt foreign, something that took time to adjust to. Back in the Essempi, the air was relatively clean in most areas—at least outside the ruins of places like L’Manberg or the forests that Sapnap burnt down, where the remnants of destruction still lingered in the air.

Nature thrived in the Essempi. Most of its hybrid members relied on natural habitats, so the land remained lush and vibrant. The greenery was a constant presence, the air fresh and alive.

But here, the air was thick and filthy, heavy with years of pollution and the acrid tang of the city’s endless activity. It clung to his lungs, making him feel out of place in a way he hadn’t experienced before. This city was nothing like the Essempi, where even chaos left room for the persistence of nature.

While resting, Tommy tries to open his inventory, and to his surprise, it actually works. He had barely felt any magic in the air, which was odd—another stark difference from the Essempi. There, magic was woven into every aspect of life. People used it for everything, from crafting to everyday tasks, and without it, survival itself would be impossible. Magic was the foundation of everything, essential for even the most basic functions, like using inventories.

Everything he had in his inventory before the nuke was still intact. His netherite armour, his weapons, the stupid picture of Tubbo along with a picture of the early L’manberg crew, some food, blocks, a bucket of water, some ender pearls, gapples and some other knick knacks.

But there was something in his inventory that he didn’t have before. An amulet with a note attached to it.

Put it on. Reads the note. Huh, ominous. Thinks Tommy but puts it on anyway. He trusts whatever object his mum wants him to wear.

Feeling better now that he’s had a little bit of quiet, Tommy shuffles out of the piss-stinking alley he managed to end up in. He’s glad the neighbourhood has such a dark ambient. Makes it easier on his too-sensitive eyes.

Since the neighbourhood around him seemed incredibly rundown, Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if there were abandoned buildings around these parts that he could find shelter in at least temporarily.

‘‘Hey kid!’’

"The fuck?" Tommy muttered, confused at first. He hadn’t understood the words spoken before, but now, to his surprise, he could understand the language perfectly.

Tommy stops in his tracks as a scantily dressed woman hurries across the street, the sharp clack of her heels echo on the asphalt.

"Hey, kid," she calls out, offering a small smile. Tommy is surprised at what she’s wearing. Her clothes were too short for the cold weather. It reminded him of his time in exile with too small clothes and cold nights.

"You know, little kids really shouldn’t be out and about on their own this late," she continues with a thick accent that Tommy can’t recognize, her tone light but tinged with concern. "Gotham ain’t safe like that."

Gotham. Tommy makes note of that name.

‘‘I got nowhere to go,’’ he tells her.

The girl nods at him in understanding. ‘‘I know, been there done that, ya know? But this neighbourhood ain’t safe. Ya gonna get hurt on your own out here. I can call up Red Hood for ya. He’ll help ya find somewhere safe. He’s good. Looks out for us.’’

Tommy wonders who ‘Red Hood’ might be. He tries to think but comes up empty. Tommy’s thoughts are interrupted by the girl sighing and continuing:
‘‘Kid, look. Hood watches out for us. He’s been doing the alley real good. Even Batman trusts him which has gotta mean somethin’ right?’’

What kind of a stupid fucking name is Bat-Man?

‘‘Hood can get ya somewhere safe and some food. He’ll take ya to the shelters. Up to you to decide, all ya gotta do is ask. He helps.’’

Tommy thinks for a moment. He knows not to trust this woman or ‘Red Hood’ but he decides it won’t hurt to try. Worst case scenario Tommy will find a way out. He still has all of his items. He’s pretty OP in this situation, right? If Red Hood does turn out to be a fuckin’ wrong un, he’ll just take care of him the old way.

‘‘Uh.. Okay. Can you call him?’’ asks Tommy.

The girl smiles at him. She then reaches inside her jacket pocket to pull out some sort of device. Tommy guesses it might be something similar to his communicator. The girl flips it open and pushes some buttons with her too-long nails that look more like claws to Tommy before lifting the communicator to her ear.

After a few seconds of silence, she starts speaking.

‘‘Hey Hood, it’s Tiffany. I’m near my usual corner, yeah. Got a kid with me that might need help. Can’t be older than ten’’ 

Tommy scoffs at that. Sure, he’d never been a big kid, but ten? That seemed like a stretch. He remembers Puffy mentioning something about being malnourished. Whatever that fucking meant.

‘‘Yeah, yeah. I’ll stay with him till you get here. I know. Bye.’’ She says before flipping her communicator shut and stuffing it back in her pocket.

‘‘He’ll be here in a minute.’’ She says, looking at Tommy. She seemed to take in his looks.

‘‘You good? Hurt anywhere? If you’re cold I could give ya my jacket.’’

Tommy shakes his head as to say no. He hoped this universe didn’t have different body language. That’d be one hell of a thing to get used to.

‘‘Not hurt or anythin.’’ Replies Tommy. ‘‘or cold.’’ he adds after a few seconds. Even though he still had the slight chill he always had after his revival, he didn’t want Tiffany to take off her jacket. Her clothes seemed too thin and short to protect her from the cold, without the jacket she’d probably start fucking freezing or something. Tommy didn’t want that for her.

‘‘Your name’s Tiffany, right?’’ The boy asks to fill in the awkward silence.

‘‘That’s what everybody calls me. What’s your name?’’ replies Tiffany.

‘‘Call me Tommy,’’ he responds, a habit more than anything.  With the lack of magic in the air, this universe most likely didn’t have faes but Tommy wasn’t gonna take his chances. He liked keeping his name thank you very much.

Their little conversation is interrupted by a loud noise that sounds kind of like the roar of a Ghast. 

Tommy, startled, turns around quickly. His hand angled to summon his sword at any moment. The noise feels like it’s vibrating under Tommy’s skin as it gets closer. He can feel it vibrate in his teeth.

The sound rumbles closer, and for a split second, it feels like the very air is being disturbed by its power. Tiffany, seemingly unfazed, steps to the side of the road and waves her hand in the air as if expecting this interruption.

Then, like some bizarre hybrid of a minecart and something much more sophisticated, a strange vehicle slides to a stop right in front of Tiffany. It’s sleek and unnerving in its futuristic design, but the noise it makes? Almost identical to the dangerous, roaring sound of a Ghast.

The man who dismounts is tall, his frame broad and muscular, but his build has a certain lean quality to it, much like a slightly younger Techno. His shoulders are wide and boxy, and his movements are deliberate, and calculated. There’s a confidence about him, something that speaks of strength and control, as he glances at Tiffany.

Tiffany, not missing a beat, smiles and gives a nod, acknowledging the newcomer’s arrival. "Thanks," she says, her tone cool but appreciative. They both come over to where Tommy was standing.

Tommy can’t help but take an instinctual step back. Even Big Men know a fight they might lose.

