Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Tommy died to Dream’s hands on a too-warm obsidian floor—bleeding, screaming, falling, skull cracking into fragments—until his consciousness lost its grip on his waking mind and he was sinking into darkness.

In the void, he didn’t have a body; it was like all of the molecules in him were being ripped apart. If he screamed he didn’t hear it. There was silence.

Then, he heard a rushing noise in the black, like the sound of a passing train, and felt like his body and soul itself were being crushed not nothingness. Some time passed. His mind began to congeal once more; reassembling like rot in reverse. He had just enough time to begin to feel alone.

Then he woke up.

Coughing and spluttering, Tommy came back to life submerged in a pool of green. His next inhalation sent thick liquid down his throat, choking him, and he kicked out, hitting something, again and again until his surroundings splintered with the sound of breaking glass.

The liquid he was floating in rushed out and Tommy was sent crashing to the floor, coughing and covered in some mysterious substance, trembling with weakness and soaked.

When he managed to roll over, he was greeted by a white tiled ceiling somewhere he didn’t recognize. Craning his neck from side to side, he could make out other large tubes in the dimness of the room, filled with the same lightly glowing liquid he’d woken up in. There was no one else there.

Taking deep breaths, Tommy forced himself first to roll over, then pushed himself to his feet. He staggered. He felt ill. His head was foggy, but past his death, there was no recollection of having traveled anywhere else. Trembling fingers patted himself down.

He was wearing the same thing he’d worn to the prison—it was even torn and bloodied in the same places—and his inventory was barren. He was still covered in bruises, like no time had passed at all since the prison. His gut was swooping and his head wasn’t much better.

The weakness was definitely all physical. Revival was tiring. Obviously. Tommy wasn’t freaking out and desperately trying not to think of Dream and his utter terror as he died. Of course not.

Stumbling drunkenly, Tommy braced a hand against the wall and began to walk.

“Sam?” He called. His voice was raw from inhaling mysterious goop. Ugh. “Sam? Are you there? Guys?”

Eyebrows furrowing, Tommy’s mind raced as he made his way haltingly through the facility, taking in the abandoned equipment. It looked scientific, only reminiscent of the old L’Manberg drug lab. Tommy hadn’t done much science in his life. He wasn’t sure what this facility was. It didn’t look anything like the prison, but where else could he be?

The halls were similarly dark and empty. The facility itself, beyond the room he’d woken up with, was absolutely trashed. It was clear there had been some sort of fight here. Broken glass and smashed furniture littered the floor. Tommy pushed himself to walk faster. Thankfully, even death hadn’t taken his shoes, protecting his feet from broken glass; the canvas of his sneakers squelched with each step.

Inhaling evenly was a struggle. A nightmare scenario was forming in his mind. One that had his breath quickening and his lungs tightening so much it was hard to breathe.

Dream had wanted him in the prison. Dream had wanted him alone where he could torture him, bring him back to life, again and again forever and ever. Was it possible Dream had revived him after escaping somehow? Creating this new base? Would Tommy be trapped here, doomed to be killed and revived over and over again?

It didn’t make perfect sense. If Dream had made this place, then where was he now? Why was it seemingly abandoned. But he didn’t have a better explanation. Nothing else made much sense at the minute.

Tommy needed to leave. Now. Figure out where he’d ended up. If he was correct, staying here was a fate worse than death.

Eventually, Tommy found a window. Boarded up, but it was quick work the break the planks and store them away in his inventory. Strangely, when he caught a glimpse of his reflection, he noticed a new streak of pure white right at the crown of his head. Damn it. He thought he’d have a couple more years before he went gray. There wasn’t time to think about it now.

The view outside was unfamiliar. He was a couple floors up, so he was forced to take the extra time to craft a shitty wood pick and mine out some of smooth stone walls for blocks. His complete exhaustion made this take way longer than it should have. Eventually, he was up a new stone pick and had enough blocks to make a staircase down the side of the building far enough to drop down without breaking his legs.

Tommy hit the concrete hard enough for the shock to rattle its way painfully through his entire body. He shuddered and barely managed not to fall. It was dark and cool outside, making his wet clothes feel freezing, and Tommy realized he had no idea where he was.

He was down an alleyway barred in by tall, grey buildings he’d never seen in his life. The air was thick with smog and the smell of decay. Even the sky felt odd, dark, smothering clouds hanging low over the night sky, but lit with an odd orangeish ambient light. Noise floated towards him from every direction; a low hum of thousands of people nearby. It was stifling. It was clear this was a city, but where? There hadn’t been a true city on the SMP since L’Manberg had been carpet bombed into oblivion.

