By the Morrow

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/35825809.

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

Gen

Fandom:

Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, Dream SMP

Relationship:

Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson, Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Alexis | Quackity & TommyInnit

Character:

Wilbur Soot, Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Ponk | DropsByPonk (Video Blogging RPF), Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Niki | Nihachu, Floris | Fundy, Sam | Awesamdude, Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Dream SMP Ensemble, Cara | CaptainPuffy, Alexis | Quackity, Hannah | Hannahxxrose, Connor | ConnorEatsPants

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Superheroes, Villain Wilbur Soot, Villain Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Vigilante Toby Smith | Tubbo, Vigilante Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), No beta we die like Tommy in this fic lmao, Blood and Violence, Death, sbi, Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Unreliable Narrator, Body Horror, Ghost Alexis | Quackity, Character Death, How do you think they became ghosts

Collections:

incomplete v good fics, Dsmp stories UwU, Good fics, Mcyt(mostly SBI) fics that I adore, Dsmp Superhero AU, dino's minecraft hyperfixations, TommyInnit fics that hurt my feelings, Superpowers And Super-people

Stats:

Published: 2021-12-20 Updated: 2022-06-11 Chapters: 13/? Words: 56352

By the Morrow

by crosswalks (wawacoffee)

Summary

A young orphan boy dies and now has to live in the ghostly underworld of the city he once failed to survive in. As it turns out, death is better than life in virtually every way imaginable. He doesn't have to worry about food, or paying rent, or getting hypothermia from the broken radiator in his shitty studio. Not anymore. As a ghost he gets to be a kid again. He can do as he pleases: follow around superheroes, break into the Syndicate's evil lair, go on patrol with his favorite vigilantes, and face zero consequences.

Things are great.

Until one of the Syndicate leaders notices him in their base.

Then it's not so great.

Notes

Welcome to By the Morrow, yet another Dream SMP superhero AU to add to this site. I wasn't expecting to write anymore Dream SMP fics but here we are ig. Enjoy.

(also obligatory characters, not creators!)

See the end of the work for more notes

- Inspired by One More Step Out of the Pit by AdrianaintheSnow

- Inspired by One Man's Trash by SilverWing15

The Rich and Smart Live a Lot; A Prologue

Chapter Summary

The city was a shit place to live and an even worse place to die. Unfortunately for Tommy, he does both.

Today, Tommy woke up alive.

Fall had finally hit the city. The unbearable humidity of summer was waning away. People could actually breathe when they stepped out of their homes and onto the concrete. It was actually… nice. Which wasn’t a word that people usually used to describe the city. But for fall, and the start of winter—before the air grew unbearably cold and you couldn’t step outside without risking hypothermia—nice wasn’t just a four letter word. It was an apt descriptor for September through the start of December. Before and after those months, the only word people used to describe the city was shithole.

Because that’s what it was.

It was full of crime and people who were bad at stopping it. They did their best—especially in the upper districts—but their best wasn't enough. Their best left the people of the lower districts to fend for themselves and depend on vigilantes—sometimes even the Syndicate—to keep them safe from criminals that simply just weren’t worth a Nox Hero’s time.

Tommy, personally, had been saved by more vigilantes and actual fucking supervillains than he had by any superhero. And he’s had to be saved a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Far too often for any sixteen year old to need saving.

If he were any smarter, he’d stop leaving all his shopping ‘til it was dark. If he were any smarter, he’d stop trying to be a two penny hero anytime he saw something he didn’t like. If he were any smarter, he’d keep his head down, be quiet, keep to himself, and make sure he was behind his locked studio door the second the sun started to dip below the city horizon.

Unfortunately for himself, he wasn’t any smarter. Nor was he any richer. If he had the money, he could work less than three jobs and actually have time to shop during the day. Maybe he’d be able to get a flat with more than one room; maybe it wouldn’t be in the lowest imaginable district. He’d be able to shop at stores that had more than a single, shoddy CCTV camera and a baseball bat behind the counter as their sole security.