‘‘Hey kid’’ speaks Red Hood, softly as to not spook the kid even more. His voice comes out weird and modulated through the helmet. Kind of like Sam Nook’s, just much weirder? Tommy can’t explain it. It sounds mechanical. ‘‘I’m Red Hood. Tiffany over there told me you might need some help.’’

Tommy finds himself nodding before he adds ‘‘Um, yeah’’ The guy didn’t ring any danger bells in his head but Tommy knows you can never be too careful with someone that had a build like that.

Especially one that wears a mask on their face. Tommy shudders for a moment.

‘‘You okay?’’ asks Red Hood's modulated voice. Tommy bites back “The fuck is it to you?”, he clearly doesn’t trust Hood.

“Right,’’ starts Red Hood. “How about this, you tell me your name then we can go down and eat some pancakes at the Pancake House. I don’t know you but I could go for some food right now.’’

Tommy, having no idea what the fuck pancakes are, agrees anyway. If they’re anything like cakes, then he’d kill for some. Eating sweets had always been a luxury in the Essempi. He remembers one time, during the peak of the L’manberg War, when he and Tubbo had drizzled sugar on wet bread, calling it their version of dessert.

"Call me Tommy."

Red Hood extends a gloved hand. "Nice ta meet ya. Call me Hood"

Tommy stares at the hand offered to him like it might bite him. Hood stands awkwardly for a second before retreating his hand and speaking again. "Aight, Tommy. Let’s go get us some pancakes. What do you say, Tiffany?"

The girl shakes her head, muttering something about being too tired. "Bye, Tommy! Take care of yourself, okay? See you around!"

She gives a wave before walking off, and Hood starts making his way back to the vehicle. "You can sit on the bike while I drive it. Cool, huh?"

Tommy probably shouldn’t mention that he has no idea what a bike is. He follows Hood to it, trying his best to look confident. Hood definitely doesn’t have to lift him onto it or anything—because Tommy is a Big Man™.

Tommy grabs onto Hood with a startled yelp as Hood lifts the kickstand and starts driving.

Chapter Text

Tommy leans forward in his seat, inspecting the stack of pancakes in front of him with the same intensity he’d give a suspicious mob. He tapped the surface of it with his tiny trident, watching as the pancake wobbled slightly.

“Panned cakes...” he muttered under his breath, his expression a mix of curiosity and confusion.

Red Hood cleared his throat, snapping Tommy out of his intense study. Tommy looked up, raising an eyebrow at the older man.

“You new in Gotham?” Red Hood asked, his gravelly voice casual but probing. “Haven’t seen you around.”

Red Hood takes off his helmet and puts it on the table beside them. On his face is a red mask that covers only his upper face and eyes. Tommy thinks back to Eret and how he always hid his eyes behind glasses. Maybe Hood had eyes like Eret too.

On Hood’s head stood a white streak stark against his dark red hair, just like Tommy’s own streak. Tommy stared at it, eyes wide. Was there a revival book in this universe too? The thought unsettled him, a cold knot forming in his stomach. Death wasn’t something meant to be fiddled with by mortals. He knew that first-hand.

“Kid?” Hood’s voice broke through the storm in Tommy’s head, pulling him back to the present. His voice no longer carried that robotic tone to it. Tommy almost missed it. It had reminded him of a robot a certain creeper hybrid built for him.

The man in question leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed beneath the red mask. “Ya good? You’ve been starin’ for a while.”

Tommy blinked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said quickly, though his voice wavered slightly. He tore his gaze away from the streak, fixing it instead on the table. “Just... your hair. It’s—uh— fucking cool, I guess.”

Hood raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching as if suppressing a smile. “The streak?” he asked, brushing a gloved hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s a bit unique. Got it after... let’s just say, a rough patch.”

Tommy nodded absently, his mind still racing. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He tried to change the subject.

“So, what did ya ask me again?’’

“You’re new to Gotham, right?’’ responded Hood.

Tommy gave a noncommittal shrug, jabbing his pancakes again with the mini-trident. “You could say that,” he replied, his tone guarded.

Red Hood didn’t press further. Instead, he reached for a small glass bottle, the design of which immediately caught Tommy’s attention. It reminded him of the potion bottles he used back home. The man tipped the bottle over his plate, letting a thick amber liquid pour out and pool over his pancakes.

The sweet, sugary smell hit Tommy instantly, making his nose twitch. Tommy gasped and made grabby hands at the bottle. Red Hood smirked and passed it over without hesitation.

Tommy seized the bottle, holding it up to the light and swirling the viscous liquid inside. “What’s this, then? Some kinda… sweetness potion?” he asked with curiosity.

“That’s syrup,” Red Hood replied, amused. “You put it on your pancakes. Makes ‘em taste better.”

Tommy eyed the syrup dubiously but decided to give it a try. Tilting the bottle, he poured a generous amount over his pancakes, watching as it seeped into every crevice. The golden liquid gleamed, its sweetness almost tangible. Satisfied, Tommy dug in, cutting off a piece and popping it into his mouth. His eyes widened immediately.

“Oi, this is fuckin’ brilliant!” he exclaimed, barely pausing to chew. He pointed his trident at Red Hood, his excitement bubbling over. “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner? This stuff’s a bloody treasure!”

Red Hood chuckled, shaking his head. “Figured you’d figure it out on your own, kid. First taste’s always the best.”

As Tommy continues to stuff his mouth with pancakes, Red Hood starts asking him questions.

“Where are you from?’’

Tommy’s mood grows sombre as he replies. “Doesn’t matter.’’

Hood hums. “Why’s that?’’

“I can’t go back.’’ replies Tommy, stabbing at his pancakes.

Hood seems to pause for a few seconds, lost in thought, before he starts talking again.

“I know what that’s like. Do you want to make a plan for what’s gonna happen next?’’

Tommy pops another trident of pancakes into his mouth “Yeah, sure thing big man.’’ He says mouth full.

"Most of the shelters are likely full by now, and the decent spots to crash are probably already claimed. Your best bet? Let me take you to one of my safehouses. You’ll have a place to sleep, clean up, maybe wash your clothes and grab a shower. In the morning, you’ll have more options. You can stay a few days, head to a shelter, strike out on your own, or even talk to a social worker. If you’ve got family out there, I can help you track them down too. Whatever you decide, we’ll figure it out."

Normally, Tommy would not trust Hood at all. He seemed like a hella suspicious guy. He was helping some kid out, buying him food and letting him stay in one of his safe houses in exchange for nothing? No one does anything for free. Tommy knows that rule by heart. He didn’t care that Hood seemed to have a lot of people that trusted him. Tiffany, the employees in the diner and some of the customers. Maybe they were all wrong uns. One of the first rules that he ever learned in the Essempi was that nothing is free.