Tommy shook his head and regretted it as pain stabbed through his temple. Priorities. He refocused on the alleyway he was standing in. There was a row of dumpsters next to him, but some prick had just dumped trash next to the dumpster like it hadn't even been there. His sluggish mind sparked with an idea. Of course! It was perfect.

Digging through the trash yielded him a jacket which had some dubious maybe-bloodstains spattered across the back and a hole ripped right through the shoulderblades. It was better than nothing. Other than that, Tommy managed to gather some more scraps of wood, a dented knife, and a half-eaten sandwich he didn’t have too much pride to eat. Not much else of use, but Tommy would take it. The food helped settle his shaking a little. Time to get the fuck out of here.

He’d only taken a few steps towards the street when a few tall figures entered the alleyway.

Tommy stilled. As they drew closer, the shadows parted enough that Tommy could make out their faces, which were completely new to him. He cocked his head, lips pursed. They were all adult men—mid twenties, maybe? Shamelessly, he watched them as they approached, searching for any hint of recognition. They elbowed each other, exchanged words with smirks as they drew closer.

“No one ever tell you to mind your own business, kid?” One of them asked. He had a bottle of something dangling loosely between his fingers. He met Tommy’s eyes directly, a cruel smirk tugging at his mouth. Tommy felt like he was being mocked. His fists clenched at his sides.

“A few times. Who the hell are you?” Tommy scowled. This was so weird. Irritation sparked in his stomach; he felt himself rising to the taunt quicker than he usually would. He felt pissed off for some reason. Maybe because he felt so shitty. It was an odd, detached sort of anger; bubbling under his skin, it made him jittery and tense. He jerked his head to the side like it could clear it away.

One of them laughed in shock. The group was barely a few paces from him now. Tommy set his jaw.

“Hey, I think this kid’s an idiot. We were gonna be nice.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tommy asked, “That was you being nice?”

Still weak with exhaustion, he was completely unprepared for the man closest to him punching him in the face.

Stumbling, Tommy couldn’t dodge a vicious kick, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the floor face-first with a groan as pain exploded in his nose. The next kick went straight in his gut.

Rolling, Tommy barely dodged the next one, scrambling forwards on his hands. It took only a couple steps to make it back to his feet. He ducked, dodging the hands that grabbed for him, the men yelling mockingly. They sounded like they were having fun. Anger boiled in Tommy’s stomach, but he couldn’t turn and fight. Not right now. He barely had the presence of mind to run instead of turn and fight like a dumbass.

Sprinting for the street, Tommy prayed he wouldn’t trip. Shit! These guys were such pricks! He knew he was annoying at times, but he’d barely even said a word to them.

He’d almost made it past the mouth of the alley when a hand dragged him back by the collar of his new jacket. Slipping it off his shoulders, Tommy lunged out—but then was yanked back by his hair. He couldn’t help the shout of pain. He reached for the hand holding him, but his wrists were tugged to either side of him next, and he realized what a dumbass he’d been.

Shit! He should have used his new knife when he had the chance! Stupid panicked brain. Usually he was slightly less of a dumbass, but then again, respawns were always a bitch. He writhed in the hold, but the hands were tight, painfully so. The hand in his hair was nearly ripping the hair off his scalp.

“Let me go, you fucking pricks! What the fuck do you want? I’ll fucking kill you!” Tommy snarled, trying to jerk his head far enough to bite, but he only hurt his neck.

“A bit of friendly advice,” the one with the bottle circled around him, grinning a little, “Don’t be an asshole, and you might survive another night in the Alley.”

Tommy tried to kick out, but only hit air. Fuck. He braced himself to get his ass kicked. This was such bullshit! If only he could get free—he’d clobber these guys for sure. 

Then a strange, modulated voice behind him growled, “You might want to take your own advice. Hands off the kid and no one gets shot.”

“Fuck! It’s Red Hood!”

BANG.

Tommy flinched, hard, all the air leaving his lungs. The fuck was that? It sounded almost like a firework rocket, but without the actual fireworks. His ears rang in the aftershock.

The men sounded just as startled, shouting. One of them screamed.

“Too slow,” the voice drawled. It sounded kind of amused.

Oh, shit. Tommy was gonna die again. He was so screwed. Oh fuck. The voice had an odd accent Tommy had never heard before, thick, somehow round and harsh at the same time.

