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Fights with the Blood God and the Angel of Death always ended terribly.
Tubbo usually tried not to engage in them. He was a vigilante, not a hero. He wasn’t getting paid for what he did; he was solely in it because of his love for order. L’Manburg wasn’t a city beyond saving, as those two villains loved to espouse, not as long as there were people like him putting in the effort to make it better.
But remaining out of it wasn’t always easy.
That day, the infamous duo had decided to face off against Dream (L’Manburg’s number one hero) on the wide roofs of the condos in one of the working-class parts of the city. He wouldn’t have cared had either party died, but, with powers as devastating as theirs, casualties were almost inevitable. Maybe they could have prevented them, had they given a fuck about anyone but themselves; they didn’t, however. And the media didn’t care if some poor barista was sliced up by Dream’s sharp strings, or touched by the Angel’s deadly hands. Their deaths weren’t as cinematic as the fight above their heads. They couldn’t keep people’s attention for long.
Most tragedies were unfortunately unmarketable.
For as much as he’d accepted that fact, secretly Tubbo had still been hoping that his end would be more heroic. Something he could be fondly remembered by.
Instead, all he got was one of the Blood God’s crimson swords through his gut as he took a small break. He’d been leaning against a tree, wiping away some of the sweat that had accumulated on his visor when it happened. A single moment of distraction screwed him over.
Thankfully, he knew not to remove the weapon. With what little lucidity the excruciating pain and the severe blood loss he was suffering allowed, he left it where it was and just stumbled out of the line of fire. He ended up collapsing against the front entrance of a squalid cafe in a back alley. Perhaps he’d asked for help, because soon he could feel hands on him, supporting him, and dragging him away to a cot in the back.
He didn’t register anything beyond that point.
---
When Tubbo woke up, he was as good as new.
His abdomen wasn’t feeling sore, which wasn’t the case even when Ranboo healed him with their powers. There was no faint scarring left behind either, only a bloodied stain around the tear in his costume. Whoever had taken him in had to have performed a miracle, because the injury he’d gotten should have been fatal. Not only because it had pierced through him, but also because the Blood God’s weapons absorbed the blood around them and grew in size and power from it. Had he left the sword in there long enough, it would have sliced him clean in half.
He was still looking at himself in awe when a grumpy and tired-looking blond teen slammed open the door to the small supply closet Tubbo was in. “Oi! How long are you planning to sleep? I was supposed to close up and go home an hour ago”. From the old coffee stains on his apron and the halos of sweat dampening his shirt around his armpits and down his back, Tubbo could tell that he should have gotten a break far before that. Although looking beyond the angry blond Pomeranian in front of him, he didn’t see any other employees, so perhaps that hadn't been possible for him.
“I’m up now” he reassured the other teen. “Are you the one I have to thank for healing me?”. Even if there were no others there anymore, he couldn’t be sure that had been the case from the start. He had fainted pretty much as soon as he’d gotten there.
The blond scoffed. “More like bringing you back to life…” he mumbled in a dismissive tone.
Huh?
Was that even possible?
Tubbo had never heard of anyone with resurrection abilities. Someone so extraordinary should have been out there changing the world, not buried in a crappy cafe where he was probably overworked and underpaid just like so many people in his line of work! And with how forthcoming the other had been with that piece of information, he doubted he was the first who’d heard of it. Why hadn’t heroes come recruit him yet? They weren’t the kind of people one could choose to turn down. They knew how to be persuasive.
“Right…” was all Tubbo managed to get out for a long moment. He was broken out of his awed stupor by the blond’s nervous foot-tapping. “Uhm, yeah. Thank you for that. I’d like to repay you, if possible”.
The other teen let out an unimpressed huff. “You can repay me by getting out. My shift starts at six in the morning. It’s close to midnight already. I wanna get home, get a shower, and get at least a couple of hours of sleep”. He tiredly pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes. A lot of the earlier hostility had already faded, leaving its place to nothing but exhaustion.
