Chapter Text
Tommy fucking loves Sundays.
It’s not because it’s his day off or anything, he actually prefers working Sundays for the extra pay. No, no, he adores Sundays because he gets to sit down and watch a movie with a good old hot chocolate and not let himself feel guilty for wasting money.
Hot chocolates are reserved only for Sundays, and it makes Sundays special because of it.
Work may be tiring by the end of the day when he drags himself back to his lonely little apartment on the south side of the city, but by God did his heart soar when he realised what awaited him. It kicks a new pep into his step, and when he fumbles with his keys at the door he doesn’t immediately want to kill himself for wasting time! Hooray!
The blonde hums under his breath some melody he barely remembers and lets his body go through the motions of preparing the drink. There’s a small smile on his face as he collects his favourite mug, the biggest one he could find reserved only for this little dose of happiness, and the ingredients to lay them across the counter. He melts the chocolate first in the microwave as he flicks the kettle on at the wall, then flicks it on to begin bubbling. Leaning against the counter his eyes flutter shut as he continues to hum a beat under his breath. Its melody conjures memories of a little old Walkman, which had only ever played two cassettes, but not even the longing nostalgia can quell the happiness that was bubbling with every second the microwave hummed on.
Hot chocolate, for how simple of a thing it was, was still so beautifully new to him. He had first been able to have it when he had been offered a place to sleep a measly six months ago. Tommy can’t quite remember the name of the lady who had offered it to him alongside a place to stay for the blizzard that night, but he praises her image all the same.
This damn delicious drink is the best thing that has happened to him in this past year, so he sure as fuck was going to waste his precious pay cheque on it! Fuck saving your money! That shits for losers and responsible people, which he was obviously neither!
The microwave dings seconds before the kettle clicks off, the bubbling of the water and the hissing steam making him smile as he shuffles to throw the ingredients together. Chocolate first, actual fucking chocolate, melted to perfection, drips into the cup until he scrapes the side. Then he puts a bit of the cheaper powder in to pad the flavour, then the milk, then the boiling water to keep it thoroughly warm. And last but not least, the little marshmallows for good measure.
He giggles to himself with a giddy grin on his freckled face as he throws a few in, watching as they bob among the chocolate as he stirs it all together. The spoon clinks against the ceramic as he does, and it sounds like music in itself, one that makes Tommy shake off his spare hand like it could rid him of the senseless energy. It does nothing but let him feel the air swishing through his fingers, he’s still just as needlessly excited as before.
Curling his fingers around the cup, he relishes the warmth it melts into his aching joints, drawing a satisfied sigh from his throat before he turns towards the couch.
Unfortunately, he gets all of two steps before he gets distracted by the weirdest sensation of being watched. He pauses, raising his head from where he was breathing in the curling steam to scan the room. It’s as empty as usual, the studio apartment bare of even excess furniture. His mattress on the floor couldn’t hide anyone under it, he didn’t have a closet, only a plastic set of drawers that always looked a mess. His couch was slumping so much in the middle he’s not sure even a rat could fit under there and there were blankets strewn around the room, but none of them had suspicious lumps or anything like that. For all intents and purposes, he was thoroughly alone in his apartment. There was nowhere to hide.
He looks out the window instead, but his view of the brick wall of the next building was as unobstructed as always. No one was lingering on the fire escape, no eyes were peeking in. There was no-one. He was alone.
Still, the feeling stays, a weight on his shoulders that prickles up his spine until he’s as stiff as a statue and glaring at nothing like he could will the needless anxiety away. It’s been a long while since he felt this paranoid, and usually there was a reason for this feeling, not… not whatever just happened while he was feeling perfectly happy!
This was just…
Tommy scans the apartment again for good measure.
...So fucking weird.
That’s the only thought he gets out in time before suddenly his head fucking explodes into a cacophony of noise.
He slams his hands to his ears on instinct, and the mug shatters on the ground as he cries out, but even the noise of his own voice disappears among the wails of a thousand other voices. Of screams and cries, of giddy joy and scrambled sentances. His knees hit the floorboards with a bang, and his brain erupts into pain that can’t be much different from being shot in the head. Because holy fuck it hurt so bad- He slams his fists tight to his ears and presses down hard, but it does absolutely nothing, because the voices aren’t in the room with him, they’re in his fucking brain- and they’re so bloody loud- too fucking loud-
IT WORKED!!
HOLY SHIT!
IT WORKED!
-Some scream, the first words his scrambled mind is able to pick up as he desperately claws at his ears.
THANK THE BLOOD GOD!
WE GOT HIM!!
I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT WORKED
YESSS
YES!!
HELL YEAH!
WE DID IT!
WELL DONE BOYS!
YAY!
HORRAY!
ONE OF US!
ONE OF US!
ONE OF US!
THANK GOD FOR THIS KID HONESTLY!
VERY HELPFUL POWER!
ONE OF US!
“What the-” Tommy manages to choke out, “-FUCK!” And he screws his eyes shut so tight his face aches fiercely, though it couldn’t compare to the migraine clawing into his eyes and stabbing through his skull, “What the fuck- what the fuck-” He heaves out a breath, heart rate so fast it feels like it’s about to burst its way out of his chest. He gags on the feeling, empty stomach lurching in protest of the cluster-fuck of sensations dragging him down until his vision starts to spot dark.
OKAY NOW WE NEED TO GO GET TECHNO!
Wait guys the kid-
TIME TO RESCUE OUR BOY!
LETS GO!!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
Guys wait-
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BLOOD FOR THE-
CHAT!
One particularly loud voice shouts above the rest, deep and angry, shutting up the beginnings of the chant welling in the crevices of his brain. Tommy gags on nothing and curls in on himself, his body shuddering around the feeling of endless noise within his head, and then just as quick as it had appeared the singular voice quiets the rest of them enough for him to gasp out a “What the fuck!” again. His head thrums in beat to his pulse, so painful white lights dance across the back of his eyelids in a rising migraine that he swears is worse than every concussion he’s ever had combined, and boy has he had a lot for a fifteen-year-old.
Oh damn-
Right the kid-
Uh...
Should we introduce ourselves?
Oops?
UMM
Hello!
Hullo mate!
HI HI! NEW KID!
Hullo...
New Blood!
Oof- Look at this weakling
Where are our manners?! Oh gosh-
Greetings new Blood!
HULLO!!!
Guys hush he’s got a headache
Well, of course he does, ya’ll wouldn’t stop yelling!
Uh, also because he’s new?
E?
Not right now!
God let the kid settle in first!
Aww he’s so cute like that. Looks like it hurts.
Should we uh-
YES!
Oops, Kinda bad first impression, right?
That’s okay he’ll learn to love us!
Here, let me just-
Just as quickly as the migraine and the former voices had appeared, the pain in his head is snatched away. Its absence throws him off kilter enough to sway forward and scramble to keep himself upright. He shoves his palms to the ground to keep himself from face planting, only to wince as he sticks them into the puddle of chocolate and shattered ceramic on the floor in front of him. The pieces stab into his skin and quickly make him hiss and withdraw, shaking off his hand but grumbling as blood is quickly splattered to the floor. God, that was going to take forever to scrub out. But that’s for later, right now he has to-
“What-” He manages to grit out, “-The FUCK.” and he glares up at the ceiling like that was where the voices were coming from.
Okay, you know what, valid reaction.
Hi Kid!
Hello!
Lol he’s freaking out.
Weakling...
Uh, should we maybe introduce ourselves?
We already said Hello!
But I mean, like, explain something?
We can tell him about the Blood God!
What about us though?
OH YEAH RIGHT!
We’re Chat!!
Chat’s our name!
“What the fuck.” Tommy repeats, he’s already lost count of how many times he’s said that, “Holy shit-” he groans, just for a bit of originality, “I didn’t think I’d be going fucking insane at fifteen god fucking damnit-”
Oops.