The hands holding Tommy released, and he hit the ground knees-first, palms slamming into the pavement. Tommy was busy trying not to throw up all over the floor. He was trembling with barely-surpressed emotion, anger and sadness and other terrible feelings and twisting together in his stomach hard enough to make him sick. He heard footsteps running away and let out a sigh of relief.

“Ugh. Fuck.” Eyes squeezed shut, Tommy tensed as he heard slow footsteps approach from behind him. Was the crazy bastard still here? He cracked them open again to see a pair of boots stop in front of his face. Swallowing nervously, he kept his head down. Maybe if he didn’t acknowledge this guy, he would leave? The anger was dissipating, slightly, but it was still there. Tommy wasn’t sure he could control the words that would come out of his mouth.

“Kid? You awake in there?”

Damn. Slowly, Tommy craned his neck up to see an absolutely giant man without a face.

He was scrambling back on his hands before he knew it, falling on his ass. “Shit!”

Wait, no, it had eyes. Just not a mouth or a nose. Those glowing eyes were tracked right on him. The man had paused—like Tommy had surprised him or something, maybe, though he wasn’t sure how he would have. Maybe he wasn’t used to seeing beat up teenagers looking like they’d just taken a swim in mutant slime?

“Woah, hey,” the guy said finally, raising his hands. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” He was holding something strange in one of them—sleek and black. Had that made the sound before?

“What the fuck are you wearing on your face?” Tommy winced as soon as the words left his mouth.

Never let it be said Tommy learned his lesson. Hopefully this guy wouldn’t also kick his ass. He seemed like he’d be better at it than the last guys. He was sure he wasn’t exactly the most intimidating, at the minute, given he was soaked and half-dead even before he’d gotten the new bloody nose.

Thankfully, the guy just huffed a noise which was probably a laugh.

“It’s a mask. And a helmet.” The man (?) rapped his knuckles against the material, which made a hard sound. “Saved me from more than a couple concussions.”

“Maybe I should consider it,” Tommy said. “But then again, it’s extremely ugly. If you weren’t aware.”

“Where did you come from?” the guy said, but it sounded more like a mutter.

Tommy slowly pushed himself back to his feet, not taking his eyes off the man in front of him. The man who was not moving. And blocking his exit. And crossing his massive arms over his massive chest. He was dressed in dark color, a deep red logo on his chest like a bat, with a beaten brown leather jacket stretched over his shoulders. Suitably dramatic.

Despite himself, Tommy was getting some Technoblade vibes right now. Jury was still out on whether that was a good thing.

The man spoke again. In his weird robotic voice. Maybe he was like Sam Nook? But he didn’t seem like a robot. Tommy could see strips of exposed skin between his rolled-up sleeves and his black gloves.

The man addressed him again. “Look, are you alright? There’s a clinic you can go to around here. No charge. I could lead you there if you like.”

“I’m not letting you kidnap me, prick,” Tommy snapped. His shivered slightly as a breeze passed over his bare arms. “You ever heard of ‘stranger danger’? You look like a pretty dangerous stranger.”

The man paused slightly. Tilted his head.

“My name is Red Hood. You know where you are?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s…” Tommy frowned. Squinted. “The SMP? Somewhere? Is this a new settlement? Where’s the prison?”

It did not look new. It did not look like the SMP. Tommy didn’t have any other theories.

“We’re in Gotham,” Red Hood replied drily. “We’re a little far from England.”

“Where the hell is Gotham?” And where was England?

“...New Jersey.”

Some of Tommy’s fear was beginning to slide away to make room for pure confusion. And exasperation.

“These are really stupid names. Are you messing with me? I’m really not in the mood,” he demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Hood.

“Not in the slightest.”

Tommy nodded. Some of the thick goop was dripping down his neck, cold against his spine, and he was really hoping he could dry off somewhere soon. Make a fire. Preferably without getting kidnapped.

Look, this guy had helped him. But he still had no clue who he was. And Tommy was not gonna run off somewhere unfamiliar with a masked stranger who could snap him like a twig. He had a little common sense.

He shifted on his feet warily. Hood hadn’t taken any steps forward, but he hadn’t taken any steps back. Tommy still had absolutely no idea why he had helped him. If there was something he was expecting in exchange. He should probably get the hell out of dodge before this guy kidnapped him and made him his unpaid worker.

He cleared his throat. “I appreciate it, um… Red. Mr. Hood? Sir? Anyways. I think I’ll be on my way.”

The man snorted, not moving. “No need to be formal.” Gesturing loosely with a hand (which Tommy tracked warily), he added, “Looks like you might have gotten a head wound. Those can be tricky. Speaking from experience.”