But for some reason that Tommy couldn’t quite explain, something deep within him instinctively reached out to Hood. It was a strange feeling. It felt like buzzing under his skin. It gnawed at him, making him want to stay close to the man even though he couldn’t understand why.

Trusting Hood seemed to be his best option now. He could come back to everything after a good night’s of sleep and figure out what a social worker is in the morning.

“Aight big man, safe house. Tonight.’’

Jason bit the inside of his cheek, tension coiling in his jaw.

The alley kid Tiffany had called him about was a puzzle he couldn’t crack. Every interaction left Jason more unsettled. The boy was an enigma and Jason’s gut had a weird feeling about it. And Jason had grown to trust his gut over the years.

Maybe the kid had escaped from a cult? Huh, that would actually explain a lot. The boy seemed to not know much about the modern world. And he did say he couldn’t go back home. The cult could explain those. Maybe he had grown up isolated from the world and somehow managed to escape. But the kid spoke with a British accent. Who in the hell has a British accent in Gotham of all places?

Jason almost entertained the idea that the kid might be high profile, some runaway from Gotham’s elite circles. But no- he would’ve recognized the mannerisms, the polish. This kid was too raw, too out of place.

It almost reminded him of himself, back when Bruce first took him in. An alley rat trying to navigate the polished, high-society world of Gotham’s elite. Jason remembered how out of place he’d felt, like a stray dog dropped into a ballroom. No matter how hard he tried, he never managed to fit in—never wanted to, anyway.

This kid had that same rough edge, that same look in his eyes. Like he’d been thrown into a world that wasn’t made for him and didn’t know whether to fight it or run. It was the same skittishness he had all those years ago.

Setting those thoughts aside, Jason pushed himself up from his seat, grabbing his helmet with one hand and tossing some cash onto the table with the other.

“What’s that?”

The kid’s voice made him pause. Jason glanced over to him, raising a brow. “What d’ya mean?”

The kid pointed at the money, his expression puzzled, as if Jason had just performed some kind of alien ritual.

Caught off guard, Jason blinked. “It’s... money,” he said slowly. The kid made a weird face at that.

“No, it’s not. That’s paper,” the kid pointed out, his tone matter-of-fact, as if Jason had just failed a basic observation test.

Jason stared, unsure if the kid was messing with him or serious.

The boy leaned closer to the table, inspecting the bills with wide-eyed curiosity. “Whoa, how the fuck’d you paint those so small and perfectly?”

Jason blinked again, then rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re kidding me,” he muttered. But the kid’s expression was dead serious, and that uneasy feeling in Jason’s gut twisted a little tighter.

Jason shook his head, trying to process what he was hearing. “It’s not painted. It’s money—y’know, cash? You use it to pay for stuff?”

The kid tilted his head, looking at the bills as if they were some kind of ancient artefact. “Oh… Like gold?”

Jason’s lips parted, but no words came out. This was beyond weird—it was downright unsettling.

“Yeah, I guess?” he said slowly, trying to keep his tone steady. “Though it’s not gold. It’s made out of paper.”

The kid frowned, his nose wrinkling in clear confusion. “Why would you use paper to pay for things? It has no value.”

Jason stared at him, his brain stalling. This wasn’t just ignorance—it was like the kid came from another planet. “It has value because... people agree it does,” Jason finally said, though it sounded dumb even to his own ears. The boy crossed his arms, unconvinced. “That’s stupid innit? If it’s not gold, or silver, or something useful, then it’s worthless. What if people stop agreeing?”

Jason ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Welcome to capitalism, kid.” He leaned against the table, narrowing his eyes as he studied the boy. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You really don’t get how money works?”

Tommy just shrugged, nonchalant but visibly frustrated. “No, I get how it works. I just don’t get why the paper—”

He stopped himself mid-sentence, letting out a sigh so heavy it sounded like it carried decades of exhaustion. For a moment, he looked far older than his years, the weight of whatever he was holding back etched across his face.

“Y’know what? Just- just fucking forget it,” he said, waving his hand dismissively as if the topic wasn’t worth the effort. Jason’s brows furrowed. “You can’t just drop that and expect me to forget it,” he said, crossing his arms.

Tommy shrugged, looking away. “Why not? Like they say—uh… spilled milk sinks the boat, or something.”

Jason stared at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“You know, the thing about not crying over spilled milk. And boats. Or… something.” Tommy waved his hand vaguely, like that explained everything.

Jason groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Kid, that’s not even close. What the hell are you talking about?”

Tommy’s face flushed, and he looked anywhere but at Jason. “Okay, fuck you.’’ Jason snorted at that. “I just… I’ve heard stuff, but it’s all mixed up. W- uhhh. Someone I used to know said lame shit like that.”

Jason’s curiosity piqued, but he kept his tone even. “Someone from back home?”

Tommy hesitated for a moment, then muttered, “Yeah. He was… something.” He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “Doesn’t matter. Just forget about it.”

Jason studied him for a moment, noting the way Tommy’s shoulders tensed and his gaze darted away. There was something deeper, something darker behind his words, but Tommy clearly wasn’t ready to share it.

Jason leaned in, his voice softer but still insistent. “Look, kid, I don’t know what kind of mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but if you don’t start tellin’ me what’s going on, I’m not gonna be able to help you. And I will help you, whether you like it or not.”

Tommy’s eyes flickered to Jason’s, his expression unreadable for a moment. Jason realized his uneven pupils. He felt disturbed, that couldn’t be natural. Then, with a reluctant sigh, the kid muttered something Jason could not hear.

Tommy’s eyes flickered to Jason’s, his expression unreadable momentarily. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he muttered, “I don’t… I don’t really know what’s going on. I just woke up here, okay? Everything back home is… it’s all gone.” He kicked at the floor, his tone quiet and filled with a kind of weariness Jason hadn’t expected.

Jason’s gaze softened, but only for a moment. “Gotham’s lot to wake up to, especially if you don’t know how things work around here,” he said, keeping his voice steady, trying to read the kid. “I can help if ya let me.’’

Tommy seemed to consider this for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he tried to decipher Jason's words. Then, after a long silence, he nodded. "Aight. Like I said before, safe house. But I'm not gonna be your fuckin’ charity case or something."

Jason smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it. You're gonna have to earn your keep, kid." He stood up, grabbed his helmet and slipped it back on. "Come on, let's get you set up. After that, you do what you want. But for tonight, you're with me."

Chapter Text

When they arrive at the safe house, Red Hood all but shoves him into the shower, muttering something about how Tommy reeked of Gotham’s filth, like the city's grime had seeped into his skin. As if Hood didn’t stink just as bad. Still, Tommy didn’t argue—not because he was itching all over, of course. It was because he was just nice like that.

