Work Text:
The world has not been kind to Thomas Safety Danger Kraken Innit. In fact, it seemed all the beings in the cosmos held a grudge against him and all he was worth. And, according to some, that was a lot. His abysmal luck is how he ended up where he was today, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, hood up and face down as he walked down the darkened streets of Logsted. The lower district of Essepmii was called Pogtopia and within it was Logsted, the lowest of the low. At night, crime ran rampant, but Tommy had long since left that part of his life behind, both the crime-doing and the crime-fighting.
Power thrummed through his veins, begging to be unleashed. His powers had been building up since he last put a cap on them, and it made his skin itch like crazy. He had been shocking more things on accident as of late but luckily most of it could be blamed on static. However, if he didn’t release this particular bought of build-up soon, it would spell disaster for the residents of Logsted.
Tommy stumbled, reaching out his hand to steady himself on the brick wall next to him. Flashing images ran through his mind, the past present and future of this building. That is what made him so valuable to so many, the ability to see glimpses of disaster before it strikes and be able to do something about it when that time came. It was basically unheard of.
With a soft groan, Tommy pushed away from the building, ignoring the knowledge that it would be rubble within the week due to a Syndicate attack. It wasn’t his problem and other such obligations became null and void the moment he had taken a knife to his shoulder and dug out the tracker the Association had forced under his skin.
His fingertips sparked at the thought, nearly catching his hoodie on fire if he hadn’t reeled his powers in last second. The long-healed scar twinged in phantom pain, making him roll his shoulder in an attempt to alleviate it.
When he finally reached his rundown apartment building, Tommy was relieved to see its crumbling walls. Sure, the place was shit but it was his, no strings attached. What he wasn’t happy to see- or hear rather- was the low pained groan coming from the Murder Alley next to the building.
Now, Tommy was not a good person, and he doubted he ever would be, but sometimes bad people do good things. He just so happened to do good things more than most other bad people. So, powers at the ready, he tentatively stepped into the Murder Alley, which was affectionately named that due to sheer amount of near murder incidents that occurred in that particular alley. Actually, maybe the name wasn’t all that affectionate. The light of the moon was barely enough for Tommy to see anything, but it was too much of a risk to pull out his phone for its flashlight with electricity sparking through his body.
There, near the middle of the alley and slumped behind a garbage bin, was a slumped form and a dark puddle that was clearly blood from the smell. What or whoever had attacked the person was nowhere in sight, so Tommy pushed away his powers and knelt down to the person. A quick check confirmed that the person was still alive and, from the muttering, not fully unconscious.
Tommy pondered it for a second. The police down here were useless, calling the heroes is just tempting fate, and lord help whatever soul gets bad enough to actually seek out medical care here. So, with all his options being nil, Tommy picked up the person, wincing as he felt liquid seeping into his hoodie. Whatever, it wasn’t his favorite one anyway.
The rigorous training from the Association had definitely given Tommy strength but there was something about this person that was just far too light. Malnutrition was common in Logsted though, so he didn’t think too much of it. Maybe he should have.
He hauled the person into the light of the lobby of his building, no one around as always. However, with better visibility, Tommy could see who exactly he was holding, and his heart went still.
A familiar mask, familiar suit, hell he even knew that scar on the person’s chin well. They haunted his nightmares almost every night. Psychē, one of the leaders for the Syndicate was currently bleeding out in his arms. The two of them had gone toe to toe many times in the five years Tommy had been a hero, since Tommy was the one who often stopped their plans. Of course, Psychē was much more powerful than him and the villain had no concept of holding back against an enemy. In another reality, Tommy would have been honored to get the full force of Psychē’s powers but in this one, all it did was leave him scarred and broken. His buddy, Aima, the other leader of the Syndicate was no better but at least he didn’t go full power on their first meeting. No, he waited for the third.
Tommy should be more than happy to put Psychē back in Murder Alley and let him bleed out. He should but… it was a Syndicate attack that allowed Tommy to slip out of the Association Headquarters in the first place. He knew that wasn’t planned but it was still something he felt he owed the criminal organization for.
So, with the goal of clearing that particular debt from his conscience, Tommy got Psychē upstairs and laid him out on his couch. He didn’t mind the blood that stained the cloth, he’d gotten the couch second hand, and he severely doubted blood was the worst thing on there.