Not insane!
Ugh, this happens every time...
You’re fine!!
WE’RE CHAT!
“Yes I know, you’re Chat or whatever, I got that fucking part-” Tommy sneers, “You’re literally- What the fuck, you’re in my head-” he shudders and pushes his bleeding palm against his ear for good measure, just to see if it would do anything. But just as expected, nothing gets any quieter. Their constant murmuring continues to ebb and flow much like the crashing waves at the shore. But never, ever going silent. All within his own head.
Okay how are we gonna explain this!?
Step 1, Explain the entire history of the Blood God and how we came to be.
Step 2, Then-
Okay we’re not doing that.
That’s a bit…
OKAY KID LISTEN HERE!
“Ow- Shit- I’m fucking listening.” Tommy winces, glaring at the floor and curling his lip as he watches his beloved drink spreading across the wood-grain, “God, no need to yell, you’re all too fucking loud.”
Ssshhh!
SSSSHHHHHH!
Fine fine.
Okay so- We are Chat, we belong to The Blood God.
Our beloved God.
We inhabit Protesilaus typically, we’re what you mortals would call his ‘power’ or whatever.
Don’t they call it ‘Quirks’ in this one?
Wrong fandom nerd!
NERD!
He does things for us, we give him powers, bish bosh we gotta deal!
And now we need YOU to help us!
The blonde stares at his hot chocolate, then out the window at the shadowed brick wall, then up at the ceiling where the cracked paint seems to crack further and mock him for his plight.
“What the fuck.” he eventually settles on.
...I thought we were over this stage.
Bruuuhh seriously?!
Did I not explain it right?
I think he’s just in shock guys...
I mean, I know we’re pretty cool so it makes sense.
He’s probably still processing.
“What the fuck do you mean you’re Protesilaus’s POWER!” Tommy blurts out, “You mean the bloody Syndicate’s Protesilaus?! The same Protesilaus that’s murdered hundreds of Heroes?! The same fucking guy that leads one of the most dangerous villain organisations in Esempee HISTORY?!”
Awww, you’re making us blush!
Damn our reputation precedes us!
Aww, is the kid a fan?
I know I am!
Techno is quite good at his job.
He’s probably one of our best Prophets.
Love the guy.
Nah he’s a nerd!
Techno-NERD!
Yea we’re his power kid, we-
“No the fuck you’re not!” Tommy hisses, hitting his forehead with his palm and willing the voices away, “I’m- I’m just going insane alright! Fucking hell why did this have to happen now...” He groans and curls in tight to himself even as Chat rallies to complain about his denial.
...This kid’s annoying.
I LIKE HIM!
He’s feral! It’s fun!
Why can’t we go bother someone else…
He’s like the only one this side of the world that can hold us.
The joy of copycat abilities I guess.
UGH Fine! Then he better help us free our Prophet!
Maybe we should convince him he’s not crazy first.
Stupid kid.
Tommy grits his teeth and wills himself not to reply, because to talk back is probably an admission of this being real. Isn’t there a whole thing about not acknowledging hallucinations because it makes it worse? Or something like that?
Look at your hands.
Look at your palms.
Look Look look!
He obeys on instinct, before wincing and cursing himself for it, shaking his hand free of the welling blood and hot chocolate dripping down his palm. But he looks anyway, and Chat quiets into thoughtful murmurs for a second before there’s a tingle across his skin and crawling down his arm. His eyes blow wide as he watches the feeling spring across the cuts in his skin, closing up the wounds in its path and popping out the bits of glass once buried deep. It takes a few seconds of staring at the weird sight of his skin acting like some fucked up pimple popping for ceramic before it stops at the tingling fades. He blinks once, twice, and then a third time for good measure, “Oh shit-”
Oooh some new swears!
Creative.
Do you see now?
We can help you!
We just need to kill a few Heroes-
Save a few Villains-
Blow up a few things-
You know, the usual stuff
“I don’t kill...” Tommy breathes offhandedly, entirely focused on picking at the small bits of raised tissue now on his palms, the smallest of scars left behind the only evidence he had been injured at all.
Ugh fine. No Killing.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!
NOOOO!
But-but- but blood!
What will we do!!
Damn spoil sport.
It’s not like he’s the actual prophet.
We just need to get to Techno soon and we’ll be fiinee.
The blonde winces, trying to brush off the way the voices were dropping names for villains without a care. That kind of knowledge gets people killed, so he’ll just… pretend they aren’t exposing the identity of one of the most wanted men in the world. “Okay…” he grits out, “Okay… you’re real. I think i-” He swallows and rubs at his temple, “-I think I understand.”
YAY!
THANK GOD!
I WAS GOING INSANE MAN!
Dumb kid
“Not a kid.” Tommy hisses on instinct, “My name is Tommy Innit fucker, Use it!”
Tommy?
Tommy!
TOMMY!
Tommy Innit?
Kinda suits you.
Does it?
It’s kinda familiar…
I think I prefer calling him kid.
“Oh fuck off!” Tommy grumbles, pushing himself up by one knee and stumbling over to the couch. He grabs at the back of it to keep him upright as his head spins momentarily, “If you’re gonna be like that, how the fuck do I get rid of you lot the quickest?”
Rude!
Ouch..
We need you to free Protesilaus!
FREE PROTESILAUS!
Free Techno!
Free our Prophet!
He was arrested by the Heroes!
We can’t reach him anymore!
Or you could topple Hero society...
TRUE!
YEAH!
Whichever comes first I guess lol
Tommy blinks, scowling to grumble, “Well that’s not a big ask or anything.” As he rolls his eyes, “And what do I get out of it?”
Ugh.
Brat.
Nah, kid has a good point.
Favours are important in the underground.
But we’re CHAT!
We were created by GOD!
We don’t OWE favours!
You’d get the end of the hero society as we know it?
Uhh- you can meet Protesilaus and he won’t kill you?
We will give you mercy?
Blood?
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
Dude not cool, we’re trying to negotiate here.
Oh... sorry...
Well, what do you want, Tommy?
The boy pauses, “What do I want?” he echoes the last one, electing to ignore the bullshit of the other thousands of voices clambering over each-other, even if it makes his head spin. It takes a second to actually process the question through it all, and for a second he wonders how Protesilaus ever puts up with them. “I want…”
He turns his head to look at his bed, where some of his blankets are curled up around the edges and his ratty backpack is laid next to it. It was familiar and soft, but it was lacking something important, and it poked at the familiar chasm in his chest that he knows far too well. His whole apartment wasn’t much better, his space hardly a home in its cobbled together parts that barely even allow him to be comfortable. He loves it, sure, but there is always, always something missing nowadays.
“I want…” he whispers quietly, afraid to even admit this for fear of anyone hearing, even himself, “… to end the number one Hero.”
…
…
…
…
For a second, Chat goes eerily silent, and then one of them snorts and breaks it.
Damn dude what the hell?
I did not expect that!
Do we got a Dream hater over here?!
I thought you said you don’t kill?
Honestly, based as hell.
Hero Hater?!
I like that goal!
Honestly... kinda works for what we’re doing here anyway.
Tech would like that, he’s always hated the dude.
We hate Heroes here, so hell yeah!
Screw those pricks!
Governments are gross anyway.
Tommy winces and quickly corrects them, “I don’t hate heroes!” Though his voice pitches high and his face flushes, "I don’t-” he pauses and grits his teeth, “Well- I kinda do but it’s not- it’s not like that-”
Heh?
Huh?
Make up your mind!
Ugh Teenagers.
Do you hate them or not!?
“I don’t!” Tommy quickly affirms, but even that sounds weak to his ears. With a heavy sigh he slumps against the couch, a budding headache crawling into his head alongside the voices to make itself known. This time it wasn’t their fault though, and Tommy knew that purely because he knew this line of questioning always encited such a reaction. It’s probebly some trauma thing or something, not that he’d ever admit that. Chat’s voices mirror their confusion among themselves at his response, but he doesn’t bother replying with anything coherent. He just scowls and grumbles wordlessly under his breath.
