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"I can't believe you've done this. And you call yourself Heroes? Honestly, you're proper wronguns you lot! I should report you to the Hero Authority!"
Tommy folded his arms, looking expectantly at the three men scattered across the room. Techno didn't look up from his book, Phil was sketching lightly on some blueprint plans, and Wilbur was draped upside down on an armchair, looking exhausted.
"Tommy, please leave our house." he said, rubbing his face and running a hand through his hair, making it stand even more on end, "We've had a long day."
Tommy scowled and settled himself further into the couch and the blanket he'd stolen, "See? Wronguns the lot of you."
"You're the Villain here," Techno pointed out, not looking up from his book - hah, Tommy knew he'd been listening! "You're the reason we're exhausted." he paused, "Both reasons. I'm not making you dinner again, by the way."
"Starving me! A poor innocent orphan boy you kidnapped off the street!"
"You broke into our house!" Wilbur protested, "Repeatedly! Just because we're soulmates doesn't mean you have to stay here! It's not an automatic adoption form!"
"I mean if you're an orphan I could drop you back at the orphanage," Techno pointed out, finally putting his book aside. Tommy looked warily at him, ready to make a break for it if he showed sign of moving. "Phil, will you help us out?"
Phil snorted, looking up from his own papers, "Nah mate, you've got this. I sorted him last time, it's your turn."
"Phil," Techno groaned, "Just do your bird thing, chirp at him until he leaves."
"One, that's not how it works, two, see above. You're on your own."
"You're the man, Mister Craft," Tommy nodded in approval, as Phil settled back down to strategically ignore them.
"I'm not doing it for you, I'm doing it because it's funny. And because Tech and Wil have put me through hell the last few years. You're still not getting dinner."
Tommy pouted, "But it's Ranboo's turn to cook again and he's making spaghetti."
"What's wrong with spaghetti?" Wilbur squinted, turning himself upright to fold his legs on the chair, "I like spaghetti."
"Spaghetti isn't the problem. Ranboo is the problem. We've had to replace the kitchen. Twice. Tubbo only still lets him have a turn because he thinks it's funny."
"He'd get on with Phil then," Techno muttered, "Traitor."
Wilbur continued to stare, "Are you saying you keep breaking into our top secret hideaway you're not supposed to have access to because… your roommate is bad at cooking?"
"No! Of course not! Don't be stupid, Wilbur! Obviously I'm here because you kidnapped me and you're making me stay here with your nice couches and your soft blankets and your good food and your shower that never runs out of hot water and also no Supervillain bosses who make you do missions at three in the morning, which is a terrible time to be doing anything let alone robbing a bank. Why can't I do evil things at three in the afternoon? What's wrong with a leisurely morning out on the rooftops and crime in the daylight?"
Wilbur was still staring at him. That must be uncomfortable for his eyes, Tommy thought.
Then the spell seemed broken, and he sighed, running his hand through his hair again. Tommy's gaze caught on the large silver mark that marred the skin, and he absently lifted his own to his mouth, chewing on the silver stained nail.
The moment was clear in his mind, slipping from the edge of that rooftop. Tubbo and Ranboo were caught up trying to evade the Warden, they weren't responding to his frantic radio calls as his fingers scrabbled for a better grip, for anything to stop him plummeting to the ground far below.
And then a hand had gripped his wrist, impossibly strong, telling him to let go and grab their hand.
Tommy hadn't even realised whose hand he'd gripped, clinging frantically to the person pulling him back from the ledge, until he'd locked eyes with Nereus behind the mask, and looked down to the silver stain now marking them both, where their skin had touched for the first time.
He'd run, obviously. He wasn't an idiot, Nereus was a Hero, and Heroes were even worse than cops cause Heroes could actually run after you when you were getting arrested.
It was entirely Wilbur's fault that he was here now - Tommy would've stayed away for the rest of both their lives, if it wasn't for the invitation. An invitation to this house, so it wasn't even like Tommy was stalking them to find the address. To discuss what the 'whole soulmate deal' had to mean. He hadn't been very surprised when Techno had stuck out his hand to shake, and more silver was added to the mess already wrapping around his hand, nor when Phil did the same. It was an open secret that the three of them lived and fought together for more than just being casual friends. It made sense that if he was soulmates with one, he'd be soulmates with all.
Freaky, but logical.
They'd had this whole speech planned, about how 'they were a family unit' and 'they could help Tommy if he was in a bad place' and 'no expectation', but he hadn't listened to that. He'd stayed for dinner (since it was Ranboo's cooking night), and then he'd robbed them blind and left before dessert.
Then continued to break into their house, rob whatever they'd replaced, and beg until they fed him. Which was obviously all their fault, because if they didn't keep replacing the things he stole and eventually giving in and feeding him, he wouldn't be here, which was essentially kidnapping. If you were loud enough about it.
"Whatever," Wilbur sighed, the precursor to which Tommy realised he'd entirely forgotten, "I'll start dinner. If we feed you willingly will you not steal our paintings again? I don't know how you keep doing it but the indie art market is thriving because I keep having to get new ones."
"I've never stolen anything in my life," Tommy promptly said, because technically this counted as stimulating the economy and therefore he was actually an accountant. Those people dealt with money, right? Or maybe he was an investment banker. Either way this was for the greater good. Maybe he should start a painting business and start selling Wilbur's paintings back to himself.