With great care, Tommy cut off a chunk of the man’s uniform to be able to better access whatever wound(s) he had. It was actually much harder than he thought it would be. The cloak Psychē wore seemed thin and light weight but turned out to be damn near uncuttable until Tommy brought out one of the Netherite knives he’d nicked from the Association before he dipped and even then, it took finding the already there tears in the fabric.
So, Tommy was a little irritated, having bent a few of his knives in his quest to get the fabric off. Lo and behold, two bullet wounds, one on the shoulder and the other on the stomach. The one on Psychē’s shoulder was shot clean through, luckily, so all it took was a tight dressing to help stem the bleeding. Tommy knew he was hoping for a miracle situation at this point, pray for no bone fragments and at least very little internal damage. Being shot sucked ass.
However, most of his worry went towards the wound in Psychē’s abdomen. All that important shit so close together meant at least something got hit. Tommy gently rolled Psychē on his side again, cursing when there was no exit wound to speak of. He’d done enough of this kind of stuff on the field, being the go-to guy because he could theoretically restart the heart. (He could, he had it down to a science after he watched a good hero die because he didn’t have enough control for the leaders of the mission to attempt saving her.)
With that, Tommy had thrown himself into field medicine. He could deal with this wound, keep Psychē stable enough from Aima to come collect him for the surgeries he most definitely needed. That’s all he needed to do.
With steady hands that didn’t reflect his emotions, Tommy made four cuts on the outside of the wound, relief cuts. Hastily sanitized tweezers carefully dipped into the hole, continuing down until they hit the solid bullet still lodged in the flesh. Tommy took a deep breath and prayed to all the Gods he had lost faith in that the bullet was in one piece and there was no shrapnel inside Psychē. He expertly grabbed the bullet and slowly pulled it out, unknowingly holding his breath.
Stark relief hit him when the bullet came into view, whole and unblemished. Tommy dropped the bullet and tweezers onto his table, finishing his treatment. His hands and chest were covered in sticky drying blood, some of it smeared across his cheek.
“Alright,” Tommy muttered as he stood, “Now, how do I call your buddy, huh?” he asked the passed-out man on his couch.
“… Whatever, I need to clean up anyway.” He huffed, making his away to his bathroom for a nice hot shower. He refused to allow himself time to soak in the heated water, he wanted Psychē out of his place as soon as possible. So, only ten minutes later, Tommy stepped back into the living room, steam billowing behind him as he toweled his hair dry. His clothes stuck awkwardly to his skin, as it always did after a shower.
Psychē was still out on the couch, breathing shallow. Tommy stood before the prone body; arms crossed and frowning. He stared at the villain for a long time before he noticed it. Something around his neck, pinned to the cloak.
Distress beacon, Tommy realized belatedly, mind flashing back to all the time he’d watched Psychē press a hand to his chest when the heroes had him backed in a corner and Aima was there within ten minutes., Sneaky bastards.
Tommy held his hand over the brooch (was that the right word?), eyes flicking to the pale villain. He closed his eyes and pressed down, light as he could until he felt the gem sink a little and click.
There. It was done. Aima would be here any moment now. Tommy gathered any object he could find with Psychē’s blood on it and placed it in a bag. A gesture of goodwill for Aima, even if Tommy had literally saved Psychē from bleeding out in Murder Alley.
With anxiety thrumming under his skin, Tommy set about cleaning the dishes that had been left in his sink for about a week now. He’d just never found the energy to do it until now.
Tommy didn’t even need his hard-won instincts to tell when Aima arrived, since the villain just came crashing through his door. What he did use was the stellar acting he had picked up. Even as his fear skyrocketed, Tommy placed down the plate he washed to dry. ” ‘Ello.” He said, not looking away from the sink, “Reckon you need to pick someone up.” Aima was silent, the air tense and Tommy could feel his burning gaze digging into his skull.
“… He’s on the couch.” Tommy said when it became clear that Aima would not be talking, “Get him some medical help. Proper medical help.”
“What did you do to him.” Aima’s voice was low, threatening. ”I didn’t hurt him.” Tommy huffed, “I got him away from immediate death, but he still needs to be looked at. Anything his blood touched is in the bag on the table.
Aima was silent again, a little less threatening this time and a little more considering.
