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Mimicry was not a name Tommy would have ever chosen for himself. Even Techno had hated it, insisting he could at least try for a nice Greek one. But the paperwork was signed, and Phil was far too busy to bother with anything as simple as his youngest son’s name. Not when his middle child was still throwing everything he had at the hero agency.
They’d been in a state of emergency for five months now. Five fucking months of not seeing their father except from in the news, or in the infirmary, of fighting people twice his age just so the city didn’t fall apart, of watching Wilbur drift further and further away from who he’d been, until nothing was left.
It hadn’t been fun for Tommy. He’d been pulled out of training immediately, along with other exceptional students, jostled through a streamlined deployment process, and shoved out into the streets to help try to keep the situation under control. Frankly, he was starting to see the appeal in villainy too. Better than this shit.
Phil was on edge, to say the least. They all knew he was living on borrowed time. They all were. And Techno… was gone. A lump rose in his throat, and he pushed the thought away. No time for mourning. Because he wasn’t dead. And Tommy could keep telling himself that until this was over, and he was forced to accept his brother was never coming home. Another casualty of this war he’d never asked to fight.
Gritting his teeth, he straightened his ragged, chestnut brown wings, with patchy spots of white in the middle. The villains knew what part of him was the weakest, and they fucking knew how to attack it too. His wings hadn’t had a good time of it, especially now Wilbur wasn’t around to preen them. Flying had been painful for the last two months, uncomfortable for four, but he didn’t dare complain. Not when his family was stressed enough as it was.
Cassandra was on his tail. Because of course she was, Ace would send his minions after anyone who got too close to district twelve. The heroes had been trying to storm it for months, but to no avail. Tommy had hopes his connection to Wilbur would be enough for him to get close, but no dice, as they said in these parts.
Flapping his wings, he sped up, grinning despite himself. Shrikes were fast, but he was faster. Hopefully. Shit, he’d better not get shot down. They were working with limited resources as it was, the heroes couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. Heroes had been going missing recently. No trace left behind. Just poof! and they were gone. Like his brother.
Tommy angled downwards, finding momentary shelter in an alley, even as his feathers prickled, hearing Cassandra’s calls.
Life had been weird recently.
The country was at war. Unapologetically. Undeniably. Wherever you went, wherever you looked. The same. Fights breaking out at all hours, authorities dog piling onto any villain activity, ignoring the ‘little’ issues. The ones Wilbur had cared about.
No matter what the heroes said, this was an anarchy of their own creation.
And Tommy felt he held at least a fragment of the blame. It had haunted him, these past few months, watching Wilbur change, as he was left helpless. Persephone, now. The fallen hero rarely spoke in public, always taking heroes out in the most brutal ways imaginable, before soaring back over to Ace’s side, emotionless.
It might look like Persephone lead the revolution, but everyone knew the truth. Ace was in charge. The fallen hero controlled the streets, the vigilantes, the terror everyone in the country seemed to be running on, but the number one villain controlled him.
Word on the street was that it was lead by Scarlet, the old number one villain, finally making her move from the shadows. Tommy knew better.
The hawk avian had turned up on one of his patrols, harried and going on about Ace losing it, and that she had a lot to do. She still wouldn’t tell him much, but she flinched every time she saw the TNT villain. Tommy was on edge every time he was around her, his instincts screaming danger, but there weren’t many people left to trust.
Sometimes, she vanished entirely for days, or even weeks, leaving him to wonder if she’d disappeared too. Said she was taking care of more than just this city. She still came back. Tommy had a feeling it was because he was her last hope. She saw herself in him, in his imitations. She reckoned he could do what she did, take up this mantle of vigilantism she’d thrown herself into. He wasn’t sure he agreed. But they were all running low on hope.
He trained with the former villain, whenever he had time. It wasn’t like Phil noticed. She was still distant, always rushed and seemingly distracted by the slightest thought, clinching whenever he pulled her out of it. Really, she was still a stranger. But she was making him stronger, and he needed that, so badly.
Cassandra landed in front of him, a knife pressed to his throat in a heartbeat. Her head tilted, smiling underneath her blindfold mask.
“Ace wants to see you, Sinsonte.”
And fuck this. Tommy was a second away from launching himself into the air when Cassandra’s knife dug deeper, and her smile widened. Shit. Oracle Villain. How the fuck did he get out of this?
In desperation, he kicked out at the same time as he pushed her away bodily, sending the villain crashing into the other side the alley as he bolted, dashing down the streets, then into the air. Too close.
As he flew, he chirped out exact replicas of vigilante’s calls, keeping an eye out for any of them flying past. They patrolled this area, particularly the boundary, so he’d have to be careful sneaking back out. Lucky his uniform was designed to blend in.