…
…
Awk-ward...
Just leave it alone, kid’s probably just constipated or something.
Tommy’s head snaps up, “What the fuck I’m not-” but then he flushes as the voices start to snicker before he can even defend himself, “God y'all are assholes, aren’t you?! I should’a fuckin’ known.” He shakes his head with a blooming scowl, “Should’a known from the moment you-” His eyes suddenly blow wide and he spins around to face the mess on the floor, “You made me drop my hot chocolate!” he cried, “God fucking damnit!”
Uh-
oops?
Sorry?
It’s just a hot chocolate.
Just make another kid.
The blonde just throws his head back and groans as loud as his chest is able, “It’s not just a hot chocolate! It’s my lifeblood! My very reason for making it through the week! My-”
BLOOD?!
BLOOD?
BLOOD!
E
E
E
SSSHHH don’t mention blood or they-
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
AWWW Where’s the Blood??
BLOOD?!
Please?
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
Damnit.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
Tommy just groans again. Because, though he could make another and absolutely deserve it, his lurching stomach was complaining just enough to let him know he wouldn’t be able to drink it even if he wanted to. So he just sighs and grumbles and curses Chat’s name, “God, what have I gotten myself into.” And then completely ignores their scattered responses, both sarcastic and earnest. Maybe he should educate them on what a rhetorical question is sometime, cause they sure as fuck need it.
He goes to bed without his hot chocolate.
In response, he makes sure to curse out Chat with all the swears in his extensive repertoire. Unfortunately for him, he quickly figures out that though he can flip them off and mock them with faces and the such, they were masters of psychological warfare within his brain.
It’s only when he gets up the next morning to his blaring alarm that he realises he really should lay some ground rules with these voices occupying his head. Because he’s now well acquainted with the letter E when he gets up the next morning, having slept only in short doses when Chat was quiet enough to quit tormenting him, and he’s strung so tightly he feels like he’s going to punch the next person who has the gall to have the letter E in their name.
Cursing the voices again for keeping him up, he grumbles under his breath as he drags himself out of bed to begin his routine for the day. Once upright, he rests his fists on his hips and squares his feet against the invisible entity. “Okay fuckers!” he exclaims, pointing forward and baring his teeth, “We need to talk!”
EW!
E
Oh god what is this a breakup?
WE’RE NOT GOING!
WE’RE CLINGY AND YOU CAN’T STOP US!
Its not us, its you.
E
E
E
Ugh shut up man.
We just want our Prophet.
What do you wanna-
Why talk when we can STAB!
Can we not?! We need to go save Techno!
“Well I can’t go save your guy if I can’t fucking sleep!” Tommy barks out, “If we’re doing this, then we need to work together!”
HEY YOU STARTED IT!
Feral child.
You literally asked for it!
You’re so annoying.
Ugh.
“You ruined my hot chocolate!” Tommy kicks at a stray blanket to accompany his growl, though upon spotting his phone on his pillow and the time on the front, he grumbles and stalks towards the kitchen to at least be doing something while they fight. He hisses through his teeth, “God- that’s not the point alright!” then claps his hands together, “I’m not good at this boundaries shit- let’s just negotiate some ground rules to make it easier for all of us alright!”
He gets a few scattered grumbles of agreement in response, though there are always a few that seem to turn their noses up at his attempt at reconciliation. He elects to ignore them instead, keeping the majority in mind as he sighs and gets his breakfast ready without conscious thought. It’s not like you needed much thought to put some cereal in a bowl though, so it’s a win win, really.
“First rule!” Tommy exclaims loudly, “My sleep is precious, alright? I already don’t sleep much so when I’m tired, you need to actually let me sleep properly!”
Ugh-
“THAT-” The blonde quickly interrupts, “Means no spamming letters or singing songs or shit! It means being quiet!”
...
Fine.
UGH!
FINE!
Boorrring!
God why couldn’t we have chosen someone else.
You know why.
Ugh why are mortals so weak!
At least this one’s willing to work with us.
“I am.” Tommy nods and puffs out his chest to point out, “As long as you fuckers work with me as well!” And then, as they grumble their grievances into the space between his words, he moves on without comment. He ends up sat on the couch with his bowl knelt on his knees, though he doesn’t quite lift the spoon yet, too busy with being the responsible one of thousands of voices. God, who elected to put Tommy in charge anyway? He should kick them in the balls for doing that shit!
“Second rule!” He glares at the wall for emphasis “You can not distract me from work or patrol, because if I lose my job because of you guys I’ll definitely not have time to do any rescue missions! I’ll be too busy being fucking homeless!”
Well that makes sense...
Wait you have a job?!
You’re like 12...
GOD DAMNIT HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO SAVE TECH?!
DAMN CAPITILISM!
LETS JUST ROB A BANK!
BANK ROBBING ARC?!
HELL YEAH!
Wait Patrol?
PATROL?!
Oh GOD ARE YOU A HERO-
“NO!” Tommy blurts out his protest so quickly he almost drops his breakfast, “Fuck- how’d you guys not know this? You know about my powers but not the fact that I’m a vigilante?” The blonde grimaces and tacks on, “And I’m not robbing a bank, I’m not a villain!”
Oh gosh.
Phew! Got a bit scared there!
THANK THE BLOOD GOD!
Honestly, imagine if we had to convince a CIVILIAN to break into the Hero Tower...
LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE!
We’d probably have to possess them at that point.
OoooOOO SECRET IDENTITY POG!
What Vigilante are you?
You don’t look gross enough to be Slime..
You’re not tall enough to be Ender…
Dude he’s obviously not Ender because-
You don’t seem insane enough to be Time Stop..
You don’t have enough money to be Punz…
Uhhhh...
Hmmm...
UHHH...
I think that’s all we got!
Are there more Vigilantes?
Most don’t last long enough to get names...
But probably?
Are you a new Vigilante Tommy?
Tommy blinks a few times, mind spinning with all the names and theories getting thrown out there without a care. He’s heard of a few of those vigilantes, but… he didn’t realise Chat would know so much about them. “I’m not new.” He slowly replies, “Technically I’ve been doing this shit for years, but this current persona I’ve been using for six months. I call myself Red.”
Red?
Have we heard that one boys?
Hmmm...
E...
E!
E?
Wait I remember a rumour about a new Vig!
They were said to have telekinesis the first time they popped up.
But then another rumour said Shields?
Honestly the underground is confused as hell.
Kinda funny actually!
MAKES SENSE!
SOUNDS LIKE TOMMY TO ME!
GREAT DETECTIVE WORK BOYS!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
“Yeah great work guys,” Tommy rolls his eyes, sarcasm dripping from his tone before he rights it with a shrug “That’s probably me. I usually scout out a couple of powers during the day while at work, take what’s good, and use it for the night before giving it back.”
Efficient!
Smart kid.
“Thanks, I guess.” Tommy nods, ignoring the way his ears flush with the compliments, though Chat seems to notice because a few of them snicker in the background. “So no interrupting patrol, right? We can agree on that at least?”
Yeah that's chill.
Shouldn’t we be trying to save Techno first?
Can’t we do it today?
Uh?? No?? You want our new host to just die?
Well- No not really-
THEN NO!
Okay, we’ll need to prep then-
Tommy tilts his head as he starts his breakfast, zoning out as he chews on his milk-less cornflakes. He decides to just let them ponder, listening for their plans and piecing together his own in the process.
I think we should contact the Syndicate first.
They might need their powerhouse back I guess?
Tommy’s not gonna be like Techno though...
I vote we don’t need them!
But I wanna see Philzaaaa!
PHIILLLLLL!
DADZA!