That was the fever dream.

Right now, in the real world where Tommy wasn’t any smarter or richer, it was ten; he’d just got home from his final shift of the day just to discover he didn’t have any food in his fridge. Usually, he’d tough out the hunger pains until morning, until he got so hungry he didn’t feel the ache anymore.

But he can’t remember the last time he ate more than a single slice of white bread.

His bed looked so lovely, so welcoming, in the yellow light of his only lamp combining with the cool, dirty, white light of the empty fridge. Crows, what he would give to lay down on the ratty mattress and let his eyes fall shut like they so desperately wanted to do. Rest his head against his single, lumpy pillow and tug the cow stuffy that was nearly as old and dirty as Tommy was close to his chest and fall asleep. Dream even. Dream of being smarter and richer.

But he was starving. If he laid down he might not get back up again.

So, he shut his fridge with a sigh. Running his fingers through his greasy hair, he watched a few pieces of dandruff flutter down to the kitchen tile. Crows, he needs a shower.

He needs a lot of things.

All he can get right now is food. Maybe a shower when he gets back.

The door creaks shut behind him. He gives the handle an extra turn and slams the door a little more than necessary just to make sure it actually latched shut. He’d made that mistake one too many times. Locking the door was easy once he got the key wiggled into the lock.

The stairs were an easy challenge to overcome, it was once he left his building that the real danger started.

Tommy kept his head down and his hood up as he walked toward the grocer. His head wasn’t so low that it looked like he was trying to hide but it wasn’t high enough for him to ever accidentally make eye contact with the rare passersby and start something he didn’t mean to. He kept his hands tucked deep inside the tattered red pocket that matched the rest of his hoodie, his grip tight on the pepper spray and switchblade he kept there.

If he was honest with himself—which was rare—it was a nice night all things considered. The further he walked away from his building, the more it felt like he was forcing himself to move. Like he had to physically pick up one leg and then put it in front of the other. Avoiding all cracks in the pavement—Crows rest his mother’s soul. But there was the perfect autumnal chill in the air that his hoodie was perfect for. Despite all its holes. The air was nice and fresh. As fresh and nice as it could be considering he lived in the lowest district of a smog-filled city. He’d yet to even hear another person in the streets, let alone run into anyone.

He decided to ignore the implications of the oddly empty streets as he pushed open the door of his corner grocer. Fundy was behind the counter, as he usually was. He looked like he was asleep at the till before Tommy walked in, the bell ringing throughout the small store.

“Tommy, is that you?” Fundy’s accented voice rang sleepily through the aisles as the boy navigated to the frozen food.

“Yeah, Fundy, it’s me,” came Tommy’s scratchy reply as he grabbed two boxes of frozen dinosaur nuggets. Crows, he needed water. And bread. He was out of bread. He slugged over, grabbing the cheapest white loaf he could find as well as some microwavable beans—Crows, he hated beans: the taste, texture, smell, everything about them was terrible. But they were cheap and easy. That’s what Tommy needed.

“What are you doing out?” There was concern in his voice.

He made a vague noise back at the store clerk as he decided to splurge a bit and grab some refrigerated apple juice. He might as well treat himself when he feels like shit. The sugar would do him good.

“For fuck’s sake.” His hand was clammy against his forehead. A headache had been building all day. It was light, barely noticeable and easily ignorable when he showed up for his first shift at the bakery but now it was almost unbearable. That combined with his clear hunger spells, Tommy was having a bad time.

He could barely read the various medications in front of him. What any of them did was far beyond him. Pepto Bismol was the cheapest. But wasn’t that for stomach aches? Sudafed? That was sinus shit, wasn’t it? Ibuprofen? Ibuprofen should help. He thinks. He hopes. He’ll ask Fundy once he gets to the till.

Once he gets to the till.

Which way was the till?

The bell above the door rang again, followed by rowdy voices that made Tommy wince. Crows, he needed sleep.