At the start, there had been a brief hope the vigilantes would stand by the morals they claimed to uphold, to protect the public. The hope die within days as one by one, they sided with Persephone. Tommy should have known. He could have warned the heroes who died trying to approach Time Bomb, or any of the other vigilantes. They’d been told to kill them on sight, just like villains. Ace seemed to be giving the same orders, so it levelled out.
He was nearly out. At least he had some sort of a report, something to show for himself from this risky mission. He just felt so useless, patrolling, beating up random, low level villains that probably didn’t even care about this ‘glorious revolution’.
And that was where he and Wilbur truly parted ways. Tommy didn’t know what his brother was seeing in this, but there was no glory to it. Just painful, useless deaths, fear and misery, everyone scrambling for any taste of normality, at the cost of anyone around them. No one was to be trusted. Everyone played their part.
Raising his hand to his comm, he called out to his partner, holding the fort in their patrol zone.
“Reaper? Mimicry calling.”
”Hey, you’re alive.”
Tommy smiled, the thumping of his heart settling. Eryn was an old friend. A fellow trainee, who’d dropped out into vigilantism. One of the only vigilantes that hadn’t gone with Persephone. The demon hybrid had recognised his old classmate’s brother, and sought refuge with the mockingbird avian. Neither of them wanted to mess with Wilbur. With so few heroes available, the agency had welcomed him, especially with his experience, kitting him out and giving him a partner in less than a day.
“Yeah, I lived, bitch. Where you at?”
Tommy knew it was a risk he wasn’t meant to take, actually giving any important information over comms, but it wasn’t likely Vos was listening. The fox hybrid was rarely seen, but was recognised as a high level threat by the agency for his hacking skills. Hence the limited communications. Not the most useful thing when they were fighting a war, but you lived with the punches. He’d learnt that.
”District ten. Had to move over a bit to avoid Loki.”
“Roger. Be there in a minute.”
”Don’t die!”
Eryn laughed, but Tommy felt his wings twitch. That really was it. That was all they were trying to do. Survive, live to fight another day, even if the sunrise brought fresh agony. Everything was wrong, and dark, and hopeless.
They all knew they were fighting a losing battle. Ace would win, eventually, and then what? The heroes assumed they’d be killed. Tommy doubted it, horribly.
Something pierced his wing in a flash of pure pain, and the next moment he was falling, screaming for all he was worth, for Eryn, for Techno, for anyone. His cries drifted as his powers slipped away from him, and for a moment he heard Wilbur, making his eyes squeeze shut as tears welled.
The free fall was painful, wind snatching at him as he tried over and over to balance, but his wing wouldn’t cooperate. Fuck, he was dead.
Tommy crashed on a rooftop painfully, immediately curling in on himself and sobbing as every part of him hurt like he’d been stabbed a hundred times. Who the fuck had shot him down? How did they know he wasn’t another vigilante? Did it even matter, because any second another bullet would find his heart, or a blade through his throat, or something else, something worse.
There was no one left to call for. No one to save him.
“Well, nice to finally see you, Mimic.”
He went still. Fear pounded in his ears, paralysing him. No. He couldn’t do this. Not now. Not here. He needed to say goodbye, he needed to finish school, he needed to live-
“It’s disappointing you ignored my sister, of course. Really, I’d expected better of such an obedient little hero.”
A sharp kick found his side, forcing him to roll over, eyes opening in pain. Then he shut them again, whispered pleas for mercy falling from his lips. Ace laughed, and there was nothing less than insanity in it.
“Wilbur… please…”
He hadn’t even seen the fallen hero, but he knew he’d be here. Wherever Ace was, so was Persephone. There’d been a dark bet going among the heroes on how long it would take for him to give in to the nickname, and announce himself as Hades. But no. Ace did what he pleased, and he seemed fond of his name exactly as it was.
“Oh, I don’t think your brother’s going to be of much help.”
From somewhere behind Ace, Tommy heard a sharp chirp, and his heart ached in something between relief and pure grief. He hadn’t heard Wilbur’s voice in so long. But he was here, and he wasn’t helping him. Stupid, really, to think that he would. The trace of hope fell away, and the hero’s head fell onto the concrete, pain barely registering compared to his wing.
“Shush.” Ace’s voice was harsh as he dismissed his partner, attention fixed on Tommy. “You wanted him. Frankly, I still don’t see the appeal… but my songbird gets what he wants.”
If he’d been in slightly less of a state of absolute panic, Tommy would have felt uncomfortable on Wilbur’s behalf. Ace had done nothing but treat him like a pet since they debuted together, like some guard dog. And what the mockingbird hero hated was that he took it, doing whatever the number one villain asked with savage delight.
