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Tommy is doing fine on his own. Sure, is he happy that Eryn left him to be a sailor or whatever the fuck, no, certainly not, but that doesn’t mean Tommy can’t take care of himself. It’s not like Eryn didn’t invite him, he did, but the problem was, Tommy didn’t want to be stuck on some manky old ship. He wanted to stay in their manky old city, where they’d always been. Eryn was the one who got all these big ideas about having a job and seeing the world. Tommy doesn’t know what’s out there that isn’t just as good here, or what Eryn thinks he’s going to see of the world if he’s stuck on a stupid ship all the time, probably puking his guts up.
Maybe he’d started talking over Eryn when he’d tried to explain, talking about how the crew gets to go on shore when they dock, how the pay is proper and Eryn can go anywhere in the world once he gets his start, and Tommy can come with him if he’s willing to do the work too. They could do this together, if he wants.
“I’m not going to spend the next two fucking years washing some crusty old sailor’s undies, man. Have fun swabbing the poop deck until they dump you on some deserted island.”
“Maybe they’d dump you off for being annoying, but they’re definitely not gonna dump me. Not when I actually work to earn my keep.”
Eryn had given up the fight. Tommy does not wish he had apologized or talked about it more before Eryn left, left for two years, a countdown which has only just started, not that Tommy is keeping track. What does he have to be sorry for, anyway?
Nothing! He has nothing to be sorry for. He has absolutely nothing, in fact.
Which, is why Tommy is currently hungry, and strapped for cash, and having a bit of a harder time picking pockets on his own. Tommy likes being the distraction, while Eryn gets in their pockets. Liked being the distraction, anyway. Not that Tommy doesn’t have sticky fingers of his own, but it was easier before. It was actually fun before too. The two of them booking it down side streets together, camping out at that busted hotel on Riverside. Eryn used to give him a boost up to the fire escape ladder so Tommy could let it down for him. Tommy has figured it out, of course, he always figures it out, but taking a running start to clamber on top of a dumpster to reach the first rung is definitely a downgrade.
Tommy refuses to get lost in his brooding, instead wandering the more commercial streets on the East Side, waiting for some sucker to catch his eye. Tommy is not expecting to see another kid walking about in the middle of the day on a Friday, but nonetheless, a short boy looking like he’d stolen his big brother’s suit is walking down the street at a quick pace, hands balled into fists at his sides, barely visible underneath longer sleeves. It is a nice looking suit, at least in material . Nice looking suit means money, and hands not in pockets means no hands on whatever pocket money this prat has gotten from mother dearest.
Tommy starts to do what he does best. He follows. The kid clearly is nervous, looking like he’s never walked down a street before, and while nervous could mean vigilant, it also means under-pre-pared, which, for Tommy, means an easy job.
Tommy considers his play. Now, the fun bit would be acting like they’re old chums, put an arm around him, ask him why he’s not in school, make him extra nervous, but unfortunately, that usually gets people grabbing their wallets before he can, and there’s no Eryn to slip in and nab it first.
So, instead, Tommy favors the practical. He bumps shoulders with the kid so he doesn’t feel Tommy’s hand in his pocket, offering a quick, “sorry, mate!” to really keep his attention, and a moment later he is swiftly walking around the corner. He hasn’t looked at his spoils yet, but Tommy recognizes a large fold of bills in his hand, and his heart beats a little faster. He stops perhaps too close to the scene of the crime, because in what fucking world would this shrimpy baby-faced lad on his way to play cricket with the boys have…
Have a stack of twenties rolled up in his fucking pocket.
~
Tubbo is not quite yet used to collecting dues on his own. He still finds the process stressful and he always feels bad taking money from people who are relatively nice to him, despite the circumstances. His father trusted him with this, though, and Tubbo thinks that scares him more than it doesn’t, but there’s still some shred of oddly muddled pride that comes with the task. He will not mess it up.
Tubbo is knocked forward an extra step by someone’s shoulder colliding with his, and he barely has time to register the boy offering a “sorry, mate!” before he is occupied with offering his own apologies.
