Chapter Text
Sirens fill the morning air, penetrating the everlasting smog, and harassing every victim it finds.
Which would really suck for anyone sleeping.
Oh well, not his problem.
Tommy turns a corner, boots smacking across the drenched alleyway. He glares at the mud and grime, knowing full well he'll have to spend hours cleaning these darn boots.
Great, another thing to do.
Between keeping streets free from Villains and criminals alike, leading a rag-tag group of chaotic incarnate teenagers (as if he wasn't the worst one of the bunch), and keeping himself off the streets, he would say he's a pretty busy guy.
Nothing that the most fearsome, amazing, spectacular, Vigilante, The Red Knight (trade mark), can't handle!
He praises himself, before tripping and falling face first into what he hopes is sludge.
“Agh, bloody hell! Stupid rocks.” He sends a kick towards whatever tripped him, because he totally didn't trip on his own two feet. Of course not.
As he quickly rises, shaking his arms off, with a shiver of disgust riding through his body, he hears the approaching sound of running feet.
He could continue running away, but he already pulled the ‘fake out', the ‘trash can’, and the ‘throw in case of emergency cans.’
Dang it, he needs more emergency-running-away-escape plans.
He also needs to stop getting distracted about said plans because-
“Stop right there!”
Ah frick frack flipping frying pans.
“Ughh,” Tommy whines, turning around. He plants his hands on his hips, glaring at the person who has been following him. “Come on, I didn't do anything!”
“If you call ‘intruding in Hero business and practicing Vigilantism,’ nothing, then sure, nothing.”
Tommy grumbles.
Stupid Heroes and their stupid rules and their stupid ways.
Tommy's eyes settle on his opponent, one of the older, though less popular, Heroes- Shield.
You wouldn't believe what his power was- making purple shields.
Even his outfit matched his boring, basic name.
A simple black shirt, black plants, black combat boots, black gloves, leather wrist guards, and a matching leather x strap across his chest. At least the long dark brown hair pulled in a ponytail was cool. Oh, and the silver wolf mask was a nice touch too.
But still- so boring, so black.
Tommy at least has a nice vigilante outfit (created by the lovely help of Aimsey and mass amounts of cheap materials and thrift store items).
A long, red pirate vest, with yellow accents, tied by brown strap and belt, holding all his gadgets (also created by another one of his friend, thanks Tubs).
Of course, actual metal knight helmets are expensive, so they stole a good enough one from the local school theater department.
Serves them right for kicking him and his friends out after illegally attending school. Don't adults care about children's education?
Oh wait, this is L'Manburg, nevermind.
Anyway- the Hero in the way of escape, yep.
Tommy kicks some ruble, swinging back and forth. “Can't I just get off with a warning, sir?” Maybe if he was polite he could smooth things over.
Shield chuckles. “Don't think that's how that works, bud.”
Ah, dang it. Well he tried being nice.
Tommy screams, running towards the guy, fist held high and ready.
He doesn’t go three feet before smashing into a purple dome and getting flung back five feet.
Right, forcefields.
Shield raises an eyebrow. “You really got to stop doing that. Hasn't been working out for you.”
Tommy huffs, leaning on his elbows from the ground. “It'll work one day!”
Shield shakes his head, walking over. “Sure, bud, sure.”
Tommy gets back up, changing into a defensive stance. Two can play this game of defense.
“Well then, let's go you basic bitch.”
“Excuse me?”
Tommy swings an arm, meeting a forcefield. He swings another, meeting another forcefield. He tries kicking, and wouldn't you guess, he meets another forcefield.
Curse mcfricken Shield and his dumb, well, shields.
As Tommy keeps trying to fight the forcefields, and losing, Shield stands there silently, watching and laughing. The prick.
“Man, I love fighting you. Always action first, never any thinking.”
His dumb comment only makes Tommy angrier.
“Come on, coward. Fight me like a man!” Tommy hollors, pounding on the forcefields even harder.
The other shakes his head, crossing his arms. “I think I'm good, thanks for the offer though.”
Tommy continues yelling, cursing the man with every curse word and swear word he knows.
He gets to about a good ten before a shout cuts through the alley, silencing him (for once).
“Shield, we need you!”
Both look up.
A short, brunette girl, leans over the edge of the building, dressed in what looks like a white hoodie with cat ears and a gray and white cat mask.
Ah, another Hero, KitKat. If Tommy remembers correctly, this one is very new, and ranked pretty low on scoreboards. Probably because of her useless power, cat powers or whatever.