Tubbo was currently between jobs. He was relying on Ranboo’s income to live (thankfully, being a healer paid nicely, so it wasn’t too much of a strain on his roommate), all while distracting himself with his vigilante gig so that he could still feel useful. However, he wasn’t a stranger to the struggle of having grueling shifts that protracted into the early hours of the morning. He’d worked at a mechanic who took emergency calls before. But having someone work seventeen hours straight alone was so extreme that it couldn’t be legal.
Why were they keeping that place open so long, anyway?
One of the few things he’d caught when he’d stumbled in earlier had been the intense smell of piss of the alley just outside, and the dingy and unclean appearance of the interior (mainly because he’d wondered fleetingly if he’d be getting a nasty infection there in the unlikely eventuality that he survived). He doubted that shithole got many customers. Anybody who ventured inside had to be desperate.
“You said you start at six?” he asked, trying to ignore the disbelieving note in his own tone. The blond just gave him a weak nod. “Alright. I’ll try to be on time”.
“Huh?” the other teen looked at him as if he’d grown a new head. “You what now? Please, tell me this hasn’t turned into a stalker scenario, I don’t get paid enough to deal with that”. Tubbo was curious to know what would have been a high enough salary for him to put up with crimes against him, but he realized it would have been creepy to ask that, just in time to stop himself.
He’d never been the best at picking up on social cues, but he wasn’t oblivious enough to miss that one.
“I told you I’m gonna repay you. And, clearly, what you need is help. So I’m gonna help” he explained as simply as he could.
The blond eyed Tubbo’s mask (which he surprisingly hadn’t removed to satiate the one curiosity everyone had about those like him), then his general getup, and then he shook his head. “Yeah, alright” he mumbled. “And Santa Claus is real. Now get out before I grab the broom”. He started reaching for said broom even before being done speaking. It was an old thing held together by duct tape and a dream, but Tubbo was sure that it could still hurt if used properly.
There was no point in staying there and trying to convince the other teen that he’d meant his promise. He’d never been as good with words as he was with actions, anyway. So he stood up, hurriedly bid the other farewell as promised, and hurried out.
---
The sun had yet to rise at six in the morning. L’Manburg laid mostly dormant. The majority of the businesses had yet to open up for the day. And Tubbo was waiting, shivering in front of the crappy cafe from the day before.
Now that he was more lucid, he noticed the neon sign spelling out ‘Craft’s Coffee Delight’ with a stylized crow next to it hanging above the door. Half of the letters had stopped working already, so, at first, he’d thought it said ‘Cat fight’ instead, which would have been way more original of a name for a cafe. It also didn’t make it sound like it was owned by the Crafts, the richest family in town, which would have been rather embarrassing with the state that place was in. They could have afforded to pay for some renovations. Or, at least, a new coat of paint for the outside since whatever had once been there was long gone.
His mundane musings were interrupted by the blond barista who’d saved him. Well, revived him. Same thing. “You actually showed up” his voice was flat and devoid of any emotion. It was maybe a bit too early in the morning for him to get pissed off. Which boded well for Tubbo. Maybe he wouldn't end up meeting the business end of his broken broom after all!
“I said I would” Tubbo pointed out cheekily.
Ranboo had told him not to go. Even if it seemed as if his death hadn’t left him any lingering side effects, they couldn’t be certain that there would be no unpleasant surprises later down the line. He needed to give his body the time to rest and recover properly. And, besides that, his roommate was worried about him revealing his secret identity to a civilian (Tubbo hadn’t been at first, although seeing how quickly the blond had caught onto who he was had changed his mind). Sure, the other teen was the one who had saved him, but they couldn’t know if that had been because he thought it was the right thing to do or because he’d mistaken Tubbo for a hero and thought he’d be rewarded handsomely for it. If it was the latter, it was possible that he’d figured out he was a vigilante by then and would be calling the authorities on him.
However, helping people was always a gamble. His safety was never ensured.
The blond nodded. That was that then. He opened up the shutters, unlocked the door, and gestured for Tubbo to follow him inside.