“Sorry-!” Tubbo registers that the guy is already gone, and he really shouldn’t have been apologizing as it was definitely not his fault. Tubbo’s hand instinctively goes to his now empty pocket.
Tubbo is finding it much harder to breathe. He doesn’t bother searching his other pockets, instead, he scans the crowd. The boy had been tall, much taller than him, wearing a red and white shirt, he should not be this hard to spot, but it seems the thief had known to make himself scarce.
Okay. Okay, Tubbo, just think it through. If he wanted to disappear quick, he’d turn at the first opportunity. Tubbo starts walking fast, cutting diagonally through morning shoppers toward the first corner. Tubbo feels a jolt of relief at the sight of that same kid about three meters away, staring in awe at the cash that had just disappeared from his jacket. Tubbo, so hasty with his relief, makes quite the impressive mistake.
“Hey! Hey, wait!”
Tommy hears someone shouting at him and snaps his head up to see the guy he’d just robbed. “Oh shit!” He shoves the money in his own pocket, and takes off running down the alleyway.
“Hey! Hold on!” Tubbo yells after him, sprinting in pursuit, throwing himself forward, fighting to keep the boy in his sights.
Tommy does not look back, simply starts running faster.
“Please! Just stop!” Tubbo cries out desperately. He hasn’t yet switched over to the polished loafers the rest of his father’s lot wear, and he has never been more grateful for it as his trainers keep pounding the pavement. The kid tries to duck into another side street, but Tubbo’s eyes are locked onto him, grabbing the corner of the brick to hurtle himself just a little faster.
“Fuck off!”Tommy shouts back, still not looking over his shoulder.
“No!” Tubbo breathlessly retorts.
Tubbo hears what sounds almost like an irritable growl as his adversary knocks over a bin behind him. Tubbo takes a running leap he didn’t know he had in him and keeps going, gaining a few feet of ground.
Now Tommy glances back, letting out a scream of surprise before he takes a running jump at a fire escape ladder. All he has to do is make it out of reach and he’s in the clear.
Tubbo feels his heart pounding in his throat, sweaty and shaky and rattling with panic, as the stranger manages to grab the bottom rung and starts kicking and scrambling to pull himself up. Tubbo does not have the height to repeat that leap, but the boy is still struggling to get his feet under him, so instead, Tubbo jumps forward and grabs onto his legs.
“Can I fucking help you?!” Tommy bellows, wriggling furiously, but Tubbo clings onto him for dear life.
“Yeah! Actually, you bloody can!” Tubbo sputters.
“Stop trying to steal my trousers you fucking wrongun!”
Tubbo, not really thinking, shouts back, “no!”
Tommy lets out a breathless cackle, before going, “fuck!” as he loses his grip on the ladder and they both hit the concrete.
Tubbo goes to catch himself, letting go of the other boy and instead receiving skinned palms. Tubbo then receives a messy kick to the chin and is thrown back as this determined, gangly rat is quick to get his feet under him, about to take off again.
“Wait!” Tubbo bounces back fast, driven by desperation, he grabs onto the back of the kid’s shirt, yanking him back.
“D’you not know what fuck off means?!” Tommy says incredulously, turning around and shoving Tubbo back, but Tubbo still holds onto a fistful of his shirt with an iron grip. He cannot hold on forever, and this kid is already squirming free with the fervor of a very angry worm, so Tubbo does something he’s never done before. Tubbo’s other fist swings forward, frustration joining fear, and he punches him square in the jaw, dragging him back to the concrete and pinning him to the ground.
“People are gonna die if I don’t bring that money home!” Tubbo hisses in his face.
“What the hell man?!” Tommy gasps, the wind knocked out of him. “Get off me! I’ve– I’ve got a knife! I’ll fuckin’ gut ya!” He growls, but he doesn’t go for his little Swiss army knife, he instead shoves against Tubbo’s chest. The boy is shorter than him, but definitely stockier, and is unmoved. So Tommy starts slapping at him.
“Can you not fucking hear me?!” Tubbo leans back away from his swats, trying to catch his wrists before he can land a proper blow. “I need that money, or people are going to get hurt!”