PHIL!
E
E
E
E
NO! We need to focus on our Prophet!
We need to find where he is.
Wouldn’t he be in Pandora?
Maybe. It’s hard to say...
We should cause Chaos-
Blood for the Blood God and all that!
Kill a few Heroes!
Yeah we can-
“No killing.” Tommy grumbles around a mouthful of crunchy cereal, causing a collection of groans to echo through his head.
Fine no Killing.
CRINGEINNIT!
But Chaos okay?
YEAH!
We should grab their attention somehow.
Maybe threaten some civilians?
But not kill them?
Boring, but fine.
The Heroes will at least pretend to care, so that’s probably a good option.
We need information!
We need power!
We need the heroes to fear us!
We need the Heroes to think keeping Techno is worse than letting him go!
Tommy looks at his bowl offhandedly, eyebrows furrowing further and further with each sentence spoken in an overlay of noise that makes it hard to focus. But from what he can get, they seem to be agreeing on a couple of things. So he swallows the last of his breakfast and sets the bowl to the side to stretch out his shoulders, which crack under the sudden attention.
“So.” he starts, “As a Vigilante it’s only inevitable I get the attention of some heroes, so I can talk to them while on patrol if you’d like, ask a few questions about Protesilaus, but I bet that won’t give us much, They’re a bunch of secretive bastards.”
Chat murmurs their agreement, so he adds, “I don’t think the usual informants will know much though, so I think we best wait to threaten a couple of Heroes for his location.” Tommy sucks in a breath and runs a hand through his hair, “In the meantime, we can start taking notes on the Heroes patrol routes around Pandora ‘n shit, maybe figure out if anything has changed since his capture, but other than that I think we should just move onto trying to get their un-di-vide-d attention.”
He wiggles his fingers out for emphasis, though his face continues in a deadpan that makes a few voices snicker.
“The best way to get eyes on us is to threaten the people they’re trying to protect.” He trots off to get dressed as he goes, mind puzzling through the bare bones of a plan, “Which is the rich, obviously, and also property, so I vote we try to blow some shit up.”
Immediately, Chat roars out their excitement, clapping and crying their excitement so loud the individual words meld together. Tommy winces and shakes his head, the barest of headaches stabbing at his temple as he groans, “We can try for some hostages later on, but I think we need to get their attention first.”
WITH CHAOS!
BLOOD!
BLOOD!
BOMBS!
BOOM!
FIRE!
DEATH!
HEELLLLL YEEAAAAA!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
“With chaos.” The blonde blows out a breath in agreement, rubbing at his temple, “But first-” He bends over to pull out one of his plastic drawers, spotting the pile of identical shirts and exclaiming almost happily, though audibly sarcastic as he throws his hands out, “Work!’
NOOOOOOO!
NOOOO!
CURSE YOU CAPITALISM!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Surprisingly, Chat does well at work. Even if they complain all the while. Tommy works at a little bubble tea shop in the L’manburg district, which gets a decent amount of foot traffic from those walking up to the upper business distract of Manburg. Due to this it means it’s rarely quiet, and that’d be stressful if it weren’t for how good the blonde was at mentally clocking out while clocked in for his shift.
It was a lot harder to do that today though because the depths of his mind were unfortunately filled with the quiet murmurs of Chat, so as occupied as his brain was, he couldn’t quite escape like he’d like to. Thankfully, the voices at least provided somewhat entertaining observations in the meantime. Like a little collection of running commentary that, for the most part, was genuinely amusing.
They always have something to say about a customer, whether it was comments on their body language-
She’s stressed.
Look at those eyebrows!
Probably chronically if those wrinkles are anything to go by...
Damn, that’s rude.
Kinda cringe!
Also she asked for an extra shot!
IN A BUBBLE TEA AS WELL!
Weirdo!
CRINGE!
Office workers just be like that.
E
E
Or their outfits-
WHO THE HELL WEARS HAWAIIAN SHIRTS AND FLOWER SKIRTS!
WHO DOES THAT MAN THINK HE IS!
DON’T THEY KNOW THAT YOU MATCH PATTERN WITH PLAIN!
Ugh.
Fashion disaster!
Disgusting.
I know you said no killing Tommy but like-
Please?
It’s deserved!
You know I wouldn’t mind wearing a skirt…
YOU’RE A VOICE!!
Or their occupations-
OH THAT’S A COP!
LOOK AT HIS SHOES!
CRINGE!
CRINGE!
BOOOOOO!
BOO THE GOVERNMENT BOYS!
BOOO!
BOOO!
BOOO!
BOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Or even their powers, because one of the benefits of Chat occupying Tommy’s mind is that they get to see exactly what the boy sees. And from that first moment they had stepped out onto the public street they had become fascinated with trying to guess passing people's powers.
Tommy’s power, though seemingly simple, had a lot more sides to it than one might think. One of these things, which Chat quickly discovers, was the ability to sense people's abilities. It was a weird feeling that he had once thought was normal, this sixth sense, not at all related to sight or hearing or anything. It was only when he had mentioned it to his brother back on the streets and gotten a completely baffled look in response that he realised it was because of his power.
The best way he could describe it was the ability to feel the shape of people's souls, which is apparently where their powers reside, not that anyone but Tommy would know that.
Wow.
That’s really weird...
Look at that one! It’s got a weird colour!
Is that even a colour?!
WHAT COLOUR IS THAT?!
UHHH??
I DONT LIKE THAT EW!
STOP IT!
Oh my god it’s giving me a headache just looking at it.
WE CAN SEE SHRIMP COLOURS!
PANIC!
NOBODY PANIC!
SHAPES AND COLOURS OH GOD-
Tommy rolls his eyes at their running commentary, ducking his head away from where one of the customers were standing, scrolling on their phone. He lets his hands pop all the ingredients into their cup, preparing their drink on instinct as he listens to Chat’s confusion.
People’s powers couldn’t quite be described, neither their shape, their colour, their texture under his hands, nothing really. He didn’t even need to touch them to feel it, like how you could picture licking something in clear detail regardless of whether you’ve actually licked it. He just knows how they’d feel. He’s gotten good at guessing people's power over the years from his gut feeling alone, but in order for him to actually know what it is, he has to reach out with his power. Chat, on the other hand, did not have that experience to guide them. This was unfortunately, very evident.
What do you think it is?
It’s like- not quite blue? Off brand blue?
WATER POWER?!
Like Niki?!
What if it's like- a Mental one?
Mental seems pink though?
I VOTE MENTAL!
NAH WATER ALL THE WAY!
WHAT IF IT'S A ICELAND GREENLAND SITUATION THOUGH?!
WHAT IF IT’S FIRE RELATED?!
WHY THE HELL WOULD IT BE-
Tommy bites his lip to avoid grinning, thoroughly entertained by Chat’s chaos, and he wills himself not to respond even as it bubbles amusement in his chest. Instead, he caps off the person's drink and calls their name with a polite smile on his face. As the customer takes his drink, Tommy blinks and reaches out with his ability just enough to touch, but not take. Instantly he feels the texture of smooth metal, cold and wet under his power, and there’s the briefest of images of a wet glass to accompany it.
He ducks his head when he turns away from the customer, thankfully free from the next for the moment, so he whispers under his breath, “’ts small ability to prevent condensation on objects, suck it Chat.”
...
...
...
CRINGE!
BORING!
I MEAN IT’S KINDA BLUE RELATED?!
WHAT KIND OF POWER IS THAT?!
GOD WE’RE NEVER GETTING THIS RIGHT?!
WE HAVEN’T GOTTEN A SINGLE ONE RIGHT!! HOW?!?!
“You guys just fucking suck,” Tommy snickers, shuffling over to clean up his workstation with a roll of his eyes, “Get good!”