Tommy stood in the doorway of the 'bath room', arms crossed and staring at the room like it might bite him. The room was small, cold and smelled of mildew and slightly of something that made Tommy scrunch his nose. At least that was familiar. The room glimmered unnaturally- like someone had spent time scrubbing at every surface to get it clean- but the faint stains on the grout and the weird flickering lantern above him made him think the place had seen better days.

Hood had just left him by himself in the room, and Tommy didn’t bother with asking for help. Big men like him could figure out whatever the fuck this room had to offer. And besides, as strange as it looked, it felt cleaner than the privy back home. That was a low bar, though—literally anything was cleaner than the privy.

"What’s this then?" Tommy muttered, poking at some weird metal contraption perched on top of what looked like a fancy washing basin. It was cold to the touch, and he immediately recoiled like it had bitten him.

Still, his curiosity won out, and he leaned in closer, squinting at the mysterious object. Pressing down on it did nothing, but when he grabbed the metal and twisted it left, a sudden gush of water erupted from the spout.

Tommy yelped, stumbling back a step as his eyes widened. The water poured steadily into the basin, clear and sparkling. He leaned closer again, staring at it like it might start singing or shooting fire.

"Well, that’s... somethin’," he muttered, hesitantly sticking a finger under the stream. The water was cold, and he jerked his hand back, shaking it like it had offended him.

He twisted the metal piece back the other way, and the water stopped. Fascinated, he twisted it again, this time to the right. The water came out warmer, steam curling up into the air.

His jaw dropped. "What kind of Redstone is this?" he whispered.

He had never seen water this warm, not anywhere that wasn’t natural like a geyser. He couldn’t believe that this world was so advanced. A simple thing like warm water reminded him of how far away he was from home.

There had to be magma under the basin somewhere. He crouched to look for it but couldn’t see it. He couldn’t believe how all of that Redstone could fit in such a small contraption. Maybe it was hidden behind the wall? Whatever. It’s not like he understood Redstone as well as Tubbo or Sam anyway.

Turning his head, he caught sight of the mirror above the basin. The thing showed his face, clear as day, just like real life. Well, it was not clear as day since it had been fogged up slightly, but it was better than anything he had seen before.

Tommy moved closer to the basin to stare at his face. The face he had buried long ago stared back at him. Now that was gonna take some time to get used to. He poked the mirror. His finger met smooth, cold glass.

The hall mirrors he had seen back on Eret’s castle in the Essempi never had reflections as clear as this. Even his reflection he had seen earlier that day hadn’t been as clear as this. He couldn’t decide if Hood was dirt rich or poor as hell. Surely one would have to have loads of money to put a mirror in the bathhouse? But the smell of mildew reminded him, maybe Hood didn’t have that shit ton of money.

Whatever material was this, it wasn’t polished metal. It reminded him of a real-life moving painting.

For a moment, he just stood there, shifting his head from side to side, watching his reflection follow. It was unsettlingly perfect, but... also kind of impressive.

"Guess even witches need somethin’ to check their ugly mugs," he muttered, pulling away with a huff.

Turning the water off, his eyes darted around the room, taking in the weird contraptions. Sam would have had a field day with these. He suddenly remembered what Hood wanted of him.

He turned to the weird metal attached to the wall. Hood had gestured vaguely at the metal monster before leaving so that was probably where he wanted Tommy to wash off. 

He eyed the contraption weirdly. It looked like a wither if he squinted really hard and stood far away and dimmed the lights a little. Well- maybe it didn’t actually look like a wither. Whatever.

Tommy slid the glass door open and stepped inside, his eyes immediately landing on a shelf lined with oddly coloured potion bottles. He picked one up, squinting at the label. “Eighty-seven in one?” he muttered. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

He set it back down, moving to inspect the next bottle, curiosity overriding his confusion.

The next bottle had bold, bright letters that read "Ultra Moisturizing." Tommy furrowed his brows, turning it over in his hands. "Moisturizing what, exactly?" he muttered to himself. None of it made sense. Were these all some sort of alchemical solutions? Why would anyone use potions to clean themselves and why would they need this many?

He grabbed another bottle, this one with "Shampoo" scrawled on it in a sleek, looping script. His lips twisted in scepticism. “Sham-what? What the fuck?” He popped the cap open, cautiously sniffing it. The sweet, overpowering scent hit him like a punch to the nose, making him recoil. He winced, it was a strange smell that he couldn't quite place.

Turning his attention, Tommy noticed that he had walked in with his full outfit on. His socks were soaked with water that only Prime knew had been there for how long. He groaned and stepped outside to take his clothes off.

He left them in a pile near the door and put his amulet in his inventory. Not taking even a glance in the mirror, he stepped straight into the little glass room.

Tommy eyed the levers on the wall like they might bite. He figures one of them has to bring out the hot water, so he twists one at random. A blast of ice-cold water rains down on him, and he yelps, stumbling back. "Fuckin hell’!" he snarls, scrambling to adjust the temperature.

Eventually, the water warms up, and he relaxes enough to start his wash. He fumbles with the sweet-smelling bottles, curiosity getting the better of him. On impulse, he dabs a bit of “shampoo” onto his finger and tastes it. Instant regret. Tommy coughs and splutters, tongue curling at the bitter, soapy flavour. What the fuck? Never again. Absolutely never again.

He spends ages under the water, scrubbing furiously. The sweet, cloying scents are overwhelming, sharp and artificial in a way he can’t quite place. It all feels bizarrely excessive, but he keeps going, determined to scrub off every trace of the city. He missed his block of scentless plant oil-based soap.

While fumbling with the bottles, Tommy finally pieces together why he couldn’t read a single word on them. The amulet hanging around his neck—the one he hadn’t thought twice about—had been translating for him the entire time. And taking it off meant he could no longer read the bottles. Figures. He pointedly ignores how long it took him to figure that out and finishes his shower in annoyed silence. He consoles himself with the fact that he had sort of thought about the amulet translating for him when he walked out of that piss-stinking alley.

After stepping out and pulling on the clothes Red Hood left for him, Tommy pads into the living room. Hood is sprawled on the couch, now dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie but still wearing his mask, because, of course, he is. While Tommy had been suffering in the washroom, Hood had apparently taken the opportunity to get comfortable.

The couch is worn and patched up in spots, but overall, it is clean. The house, sparse as it is, feels oddly neat—lived in but well-maintained. Tommy barely glances at the empty shelves before practically collapsing onto the couch, exhaustion from the day catching up with him. He stifles a yawn, blinking heavily.

“You tired?” Hood asks, glancing over at Tommy, who’s still curled up on the couch.

Tommy turns to him with a deadpan expression and says, “What do you think?”

Hood just snorts, shaking his head. “Fair enough,” he mutters, getting up from the couch. “Let’s get you to your room.”