The place was still just as underwhelming as he remembered it. He could see old chewing gum stuck under every table already from the entrance. There was a half-dead plant in one corner of the room, and an empty vase in the one opposite to it. Some unappealing sandwiches (now likely dry since they'd been there for over a day) were on display behind the counter. And a couple of the light bulbs above the menu had stopped working, making it almost illegible so early in the morning. At least the floor looked like it had been recently swept, and the tables had clearly been wiped down the day before. He didn’t know how the other teen had the strength to put any effort into the upkeep of that place, but he’d been clearly trying his best.
“How should I call you?” the blond asked while grabbing an apron for himself and one for Tubbo from the supply closet he’d stashed him in the day before.
Unlike every other villain, hero, and vigilante out there, Tubbo didn’t have much of a secret identity. He’d run away from home when he was still a preteen. He’d shed his birth name somewhere along the way. He was living with Ranboo, but wasn’t on the lease of their apartment. He didn’t have a bank account, nor any real documents (his fake ones had served him well so far). His father had never declared him missing. He truly was a nobody.
So he didn’t hesitate before giving out the nickname he went by in his daily life. “Tubbo. You?”.
Most retail workers had a tag pinned to their clothes with their name on it. The owners of Craft’s Coffee Delight were clearly too stingy to provide even that much.
“Tommy. You can also call me Big Man or Big T, though. Really, you should”. He was in a better mood that day. Maybe the prospect of having some help for once had cheered him up. Or maybe he was just more of a morning person. Regardless, Tubbo found this version of him delightful, even if he was playfully full of himself.
“How about Boss Man?” he offered instead.
Tommy frowned, thinking about it for a moment, then he shrugged and nodded. “Sure thing. That makes me sound powerful too”.
He was so lame, just like Ranboo. Tubbo already had a soft spot for him.
---
As it turned out, there were a few people who did stop by that crappy cafe on the regular.
One of them (who suspiciously looked and sounded a Hell of a lot like Mayor Schlatt’s Vice, and was covering most of his face up with a mix of a scarf, sunglasses, and a woolly hat) claimed that the sub-par sandwiches brought him comfort. He didn’t eat a single bite of what he ordered, but left a big tip for Tommy regardless.
The other frequent patrons were no less odd. None of them liked the food, and he’d seen several of them disinfecting their seats before they touched them, but they still stuck around for at least a brief visit. Maybe they just felt bad for the overworked teen serving them…
Tubbo left Tommy to do all the chatting, while he cleaned up after their customers left, made more sandwiches if required, and kept an eye on the place when no one was around, while the blond rested in the supply closet. It wouldn’t have been that bad of a gig, had they had air conditioning. But even when the sun rose high in the sky, heating the place up to an unbearable degree, there was nothing they could do about it but bear with it.
By the end of his first shift there, Tubbo demanded to see the contract Tommy had signed, because he refused to live like that another day. (The other teen reminded him that he wasn’t an employee and could leave when he so chose, but by then it had become a matter of principles). There had to be some kind of caveat that would allow them to demand certain improvements. Even if, by chance, that cafe truly was owned by the Crafts, the threat of being busted for labor law violations probably would put some fear into them.
And, hey, if their stint ended up backfiring and Tommy lost his job, he likely could still find a position as a healer. His methods may have been… unconventional (he’d offered to kill Tubbo to heal him from a burn he got while cleaning the coffee machine; there was nothing normal about him), but they were effective.
The first thing that jumped out to him was that the contract had been seemingly written by someone with no knowledge of the law who had found a template online and then barely tweaked it. It looked unfinished and rough. There was nothing in it about how much Tommy would be compensated for his overtime, and yet he wasn’t contracted to work as many hours as he did. He’d also only been hired as a waiter, and yet there was no one else there to prepare the coffee and the food. And Tommy, by his own admission, had no prior experience with that stuff and was in no way qualified. No benefits had been included, not even the most basic of health insurances. And the termination clauses had also been entirely forgotten, which he was certain that anyone with a bare minimum of business savvy should have caught (although that last thing could work in their favor, so he wasn’t gonna complain too much about it).