And as Chat rally to protest, it’s all in good fun with howling complaints and laughter that make him giggle to himself with heart lighter than it had been in months. It’s a weird feeling, being happy again to this extent, and it sits wrong in his chest regardless of how much joy it brings. Regardless, he doesn’t linger on the feeling for long because Chat’s running commentary distracts him plenty.
I THOUGHT WE’D FIND SOMETHING GOOD!
I WANT A GOOD ONE FOR PATROL TONIGHT!!
COME ON MAN!
F
F
F
E
LIKE A STRENGTH ABILITY OR SOMETHING!
OOOOOH WHAT ABOUT LIKE- MIND READING?!
THAT’D BE BALLER!!
The blonde can’t help but grin a bit more sincerely as he lifts his head for the next customer that pops through the front door with a jingle from the bell, fully distracted by Chat’s plight as he takes their order.
Wait guys why are we even relying on the kids' ability?
We can literally give him whatever we want.
...
...
...
Uh, good point?
BUT I WANNA SEE HOW OTHER MORTALS POWERS FEEEEELLLL!
Maybe we can get inspiration or something?
As Tommy gets to work on the next order, a brown sugar tea with popping pearls, he tilts his head thoughtfully at Chat’s discussion. If Chat can really do all that, then perhaps he wouldn’t even need to find a good power today. Maybe he could rely entirely on these overpowered voices.
HELL YEAH WE’RE SO COOL!
Awww Tommy Likes us!
HELL YEAH!
LETS GO BOYS!!
Tommy furrows his brow at their response to his thoughts, something heavy settling in his stomach at the thought of these voices being able to fully read his mind. He looks down at the machine capping off the drink, staring at it but not quite registering the motion as he bites his lip nervously. Thankfully Chat seems to realise his distress as they quiet their voices to say-
Don’t worry kid, we’re not snitches.
It’s not a bad thing! We can help you better this way!
Plus it’s like we can tell anyone? We’re literally in your head?
ALSO WE ONLY GET GLIMPSES REALLY!
WE’RE NOT LISTENING AALLLL THE TIME!
It’s helpful in moments like this!
Don’t wanna look crazy at work right?
This is helpful!
You’re fine!
Aren’t we so cool?
Tommy scowls, shuffling his feet as he elects to lean against the bench, the swooping feeling in his stomach not quite disappearing with their attempts at comfort, merely quelled into something less intense.
There’s a cough nearby that startles him out from his stewing, and he flushes red as he realises his mistake. He quickly snatches up the finished drink before darting over to the other side of the counter to hand off the drink to the customer. The lady gives him a tight smile, but thankfully doesn’t complain as she thanks him and leaves with a click of her heels. God, he’s not sure how he would have held up being yelled at today, he feels way too sensitive for that. He’d either end up punching someone or bursting into tears, and he’s not sure what would be worse for him.
He lets out a breath, more of a sigh, as he gnaws at his lip nervously. Chat reading his mind was not exactly what he expected, even if it made sense and made it easier. But… He winces as he turns away to dart his eyes around for something for his idle hands to keep occupied. They were starting to shake as the skin on the back of his neck tingled with the phantom sensation of hands grasping tight. The best way to avoid this was to keep working, keep occupied, so occupied he can’t even think-
Kinda unhealthy not gonna lie.
Cringe.
You good kid?
Doesn’t Techno do the exact same thing?
Yeah but he sucks at it.
Except he can’t, because Chat are here, and they can read his fucking mind- and oh god he doesn’t want anyone in his head ever again- what if they- what if- The boy can’t help the shudder that runs up his spine as the faintest image of gloved hands come to mind, reaching towards him and ushering his mind forward until he's so disconnected he can’t even feel his body-
Again?!
Again?!
HEH?
UH-
Are we not gonna mention that flashback???
UMMM??
WTF?!
TOMMY?!
Tommy shakes his head, legs wobbling as he grabs at the edge of the counter, eternally grateful for the lack of customers in the store as he lets himself crouch down and duck his head to his collarbone. He chokes on a breath, but counts out the next one in an attempt to calm himself. It works well enough, but he’s still trembling and he can feel his heart beating a tad too fast in his chest.
Well that’s not concerning or anything...
UH?
Backstory Pog??
God why did we have to pick the traumatised one...
Kid you're fine, we ain’t gonna do anything.
YEAH! It’s not like we can control you or anything.
So we’re not gonna mention that we can posse-
IT’S NOT LIKE WE CAN CONTROL YOU OR ANYTHING!!
You okay?
The blonde snorts, shoulders shaking with laughter this time, “Chat you’re so fucking weird.” he murmurs under his breath, lip quirking up, “It’s not- don’t- don’t worry about it, I’m just a bit fucked up is all” He manages to say, so quiet he can barely hear it, but only thinking it feels wrong, so the words tumble out before he can stop them. Chat quiets a bit, murmuring among themselves, and Tommy tacks on, “It won’t stop me from saving your guy, I won’t fuck it up while I’m working, okay? So it’s fine.”
Whatever...
You almost had a panic attack?
He’s fine now though!
So whatever!
E
E
I still kinda want that backstory...
Come oonnnn, it’d be interesting!
“Oh fuck off.” Tommy huffs, before wincing as he shifts and his knees complain about holding the crouch for so long. So with a shaky sigh he pulls himself back up and shakes his legs free of the pinpricks of pain. “It’s nun’ of ya fucking business.”
It kinda is if we’re working together...
We’re literally in your head anyway!
What’s the problem?
I’M SO CURIOUS MAN!
Guys, quit prying, he’s right.
BUT BUT BUT-
It literally doesn’t matter!
But I wanna know!
“None.” Tommy grits out, leaning against the counter to glare at the wall, “Of. Your. Fucking. Business.”
…
…
Well...
It still kinda is-
“Welp!” The boy throws his hands in the air, “Guess we’re not going to go get some explosives tonight then? Seeing as you lot aren’t respecting my boundaries!”
WAIT WAIT I’M SORRY-
OH NO-
WE WANT EXPLOSIVES-
GIVE-
HOLY SHIT ALREADY?! LETS GOOO!!
SORRY SORRY!
WE’LL SHUT UP!
GIVE US THE CHAOS!
NOOOOOO-
LOOK WHAT YOU GUYS DID!
NOW WE CAN’T BLOW SHIT UP!
IM SORRY!!
SORRY TOMMY PLZ!
I'M ON MY HANDS AND KNEES I BEG YOU!
WE WANT CHAOS!
YOU DON’T HAVE HANDS AND KNEES YOU’RE A VOICE!!
OH BLOOD GOD WHERE ARE MY KNEES?!
Tommy can’t help but laugh even as his mind explodes into Chat’s version of excitement, loud and overwhelming as they stumble over each-other in an attempt to apologise. He doesn’t bother replying, he just rolls his eyes and decides to go check the stock on the ingredients in the back, seeing as how he’s customer free for the moment.
Wait where are we gonna get explosives from?
OH RIGHT!
We don’t have the Syndicate's stock anymore!
We could just steal it?
But then that’d get Tommy on their Radar...
And you know how Sam is…
Hmmm...
Worth it?
“I’m not stealing from the Syndicate.” Tommy hisses, almost tripping over a stray box as he’s affronted by such a scary thought, “I don’t have a death wish guys! No-” he tilts his head to look up at the shelves even when he’s fully distracted by Chat’s discussion, “No, we’re going to steal from the Heroes.”
...
...
...!
YOOOOOO?!
FUCK YEA LET’S GO!
THE HEROES HAVE EXPLOSIVES?!
OF COURSE THEY DO!
LETS GOOOOOOOOO
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
Heading out that night was nerve-wracking without an extra power to tide him along for patrol. Chat kept assuring him they’d give him things to use, but he can’t help but keep his anxiety on high alert to compensate for being seemingly powerless. He’s done patrols like this before and he knows he’ll be fine, but that doesn’t mean he can let his guard down. No matter how much training he’s had, there will always be someone better, more well trained, more powerful, and he had to patrol like they were right around the corner.