Tommy stumbles to his feet, exhaustion pulling at his every movement. As they head down the hall, Tommy’s sleep-dazed mind doesn't quite register the doorframe in front of him, and he walks straight into it with a muffled thud. He winces but doesn’t even have the energy to curse, just continuing forward like he’s on autopilot.

Once they reach the room, Hood barely has time to get a word out before Tommy collapses onto the bed, clothes still on, and his body already sinking into the mattress. Without so much as a grunt, he’s out, face already relaxed into sleep before his head even fully touches the pillow.

Hood watches him for a moment, shaking his head. “You’re a mess, kid,” he mutters under his breath, but there's no real malice in it. He turns off the light and slips out of the room, the quiet settling over the house.

Jason leaned back in his chair, his laptop humming faintly in the dimly lit safe house. The faint glow of the computer was the only light in the house. He was trying to be quiet so that the kid could sleep- though he was out cold the moment he hit the bed, Jason doubted anything would wake him up.

He didn’t need the bat cave’s fancy toys for this. He’d built his own system—sure, it wasn’t Oracle’s level, but it got the job done.

First, he plugged his helmet into his computer. The helmet's HUD recorded at all times, and Tommy, too. He got the footage of when he’d first met Tommy. He had a clear shot of the kid’s face with a scowl that looked permanent. Perfect.

With a few keystrokes, Jason ran the facial recognition program he’d ‘borrowed’ from WayneTech years ago. It was a prototype that he’d modified that was more than enough to get the job done. The software was patched into several systems, both public and private—police databases, missing persons lists, social media scraping programs, and even black-market networks Jason had hacked into. It wasn’t legal, but since when had Jason cared about that?

The system whirred to life, the little progress bar inching forward.

‘’C’mon..’’ Jason muttered under his breath, sipping his warm coffee as he watched the screen load.

“You’ve gotta be in there somewhere, kid.”

Several minutes passed, the system cross-referencing Tommy’s face against millions of images. The results finally popped up: No Matches Found.

Jason frowned, tapping his fingers on the desk. That didn’t make sense. A kid wandering around Crime Alley alone should’ve triggered something —a missing persons report, a school record, a hospital file. He ran the search again, this time widening the parameters to include older photos and adjusting for potential changes in appearance, like scars or grime obscuring features.

No Matches Found

“Seriously?” Jason muttered, leaning back with a sigh. Either Tommy was lying about his identity—or there was no identity to match. Which was probably the latter seeing as he had searched Tommy by his face- not by name.

The theory about the kid being a part of a cult crossed his mind again. There hadn’t been any recent ones in Gotham. Maybe the kid had come out of state with some kind of human trafficking? That was the case most of the time with people coming to Gotham so that was possible.

He also needed to look into the Lazarus Pits. He hadn’t heard of any new ones opening up in Gotham but one could never be too careful with those. Maybe Tommy had somehow found his way into one and fallen in. That would certainly explain the white streak.

Jason shuddered involuntarily. The kid's uneven pupils matching his own were taunting him with a fact he was trying not to think about. That evil clown had hit him in the head hard enough for him to have those eyes. Not even the pit had reversed that effect. He didn't want to consider that the kid might've gone through something similar to retain them. The kid's eyes were a striking blue, but maybe for some reason the pit hadn't changed his eye colours. This whole debacle was giving him a headache.

Jason switched his tactics. He booted up another program, one with stronger ties to underground crime networks. If the kid wasn’t in the public system and Jason had actually been right about him being trafficked, this is where he would be found. But even those shady databases came up empty. Jason slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the coffee mug.

“All right, smartass,” he said, staring at the paused footage of Tommy’s face on the screen. “What’s your deal?”

He closed the laptop and stood up. If tech couldn’t give him answers, he’d have to do things the old-fashioned way—pounding pavement, asking questions, and seeing who in his network might’ve seen a kid like Tommy wandering around.

Jason suited up again, grabbed his jacket, slid on his helmet, and headed for the door. One way or another, he’d figure out who Tommy was—and why the kid was so damn good at slipping through the cracks.

Cracking an eye open, Tommy looks around the room in suspense. Hood had bought his act without doubt and now was the time for Tommy to be a sneaky little bastard. He slides off the bed without a sound, landing on the balls of his feet. The creak of the old floorboards was the only thing that might betray him, so he moved cautiously, pausing after each step to make sure he wasn't in danger of being caught.

Tommy crept toward the door with practised ease, his bare feet barely making a sound against the worn floorboards. Pressing his ear against the door, he strained to catch any sign of movement.

Hood’s muffled voice carried through, muttering something Tommy couldn’t quite make out, followed by the sharp sound of something slamming—maybe a drawer or a cabinet. Tommy tensed, every muscle coiled, ready to bolt the moment it seemed like Hood might head his way.

When he heard the heavy footsteps retreating and the faint click of a door closing, relief washed over him. But, for a brief moment when Hood had shifted, Tommy almost bolted right then and there. It took all the willpower he had in his bones to stay rooted in his place.

Tommy was no stranger to waking up in unfamiliar places and survival always came down to knowing your exits and enemies.

The bedroom wasn’t much to look at. A bare mattress, a half-broken nightstand, and a single lamp— Hood clearly wasn’t living large. Tommy glanced at the window but dismissed it quickly. Too small, and definitely not an option without giving himself away. He wasn’t sure he could slip through the bars on it anyway.

He poked his head out of the doorway, taking in the rest of the place. The small safe house was barely more than a few rooms strung together—living room, kitchen, and maybe another bedroom tucked away somewhere. Hood didn’t seem like the type to live in such a bare and poor house. And also Hood being some kind of vigilante added to the fact that this place most likely wasn't his real house. It looked like the kind of place people used when they needed to disappear, which only made Tommy more suspicious.

He had taken a look at the house when he’d first arrived but now without Hood, he could sneak wherever he wanted freely. What kind of person had a place like this? And why would they bother dragging some random kid here? None of it sat right with him.

He made his way to the living room first, scanning the clutter. The couch was worn but clean, patched up with duct tape in places where the fabric had given out. Papers and notebooks littered the coffee table, along with what looked like a cleaning kit and what Tommy guessed was some kind of dismantled weapon. Tommy’s eyes lingered on the weapon before moving on.

He was half tempted to pick it up and store it in his inventory but he was too unfamiliar with the weapon. It didn’t look like anything he’d seen before. Even though it looked too small to Tommy for it to be a weapon, he saw what he guessed to be the trigger on its handle. What if he picks it up and jams it when he's tryna protect himself? Tommy wasn't gonna be taking any chances on his newly earned life. Better if he stuck to the trusted weapons he carried from the Essempi.