“Why.” Tommy was asking himself the same question. Useless, really, since he already knew why he’d helped Psychē.
“I… owe you.” Tommy grit out, the words leaving a bitter taste on his tongue and making him stomach roll, “Don’t ask how, just know you only get one more situation like this before it’s returned.”
There was some rustling, which Tommy assumed was Aima picking Psychē and the bag up.
“Fine.” Quieter, “Thank you.” and then the villains were gone. Tommy slumped against his sink, releasing his white-knuckle grip on the metal.
“Fuck.” he whispered, closing his eyes as he tried to control his breathing.
It didn’t help much.
Three weeks passed with the Syndicate giving radio silence.
It wasn’t unusual for that but normally, they allowed sightings of them every few days to keep up the fear.
Techno refused to let Phil out of his sight.
“Tell me again.” Phil demanded, making Techno sigh.
“I’ve told you at least nineteen times by now.” He grumbled, pushing a stubborn strand of hair back behind his ear. It kept falling while he was trying to read.
“Then make it twenty then.” Phil huffed, crossing his arms. He was fully healed by now, even if Techno wanted him to rest more.
Rolled his eyes, Techno closed his book and set to the side.
“The story ain’t gonna change the more you hear it.” Techno said but obliged the request, “You missed check in and I was lookin’ for you. 'Bout five hours went by before your beacon went off. When I found where you were, you were passed out on some teenager’s couch all bandaged up. Kid didn’t even look at me, put all your bloody stuff in a bag and told me he owed us. That we have one more free pass ‘til he considered his debt paid.”
Phil groaned in frustration, “But what could a kid owe us, Techno?!” he exclaimed, hands on his head as he flopped back into the couch cushions the two of them were on.
“Dunno,” Techno said, watching his friend angst about the situation, “Better question is, what kid knows first aid like that?”
“Teenagers are weird, you know that.” Phil’s voice was muffled by his palms.
Techno paused and shrugged, picking his book back up.
Yeah, sure. That works.
Yeah, no. This sucks.
Tommy wanted to break something. Mainly the face of the bitch yelling at him. Seriously, this guy was ranting and raving about how his coffee took too long. He ordered a minute ago. Hell, even a twenty-year-old like Tommy had better manners than this sixty-year-old asshole.
“Sir.” Tommy said blandly, being ignored, “Sir, please calm down.”
He did not, in fact, calm down.
Tommy sighed.
“Richie!” He called to the back. Richie was his coworker, often asked to scare off rude customers.
The mountain of a man emerged from the break room, towering over the now silent asshole. Asshole grabbed his coffee and bolted.
“Thank you, Richie.” Tommy said, patting the man’s leg gratefully. Richie nodded and slinked off again. Tommy liked Richie, great guy.
The next two hours passed smoothly. A little too smoothly. So of course, things went wrong.
Tommy was wiping down the counter when the doorbell chimed, letting him know someone had just entered the little cafe.
“I’ll be with you in a second!” Tommy said. The wonders of the customer service voice.
“Take your time.”
Tommy refused to let himself freeze at the voice; the man was known to pounce on such weaknesses after all. Motherfucking Dream was in his cafe. Tommy thanked all his lucky stars that the man had never seen his face in person. The he immediately renounced that because he had no doubt that the Association had shown top heroes like Dream his photo to track him down.
“I just have to pop into the back and I’ll be right with you!” Tommy said with false cheer, making sure to keep his steps hurried but purposeful yet now seeming like he was running away.
“Richie,” Tommy said as he threw open the door to the break room, “Richie, you gotta go!” The man was a gentle soul, and Tommy had no doubt that this would turn into a fight, he didn’t want his coworker getting hurt.
Richie looked up from his modified phone, “Leave?” His rock-like face twisted into his best version of a frown, “Why?” Tommy ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit, “Look, remember how I told you have a bit of a rocky past?” Richie nodded, “Right, one of the guys from said rocky past is here right now and I don’t know if he recognizes me but if he does, there’ll be a huge fight, and I don’t want you getting hurt and-”
He’s cut off by Richie carefully laying a rocky hand on his shoulder, stopping his rambles.