“What? No,” Tommy denied. His head was fine. Never better.

“There’s blood in your hair.”

Confused, Tommy pressed his fingers to his temple. His head didn’t feel injured. The skin was unbroken, though his temple felt strange, like it was knotted with scar tissue. Like it was—

Adrenaline spiked through his stomach. He ripped his hand away to look, and—

His hand came away red. The blood was tacky, not yet fully dry.

He gasped as he remembered. His skull, cracking against obsidian—

Tommy swayed, staggering straight into a wall.

“Woah–” Hood took a step forward, reaching out to catch him, but Tommy jerked away.

“Stay the fuck back!” Tommy snarled, summoning the dented knife into his hand. “I’ll fucking stab you!” His voice had gone reedy and weak, breath catching in his chest. The panic he’d been barely keeping submerged was rising over his head again, like waking up in the ice-cold ocean, waves crashing over him. He felt kind of like the waves were in him, too, and he was a water balloon that was getting too-full. Stretched uncomfortably thin over his own chaos. Liable to burst at any moment.

Hood stepped back. “Okay. I hear you.”

“I’m leaving.” Tommy edged along the wall. Hood kept still, just watching, as Tommy fought not to succumb to panic. “Don’t follow me. I’m warning you.”

Tommy backed away a few meters before turning to run. The man didn’t follow.

“O. We’ve got a situation.”

“Hood. Nice to hear from you. What’s going on?”

“Kid with Lazarus Pit signs spotted in the Alley. Seemed like he’d just come out, too. Maybe 15–17 years old, about six feet tall, blonde. Real beat up and in ripped clothing. Easily spooked, probably a meta. Possible human trafficking victim. He was British, said he didn’t know where Gotham was.”

“Meta?”

“Pulled a knife, but it seemed to come from thin air. Could just be quick but I’m not counting on it.”

“Very easily spooked then. I’ll tell everyone to keep an eye out.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna see if I can figure out where this kid crawled out of.”

It was another couple of days before Tommy ran into another person wearing a mask. He was elbow-deep in a dumpster outside of a restaurant when a figure emerged from the shadows behind him.

It had been a confusing few days. Tommy was adjusting, because he was quick on the uptake like that, and stealing was extremely easy when you could dump things into your inventory, but that didn’t mean things weren’t strange. There was a lot of weird shit on this server. Cars! Gravity on everything, not just sand! And, as he’d noticed, no mobs. A lot of aggressive people, though. Maybe they’d decided to step up to the plate if zombies wouldn’t.

And, because things were confusing, he’d wanted a bit of normalcy. So he’d turned to the old reliable: digging through people’s trash.

Until he was interrupted by a freaky shadow demon.

“Agh! Fuck!” Tommy whipped around and careened back, instinctively summoning the knife into his hand. It was a paltry defense against this giant black behemoth, but it would have to do. His back clanged into the dumpster behind him hard enough to bruise.

This was the first mob Tommy had seen since coming to this server, but he wouldn’t go down easy. Eyes flashing, Tommy lunged with his knife for its gut. The monster, strangely, stepped out of the way, sending Tommy stumbling past it. Pivoting, he aimed the knife at its side in a lethal swing. To his shock, it grabbed his wrist, halting his swing, and then grabbed his other wrist, too. The hand was so tight around his wrist it hurt, forcing him to drop his knife. Tommy felt despair crash over his head.

Now Tommy was trapped, both of his arms held firmly behind his back. He thrashed, panicked. He didn’t want to get eaten! That would be such a bullshit way to go!

“Fucking bitch!”

Someone said, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

All of Tommy’s thoughts came to a stuttering halt. Wait—

He jerked his head to look at the creature in disbelief. “You can talk?!”

“Yes.” This time it was for sure the creature that spoke, because Tommy saw his lips move. On his human mouth. Oh.

“Well… shit. Sorry.” Tommy fidgeted warily. His eyes flitted down the deserted alleyway. No one else appeared. He looked back at the stranger. “Look, mate, that’s my bad. I thought you were a mob. I didn’t realize you were a person. You’re not going to kill me, are you? It was one hundred percent an accident. I didn’t even manage to stab you.”

Finally, the man relaxed his hold, letting Tommy stumble warily back. He pressed his back against the dumpster. His eyes darted towards the knife, but he was worried that if he grabbed it, the man would attack him for real.

“I don’t kill,” the man said growled. Growlingly. Never had Tommy heard a guy growlier. “I’d like to help you.” 

Tommy eyed the man’s get-up dubiously. “...You sure? You look like the type to be a murder.” 