Shield looks between Tommy and KitKat, questions running across his face.
“Kinda busy here, Kit.”
It seems that the cat has realized what she has interrupted.
She looks between the two before speaking. “I see what you mean…”
A moment of silence stretches on, for too long, way too long.
Tommy clears his throat, gaining both's attention. “Welp, guess you gotta let me go.” He smirks, watching defeat and tiredness cloud Shield's face.
He sighs, shakes his head, and flings his arms. “Whatever. I've got more important things to do than wrestle an impediment vigilante.”
Tommy gawks. “Hey! I'm very important, I'll have you know!”
Shield side eyes him before walking away.
“Probably not as important as-” He stops, looking up. “Who is it again, Kit?”
“The Vigilante, Conure.”
Shield snapped his fingers. “Ah, right, that one.”
Tommy stutters. “Conure? Conure?! That wannabe Villain? All she does is fly around and vandalizes places with art!”
“Very nice art though.” KitKat so helpfully supplies.
Tommy rolls his eyes. She may have a point but that's not what matters.
He's being replaced by a bird.
“Using art to mock government officials and heroes, yes. I'm sure that they won't be too happy if we let her go,” Shield informs, staring down KitKat.
She mumbles something before disappearing.
Shield sighs. “These new Heroes.” He glances back once more. “Gotta go, see you another time, Red!” With a backhanded wave, he runs back out of the alleyway, leaving a confused and crossed Vigilante.
Tommy swears.
Bloody Heroes.
No use staying around for the police. He turns back around and heads home- well, at least to the closest thing he has to a home.
Back to the Green House.
–
“I'm home!” Tommy yells, bursting through the back door.
Whoever was laying on the nearby bean bag jumps five feet in the air.
They get up and glare at Tommy.
“Hey Aimsey!” Tommy greets, walking past them. “How was the nap?”
It seems that they don't appreciate the teasing, if the pillow flung at him was anything to go off of.
He heads over to Tubbo’s corner, spotting him hard at work.
Tommy leans over his friend's shoulder. “Any new gadgets?”
Tubbo jumps. He probably was focused hard on his project- again.
Two honey-dew eyes look up, filled with joy. “Hey boss man! No new gadgets, still working on some prototypes. Let me tell you-” Tubbo rambles on, explains the ins and outs of whatever he's been working on for the past hours.
A bunch of science stuff that makes Tommy's mind sputter. He nods along, happy to just listen.
“Oh! We also saw you get your ass handed to you on tv.” Tommy groans. He almost forgot about the fight earlier.
“Well, I got some good shots in.”
Tubbo snickered. “All you did was throw a trashcan through a window, and used my canisters of hypnotics and some smokescreens.”
Is anyone on his side today?
“I'd like to see you stop a robbery.”
“I have, Toms.”
Dammit.
Tommy clenches his hand, looking away. “That's because you have a great power.” He presses a finger at Tubbo. “That's cheating.”
The other tilts his head. “And using sleeping powder isn't?”
Tommy's face reddens. “I'm working with what I got!”
Tubbo smiles, patting him on the arms. “I'm just messing with you. You did great out there, boss man, keep up the great work.”
He salutes with two fingers and his thumb, almost like a gun- the signature Cricket Salute.
Tommy smiles back, pushing down the feelings of doubt and ire. He returns the gesture. “And keep on making those great inventions, Tubs.”
He walks away, leaving Tubbo to finish whatever in the name of math he's doing.
He walks over to the center of the room, hopping onto one of the couches. Sadly, the single seat is occupied by Bill, playing video games, and the other long one, the berry blue, is being taken over by their grand lankiness, Ranboo, who appears to be in deep sleep.
Hmm, maybe he'll splash a bucket of water on them. Later.
All that's left is the burgundy and the raccoon clawed brown hag, which only beats the burgundy by not having the most springy seats ever known to man.
He still chooses the burgundy one. He's eighty-five percent sure the raccoon couch has rabies.
Couches can have rabies, right?
He takes off his helmet and throws it away (screw Aimsey's rules about being careful about costumes, he's tired). He swings an arm on his face and sighs tiredly.
“Hard day?” Bill asks, still focused on his game.
“Yep. Yours?”
“Okay. Still on the same level, so, you know.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
No other words are exchanged.
Tommy shuffles. He should probably get out of his outfit, maybe check the news about that fight, but eh, that's later Tommy's problem.
Right now, the sweet melodic choir of sleep calls.
Dang, his life is hard.