From experience, this was the best way of doing things, even if it cultivated an anxiety that was hard to escape. Some would even call it paranoia, even, not that Tommy would disagree.
With Chat nipping at his heels with their collective excitement, the blonde ends up dawning his gear the moment he gets home, the sun barely even set over the horizon.
He shoulders on his vigilante outfit in record time, the black sweatpants, red hoodie and dark combat boots, before lastly dawning his face with a badly spray painted gas mask. It’s not much, God he knows that far too well, but it’s all he’s got while living on minimum wage and unable to buy anything more serious without getting some dangerous attention. Even so, he still flushes pink when Chat coos and boos at his outfit, lamenting his lack of taste even though IT'S PERFECTLY FINE THANK YOU VERY MUCH!!
But thankfully they forgot about that particular train of thought before long, because when Tommy slides a couple of his knives into his belt and pulls on his gloves he tilts his head towards the window. “Ready to go pick up some firepower, boys?” He exclaims with a cocky tilt to his voice as he stalks toward the window.
Chat, of course, are more than ready, and they wordlessly say so with excited screeches that make the boy wince even as he grins. It was weirdly motivating to have an audience like this, even if they were over-stimulation personified just for him.
Tommy runs the city on instinct, it’s streets long since memorised in both his time as a Vigilante and what came before. The warehouse he was thinking of was on the other side of the city, unfortunately near the docks that bordered on the river, where trade of the illegal and legal variety thrived. Thankfully, the Heroes warehouse was exactly the same as he remembered it, and when he pulled up onto the rooftop to overlook the docks, he’s grateful to see a lack of Heroes on patrol tonight. Not that he’s stupid enough to think there wasn’t one out there, but given how early it was, not even midnight, they would surely still be on their way from the Tower still.
So with that in mind, with Chat’s whispered excitement, he slips his way into the grimy warehouse without a single power used and is soon enough facing boxes upon boxes of TNT.
He looks up at the towering piles, tilting his head this way and that and trying to calculate how much they’d even need. He’s not too familiar with the stuff, he was never allowed to use it, so he’s going to have to wing it with the help of the strangely knowledgeable Chat.
Let's get a couple of boxes.
We don’t want the Heroes catching on!
Do they do Stock takes here?
E
E
E
Just take it all!
Where would we even put it?!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
YEAAAAAAHHHH-
“We can always come back.” Tommy murmurs, voice coming out robotic beneath the dollar store equivalent of a voice changer, “I can only carry so much after all.” But they just scoff at his words. Which quickly makes the teenager bristle defensively, like, what did they expect? It’s not like he can just teleport the boxes or anything!
Without explanation the voices quiet and a tingling sensation runs up the boy’s spine. It makes him shiver and he rubs at his clothed arms like it could wipe away the cold, but it only serves to prickle goosebumps upon his skin.
Then the concrete in-front of him parts for red and void, a circle of- of something dark rises up, swallowing the boxes all the while. Its reaches brush over the wood and licks at the concrete, and there’s a momentary pause where the world holds its breath before the boxes fall into this newfound space beneath. The boxes disappear into the void, falling into nothingness, before the red implodes back into what it should be: gritty, dirty concrete. The boxes do not appear again. It’s just him in an empty warehouse now.
Tommy can only stare.
See! It’s fine!
We got this!
Did you like it?
We should use Teleportation more often! It’s fun!
It’s complicated.
Annoying.
Helpful here though!
YEAH!
Now we have TNT!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
What’s the next step?
Ahhh, I can’t wait!!
“Chat.” Tommy manages to grit out, face dipping into a blooming scowl as he rubs at his temple, “Where the fuck did you even put it?”
Your place obviously!
Dumby!
DumbInnit!
DUMBINNIT!
Lol!
The blonde stomps on the concrete and hisses under his breath, the need to warble his frustration curling around his throat and choking his annoyance for a moment before he manages to growl, “Don’t you remember how small my apartment was?! How many boxes was that?!”
...
Oh.
Ummm-
Uhhhh-
Hmmm...
“If anything is broken when we get back,” Tommy grits out, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he holds his hands flat together in-front of his face, “I’m going to fucking kill you lot.”
HEY NOW I THOUGHT YOU DON’T KILL!
It’s not like he can actually-
ITS FINE WE CAN FIX IT!
WE FIX IT!
It’ll be fine! There wasn’t THAT MUCH!
I mean it kinda was a lot...
Are we even going to be able to get into the apartment??
Sssshhh don’t mention that!
New Blood will just get mad.
With a newfound annoyance in his chest, and an energy to fuel his actions, the vigilante manages to breathe out a deep sigh before making his way out of the now lacking warehouse. Instead of returning to face that particular fuck up on Chat’s part, he elects to head for the darker parts of the city on his patchwork patrol route.
As he’s hopping across rooftops, he ignores the way Chat continue to murmur about something or another, mostly violence, in the back of his head. It’s only when they start talking about a ‘Sacrifice for the Blood God’ that he pulls to a stop on the edge of a building. He scans the streets as he scowls into the darkness.
“I’m not doing that Chat.” He huffs, “I told you, I’m not killing anyone.”
But the TNT?
Come on! It’s boring without a bit of Blood!
PLEASE I BEG WE NEED BLOOD!
“At most we’re gonna make some heroes shit themselves, make them think I’m going to kill them.” Tommy grumbles, eyeing one of the darker alleyway for a moment, only to relax when the only movement he see’s is a particularly large rat, “No sacrifices needed, other than some of my morals or whatever.”
I mean… You probably should...
We need sacrifices!
You ARE now the Prophet for the Blood God
You have to do SOMETHING!
We need BLOOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD
The vigilante steps away from the ledge as he rolls his eyes, instead tilting his head to the side to listen to the distant sounds of the busier parts of the city, “I never agreed to that. You just said you want your Villain free.”
Well…
Uh...
It kind of comes with the territory?
You have Chat. So you’re the Prophet.
...right?
I actually don’t know, this hasn't happened before.
Has Chat ever ended up with someone without our God’s Will?
Ummm
...
Idk man...
Where’s One when you need them?
They haven’t talked in centuries
Any elders know?
I haven’t seen it.
Not in this universe at least
Awkward...
Do you think our God will be mad?
Nah.
BUT A SACRIFICE WOULD MAKE IT BETTER!
Tommy just sighs rather than reply again, knowing his protests were falling on deaf ears and instead taking the time to head back off across the rooftops. It’s a quiet night tonight, much to his chagrin, because it meant all he was doing was running and hoping for some semblance of entertainment that wasn’t the chatter in his ears. His eye twitches with the reminder of his newfound lack of silence, and a pain blossoms at his temple and pulls at his brain in the beginnings of a headache.
Thankfully Chat seems to feel it as well because they quickly quell it with their spooky powers or whatever, but Tommy doesn’t bother thanking them. They were the ones causing the pain after all.
The night continues to be quiet, and Tommy curses the lack of crime even when he knows logically it is actually a good thing. Logic does nothing to quell the complaints of his own muscles raring to go and the voices in his head lamenting on the lack of action. He tries to entertain them with useless flips and parkour, but it does nothing more than prompt a few halfhearted cheers.
By the time it’s nearing the end of his night, he’s lost the energy brought from stealing from the Heroes, so with slumped shoulders and a heaving sigh, he turns to make the long trek back to his apartment.
Lo and behold, a few alleyways later, he bumps into a Hero. Facing the colourful outfit and squared stance, he momentarily freezes at the idea that they’d caught him, that he’d been seen in that warehouse and now they were after his head.