Now that Tommy had a moment, he could see that Batman was, in fact, a man. Even though he had seemed to appear from the shadows he still had arms and legs under that big cape. He even had a human face! Curiously, Tommy noticed a familiar symbol splashed across his broad chest. Was it the same one Hood had?

It still looked like serial killer attire. Didn’t help that the guy was built. He was tall—only a couple inches taller than Tommy, but still, tall—and probably had a hundred pounds of pure muscle on him.

“I’m Batman,” Batman’s voice was low. “I protect Gotham and the people in it.”

“Okay, so you get why a name like ‘Batman’ isn’t really helping me trust you, right? I’ve seen literal terrorists less menacing than you. Like, a lot. Most.” 

Techno still had this guy beat. But he might be second place. At least in looks alone. Once you got to know Dream, there wasn’t really a competition.

“You aren’t from Gotham,” the man rumbled. “How did you get here?”

Tommy shrugged. “Uh, look, I don’t know what to tell you. It kinda just happened. It was not my choice, I can tell you that much.”

“If you are running from someone, we can help you.”

Batman cocked his head like he was listening to something. We? Was this guy part of a group? Did all the masked people in this city know each other? Did he know Hood?

“...You know someone named Dream?” Tommy asked cautiously. Maybe they could do him some good.

Batman frowned. “No.”

Tommy squinted distrustfully. “You sure?”

“I haven’t met anyone with that name before. Is that who you’re hiding from?”

Tommy slunk to the side. He paused for a moment to sweep his knife up off the floor, stowing it away in his inventory. Batman watched him carefully back.

“Uh, well if he’s not about, then the only person I’m running from right now is you, Big Man,” Tommy said.

“Wait—”

Tommy made a break for it.

The man called after him, but Tommy whipped around the corner, blocking himself up against a wall with the stone in his inventory. Hearing a voice outside, he started to dig. No one dug after him, which was a welcome surprise, until Tommy remembered he hadn't seen anyone use a pick since he'd got here besides him. Heaving a relieved sigh, Tommy slouched against the wall for a second. 

Well. Guess he'd just tunnel out. Worth it. 

Tommy got as far away as he could from the bat guy before he ran out of energy, making his way back towards Crime Alley. He’d learned to stay on the roofs the last couple of days. Kept him from getting attacked better than hanging out on the street did.

Slowing to a walk, he looked down at the street and spotted a familiar figure prowling through the nighttime gloom.

“It’s you again!”

His shout drew Red Hood’s attention. Eyes snapping up to where Tommy stood, the man watched as he hopped down onto the fire escape clinging against the building, climbing down to drop onto the street. Tommy paused to gasp for breath. He was not usually this easily winded. His face felt flushed from exertion, and he was a little dizzy. Must be the rough living these past few days.

Hood watched him carefully as Tommy approached, picking his way over the pockmarked concrete. If he was surprised at Tommy’s change of heart, he didn’t show it. Not that he had much face to show it on.

Look, Tommy was tired of running around confused, alright? This guy had saved him from getting pummeled. Maybe he could get him to explain a couple more things. Somehow, this guy was marginally less intimidating that the Batman guy. Maybe it was ‘cause he actually talked to Tommy like a human. And saved him from assholes, before.

“And it’s you. Shouldn’t little kids be in bed right now? It’s a school night, you know,” Hood drawled sardonically. His posture was loose and open, despite the arms crossed over his chest, and his tone was relaxed. Tommy stopped a meter or two back from him anyway. Best not to tempt fate.

“School?” Tommy said in disbelief, generously ignoring the ‘little kids’ part for now. “Is that actually a real thing?”

“Yup. You might wanna try it out sometime.”

Tommy shook his head, feeling sorry for any poor bastards who were actually forced to go there. He’d had a little homeschooling from Wilbur as a child—enough to read and do some math, and conversions for brewing—but it had been years since then.

“No thanks. Where are you headed? Can I walk you?” he rocked back and forth on his heels. “I’m still learning the area, you know.”

Hood scoffed. “Shouldn’t I be walking you home? And what’s your name, kid? Didn’t catch it before.”

Despite the scoff, Tommy liked the way Hood was talking to him. It felt like friendly banter. A bit of normalcy. He grinned.

“First of all, like I said before, stranger danger,” he counted on his fingers. “Second, I’m not a kid, I’m a Big Man. Third, it’s Tommy. Tommy Innit.”

Tommy got the feeling Hood had just rolled his eyes.

“Fine, Tommy. Come with me.”