Also, Hood would probably figure out he’d taken it. Maybe Tommy could steal one off some random criminal on the street. It would serve them right for being a fuckin' wrong un anyway. Tommy scoffs as he shifts his attention to somewhere else.

Tommy spotted some knick-knacks lying around. He didn’t really know what they were and tried to piece together what they could be. He quickly got bored of that and pocketed them then moved on to the next room, the kitchen. Or at least he assumed it was the kitchen. It was filled with so many weird-looking gadgets that Tommy was guessing blindly. The ‘kitchen’ had stuff that he’d expected to see in Purpled’s, the alien's, home instead of some dingy safehouse in a rundown city.

Tommy eyed the shiny appliances placed on the counter suspiciously. Their smooth surfaces gleamed faintly in the dim light. But they didn’t hold his interest for long. He had bigger targets in mind. He moved on to what he actually wanted to prod at. 

His gaze settled on a massive white rectangle that took up almost all of the wall. It stood tall and imposing, dominating the corner of the room. It was cold and flawless, with no visible seams except for two handles on it. The thing reminded him of the Iron Golems he’d seen patrolling the villages back home. Hood kind of reminded him of one, he had the build for it. Tommy hadn’t really seen any humans built like Hood. There was Technoblade, but he didn’t really count since he wasn’t human.

Cautiously, Tommy approached the ‘golem’, he half expected it to lurch to life and attack him for invading the house or something. He reached a careful hand and touched the metal hesitantly before stepping in closer. It didn’t move, but Tommy could hear a faint hum emanating from within, like some kind of slumbering beast.

If he had his old body, Tommy probably wouldn’t have heard the humming noise. He thanked his mother in his head for retrieving one of his lost senses.

With his hand angled to summon a weapon anytime, Tommy’s curiosity burned even hotter.

“What the fuck are you supposed to be?” he muttered, circling it like a predator sizing up its prey. The handles caught his eye, and with a mischievous grin, he yanked it open.

The golem swung open, knocking him off balance and starting a yelp out of him. “What the fuck!’’ Tommy breathed, stumbling back as his foot caught on the edge of the floor. His heart leapt into his throat as light poured out of the golem’s insides, harsh and unnatural, burning his eyes.

He blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. When his vision cleared, he saw the thing’s insides weren’t full of gears or glowing runes, like he’d half-expected. Instead, it was... shelves. Rows and rows of them, crammed with strange, unfamiliar objects.

Tommy squinted and stepped closer again, warily peering inside. Cold air poured out, prickling his skin. Bottles of odd-coloured liquids, strange plastic packages, and mysterious tubs sat neatly arranged, all frosted with a faint chill.

It wasn’t a golem—it was some kind of... cold storage. For food?

He poked at one of the tubs, watching it wobble slightly on its shelf. The label read ‘MILK’ in big bold letters and there was an image of a cow on the side. Tommy stared at the cow longingly for a moment before reaching to the tube. He picked it up and winced at the icy touch, his fingers numbing almost immediately.

“Alright, so you’re not some fucking monster,” he muttered, setting the tub back with exaggerated care. “You’re just a weird... cupboard for cold stuff. Makes total sense.”

The thing hummed softly, unbothered by his intrusion, its light continuing to glow steadily. Tommy let the door swing shut, the light extinguishing as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him in dim silence once more.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, rubbing his eyes. “This place is insane.”

He opened a random drawer and found a small utility knife. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. Slipping it into his pocket, he continued his quiet exploration, mapping the layout of the apartment in his head.

Finally, he reached the front door. Tommy didn’t hesitate. He pulled out the utility knife and worked the lock with practised ease. It was an old mechanism, nothing he hadn’t seen before. At least that was familiar. With a satisfying click, the door swung open just enough for him to slip through.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the empty apartment, his lips twisting into a smirk. “Later, mate,” he muttered before booking it out of the house.

Stepping out, he saw the corridor they had come in from. He had engraved the path they had come from in his memory so he quickly left the building without much hassle.

The cold air hit him like a slap, but it felt good. The dirty air of the city reminded him of old L’manberg. Familiar. The shadows of Crime Alley stretched out before him, filled with danger and opportunity alike. Tommy shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking, his mind already working on the next step.

He didn’t know where he was going, but anywhere was better than being stuck in some safe house under the watch of a guy like Hood. Though a small, unwelcome pang of something he couldn’t name—didn’t want to name—settled in his chest. Guilt? Hurt? Nah, couldn’t be. Not for some masked weirdo who barely talked about anything other than safety and rules. Whatever. He’d find his way—he always did.

Chapter Text

Jason is on his bike almost halfway through Crime Alley when his phone buzzes. He frowns, glancing at the screen as he slows down. On his phone is an alert from the motion sensor triggered at the safe house.

Tommy. 

With a curse under his breath, Jason drops his plans to interrogate some criminals and turns his bike around to rush back to where he’d left Tommy.

Tires screeching against the beat-up asphalt, Jason makes it there in record time. 

Jason bursts through the door minutes later, scanning the house for any signs of Tommy. By the looks of it, he’s too late. His room? Empty. The kitchen? Quiet. Tommy? Gone.

Jason growled, running a hand through his hair. His mind races with scenarios of what could go wrong.

He shouldn’t be surprised—the kid had skittishness baked into his bones, like a stray alley cat that didn’t know how to trust. You can’t keep an alley kid caged, Jason knew that firsthand. They were bound to fly away one way or another. But Jason had seen the other side of Tommy, too—the confusion in his eyes when faced with the most basic parts of daily life.

The way he’d gawked in the street like he’d been seeing things for the first time. Or how he’d nearly gotten himself hit by a car because he didn’t know how crosswalks worked.

Tommy had clearly been through hell. If the white streak was any indication. He wasn’t street smart, not in the ways that mattered. But if he’d managed to pick the lock on Jason’s door, there was no telling what other tricks the kid had hidden up his sleeve. Jason’s knuckles turned white where he’d been gripping his .45s

“Damn it, kid,” he muttered. “What are you running from?”

Tommy didn’t know how long he’d been wandering around. In his haste to get away from the safehouse as fast as possible, everything had started to blur together. The streets all looked the same—towering buildings that loomed over him like silent giants, alleys that seemed darker than they should’ve been, shadows that seemed to reach out to him, and endless noise.

His chest felt tight, but he couldn’t stop moving. He glanced over his shoulder every few minutes, half-expecting Hood to show up out of nowhere, arms crossed and an unimpressed glare plastered on his face.

He stuck to the edges of the buildings and hid in the shadows. Hiding like this reminded him of his days in Pogtopia, when he and Wilbur had sneaked into Manberg, and he clung to the shadows as he did now.

The air smelled strange—too clean in some places, heavy with exhaust and something sour in others. He wrinkled his nose as he passed a row of garbage bins overflowing onto the sidewalk.