Overall, it was a confusing mess.
It was no wonder that Tommy, who was still a teenager just like him and probably hadn’t seen many other contracts in his life, had signed it without understanding it. The blond sheepishly admitted that he’d gotten distracted halfway through reading it and had never finished it until Tubbo sat him down with it. A stupid move, but not an uncommon one, unfortunately.
“I don’t think this is even legally enforceable, that’s how badly it was made…” Tubbo noted, once they read through the whole thing a couple of times to make sure they hadn’t missed anything.
“I mean… I’m pretty sure this business only exists for money laundering purposes”. Tommy’s words were accompanied by a nervous chuckle. When Tubbo fixed him with an unimpressed look, he let out a miserable little whimper as his anxiety spiked again. The other teen kept reminding him of Ranboo. They were both prey animals at heart. “I’m not sure!” he shrieked defensively. “Just… if the owners wanted a proper cafe, they wouldn’t have opened it here” he added a bit more quietly. It was a good observation. After the way he’d totally missed how he was being mistreated, Tubbo didn’t think he’d be capable of those. “But also… I think they kinda forgot what they wanted to do with it, because they never visit. They came by a few times during the first couple of months and then never again. They didn’t even notice when the only other employee they hired stopped showing up. I don’t even think he’s fired. I’m pretty sure Purpled is still getting paid. He just doesn’t come to work anymore. He hasn’t been for three months now” he finished with a mix of frustration and resignation.
Tubbo’s first thought was that, if not showing up had been an option all along, then Tommy should have just done that and saved himself the trouble. But then he remembered all the regulars coming over specifically to see the blond, and the way his brash exterior softened ever-so-slightly around each and every one of them, and he understood that it wouldn’t have been like him to just leave them and possibly make them worry.
He didn’t really know the other teen; they’d only met each other the day prior, after all, but he wasn’t a difficult one to read. He wore all of his emotions on his sleeves.
And because Tommy was so transparent about the kind of guy he was, Tubbo knew he had to take a different approach from what he usually would have. He couldn’t tell him to quit or stop showing up; he had to confront the other boy’s issues head-on. “Well, let’s remind them. Do you have a way to contact any of them?”.
“Uh…” the blond thought about it for a moment, as he frantically rummaged through his pockets in search of something. Eventually, he pulled out a small scrap of paper with some numbers scribbled on it. “The old fuck gave me his personal phone number!” he announced triumphantly, holding the little unassuming piece of paper up in the air in front of him. “I don’t have a phone, though”.
It was hard for Tubbo to imagine how the hiring process had been when, at every step of the way, he was met by another hurdle and another sign of incompetence.
Regardless, he patiently smiled at Tommy, ripped the number away from him, and called in his stead. They were gonna set up a meeting, no matter how hard those rich fucks made it for them. And if they refused, he was marching the other teen straight to a lawyer, something that should have been done already (but that he doubted the blond could have afforded on his own).
---
Not many had seen the Blood God and the Angel of Death from up close enough to notice all the details about their appearance, like the bubblegum pink strands that sometimes slipped out of the hood of the former’s bloody cape, or the piercing blue eyes of the latter. Tubbo was among those few. Even if he’d always done his best to avoid engaging them in combat, there had been times when it had been inevitable. When the only way for him to look out for all the innocent civilians they endangered had been to keep them busy until the heroes arrived.
So he was uniquely equipped to take a look at Philza and Technoblade Craft, two of the components of the elusive Craft Trio, and think that they looked a Hell of a lot like those infamous villains.
Seeing them sit there in the dirty booths of their cafe, all dressed up in their stuffy suits, and looking uncomfortable as Hell brought him as much satisfaction as it did partly because of the understanding that dawned on him. They didn’t know him, but he knew them. He had the upper hand.