He didn’t bother paying attention to what the voices were saying as he let them lead him to the front of the store. Had he been paying attention, maybe he would have heard the not-so-friendly tone to the voices at the till. Had he been paying attention, maybe he would have heard how awake Fundy’s voice was, with the twinge of anxiety woven into the accent Tommy still didn’t know the origin of.

Had he been any smarter, he would have stayed hidden among the aisles. Had he been any richer, he wouldn’t be shopping at a corner grocer prone to the wrong crowd and robberies.

But Tommy wasn’t smarter. Or richer.

What he was, was bleeding.

He hadn’t meant to sneak up on the robbers, he hadn’t even known they were robbers. But they took it that way. The lackey, the sideman, someone Tommy never caught the face of, got spooked. He plunged his knife right into Tommy’s shoulder. The main man kept his pistol pointed at Fundy as Tommy bled against the Haribos he got shoved against.

“Fuck’s sake.” Tommy’s hand dropped his nuggets and reached to the knife still sticking out of his shoulder. His hand was shaking, more so than usual, as he fell to the ground. His legs sprawled out in front of him and his stuff all around him.

Something was happening at the till. Fundy’s voice was loud. So were the robbers’. Then more voices joined the mix and Tommy didn’t know what was happening. He just knew he was bleeding and his apple juice was gonna go warm if he didn’t get it home soon.

Something was on his head. He tried to reach up with his other hand before a shooting pain reminded him a knife was in that shoulder. Right. Ouch.

He dropped his head and a bag of Haribos fell onto his lap. Just his lucky day. Some of his blood was splattered on the edges.

“Prime, kid, don’t move.” Someone crouched in front of him. The store had gone quiet. Tommy lifted his head up, his eyes slowly moving from the Haribos, down his legs to his dirty sneakers, and up the pristine clothes of the man in front of him. His eyes briefly narrowed in at the fire insignia on his chest before making blurry eye contact through the black and white mask.

“Holy shit,” Tommy whispered.

“Apollo! What’s the hold up?”

“There’s a kid, he’s hurt.”

Tommy’s eyes lifted even further as a new person entered the frame. He’d recognize that shitty green anywhere. “Holy shit.”

“Hey, kid.” The Mask is standing in front of him. What the fuck . “Looks like a nasty wound, huh.”

Tommy nods. It’s hard to lift his head back up. “Hurts…” he licks his lips, everything is dry and warm and cold all the same time, “like a bitch.”

Apollo and Mask chuckle, further into the story another quiet laugh joins the fray. Probably their third. Kinoko must be dealing with Fundy and their would-be robbers.

“Why don’t we get that looked at, huh?” Tommy nods again. His head doesn’t make it all the way back up. “Apollo, get him to the medic. Ponk should be…”

Mask’s voice trails off or Tommy’s hearing fades out as his eyes flutter shut. Surrounded by his nuggets, apple juice, bread, and a box of ibuprofen, not to mention his own blood-covered Haribos, Tommy notes that he’s slept in far worse places in much worse condition.

“Do I get to keep the knife?” is not something you should ask the medic stitching up your stab wound. In Tommy’s defense, however, he didn’t know it was a strange thing to ask; he thought it was a completely reasonable request. Why wouldn’t he get to keep it? Finders keepers and all that. The robber technically gave it to him. It’s not Tommy’s fault the stupid motherfucker got caught by three Nox Heroes before he got to get it back.

The medic, Ponk or something, had actually stopped stitching Tommy’s shoulder to give him an incredulous look. “Why would you want to keep it?” He laughed lightly.

Tommy went to shrug, but stopped with Ponk’s hand on his shoulder and the pain that shot through him. “It’s a cool knife, innit.”

Ponk properly laughed at that.

Tommy watched his strange mask stretch around his open mouth.