Tommy’s pace slowed when he reached a park, his tired legs threatening to give out beneath him. The trees stood out against the grey cityscape, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Something about it called to him.

He stepped off the path, feet crunching softly on the grass. The noise of the city seemed to dim as he moved farther into the greenery. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and for the first time since he’d bolted, he took a deep breath.

He ventured further into the park, and the deeper he went, the more it resembled true wilderness. The concrete jungle faded away, replaced by lush greenery and the soft rustling of leaves. For the first time since escaping the safehouse, Tommy felt a sense of calm wash over him.

Nature had always been his solace, ever since he was a little kid. Being surrounded by trees, plants, and the gentle hum of life made him feel like he was back home—a place he knew he couldn’t return to. Still, this fleeting escape from the city felt like a small blessing, a rare moment of peace in an unfamiliar world.

Sitting down to rest, he saw a patch of wilted flowers next to him. With a swift move of his wrist, he summoned a pouch of bone meal from his inventory. He’d always kept some on him, you can never know when you’ll need some, used to say Techno

He sprinkled some of the dust on top of the flowers, he didn’t want to use much of it since he hadn’t seen any mobs around. The possibility of this world not having any crossed his mind again. The city was lit up all over, so mobs could not spawn. But he hadn’t seen any mobs in the shadows between the buildings either.

Instantly, the wilted flowers perk up, stretching toward him as if in thanks. He grins, reaching out a hand to brush the flowers gently. The flowers lean into his hand and wrap around him in gratitude. He whispers a few small prayers towards the flowers.

But the calm doesn’t last.

A sharp rustling sound broke through the quiet. Tommy froze, his heart leaping into his throat. He turned his head sharply, eyes scanning the foliage.

“Who's there?" he called out, his voice trembling despite his attempt to sound firm.

Silence.

Then, another whisper of movement, barely audible over his pounding heartbeat. Someone—or something—was definitely out there, watching him.

He got up hurriedly. Whatever it was he was confident he could take it on. He angled his hand to summon the Axe of Peace at any given moment.

Before Tommy could react, something snaked around his ankle with startling speed. He yelped as the ground disappeared beneath him, the world flipping upside-down. A vine, thick and impossibly strong, had coiled around his foot and hoisted him into the air like he weighed nothing.

Dangling precariously, Tommy's heart pounded in his chest as he squirmed, trying to free himself. “Oi! What the—let me go’’ he shouted, his voice cracking slightly. Blood rushed to his head as he swung in the air, arms flailing to grab onto something, anything, for support. Vines wrapped tightly around his torso too, leaving him unable to move.

Tommy yelled into the vines as he dangled furiously. “You touch me with another one of your leafy lads and I swear to God, I’ll shove a daisy up your—okay maybe not but don’t fuckin’ test me!”

A low, amused chuckle drifted through the air, soft and honeyed but laced with unmistakable menace. “Oh, my dear, you're quite the curious little intruder, aren't you?’’

Tommy froze, his eyes darting toward the source of the voice. Emerging from the shadows of the lush foliage was a woman unlike anyone he'd ever seen. Her skin was tinged with an otherworldly green, her red hair cascading like ivy, and her piercing eyes glinted with an almost predatory gleam.

“You've wandered into my garden, little sprout,’’ she purred, placing a hand on one of the twisting vines that seemed to move at her will. The vines around Tommy tightened. “And now you’re mine.”

Poison Ivy had claimed a part of Crime Alley as her own. In there, plants and wildlife thrived unlike the rest of Gotham. It was whispered among locals to be the only patch of land Lady Gotham let greenery take over. Though most believed it was instead because their local eco terrorist/activist tended to it dearly.

People who valued their lives strayed far and away from her garden. Her plants had a habit of dragging in people who got close enough so the area around it was deserted too.

No one truly knew what happened to those people. Rumours spoke of man eating carnivorous plants that feasted on them, or that Ivy used them as test subjects for her experiments. Whatever it was, no one dared to even look in the garden’s direction.

That’s why when Ivy’s plants started to whisper to her about a boy in her turf, she was rightfully intrigued 

They whispered that he seemed lost and disassociated when he wandered in cluelessly. The plants liked him for some reason, they didn’t outwardly attack him on sight or drag him deeper into the garden like they did with others. They could sense something in him that Ivy herself couldn’t. This made something inside of Ivy churn. She wanted to know more of this little intruder.

Ivy disguised herself behind layers of plants and vines to spy on the boy. The boy had sat next to a patch of wilted flowers she had yet to fix. There had been damage left all around her garden from acid rain. And she had been working on fixing them when the plants had started whispering about this little intruder.

After a moment, the boy spotted the wilted flowers next to him. Ivy was curious as to what he would do. She had some idea on what, but she certainly didn’t expect for him to suddenly create a pouch out of thin air. 

Ivy immediately thought of the boy as another one of the meta minority in Gotham. The high demand for metas in the trafficking industry and underground businesses forced them to hide, but it was moments like these when they relied on their true nature that their facade got exposed.

Most people in Gotham wound up a meta one way or another. After years of fear toxin exposure from all kinds, a faceful of Poison Ivy’s pollen and water contaminated with only Lady Gotham knows what; the people of Gotham distributed small, metahuman-like traits. Though most didn’t even notice how the average Gothamite seemed more resistant to poison or was able to hold their breath just a little while longer than normal. Or how they never got a vitamin D deficiency and seemed to thrive in the dark.

The boy took out a pinch of what looked like powder to Ivy out of the pouch and sprinkled it lightly on top of the wilted flowers.

As the first grains of powder fell on the petals of the flowers, colour started to slowly return to them. They stood up straighter and the wrinkles on them went away.

In a split second the flowers looked as if they had just bloomed. Smaller flowers started growing where the powder had fallen on the grass.

Ivy could only watch in awe as the boy looked lovingly at the flowers and brushed a careful hand against them, whispering something inaudible to her. The flowers reached out to him and wrapped their leaves around his fingers.

The boy shared her magic of plants too. 

He was just like her.

In a place like Gotham, it wasn’t always often that people cared for plants. They had other things than plants to give their limited kindness to.

But he was more than kind to the plants. He understood them, and they understood him. 

More flowers started blooming where the boy was resting his hand on the grass. Small flowers of all kinds seeped between his fingers and reached above as if seeing the sun for the first time. 

Ivy absentmindedly realized that the boy was unknowingly growing out the seeds of flowers she’d planted.

Deciding to make herself known, she stepped out from between the vines. 

The boy, clearly spooked, yelled out at her. Ivy paid him no mind and with a flick of her wrist she ordered vines to wrap around the boy’s ankle and lift him high up in the air.

She couldn’t have her little intruder run away now, could she?