“Okay, then I’ll serve the guy.” Richie smiled, well as best as he could get to a smile, “You go. I’ll clock you out when your shift ends.” Tommy felt a surge of appreciation for Richie, “You really don’t know how much that means to me, thank you so much.” He felt close to tears, but Richie just waved him off, ducking under the door and making his way to the front of house.
Tommy left, heart twisting in his chest. He’d have to leave town now, if Dream had found him. He loved his littler corner of Logsted, he’d be sad to go. But he didn’t have a choice.
He never did.
It seemed that Lady Luck would never be on his side.
Tommy had returned to his apartment to grab his essentials and dip, maybe light and electrical fire on his way out so he could slip away unnoticed.
But Aima and Psychē were there, the former slumped against his partner’s side.
“Oh, fuck me.” Tommy groaned when he walked into his place.
Psychē’s gaze was dark with anger, though it wasn’t directed at Tommy.
“Help. him.” The villain demanded. Tommy stared at him.
“You chose the literal worst time to do this.” he sighed but helped Psychē lower Aima to the couch.
“What happened?” Tommy asked, shedding his coat and pushing up his sleeved.
“He got stabbed, his ribs.” Psychē said curtly, “I can’t treat him right now and our doctor is MIA.”
“Right,” Tommy muttered, “I need you to guard the door.”
Though he couldn’t see his face, Tommy had the feeling that Psychē was raising an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Got a guy after me, hero. I need you to keep a look out for me.” Tommy explained, pulling on a pair of gloves, “Kill him if you have to.”
Psychē tilted his head but shrugged, watching the door.
Tommy got to work. Stab wounds were much easier to deal with and this one seemed pretty shallow, which made Tommy frown.
“Hey, do you know if the knife was poisoned?” Tommy asked Psychē as he examined the wound.
“Mild paralysis but we don’t have the antidote so.” There was a rustling sound like a shrug.
Tommy accepted that answer and deftly sewed the wound shut, adding a gauze patch over it.
“Alright, he’s good.” Tommy announced, shedding the slightly bloody gloves.
“Oh, thank The Lady.” Psychē breathed, kneeling by Aima’s side. They were close, it seemed.
The peace didn’t last, the door being kicked open. Dream stood in the doorway, in full gear.
“Fuck!” Tommy cursed, falling into a defensive position.
“Neuron.” Dream said making Tommy flinch at his old hero name, “The Association misses you.” ”The Association can fuck off.” Tommy hissed, electricity sparking at his finger tips.
He felt Psychē tense at his side and Tommy resigned himself to death. Even if Dream didn’t catch him, Psychē wouldn’t let him live after this.
“Neuron, huh.” Psychē’s voice was like steel, “Though you’d be older, mate.”
“Oh, fuck you, I’m twenty!” Tommy snapped. If he was going to die, he refused to be polite about it.
Psychē didn’t say anything as he stood. Dream used the distraction to lunge forward, hand outstretched for Tommy. He didn’t stand a chance.
Psychē grabbed his wrist, hand bare. A death sentence. The limb in his grasp shriveled in an instant, making Dream howl in pain his arm rapidly rotted. The rest of his body followed soon after, the hero collapsing as his life forced was drained away seconds.
Psychē let the corpse drop, turning to face Tommy. He snapped out his trance, having been staring at Dream as he died.
“Twenty.” Psychē said, “Gone for two years. Active for five.” Tommy was confused, all these were just random facts.
“So?” Tommy asked, still in his defensive position.
“You started out at thirteen.” Psychē hissed, stepping closer to Tommy, looming, “We met when you were thirteen, and we fought. You hurt me, sure, but I hurt you much more.” Psychē didn’t have to remind him. The scars still ached. Aima stirred on the couch.
“But you have talent.” The words scared Tommy, “Medical skill that could be cultivated. Ponk… well, he’s been off. We need a new doctor.”
Tommy’s eyes widened as the implications hit him.
“So, let’s make a deal, Neuron.” Psychē grinned, full of sharp teeth, “You heal us, we protect you. Deal?”
This… this would change everything. Tommy wouldn’t have to run. He’d be safe, secure. This is the closest he would get to freedom.
He lowered his hands, letting the electricity fizzle out.
But before he could answer, something hit Tommy on his head, making him crumple to the ground. His vision blurred but he could make out the shape of Aima standing over him.
Deal. Tommy thought as his vision faded out and he was lost to unconsciousness.