Tommy fell into step as Hood began to walk again. The streets were lit intermittently with lights, causing deep shadows and they passed through little pockets of light in the otherwise gloomy road. Tommy didn’t see anyone else outside. Most people were boarded up in their houses at this time, he thought. Unless they were criminals or Tommy. Tommy had no bedtime. And insomnia, but that was less fun.

“So,” Hood asked, not looking at him as they walked, “If you weren’t in school, what were you doing before now?”

“Uh. This and that. Entrepreneur shit. I have marketable skills!” Tommy tried to recall the last time he’d actually helped with something that wasn’t warfare or his recent hotel venture. “I can… fight?” He looked at the man with a raised eyebrow. “You wanna fight?”

Red Hood was huge. As he had said—Technoblade sized. Tommy scooted a little bit farther away.

The man raised his hands. “Not really interested. I believe it. I don’t fight kids… usually.”

“Not a kid,” Tommy grumbled, although he was glad to be exempt from a Red Hood ass-kicking. “So… as nice as this chat is… who are you, exactly?”

“Red Hood. Thought I told you that. Sure the head wound isn’t messing with ya?”

“I knew that,” Tommy grumbled. “No, like, what do you do? Why are you wandering around outside right now? This your hobby? It’s kind of a weird hobby.”

“I protect this area. Crime Alley.” Hood gestured vaguely with a hand, sweeping out widely.

“From what? Terrorism?” The area looked pretty fucked up, but not pitted as if from bombs. There were more broken windows and collapsed roofs than craters in the road.

Hood hummed. “More like… human trafficking, killers, rogues, other unsavory types. People who deal drugs to kids.” 

Tommy looked at him in confusion. The rest were bad, sure, but… “What’s wrong with selling drugs to kids? I did that when I was younger.”

Hood paused. “You did,” he said, slowly. “Here?”

Tommy was getting a little nervous. He kept walking, and Hood fell back into step with him. He wrung his hands, glancing away.

“Oh, no, not here. Wouldn’t want to step on your toes. I was helping my older brother with his drug empire. Doesn’t really exist now, though.”

“Your brother… he around?” Red Hood’s tone of voice was kinda weird and off.

“No. He’s dead,” Tommy said sourly.

“Sorry,” Hood said, not sounding overly contrite.

“Dad killed ‘im,” Tommy scuffed the ground with his shoe. “It was pretty fucked.”

“Ah.” To be fair, Hood sounded kinda sorry this time. “Want to… talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Hood seemed relieved. Didn’t look like the touchy-deeply type. Tommy got it. It wasn’t helping the Technoblade vibes at all, but oddly, Tommy kind of liked that. He missed the steady companionship Techno had offered before they had their political differences. When Techno had been his brother, he offered a steady loyalty that was hard to find anywhere else. It was hard to feel so scared when there was someone like that at your side.

“...So, what now? You gonna start dealing drugs again?”

“Probably not,” Tommy shrugged. “Would prefer not to. You gonna kill me about it? I’ve only got the one life left.”

“No,” Hood snapped, harsh, before drawing back a little. Tommy looked at him with wide eyes. “Just don’t get caught up in that shit, alright? It’s dangerous. Especially around here.”

“I’ll take your word for it. It was stressful enough the first time.”

Hood shook his head. They walked in silence for another couple of minutes.

Tommy watched their passing surroundings with interest. Despite how beat-up a lot of the buildings around here were, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the amount of time and materials that had clearly been put into them.

As far as he’d walked since waking up he’d been surrounded by brick and stone buildings, with paved roads as far as the eye could see. People had even bothered to put in streetlights. It was a strange contrast to the dappled landscape of farmland and eccentric homes that he was used to.

Hood broke him from his quiet observation.

“So, drug empire. What was your job? You a runner?”

Tommy huffed a short, smug laugh. “Oh, no, good sir. I was all in there. I helped Wil with everything he asked. I could make anything he needed. I was his right hand man.”

Tommy puffed out his chest a little bit.

Even through the mask, Tommy got the feeling Hood was narrowing his eyes doubtfully. Rude. Tommy was a perfectly capable drug dealer.

“Right. And what were you making, exactly?”

“Your standard,” Tommy listed, “Regen, health, speed, invis, strength…”

“I think speed’s the only one I recognize there,” Hood said mildly. “How’d you know they were safe? Did you ever take them?”

Tommy wiggled his eyebrows. “Well of course. Wil introduced me. Bonding activity.”

“Often?”