Tommy snorts, devolving into a barking laugh. “Your landlord a nutcase or something? And actually,” Tommy stops fighting, giving Tubbo a suspicious squint. “What’s a little lad like you doing with cash like that, huh? Who’d you take it from?”
“Local businesses who need to buy protection from the mob!” Tubbo snaps.
Tommy’s face scrunches in confusion. “From…?” He gives Tubbo a once over. “You’re not… I mean, why the fuck would you be doing mob shit? You’re like ten.”
“Oh, I’m ten-! You’re built like a goddamn chicken!”
“Oi!” Tommy shouts back. “Shut the fuck up! You got a squishy bitch-ass baby face!”
Tubbo groans exasperatedly. “Did you not hear the part where I said people were going to die?!”
“Maybe if you let me up I could give it to you!” Tommy whines. “Fuckin’ hell, man…”
Tubbo frowns, sitting back and letting go of the boy’s wrists. He starts to stand. “Not gonna run again, are you?”
Tommy sits up, dramatically wiping dirt off of his already rather dirty clothes. “Give me a hand will you? Christ, be a gentleman!”
Tubbo offers him a hand up without question, annoyed with himself for doing so. Tubbo waits impatiently.
Tommy gives him another wary once-over. “People are gonna die how? You’re just fucking with me, are you?”
“No. If these people don’t pay their dues, their businesses get burned, got it? Actual lives are destroyed,” Tubbo says fiercely.
“And why are you working for them? They’re corrupt, I tell ya! Fuckin’ co-rrupt!” Tommy crows in his attempt at a deep voice, adamant and self-righteous.
Tubbo flushes red. “None of your goddamn business, but if you think I don’t know that, I…” Tubbo stops, still irritable. “So, will you give it back?”
Tommy scowls, “will you give it back, meh meh meh!” he mutters grouchily as he reaches down his trousers and fishes out the wad of cash.
“When the hell did you have time to put it there?!”
“Not revealing my secrets,” Tommy says aloofly.
Tubbo hesitates, before taking back the money, quick to return it to his pocket. “Thanks.”
Tommy grumbles wordlessly under his breath, shifting from foot to foot, arms folded over his chest. He sighs. “What’s your name, mob-boy?”
“I’ll tell you if you agree to never call me that again.”
“Well then what do I call ya?”
“Tubbo.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow, smiling and attempting poorly to hide it, but he doesn't laugh. “Right. Tubbo. I’m Tommy.”
Tubbo nods, still wary. He stares at Tommy’s face, at the red mark on his jaw, and feels a pang of guilt. He’s never hit someone before. “You alright?” He nods to it.
“Am I alright?! You fuckin’ punched me!” Tommy whines sourly. “What do you think?!”
“I… I’m sorry, I guess? To be fair, you did rob me.”
“And then I gave it back,” Tommy croons, “like a good sa-mari-tin. You can’t do that after punching me, now, can you? No takesies-backsies there, ay?”
“Which is why I said sorry.”
A pause, Tommy grinning at him, and Tubbo unsure if he should take that as a good sign or not.
“Well! You have lost me my day’s wages, so, if you’re really sorry, you ought to help me earn it back,” Tommy says sagely.
“Your wages? The stuff you stole?”
“Oh, really, a high horse from a mob henchman! Bit hypocritical, I’d say. Nah, I think you have to help me,” Tommy nods resolutely.
“Oh, I have to, do I?” Tubbo says flatly.
“Come on, man, it’ll be fun!” Tommy punches him lightly on the arm, and Tubbo resists the urge to jump back.
“It’ll be fun?” Tubbo frowns, giving Tommy an uneasy look, Tommy still smiling at him. It’s a slow dawning realization that Tommy is in fact asking him to hang out. He stammers out a far more encouraging reply, “um, I could… yeah, I could help you, sure!”
“Good man!” Tommy rubs his hands together. “We are going to use that squishy little baby face to our advantage, ay?”
This time, Tubbo laughs instead of taking offense, fending off his nerves in exchange for something more earnest. Tommy turns to walk with a swagger in his step, proud of himself for having gotten Tubbo to follow along for his antics. He does not yet know that Tubbo will continue to do so for many years to come.