Chapter Text
Tommy sat in his bed, thinking about what he could do next, his art book in his hands, a pencil and his alcohol markers laid beside him in his divider.
He looked outside and the moon was covered by clouds. Tommy sighed. He needed fresh air.
Tommy glanced at his bedroom door. His dad was away for the weekend so he probably wouldn't mind if he took a night out for some personal art lessons on the train.
He wondered if he would see Wilbur there. His brother was away at his university learning acting and music writing. So far his brother's career was taking its first few steps in the right direction while Tommy didn't have much of a career in mind. He was homeschooled anyway, so he didn’t have much of an option since his father was struggling to pay for food. Much less a solid education.
Dispite Wilbur, he barely ever saw anyone else close to his age when he went out. One time, he did see someone beside a random cart taking paint. They had messy brown hair and a short stature.
Tommy didn't want to wake his older brother, Techno, who was still home because he took college closer to home. He works with his father which helps him to stay focused on his work. He reminded himself of the task at hand. Then he began to climb out the window.
As he put his feet on the cold fire escape, he wondered why he felt so strange doing this. He had done this so many times before. How was it any different now?
Tommy ignored the feeling and began climbing down the ladder.
Thankfully the train wasn’t too far. He could see it from the kitchen window, which was alright except the fact he had to hear talk from his father about how the guy making the graffiti was unruly and probably depressed.
Techno was impressed by it sometimes. He was a fighter and he really liked the bloody battles and sad art. He saw the perspective from Tommy’s eyes except he didn’t know it was Tommy. He was right about a few things but not all.
Tommy walked across the street and dug through the bush that he hid his paints in. He gasped when they weren’t there.
“Looking for something?” A voice said.
Tommy growled and turned. “You. What do you want?”
The man was a blonde. He had bright green eyes and faint freckles. He wore a green hoodie and black pants.
He pulled out Tommy’s red paint from his hoodie pocket.
“I just wanna know what you’re doing painting my train,” he threw the can in the air and shook it when it was back in his hand.
“One; It’s not yours. Two; I. Don’t. Care,” Tommy hissed.
“Come on, just give up the cart! I know you want to,” The man mocked.
“Why do you want it?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Eh, more room for me,” the man shrugged.
Tommy stood still for a moment. Then he had an idea. He might get beaten to a pulp, but even he knows this guy doesn’t want a fight. He wants Tommy to be a good little boy and run home to his mommy.
Tommy chuckled and took a step forward. “Well, if you aren’t going to give me my paints…”
The man stood his ground but the trace of unease was still on his face despite his sturdy posture.
“I’ll have to improvise,” Tommy grinned.
He punched the man in the face.
The man fell backwards and fell to his knees.
“How do you like my new piece?” Tommy mocked. “I call it; Bloody Nose.”
He growled. “Fine. Have your stupid paints back. I didn’t want them anyway.”
The man darted away in darkness and as he ran, he called “You’re going to pay for this!”
“Yeah, tell it to my fist!” Tommy called back in victory. Tommy smiled. Although it didn’t last long. He knew the guy would be back.
He sighed and collected his scattered paints. When he was sure he had all of them he went back to his usual spot.
His train cart was covered almost head to toe in art and writing.
He picked up his gas mask which was hidden behind the train cart wheel.
He locked it on his face and admired one of the semi-small blank spaces left.
Tommy grabbed his paints and let his emotions pour out into the paint, mixing his feelings with the blend.
A few minutes later he has in front of him a blue boy with blonde hair and sad eyes in white. A tear was dripping down his left cheek.
After he was satisfied, he decided he wanted to go back to his house. His job here was done.
He packed up his supplies and put them all under the train car along with his mask to keep his stuff from being taken again. Tommy usually hid his paints in the bushes but his mask was always under the train and had surprisingly never been found. It was either the guy from earlier didn’t know the mask existed, or he didn’t care enough to take it.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and started walking back.
While he walked he wondered what time it was. He glanced at the sky and realized the light of morning was already coming up.
“…Shit,” Tommy grumbled. His brother was usually up at the crack of dawn and rearing to go.
He quickly thought of an excuse, maybe Tommy could say he went to Starbucks! Techno might be a little pissed that Tommy didn’t get anything for him, but it was better than him knowing about Tommy’s little… Excursions.