As his mind hazed back and forth, toying with the idea of unconsciousness, Tommy suddenly became aware of Ace’s hand on the roof next to him, keeping the avian balanced as he crouched. Being, y’know, sixteen (too young for this) he bit at it, piercing the villain’s skin. He had fangs, bitch.
Ace hissed, withdrawing his now bleeding hand. Tommy laughed weakly, head rocking back to give him a final view of the sky. He’d always loved to fly.
“Tommy-“
Wilbur’s voice was desperate, and it sounded like he was drowning. Tommy looked over immediately, eyes wide, but Ace’s wings hid both of them. Still, when the villain backed off, his brother was still again, expression unreadable.
“Kill him, songbird.”
Ace’s command was dispassionate, crossing his arms as he waited. Tommy trilled in a last, desperate attempt to save his own life. His comm was broken. His heart too, as his own brother advanced on him, scythe resting in his hand. The hero tried to push himself away, but his muscles screamed with the slightest movement, summoning yet more tears in his burry vision.
“Will- Wilby, please, I- I’ll be a villain, I-“
Heroes had been disappearing. It was no secret it was down to the two top villains, but Tommy had never had the time to spare a thought as to what had been happening to them. No bodies. No trace. No hope.
Wilbur sat next to him, cross legged, wings relaxed on the concrete. A small smile on his lips as he brushed a lock of hair out of Tommy’s face. A glimmer of royal blue behind his ears
“Hi Toms. Miss me?”
He didn’t understand. There were so many things he needed to ask, and he didn’t have time for any of them, because he was dying, dying, dead, any moment now.
So he just cried, letting himself feel his brother’s touch one last time, managing to raise his hand to wrap brittle fingers around Wilbur’s wrist.
“So much.”
No questions. Maybe he didn’t need the answers. Ace was watching them, he knew. He didn’t care. This wasn’t the time for dignity, or for waiting for your moment. It was the time of seizing whatever you could, living recklessly.
Tommy shifted, and the flash of agony from his wing, lighting hot and whiting out his vision. The world began to blur around him, spinning, spiralling down, down, into this hell they’d been living in for the last five months. Or maybe it was just him. All alone, fighting the fight that had never even been his.
Wilbur’s scent enveloped him, the fallen hero lifting him gently, like a fledgling he didn’t want to risk hurting.
“Songbird? Are you disobeying me?” Ace giggled mercilessly, brushing against Tommy’s wings as he got too close to Wilbur, leaning on his shoulder. “You’re not going to save the fledgling, are you?”
The magpie didn’t speak again, just clutched Tommy tighter. He could feel his brother’s shaking. All the hero could find in himself was exhaustion.
At least it was over. These desperate, dark months, bracing himself for the worst as he crept through shadows, tasting blood more times than he cared to count, falling further and further away from who he’d been until he could barely find his playful smile.
For old times sake, Tommy nuzzled into Wilbur’s shoulder, chirping flock. Not that his mockingbird cared to translate what his brother chirped back, and that alone was enough to break him for the last time. Abandoned even by his own instincts.
“You really want him, don’t you?”
Ace’s voice was softer now. Almost human. Wilbur nodded, claws digging into the hero’s shoulders and knees.
“Whatever you want then, mi amor.”
Tommy closed his eyes, an ache rising from his chest to his throat, cutting off the meagre air he’d been managing to breathe.
Someone yelled. A magpie chirped. A shrike hissed. A voice he knew, cockier than he’d heard her in a long, long time, but with a tremor nothing could disguise.
“Hey boys. Put the fledgling down.”
Scarlet. Tommy sobbed, and it should have been gratitude, but it wasn’t. It was just a promise that this would never be over. Not until they lost. Properly. Wilbur didn’t move, but still, a song filled his ears.
It was difficult to describe the music of Lullaby. But when Scarlet sung it, it was as clear as still waters in a gentle lake. Tempestuous as a stormy sea. It was a song of the ocean, of boundless freedom, of the air, of bared teeth and grazed knuckles and a promise. Warm arms took him from his brother’s. A shrike hissed in fury, but made no move to stop the hawk brushing her claws through his hair, just once, and walking away.
“You’ll regret this, Sally.”
The melody died down, and Scarlet stiffened, then shrugged.
“There’s a lot I regret already.”
And that was all she said, all the time she flew, never holding him like he was a burden, but making sure not to dig her claws in. He passed out on the way. Scarlet left him in his room, in his tower. With his… family. The ones who were left.
No one, really. It was him against the storm, one boy holding back the tide as best he could.
Tommy didn’t realise until the next morning Scarlet had bandaged his wing, and he hated himself, because all he could think was that he wished Wilbur had taken him.
Because death was better than the inevitable fall.