In the grungy darkness of the typical alleyway of L’manburg, he faces a Hero he barely knows the name of. With fox ears and a mix of orange and black on his high tech suit, it takes an infuriating long time for Tommy to recognise him. Vulpine was his name, a newer Hero that had only debuted a year or so before the boy had ended up on the streets again, the blonde never knew him, and facing his bristling tail now he’s pretty sure he’d remember one of the only known fox hybrid Heroes.
OH ITS THE TRAITOR!
What’s his name again?
Vulpine?
Ew, cringe.
FURRY!
FURRY!
LOL!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
You know this is the perfect opportunity to-
“Red.” Vulpine hisses, hands raising with the beginnings of power curling around his fingers and painting them warped as if the surrounding air was twisting. All it takes is a single glance at his soul for the vigilante to recognise the power of Illusions in its endless colours unrecognizable.
The blonde tilts his head up and leans back casually, throwing out his hands, “Vulpine! What’s up big man? I haven’t seen you around here before! New patrol route?” He shakes his head and grins even though his gas mask thoroughly covers it, “How annoying for you! I always hate when my routine gets fucked up like that!”
The Hero grimaces, their expression on full display with only the thin bit of fabric covering around their eyes, painting their pupils white. “It’s just what happens when we’ve got vigilantes running amok in our city.”
Tommy rolls his eyes, “Dude, you know we’re not hurting anyone, you can’t be that stupid right?”
The redhead just shuffles his feet and raises his hands higher. The blonde glances around haphazardly, thankful for Chat’s fixation on the hero as he searches for an escape. Sure, he wasn’t cornered, the alleyway stretches out both behind and in-front of him to meet the roads, but a straight run from an illusioner was bound to be an ample opportunity for the Hero.
Actually… now that he thinks about it, does he even need to run?
...Or want to?
A haphazard thought process prompts him to fully face the tense hero and ask, “By the way, heard you guys caught a pretty big Villain the other day.”
Vulpine blinks a few times, and his hands lower, “Huh?”
A breeze picks up a stray newspaper across the alleyway, blowing the distance between them, only a measly couple of meters. It serves as a reminder of the danger even as the teenager continues with his performance with the only proof of his anxiety being the pounding in his heart. “Don’t play stupid.” Tommy sighs, “How’d you guys even do it? Capturing Protesilaus must have been hard as hell, that guy's a tank!” He gestures outwards as he does, “Come on man, give me the deets, what even happened?”
“You-” The redhead chokes on a strangles noise before he hisses, “How the hell do you know that?!”
The vigilante grins haphazardly, “A magician doesn’t reveal his secrets!” He mockingly wiggles his fingers outwards for emphasis, though Chat’s giggles spur him on to tilt his head back and look down his nose at the Hero, “So what happened, big man?”
The hybrid scowls and points at him, “You must be a part of the Syndicate! There’s no way anyone other than them would know about that!”
A bubbly laugh chokes in Tommy’s throat before he can stop it, and it drops into hysterical giggles that shake his shoulders and beat his heart faster in his chest- god it was kind of getting hard to breathe- “Oh no- no- I’m definitely not!” He sucks in a breath through his teeth to calm his racing pulse, “He’s just-” He pauses, tasting the words on his tongue before he shrugs, “I got something of his and I really need to get it back to him. So it’s kinda annoying he’s captured now, ya know?”
Vulpine blinks again, “You… have something of his?” he cocks his head and once again his flimsy mask works against him and betrays the way curiosity relaxes his expression, “What is it?”
Ugh this is so boring...
It’s obvious he doesn’t know anything.
We should just kill him.
YES!
KILL THE HERO!
KILL THE TRAITOR!
BLOOD!
BLOOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
One of Tommy’s fists twitch forward against his will, and Chat’s swelling shouts make him cringe. It takes all of his power to flinch against the noise, and even more to focus on the Hero when the voices practically begged for his attention. Instead of responding to the Hero he shakes his head and turns to leave, mentally clocking out of this mess of a confrontation in the face of the calls for violence. But Vulpine quickly surges forward the moment he takes a single step back, “Oh no you don’t!” He snarls, hand throwing outwards and painting an explosion of colours across the brick and grime.
The vigilante flinches back on instinct, fists coming up and Chat pumping his muscles hard enough for his jump escaping the attack to throw him from one end of the alleyway to the other in a blink. It’s so fast his head spins and he stumbles on a piece of trash he hadn’t expected to reach so quickly.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
The Hero chases after him, but this time Tommy faces him head on. He leaps and kicks out to trip him, but has to slide sideways to avoid the throwing knife slicing for his throat. He would bet good money on it being an illusion, but he dare not risk it lest he get his head lopped off for his cockiness. Instead he ducks under the fists and weapons alike, then slams his own fist into the other’s knee, popping it out and ripping a shout from Vulpine’s throat. He takes the opportunity to surge forward and tackle the hero to the ground. They hit the concrete in a flurry of limbs that throw dust and dirt this way and that, oddly comedic if it weren’t for the adrenaline in his system and Chat howling in his ears.
He could no longer hear the distant city. His world has zeroed in on his heart pumping in his chest and the endless chants rattling his brain stupid.
KILL HIM!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
GUT HIM!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
KILL THE HERO!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
RIP HIS THROAT OUT!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BREAK HIS NOSE!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
KILL HIM!
KILL HIM!
KILL HIM!
He slams his gloved fists into the hero's nose, images of bloody bodies welling in the crevices of his brain upon Chat’s prompting. He relishes the crack and howl born from broken bones as he bares down with a rain of fists, the red behind his eyelids urging him forward mindlessly. The Hero lashes out with one of his knives, this time real as it stabs into the boy’s thigh, Though when it is jerked back out it heals just as quick when Chat notices. Tommy doesn’t flinch at the burn, but it does white out his vision for a moment, and that momentary loss is enough for his fist to miss and hit the concrete instead beside the Heroes head. Both the concrete and his fingers crack upon impact, and that furthers the pain enough for him to jerk away.
Vulpine thrusts him off with his hips, lashing out with his knife wildly and nicking his jaw shallowly when the blonde jerks back out of reach. He hits the concrete and quickly scrambles up to snarl and jump straight back into the fight. Unfortunately, the Hero is taking steps away, freckled face pale and blood dripping from his broken nose.
“What the FUCK?!” He shouts shrilly, only to scramble away as Tommy jumps for him again, “ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!”
His answer unsaid comes in the form of the vigilante’s leg cracking into his side and slamming him again the wall where his skull knocks against the brick. The Hero hisses, barely managing to cut the others calf before he’s shoving Tommy off just as easily, though he stumbles as he attempts to follow it up with a punch.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
It’s only when the blonde ducks the attempt and shoves him into the wall again, bony fingers grabbing at his hair and slamming him into the brick skull first that the barest hints of guilt edge deep in Tommy’s gut. He pauses momentarily, hands withdrawing, but it wraps around the Heroes throat just as quickly with thumbs pressed tight to a spot that he knows would kill him before long.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
It’d kill him… And Tommy barely registers that the thought was his own, and not Chat’s, as he clenches his hands and snarls like a rabid animal down at the Hero scrambling for perch on his wrists. The knife had been dropped somewhere in the scuffle, and it must have been his only weapon because Vulpine suddenly looks terrified as he gasps on the air refusing to enter his lungs. “F-Fuck-” He chokes out, “I ‘ought you were-” He can barely get the words out, and some sick part of Tommy, or maybe Chat, loosens his grip with the acidic need to hear his last words, “wer’ not- not a vill’n-”
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
Tommy suddenly feels unbearably cold.
He blinks, the boiling blood under his skin drawing to an icy stop that takes his breath away. Under his bruising grip and pumped powerful muscles, the hybrid’s face goes incredibly red, eyes rolling back and the wheezing sound of what little air he could get was the only proof he wasn’t quite going to die here.
This doesn’t help Tommy though, because all he could see is his own hands bloody guilt and he bodily flinches away, letting go and stumbling back with a gasp that is echoed by the hero who collapses to the ground without him.