The third member of their trio, Wilbur Soot Craft, was also accompanying them. But, if he was a supervillain, he wasn’t one Tubbo recognized. Curly brown hair and brown eyes like his were more common than what the other two had going on.
Although he supposed it was possible that he just wasn’t the type to work in the field. Heroes always had a man in the chair coordinating their actions and doing all of the boring background research, so why wouldn’t villains want that same kind of organization?
If he had been born with weaker powers than the rest of his relatives, it made sense that they wouldn’t want him risking his life by their side when he could make himself useful in other ways. That was what Tubbo had repeated to Ranboo many times. His roommate’s powers weren’t suited for going out there. Sure, they had some control over the water they used to heal, but not enough to weaponize it. But, because of those, they’d been able to establish contact with plenty of heroes and other officials, so they had access to the kind of information that Tubbo could have only dreamed of had he worked entirely alone.
The Crafts were already sitting across from Tubbo, while Tommy busied himself making some coffee for all of them. His anxious tinkering was the only sound that could breach through the tense silence that had settled over their little group. And that too eventually fizzled out as he got done with what he was doing and hurried to settle a steaming cup in front of each of them (Tommy’s own was filled with only warm milk because, as he’d figured out on day one of working with the guy, he didn’t like any amount of bitterness. And, while Tubbo found that endearing, he also thought it served as a nice reminder for his employers that the one they were mistreating was a child).
Technoblade was the first to find the courage to break the ice. “Bruh… why does this place look so dead?” he asked, looking around with barely concealed disdain. His crimson eyes eventually landed on Tubbo, and he squinted at him, seemingly mystified by what he was seeing. “I could swear you looked different too…”.
“This isn’t Purpled” Tommy gently pointed out, before his Boss could make a fool of himself. It was far more merciful a move than the other deserved. “He’s Tubbo. He kinda just… stumbled in a few days ago”. Thankfully, the blond avoided mentioning anything about the circumstances surrounding that event. While he was certain that the villains in front of them didn’t consider his vigilante persona much of a threat and, probably, barely remembered about his existence, he didn’t want to risk them connecting the dots regardless. “He’s been helping me out. And this place looks better than it did before he came along. Would look even better if we had proper cleaning supplies. Or air conditioning so that our customers wouldn’t be soaking the booths with their sweat. Or if I was paid enough to give a fuck about it” once the floodgate opened, he just kept going.
Tubbo thought he’d be needed to get the ball rolling and slowly introduce the Crafts to their demands, but Tommy clearly had it handled. He was talking a bit more informally than he probably should have with his superiors, but that was just how he always was, and they’d hired him before despite that, so it should have been fine.
Philza shrank in on himself at every new reminder of their incompetence. Wilbur looked somewhat intrigued, but mostly bored, as he impatiently tapped a finger on the table and occasionally stared out of the window. Technoblade seemed impassive at first glance, but Tubbo noticed from the odd movement of his arms that he had to have been fidgeting nervously with his hands under the table. Even with the differences in their reactions, they all reminded him of kids getting scolded by their exhausted single parent. Hilarious when, as far as he was aware, they were all grown ass men. Tommy, meanwhile, was seventeen, just like him.
Once Tommy’s tirade ended, a few seconds went by in complete silence. Then, surprisingly timidly, Technoblade piped up again: “There are actual customers that come in…? Why?”.
Tommy shrugged. “I dunno. They’re weirdos” the way the corners of his lips quirked up betrayed his fondness for them. “I think they’re concerned for me”.
Technoblade nodded, accepting that answer with ease. Maybe he was starting to see why one would be concerned for Tommy’s safety after spending less than an hour in that greasy hole. Or maybe he just realized that agreeing with them was the fastest way to get out of there. Both were valid conclusions to come to.
“What can we do to help?”. Philza, meanwhile, had chosen to go down the diplomatic route, like the rich weasel he was. Something underneath his cape twitched, betraying his anxiety. He was definitely hiding the Angel of Death’s wings there. Tubbo had always thought that they were mechanical appendages that he could put on and remove at will, especially since his powers weren’t related to them, but maybe they were actually his.