The medic shook his head in what could only be described as wonder at the kid in front of him. “It is a cool knife.” He finished up the last stitch on Tommy’s shoulder, placing gauze and bandages on it as Tommy winced. “I don’t see why you can’t keep it.” It was sitting in the ambulance with them, within arms reach of Tommy if he could actually properly move his arms. Still had his blood on it. Cool . Ponk’s hand clasped the handle of the blade and handed it to Tommy. “Here you go, kid.”

“Wait, actually?”

“Yeah, don’t see why not.” Ponk shrugged. There was probably a smile beneath his mask. “Just don’t tell any of those buzzkills.” His head jerked towards the exit of the ambulance and the front of Fundy’s corner grocer. Apollo, Mask, and Kinoko were stood outside with Fundy, talking to the police officers who showed up far too late to do anything about the actual crime.

Tommy gave a frantic, excited nod to Ponk as he shoved the bloodied knife into his hoodie pocket to join the one he already had. A big smile had grown on his face despite the pain and dizziness he was still feeling. Crows, he still hadn’t eaten. Or showered. Or slept—not properly at least.

As it turns out, passing out from blood loss, early-onset starvation, and minor dehydration doesn’t leave for a very restful sleep.

“Thanks, big man,” Tommy said, “This is fucking sick.” He fiddled with the handle in his pocket. “Big man, with a big knife. See some robbers try to stab me again. Let ‘em see what happens when they mess with Tommy Iden and his massive fucking knife.”

Unconcerned with the kid’s threats, Ponk laughed. “Well—” he slapped his legs as he stood up, “You’re good to go, kid.” He stepped out of the ambulance, helping Tommy out once he was on the ground.

His dirty sneakers hit the ground with an umph. It took Tommy a moment to steady himself. By the time he did, Apollo had noticed them.

The hero’s smile shone as he waltzed over to the ambulance, a plastic bag swinging in one hand. Kinoko and Mask didn’t join him, but even Tommy could tell that they were watching Apollo.

“Here you go, kid.” Apollo handed the plastic bag out for Tommy to take.

Ponk turned to tidy up the back of the ambulance to try to give the hero and victim a semblance of privacy.

Warm, alarmingly so, was Apollo’s hand as Tommy took the bag from him. Peering inside, he found his shopping. His blood was still there, too. “Uh, thanks man.”

“It’s no problem.”

Crows, this guy was happy.

Apollo leaned in, a mischievous look in his eyes. He glanced back at Mask and Kinoko for a moment before stage-whispering to Tommy, “I even threw in a couple sweets for ya.” He winked before backing up a bit. He clasped his hand on Tommy’s good shoulder. “You get home safe now and try to avoid leaving your food shop too late. It’s not safe around here.”

“Will do,” Tommy nodded. He was able to lift his head back up but, Crows, that headache. “Thanks, again.” He looked over to Mask and Kinoko, giving them both a nod in thanks while lifting up his free shopping. “See you around, I guess?”

“See you around, kid,” Apollo called as Tommy walked back down the street. It was still empty as ever. The only people he would see in any direction were the ones he was walking away from. The roads were never this empty. Not on a Friday night. Not at this time.

He had one hand in his pocket as he walked, fiddling between the two blades and can of pepper spray that now resided there. His hood was up and his head was down. Not so down that it looked like he was hiding but not up enough that he could make eye contact with any of the nonexistent passersby and accidentally start something he really didn’t want to finish.

With the state he was in, he wouldn’t be able to finish it.

By the time he reached his building, he’d yet to pass anyone. Like before, he ignored the implications of it all. Of the empty roads. Of Nox Heroes stopping a random, low level robbery at a shoddy grocer in the lowest district of the city.

The last time Tommy saw a hero in his district, his mother was still alive. Now both she and that hero were dead.

He didn’t think of any of that. Didn’t think of why Apollo, Mask, and Kinoko were there. What they could have been doing. Who they could have been fighting. If he actually thought about it, even at the surface level, he’d be able to figure it out. If he’d thought about the strange emptiness of the streets when he’d first left his building, he would have stayed home.

If only he’d been smarter.

If only he’d been richer.