Techno, who'd recently had his bedside table lamp stolen, and had started locking away his jewellery, looked back up from his book and seemed to seriously consider whether murdering Tommy was something he could get away with.
Tommy gave him his best innocent smile.
Techno huffed, "I'll keep an eye on him. Should throw him in the shower again, don't Villains have running water?"
"It's usually not hot," Tommy shrugged, "Plus I don't need to shower unless I'm dirty and no ones punched me in the face lately. I'm getting better at dodging."
Techno seemed about to say something, but he cut himself off, standing up and beckoning Tommy to follow. Tommy did, but only because he wanted to and not because he was still a little afraid of the Hero who'd once thrown Ranboo clear across a block.
He could feel eyes on his back as they went, but he ignored them artfully.
Techno went into the bathroom first, grabbing what looked like a laundry basket and tossing the majority of the things not nailed down into it, much to Tommy's disappointment. What would be even do with soap? Maybe he wanted to smell like a Bath and Bodywork.
"You can use those," Techno said, setting the laundry basket outside the door, "I'll leave some clean clothes outside the door, use the top towel on the rack." he paused, "Please don't steal our shower head. We need that."
"Big T, big man, I would never mess with your plumbing! I hold some things sacred, you know?"
"Sure. Go shower. You do stink."
The door clicked shut behind him before he had a chance to protest. Tommy stared at it a moment, then sniffed his armpit.
Maybe Techno was the one who smelled. He smelled great.
He should steal their shower head to make a point.
To Tommy's utter credit, the shower was intact by the time he was finished, having decided that if Techno was gonna be rude, he'd use up as much shower gel as possible scrubbing himself and his hair down. He even used the 'shampoo and conditioner' that Tubbo swore up and down was what you were supposed to use for your hair, which was stupid because soap was soap.
He should clarify the lack of theft was not for a lack of trying, unfortunately, but whoever had built this place had made it annoyingly solid. Even his full body weight didn't shift that thing.
The towel was soft, more of a blanket than the coarse threads they had back at the compound, and Tommy was very tempted to just curl down on the floor for a moment and huddle in it like a penguin. But when he poked his head round the door (sad to see the laundry basket gone), the clothes that lay neatly folded on the ground looked even softer. The hoodie swamped him, the sleeves just a fraction too long, which was weird cause he'd only ever had clothes that were too small before. Finding clothes when you were tall as fuck was harder than you'd imagine. There were no socks or shoes, but it felt sort of gross to put his old ones back on now, so Tommy pad barefoot back into the main room.
He paused in the hallway, looking in on the scene before him. Techno and Wilbur were in the kitchen, arguing about something from the way their hands moved. It seemed playful, though, and they occasionally tossed things at each other, parts from the meal they were making. It looked a lot more fun than cooking with Tubbo, who insisted everything was treated like a science experiment and that 51g was not the same as 50g, and a lot safer than cooking with Ranboo, who should've been put in the weapons developing departments for the potency of the biological weapons he crafted.
Phil was perched on a counter cross-legged, having replaced the blueprints with some sort of cube that clicked and whirred, oddly satisfying as he flicked it back and forth.
Tommy swallowed hard, looking at them. At the scene he'd intruded on, on the home he'd entered. He wasn't stupid, alright? He knew that this was on him. He knew that he was being loud and annoying and contrary so they'd focus on that, and not on how he wolfed down every meal, how he dragged out the hours until he'd have to return, how his voice shook when he mentioned the people who ensured he'd never leave that place.
He knew what he was doing to them, making them unsafe in their own home.
But that was all he was good for, right? For stealing and being annoying and pushing buttons until people snapped and threw him out for good. They'd lasted longer than most, probably from some misguided belief that they owed their soulmate something, but eventually he'd find their limit. And then he could go back to his miserable life in his miserable apartment doing his miserable job.
He didn't have to find that limit tonight, though. He could leave them to their dinner, could take the clothes an excuse to come back another day, when reaching that limit would feel less like ripping out his own heart.
Tommy spun on his heel, stepped back towards the bathroom to retrieve his shoes-
"Oi! Don't you dare touch that painting!"
Tommy spun back, trying to school his startled expression into sheepish guilt, "I wasn't!" he yelled back, "I was getting my shoes!"
The whole truth, for once.
Wilbur shook a spoon at him, "Leave them, they're more hole than shoe. Phil, can you go grab a pair from my closet? We're about the same size I think. My old combat boots should work. Come here, I want you where I can see you."
Tommy swallowed harder, passing Phil as he flit to the bedroom. The man pat his shoulder as he passed, the moment absent like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. After a moment, Tommy climbed up onto the counter where he'd just been sitting, stealing his seat.
Techno snorted, "He'll fight you for that."
"He can try." Tommy said, puffing up his chest, "Whatcha cooking?"
"Spaghetti," Wilbur answered, "I'm going to show you that it can be good one way or another. Minus the kitchen exploding. Phil's the only one whose done that."
"I HEARD THAT!" came the yell from the corridor.
"GOOD!" Wilbur yelled back, "MAYBE YOU'LL STOP BURNING THE PASTA WATER THEN!"
Tommy curled his legs beneath him, tucking his chin onto his knees and just watching for a moment. Techno seemed to notice his silence but said nothing, turning back to the sauce he was stirring.
Just for tonight, he wouldn't find that line.