Wings weren’t uncommon. He probably could explain them rather easily at the various charity galas and fancy rich people parties he attended, but he couldn’t fool Tubbo. He was onto him. He was willing to bet that his feathers were as dark as the midnight sky. Just as he was willing to bet that the reason he wore gloves was because his touch was deadly, and not as an oddly antiquated fashion statement. He was at least putting in a bit more effort than Technoblade to conceal his identity, but not by much.
Before Tommy could answer, Tubbo planted his elbows on the table and leaned forward in what he hoped to be an intimidating move. It did startle Wilbur enough to grab his attention, so he was doing something right. “Did you know that heroes are not the ones who put the most villains behind bars? On the contrary, most end up arrested because they didn’t cover their other basis. Tax evasion, labor law violations, money laundering… no matter how powerful and untouchable you believe you are, those are the things that have a way of sneaking up on you”. Once he was certain that he’d spooked them enough and that his message had gotten through to them, he leaned back on his seat again. “I’d say the best thing you can do to help Tommy and yourself is rewrite his contract entirely. This time with a lawyer present. And compensate him fairly for the absurd amount of overtime you’ve forced him into due to your negligence and ignorance”.
“That’s a bit harsh…” Wilbur mumbled, only to be silenced with a glare by Philza.
Right after, Philza gave them a practiced polite smile. “We’ll get on that. For today, please go home early. As an apology”.
All in all, that encounter had gone better than expected.
---
It was odd to see Tommy relaxing, but that was why Tubbo had invited him over.
The Craft’s Coffee Delight was close for a week for some long overdue renovations (the Crafts had promised they’d be installing the air conditioning they’d demanded and hire some experts to do some much-needed deep-cleaning), so Tommy didn’t have anything to do for a while, besides, apparently, sitting at a park, looking at the squirrels that lived there running around. That was how Tubbo had found him.
Ranboo hadn’t been too happy when he saw him walking in with their groceries in one arm, and his raccoon of a coworker in the other. He’d let out one of his patented disappointed sighs. The same kind he used when Tubbo had brought in the tiny injured piglet he’d found one day that was now like a son to the two of them. His name was Michael, and they both cherished him deeply. He was sure things with Tommy would be fine, too.
After the needed introductions and explanations of what was going on (Tommy seemed just as lost about why Tubbo had grown attached so quickly as Ranboo was. Somehow, neither of them noticed how identical their expressions were when they looked back at him for answers. Nor how pathetic they both looked. He truly did have a type when it came to his friends), they’d all settled down together on the sofa to watch a movie.
It hadn’t taken long for the exhaustion Tommy had been letting pile up to win him over. He was out like a light by the time the end credits rolled in, all curled up against Tubbo’s side. Like that, he didn’t look all lanky and grumpy like usual. A soft smile curled his lips, light snores escaped him, and there was no tension in his shoulders. He looked like a normal teen. Like all of them were supposed to be, but none of them had been lucky enough to remain. Not in that city wrecked by heroes and villains alike, where the civilians were never anything more than an afterthought.
The kind of future where teens could afford to be kids was the one Tubbo was fighting for. He liked order and fairness, and they weren’t possible without change. Without people who cared, doing something about it.
“You’re gonna end up keeping him, aren’t you?” Ranboo mumbled, breaking him out of his solemn thoughts.
“His bosses are some of the most infamous villains out there. Do you know the kind of intel I could receive from him?” Tubbo answered with a question of his own. He didn’t need to admit that his roommate was right; they both knew that they were.
Ranboo groaned. “We can never have one normal day…” he whined. And yet, Tubbo could see a ghost of a smile on his lips. He didn’t mind as much as he pretended he did. Because even if Ranboo didn’t stand by his side on the battlefield, his dreams for the future were not so different from Tubbo’s. And, while they were powerless to change society for now, they could at least help out Tommy.