He was neither. Now he was home. Twelve nuggets were cooking in his microwave as he sat on his bed across the room. Crows, what he’d give to sleep right now. But he needed to eat first.

Eat, he did.

He devoured the dinosaur shaped nuggets. Tommy didn’t try to identify what dinosaur each piece of chicken was shaped as, not like he usually did. It used to be a fun little game. Maybe he’ll do it next time. But now, with a crumbled, crumb covered piece of paper towel clutched in his hand and his stomach not completely empty, Tommy let his greasy hair hit his pillow. His eyes easily fluttered shut as his other hand grasped for his cow stuffy.

He went to bed alive. For the final time.

It Comes for Good Sons

Chapter Summary

Tommy's dead and things get worse.

Chapter Notes

Yeah... this wasn't how this chapter was originally supposed to end, but what you do want me to do about it? I have about as much control here as you do.

Also, violence? Blood? Death? Gore? Idk.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Today, Tommy woke up dead.

It was the same way he’d woken up for the past few months. Eventually, the shock of it wore off. He got used to it. He stopped forgetting. He stopped thinking, hoping, praying to the Crows that he would one day just wake up alive again.

He learned to accept that that strange feeling in his chest was the odd stillness of his heart. No longer beating. Unworking. A useless lump of muscle taking up space in his chest cavity. He learned his lungs were in a similar situation: completely and utterly useless. No matter how hard he tried—and he did try—his lungs refused to take in any oxygen. Though, he supposed, the oxygen didn’t have anywhere to go. With his still heart, his skin had gone cold and clammy. Empty. No more was warm blood flowing through his veins. It simply sat there.

He’d begun to feel it clot beneath his skin the very first day he woke up like this .

Eventually, he couldn’t deny it any longer. He had tried to. He had figured out something was so incredibly wrong that first morning he woke up, but he ignored it. Something was always wrong with him. His back, his stomach, his head. Crows, he had been stabbed the night before. Of course he felt wrong.

He rarely feels alive when he wakes up in the morning, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t. Tommy has woken up feeling like Death standing since before even his mother died. He’s been alive all those years. He had figured, why should this one day be different? Why would he actually be dead on that day and none of the others?

Of course, he was dead.

And still is.

But, if he’s gonna be honest, dying is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

A scream of a laugh bursted out of his chest as he ran along the rooftops. The moon was slowly climbing the night sky, lighting the path for the corpse of a child and the person running beside him. Tommy jumped from one rooftop to the next, casting not even a moonlit shadow in the alley below his feet.

His companion stumbled as he hit the rooftop, brushing his gloves hands against the ground to keep himself from falling completely. He nearly fell off the other side of the roof, into the dank alley below but he caught himself on the ledge. As much as Tommy would love to have some actual company, someone who could see him and speak to him, and actually have this friendship be a two way street, he was glad he didn’t just watch his friend die.

He hadn’t gotten that desperate yet.

“Shit, big man, you gotta be careful!” Tommy knew he wasn’t heard, but it felt nice to speak anyway.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Boo.” He held a gloved finger to his bare ear as he stared down into the shadowed depths of the district. Tommy knew someone was on the other side of the vigilante’s comms. He knew who was on the other side; he’d been ‘patrolling’ with him just a couple of hours ago.

Boo and Bee, the lowest district’s favorite vigilantes.

They’d been assisting the people of the lowest district for the better part of six months. Back when he was waking up alive, Tommy had heard more than seen of their vigilante heroics. They duo were notorious for stopping crime and catching criminals; they hadn’t failed yet. Not that the public had heard, at least. There was no doubt that the criminal underworld would be shouting it from the rooftops if they managed to evade let alone defeat the two vigilantes.

The first time Tommy had seen them jumping from rooftop to rooftop after a shift at the warehouse. Boo had stopped when they spotted each other. He had looked at him a moment—not in the eyes, but a millimeter above—before calling down, “You alright?”

“Yeah, just walking home, big man,” Tommy had yelled up, straining his neck. A rooftop over, Bee had stopped, watching them both.