Holy shit- He- He’d almost just- just-
His stomach lurches and though Chat howls their chants in his head, his mind is blissfully clear as he gags and hits the wall across the alleyway. He scrambles at the brick behind him desperately even as his nails break and bleed against the harsh texture. The blood beads, but it’s nothing compared to the blood splattered on Vulpine, the Hero’s body heaving harshly as his broken nose gushes onto his uniform.
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
Chat’s howls are quickly protested as Tommy chokes out, “N-No!” though it cracks and dies under his heaving chest, heard only by the teenager and his bloodthirsty voices.
YES!
YES!
YES!
KILL HIM!
KILL THE HERO!
“No!” Tommy hisses, snapping his head away from the hero and stumbling away, “No- No- No- I won’t-”
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
HE DESERVES TO DIE!
KILL HIM!
WE ARE MADE FOR THIS!
WE MUST KILL HIM !
Tommy gags, grabbing at one of the nearby dumpsters and barely managing to keep himself upright as his vision sways. Horror drags goosebumps up his spine and pumps his stomach full of ice as he tries to keep himself from vomiting at what he had almost done. He stumbles away from the Hero still recovering behind him, and he spares the fox eared man a glance only to comfort himself with the sight of him still breathing. They meet eyes briefly, the mousy eyed gaze of the Hero wide and terrified, though Tommy couldn’t help but think his eyes probably reflected the same. Even so, Vulpine flinches back and scrambles away like the eye contact alone was spelling out his doom.
Tommy though, he just ducks his head and turns away from the alleyway doomed for nightmares.
NO!
NO!
NO!
KILL HIM!
WE NEED HIM DEAD!
GUT HIM!
CHOKE HIM !
SLIT HIS THROAT!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
KILL HIM!
GO BACK!!
KILL HIM!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
GO BACK!
Tommy, with all the will of a boy broken but not breaking, bares his teeth and hisses a rattling noise not made for human lungs. It echoes around the empty streets and digs its claws into his spine to rip up instincts long since abandoned. It rattles in his chest and fills his brain with its fury, even though it was born from him and him alone.
Chat continues to howl.
And they howl.
And they howl.
Like rabid dogs trapped in his brain, they claw at their cages and beg for the blood welling under their nails to be someone else's. They beg and cry and howl and spit their fury for a kill not had. They fight for control and curse his name to any god that would hear their pleas, but the only one to hear them is the boy now labelled a spineless coward in their fury.
Tommy doesn’t feel like he has a brain left to use by the time he stumbles through the streets and comes across his apartment block. His entire body pulses with pain that could be from the fight, but just as much from the voices' complaints that have long since pushed a migraine to the forefront. The streetlights stab into his eyes and curl pain up his spine and down into his stomach, but all he can do is gag and pull himself up the fire escape in order to retreat to the safety of his home.
Dog’s jaws are latched around his head and compressing his skull, teeth ripping at his brain, he barely processes his own consciousness as he opens his window and falls boneless to the ground of his apartment. The cool wood cradles his skin there, though it provides little comfort as he trembles and cries at the sensations overcoming his lanky body.
He barely has the right of mind to raise his head and spot the boxes filling his apartment, he hadn’t even noticed he was lying on one of them either, because the wood of it was the same as his floor. He heaves on a sob and digs his nails into the wood grain, hauling himself up even as Chat spit and snarl at him to just lay down and die.
There’s blood under his nails and coating his skin, but Tommy can feel a lot more than that, it’s as if he’s drowning in his actions, his body coated in the blood of a Hero that was thankfully not dead. It’s only on his hands, and he knows that logically, but the phantom sensation of all his mistakes paint his skin pale and his mind just as rabid as Chat. He hauls himself to his knees and crawls across the boxes in the vague direction of the bathroom. He makes it across the apartment, dragging himself over the piles and falling off the other side with a bang as he hits the ground shoulder first.
But the bathroom is in sight, so he tears himself away from the splintered wood and drags himself upright and forward on shaky legs to meet the cool humid air of his bathroom. He instinctively flicks the light on, even though it burns his retinas and makes Chat spit their protests.
He needs a shower.
Desperately.
So with that in mind he scrambles at his vigilante gear and rips away his belt, clawing at the fabric like he’d forgotten how to get undressed at all. He manages somehow to get his hoodie off and he throws it haphazardly across the bathroom. His vision sways as he does and he grabs at the edge of the sink with one hand to hold himself upright, he just barely manages it in his weakness. His head lolls to the side, and he catches his own haunted eyes in the mirror. They hardly look like his at all.
From here he can see his scarred back, and the sight of it makes his stomach lurch, and then Chat-
Chat goes quiet.
The sudden absence of their screaming makes the boy’s knees buckle, and he hits the tiles with a hiss as his exploding head implodes into relief so vivid it fucks him up just as much as the pain. He heaves on a sob and bares his teeth, the lack of pain letting his bitter anger fill the gaps as he glares at the white tiles beneath his knees.
“W-What?” he rasps, voice shredded as if he’d been screaming just as much as the voices had been, “That got you guys to shut up? Really?” He screws his eyes and can’t help but picture the scars on his back, the two so recognizable they can hardly be mistaken for anything else. With raised skin pale and slicing in parallel lines down his shoulder blades, mirroring his bony spine. He knows what that looks like, and he knows Chat knows, because even without their voices he can hear the realisation in their silence.
“I-I thought you fuckers would like the sight of missing limbs n shit.” He snarls, voice cracking and betraying the shivers wracking up his spine.
Phil has wings.
Corvid has Wings.
“So?” Tommy grumbles, hiking his shoulders and sliding his hands over the tiles, the dried blood on his hands catching on his skin and pulling at him uncomfortably, “Just- Fuck- just let me have a shower…” And though he had meant for it to be strong, demanding, his small voice as he tacks on, “Please?” betrays it for the begging it really was.
Thankfully, they get the hint, or they’re still reeling from this new discovery. Because as Tommy hauls himself to his feet he feels the barest hints of Chat’s power padding his pain into something muted, though if it was an attempt at an apology it was a shit one and they both knew it. Without a word Tommy shoves off the rest of his clothes and hops into the shower. The freezing water raining down on him muffles his thoughts enough for him to duck his head and let himself cry unbidden. It’s not as comforting as it usually is, not with the knowledge that thousands were watching him be a weak little bitch in the shower.
When he’s next facing the mirror, there’s an absence in his foggy reflection that he hadn’t lingered on in years, and yet Chat’s discovery swells old grief up once again. He curses their name under his breath as he turns away from his pale exposed skin.
Do you want your wings back?
Chat’s question, echoed by hundreds of voices more, makes him freeze and screw his eyes shut. His instinct is to blurt out a vehement ‘Yes’ so painful it rips at his throat to die behind his clenched teeth. He doesn’t bother asking whether it was even possible, because he knows for a fact he’s seen Protesilaus on the news lose limbs fighting the heroes, even as censored as it was on the TV. Chat’s power knows no bounds, and now they were offering him an opportunity that should pump hope into his weak little heart.
Instead, all he feels is dread as he pictures a sunset of feathers and a ruffled weight on his back. The phantom limbs curl around him, an absence of comfort that makes tears well in his waterline again. He ducks his head and whispers a short, “No.” that prompts Chat’s quiet confusion in their murmured words.
“No.” He affirms again, a little bit stronger even as his lip wobbles, “No… They’re gone for a reason. He’d be-” He momentarily chokes on a secret begging for freedom before swallowing it back down to finish simply, “He’d be mad, I just can’t.”
Who?
Who would be mad?
But they’re your wings-
Why wouldn’t you-
Oh kid…
Their baseless pity lands bitterly on his dripping wet shoulders, and Tommy elects to do what he does best.
Bare his teeth and curse their name.
Because their pity was the curse on his.