“Well… back then, more, I guess. Didn’t much for a while. Recently I kind of went back to it… sort of. I had a little bit of a problem.” Tommy grimaced. “Well. Not a problem. I guess the gaps were a solution to the problem, which was me freakin’ out.”

His gapple dependency had not been great. He’d still love to have some, though. He could really use the reassurance. He’d become so accustomed to the buzz of potion effects over the years he felt anxious without them at times.

Hood was inspecting him openly.

“And how are you feeling now? Any withdrawals?” Hood asked.

“Well, I wish I had my hands on something,” Tommy complained. “Obviously. And I’m feeling a bit bored and naked without my normal sword and shit. Could use a boost. But it’s not like I need it. I went through all the shakes and sickness before but I’m not that deep right now. It’s been a couple weeks.”

“Hm.” Hood drew back from his observation. “I guess that’s not as bad as it could be. Let me know if anyone tries to sell you more, alright, kid?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “What, you wanna hog ‘em? I guess I can’t stop you. This is your spot.”

Hood made a frustrated noise. “I told you. I protect Crime Alley. Especially the kids here. And doing that shit is dangerous, Tommy. People get hurt. You could die. Or get other people killed.”

Hot anger flared in Tommy’s throat. What did this guy know? Tommy had lived this shit! He’d fought and died for it! Tommy rounded on Hood, trying to look down on him although they were about the same height and he could probably lift Tommy with one hand. Even with the thin, cool Gotham air, Tommy felt too-warm in the face

“I know it’s dangerous!” Tommy snapped. “You think I don’t fuckin’ know that? You think I didn’t learn my lesson last time? You don’t know the first thing about what you’re talking about, so don’t lecture me! You’re not my—” he cut himself off with some effort, setting his jaw and looking away with an angry, frustrated noise.

Hood shrugged in the corner of his eye. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

They continued to walk in silence for a bit. At least as close as it got to silent in Gotham. A couple people passed them on the street, some who ducked their heads and walked quickly by, and a couple who waved and called out to Hood, including a few kids in one of the windows they passed by and a group of women in weather-inappropriate clothing.

Hood didn’t address Tommy, instead looking out at the street, nodding at people and occasionally greeting them like he was the president or something. Maybe he was telling the truth about this being his area. It seemed like he did take care of it. And people liked him, for what that was worth. Trust was something hard to earn.

Despite the lack of direct acknowledgement Tommy could swear he felt Hood’s gaze weigh on him through his stupid helmet.

Tommy got an odd sense that Hood was concerned about him, which was surprising. It also, oddly, didn’t raise his hackles too much. At least now that his anger was cooling off again. It wasn’t like Hood was treating him like a baby. And he’d let him run off before. He just seemed well-meaning. Like Tommy was another member of his neighborhood. Tommy was glad he got to see Hood like this. It settled something in him.

He missed the feeling of walking next to someone, too. Even letting them lead. Tommy had had a lot of mentor figures in his life. He missed most of them. Sometimes you wanted someone watching your back, even if you didn’t need it.

“Sorry,” he said eventually, quiet. He didn’t meet Hood’s eyes. “I dunno why I got so pissed off.”

“It’s fine. You should see me when I get mad.”

“Uh… like the alley? Before?”

Hood snorted. “Yeah, not quite.”

“Prime above,” Tommy kneaded his temple with a frown. “Putting that aside. Look, I know you said you like helping people, or whatever. And you’re kind of the friendliest not-face I’ve seen since I ended up in this shithole. I was wondering if you had any clue how I ended up here.”

“I don’t. But I could help you find out.” Hood tilted his head. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Well, I was locked up. You know, with Dream. You know Dream?” Hood shook his head. Damn it. Additional evidence to the idea that he wasn’t anywhere near home. “I’m pretty sure he killed me. Like, dead-dead. I woke up in this weird tube of green shit, but it wasn’t slime, right, and it was glowing. That’s basically it.” Tommy shrugged. “And then you found me. People here are not friendly, you know that?”

A slow breath hissed out of Hood’s modulator.

“Okay. This… ‘Dream’. Can you describe him a bit for me?”

“Ugly,” Tommy spat. Paused. Then, “Uh, he’s always in green. Usually. Real shit shade of it, too, all garish. And he’s got this smile–” Tommy drew the large grin with his fingers, brushing all the way up his cheekbones, painted on Dream’s mask. “He’s distinctive. You’d know him if you saw ‘im. Real fuckin’ smug prick as well.”

Hood’s whole body had gone stiff. Simmering with rage. He’d stopped walking, frozen in the street, and Tommy eyed him warily from the corner of his eye even as his mind drifted further into the past.