Tommy almost shrieks as he tries to free himself. The woman steps closer, her movements fluid and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. The vines around Tommy tightened just enough to keep him from struggling too much, swaying him slightly as if to emphasize his helplessness.

She tilts her head, her vibrant red hair catching the faint glimmer of light filtering through the canopy. Her emerald-green eyes locked onto his with an intensity that made his throat tighten.

“And what do they call you, little sprout?’’ she asked, her voice smooth and melodic, with a dangerous edge that made the question feel less like a request and more like a demand.

Tommy hesitated, his lips pressing into a tight line. His instincts told him to stay silent, but those same instincts also warned him that this woman—whoever or whatever she was—was not someone to test.

She had to be a fae. No one acted like this around plants and wasn’t.

Tommy’s mind raced. The way she spoke, the way she carried herself—it reminded him of Hannah. Hannah was a fae, too, though different. Less… commanding, more warm. She’d been kind, kinder than most of the others Tommy had run into. If Tommy had to choose, he’d say Hannah was one of the best faes he’d ever met. Though after she joined the Egg, she’d been crazy like the rest, too. After that, he hadn’t really spoken to her- partially because the Eggpire tried to kill him and sacrifice him to the egg. A bit of bad blood between them now.

But this one? She was a mystery. There was a sharpness to her, like a thorn hidden beneath velvet petals. Still, Tommy couldn’t shake the familiarity. Maybe she wasn’t so bad. Maybe.

Tommy’s mind raced to remember the fae customs he’d been forced to learn. If he didn’t want to die or get a fate worse than death,  he needed to keep his mouth shut. 

"Tommy," he finally blurted out, the word shaky and small. "Call me Tommy."

He never told his real name, too scared of the fae bedtime stories Wilbur used to tell him. Of people who’d let their names get stolen and forgotten themselves in the process. Of people who became shells of what they used to be. 

Everyone knew him as Tommy, hence being too paranoid to let even a hybrid know his real name. Except for Technoblade, and his mother. But Tommy didn’t really count her. She was Mother Death, and also his mother. He knew she would never betray him. She wasn’t mortal, divine blood ran through her veins. She wouldn’t fall as low to betray him.

But that prick of a brother called him by his gifted name at any chance he got—Theseus. It felt too heavy, like a chain wrapped around his throat. As if to taunt Tommy with his real name.

Technoblade was a real lucky son of a bitch that he got to be born before Tommy. Tommy never knew Technoblade’s real name. The guy never told him. And sure as hell the rest of the family didn’t. Technoblade knew his first name because he was the one to give it to his baby brother. Something he gloated about sometimes during Tommy’s stays in his cabin.

A slow, almost pleased smile spread across her lips as she regarded him. "Tommy," she repeated, letting the name roll off her tongue like a vine unfurling. "A fitting name for a tiny weed like you. You may call me Ivy."

Her eyes glimmered with a curious light, and she leaned in slightly, her tone softening—just a little. "So tell me, Tommy, how did you end up in my garden?"

“I was just… passing by.’’ Tommy spoke sheepishly.

“You decided to wander in?” Ivy asked, stepping closer to Tommy, who was still dangling awkwardly upside down.

Ivy unsettled Tommy. There was something inhumane about her. Her grin too sharp, her hair too red, skin a sickly green colour-

If I die in a fucking garden of all places, I’m haunting everyone. Tommy thought.

He grimaced. “Not like I meant to. I was just walking, alright? Trying to get away from fuckin’...” He paused, catching himself before he said Red Hood, or safehouse, or the mess I left behind. “Stuff. People.”

That earned him a curious tilt of her head. “So you wandered into my garden by mistake?”

“Didn’t see any signs,” Tommy muttered defensively.

A smile ghosted across her lips, slow and unreadable. “Oh, there are signs. The smart ones just know better than to ignore the warnings.”

Tommy swallowed. He was pretty sure this counted as being called stupid.

“I just needed… quiet,” he said, voice quieter this time. “The city’s loud. And wrong.” His gaze flicked upward, locking onto hers with something like defiance. “And this place felt better. Felt like home.”

Ivy stared at him, and for a moment Tommy thought the vines would squeeze tighter, that maybe he’d said something too wrong. He half expected for them to grow tighter around his neck, cutting his air supply. But instead, they slowly began to unwind, lowering him to the ground with gentle precision.

He landed on his feet with a small thud, stumbling a bit as blood rushed back to his legs.

The vines slithered back into the earth like obedient pets.

“Interesting,” Ivy murmured, more to herself than to him. “You don’t smell like the rest of Gotham.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You don’t act like them either.” She stepped closer, stopping just an arm’s length away. “You’re hiding something.”

Tommy tensed.

“But,” she continued, voice softer now, “you did help my flowers.”

He blinked. “Wha? Oh, OH.’’

Tommy just shrugged as if that explained everything. “They were dying. What was I supposed to do, just fuckin’ watch them rot?”

“That’s what most people do,” Ivy replied coolly.

Tommy shrugged. “Well… I’m not people.”

Ivy considered that. Then, almost as if coming to a decision, she turned slightly and motioned with one hand. A narrow path, previously hidden beneath thick underbrush, parted like a curtain. Sunlight spilled through the break in the trees, casting a golden hue across the now-cleared trail.

“Walk with me, Tommy.”

He hesitated. Every nerve in his body told him this was a bad idea. But then again, most of the good things in his life had started with a bad idea.

“...Do I get eaten if I say no?” he asked, raising a brow.

Ivy chuckled. “Only if you step on anything important.”

“Noted,” he muttered, following her into the garden.

As they walked, the plants shifted subtly to make room for them. Flowers bloomed where he stepped, and Tommy tried to ignore how Ivy kept glancing at his feet like they were some kind of miracle.

They stopped near a small pond surrounded by thick, lush vegetation. The air here was warmer, fragrant. Peaceful.

“You’re connected to the Green,” Ivy said, more like a statement than a question.

Tommy looked at her, wary. “The fuck’s the Green?”

She gave him a curious look. “You don’t know?”

Tommy shrugged again. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. Maybe I don’t fuckin’ trust you enough to tell you.”

That earned him a sharp laugh, full of amusement and a tinge of admiration. “You’re either very bold or very foolish, Tommy.”

“People keep saying that,” he muttered, eyeing a flower that had wrapped its petals around his foot. It didn’t feel threatening. Just curious.

Ivy crouched beside a cluster of moss, brushing her fingers over it delicately. “The Green is life. The breath between leaves. The pulse under the roots. Some of us are born into it… others are chosen.”

Tommy stayed quiet.

“You,” she said, looking up at him again, “are something. And I intend to find out what.”

Tommy’s heart skipped, but he held her gaze. “You can try.”

Her smile returned—this time full of challenge.

“Oh, I will.”