He walked up the stair well to his apartment and wasn’t surprised to see Techno standing with his arms crossed when Tommy opened up the door.
“Where were you?” He asked immediately.
“Starbucks. Sorry, didn’t get you anything,” Tommy said, attempting to brush past him all nonchalant.
Unfortunately Techno didn’t budge. “Starbucks doesn’t open at 2 in the morning,” Techno caught.
Fuck. Tommy thought. Does he know? Did he catch me sneaking out?
“Where. Were. You?” Techno asked again.
Tommy was sweating bullets. “I- I was-“ Tommy was grasping at the strings and looking for loose ends. Suddenly he found one. “I was at the gym.”
Techno raised his eyebrows but did not widen his eyes. “Did you get into a fight?” He asked, glancing at Tommy’s hands.
Tommy realized the man's blood from earlier had been splashed on his hands.
“Would you be mad if I said yes?” Tommy raised an eyebrow.
Techno paused. “Depends. Did you win?”
Tommy grinned. “Yep. He ran away in fear.”
“I only believe half of that statement,” Techno chuckled.
Tommy would take it. He grinned and ran to the kitchen to grab some grub.
“What do we have for breakfast?” Tommy asked.
“Mashed potatoes,” Techno said as he pulled a plastic container out of the fridge.
He groaned. “Why not pancakes?”
Techno paused. “Potato pancakes?” He asked.
“Ew. Just give me the mashed potatoes,” Tommy sighed.
Techno shrugged and handed him the container.
Techno looked out the window. “Looks like TI made a new piece,” he pointed out.
“TI?” Tommy raised an eyebrow.
“Hm, definitely one of his less uplifting or detailed pieces,” He pointed out. “I like the bloody ones better.” He shrugged.
“Then again the guy has barely any happy pieces,” Techno said, referring to the dark picture of a young boy with bloody cuts along his body and eyes watching him.
“I think he’s just very expressive,” Tommy shrugged.
“True. He does have a pretty cool one where there’s a boy standing over a tower of bodies as if he has finally staked his claim on the world and proved himself worthy,” Techno nodded in approval. “The bloody sword looks cool as well.”
Tommy remembered that night. Nightmares of gangs had haunted him that night and scared him out of his mind. He vanquished it from his mind by painting himself standing over their bodies and showing that he wasn’t afraid of them.
Painting helped him get rid of his bad thoughts and dreams he realized.
That gave him an idea of something to paint the next night.
A picture that represents him, his emotions and his life. A mural.
Techno must have seen the spark of inspiration on his face because then he asks, “What? You wanna be a graffiti artist like him? Well no shot. You can get in fights but if you start pulling stuff like graffiti you might get in serious trouble. If I had to guess, TI probably only has a few more pieces before he gets caught and put in jail. Or worse, rehab.”
“Rehab?” Tommy raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued.
“I don’t know anyone who has been. But there’s this horrible rehab station that gives people the creeps. The innocents fear for the people who need it. You either come back a completely different person, a murderer to a medic for example, or worse. You come back scarred emotionally and physically. That place is a death trap. Some say that most inhabitants stay forever because they want to. But the most common is that they can’t leave. The people who run the place are scientists and social researchers,” Techno shared.
Tommy gulped.
“They use the worst people who they believe are beyond help, and research on them, use them as Guinea Pigs. Most are sent there. The jail gave up after they were greeted happily with a mass murderer turned cop. They believed rehab was the solution,” Techno finished finally. “Whoever TI is, I wish him the best. I wouldn’t be surprised if that piece was the last one he ever makes.”
Tommy gulps. “You’re just trying to scare me.”
“Nope, look it up. Mass murderer turned cop. Murderer turned medic. You’ll find them both. Promise,” Techno crossed his heart and held up three fingers.
Tommy didn’t believe him. He didn’t want to believe him. He sighed and put down the container of mashed potatoes.
Tommy realized he never ate any but disregarded the food anyway. He lost his appetite. He got up and walked to the couch and turned on the TV. Another day. And this night he hoped wouldn’t be his last. Maybe he would make this piece a final send off. Tommy wasn’t up for testing his luck with more than one. This was it.
This piece would be his grand finale.