“That fucking bastard,” Tommy muttered, more to himself now. “God. You should hear him. He was all, ‘I’m a god!’ and ‘Isn’t this fun, Tommy?’”. It was hard forcing Dream’s simper, even an imitation of it, through his throat. He felt all choked-up, now. “Everything's just a dumb game to him. ‘Just like old times. Me and you’, blah blah blah. No one ever fucking believes me, but that guy is a freak. He’s–” his voice broke.

“I believe you,” Hood said finally, voice oddly intense. He was strung taut like a bowstring, hands clenched into fists so tight Tommy could swear he heard the leather of his gloves creak. Wind cut through the street with a sound like a desperate inhale. One of the streetlights above flickered, warping Hood’s face between blinks.

“Um…” Tommy picked at his nails. Did he take out his shank or not? “Are you like… good?”

Hood sucked in a controlled breath, not answering the question. His toneless voice was hard to decipher.

“‘Just like old times’. What does that mean?”

Tommy cleared his throat. He hadn’t meant to say that. He could give Hood the general idea without the full trauma dump. But he’d opened the topic. There was always a rawness to when Tommy talked about stuff. Insecurity. He always felt like he wouldn’t be believed, and he hated it. So it was easier not to talk, usually, or just talk so loudly and forcefully people might have to believe him.

“Like… when he kept me before. And killed me.” Tommy didn’t feel strong enough to be forceful now. At Hood’s non-reaction, he pressed forward, saying, “I’m telling you, this guy’s a prick. This was the third time he got me. I wasn’t even doing anything this time. Somehow he figured out a way to bring me back, obviously. He was gonna experiment—” Hood choked audibly— “With it, but seems like I ended up here somehow. Which. Better than that. I’d rather die permanently than be stuck with that guy. Never fuckin’ again.”

Hood was still frozen in the street. Tommy was starting to get freaked out now. He’d felt too hot, before, but now it was like the cold was sinking back in and it was making him kinda shivery. Hood stood still for a while, a long while. Tommy could see his clenched hands shaking a little.

He took a couple steps back. Hood finally reacted, twitching like he was waking up.

“You won’t—” Hood swallowed, looking away and back again. His rough voice had dropped an octave. “He’s not gonna get you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. I’m a crime lord, kid, I say what I want and I make it happen.”

“You’re kinda corny.”

“You’re such a little shit.”

Hood took them down an abandoned street, past a couple of crumbling buildings, to what looked to be a empty apartment building. A lot of the windows were decimated, and it looked like a bomb had gone off outside, but it was still standing solidly.

Clearing his throat, Hood turned on his heel.

“I’ve holed up here before. There’s still some rooms inside that are empty; we’re a bit far out in crime alley for most of the squatters to be hiding out. It’s dry and fairly safe if you keep an ear out. You should be alright sleeping here.”

Tommy looked at him with wide eyes. This was where they’d been going? His words were stuck somewhere in his throat. This was the nicest shit anyone had done for him since he got his skull knocked in. Maybe it was the nicest thing anyone had done for him in a lot longer than that.

“Look. I might know something about how you came back to life. And the guy who had you. I’m still putting the pieces together, but if you need anything, come to me. You can reach me on this.”

Hood tossed him a small black object that looked kind of like a comm. Tommy turned it over in his hands. When he unfolded it, the screen lit up.

“I already put my contact in there. Use it if you need to. Or if you want. I don’t care.”

“Uh,” Tommy replied intelligently. “Why? I can't give you anything.”

Hood’s voice dropped seriously. He dipped his chin. “I’d rather you not die another time.”

“Oh.”

Shifting on his feet, Hood added, “I also… have a bit of a grudge. Against this guy in particular. He’s dangerous. So if you can stay away from him, and help me understand what went down with him, I would appreciate it, alright? But don’t go looking for trouble. That’s an order.”

Tommy perked up a bit. So he could help, somehow! It felt nice to have an ally. Someone else who was also pissed at Dream, and looked a bit more capable of taking him on than Tommy was, at least right now.

What could Dream have done to him, though? And when? Maybe years ago, before Tommy and Dream had even met. Who knew how old Red Hood was. He seemed youngish, but with the mask, there was no telling. Maybe he was ancient. Like forty.

Turning, Hood called over his shoulder, “I’ll see you around, Tommy.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said absently. “I’ll see you.”

He tucked the comm safely into his inventory. It would be nice to have a place to sleep.

Seemed Hood was a good guy after all. Tommy was such a fantastic judge of character.