“You want someone to walk with you?” Bee had sat on the roof ledge, kicking his legs at the street below. He’d rested his chin against his palm. He had been completely relaxed despite the fact that a quick gust of wind could’ve knocked him off the ledge.

Tommy’d thought about it a moment. He stared up at the two vigilantes on their respective rooftops. He hadn’t ever actually seen them before then, only heard stories of how badass they were. Looking at them, Tommy hadn’t thought they looked incredibly badass or at all threatening. Bee was dressed as a bumblebee for fucks sake. How a black and yellow outfit was supposed to be beneficial in any way was and still is beyond Tommy. At least Boo mostly wore black. Boo also had his height going for him, but he ruined it all with a slouched posture. Not that Tommy could really judge. If he actually tried—which, to be fair, he probably did when he was faced with actual criminals and not a random kid walking home from work—he could probably be quite an intimidating motherfucker.

Tommy’d ended it all with a shrug. “I mean, if you guys wanna walk me home, I wouldn’t fucking fight yous on it.”

Boo and Bee had looked at each other and shrugged. Bee had hopped off the roof, falling safely to the ground while Boo’d teleported next to Tommy.

“Alright, bossman,” Bee had clapped his hands together, a bright smile shone beneath his yellow mask, “Lead the way.”

Tommy had led. Eventually got home safe. The walk had taken much longer with Boo feeding into Tommy’s every chaotic thought and Bee adamantly refusing to give in—despite how much he clearly wanted to—because he was on duty. Tommy’s originally solem walk home had turned into teaming up against one vigilante with another to get him to use his powers to fuck around.

Boo had been gladly teleporting every which way, causing minor chaos in the streets. He even grabbed Bee and ditched him on top of a streetlight. Bee, of course, had just walked off and fell safely to the ground. Unaffected.

It had been a good night.

Tommy had seen Bee once or twice since then, and Boo a total of five times. None of those times had he seen the two stopping crime. Only seeing them fuck around on rooftops almost had Tommy thinking they never actually did any vigilantism. But now he spent most of his time with one or both of the vigilantes, he knew that was far from true.

The first time he ran into the vigilantes after dying, they were actually stopping a crime. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d been moping on top of his building when Boo had appeared out of nowhere in a puff of purple particles, exposing his enderman heritage. The vigilante didn’t notice Tommy. Why would he? Instead, his miscolored eyes were focused on the alley below. He was muttering to himself. Tommy couldn’t see his lips moving—his mask covered his whole face—but he could hear the vague whispers ring across the rooftop.

“What the fuck are you looking at, Boo boy?” Tommy had whispered to himself, he was the only one who could hear him nowadays, as he walked across the rooftop. He’d leaned over Boo’s crouched form, looking down into the alley as he was.

Below them, Bee had been fighting off a wouldbe thief. Tommy’d winced as he watched Bee beat the robber with the briefcase he was trying to steal. After the criminal was officially unconscious, or at least not getting up anytime soon, Bee had handed the briefcase back to its owner—a goat hybrid in a freshly pressed suit. He nodded at the businessman before giving some kind of signal Tommy couldn’t spot. Boo had disappeared from his side, reappeared in the alley, grabbed Bee.

Next thing he knew, Tommy had a little more company.

A little more life had entered his dead one in the form of two very strange vigilantes.

Hey, if he couldn’t live himself, he may as well live vicariously through them. No harm done by it.

Literally.

Everything phased through Tommy and he phased through everyone. Even Bee.

Tommy stared disappointed at his hands currently lodged in Bee’s chest from where Tommy had jokingly tried to shove him. Just to see if maybe it would work this once.

“Wait, what’s happening?” Bee’s voice was frantic as he spoke over comms to Boo. He was still slightly leaning over the edge of the roof from where he’d nearly not caught himself. Completely unaware of the hand in his chest cavity. “Where?” Tommy couldn’t hear Boo on the other side, wherever he was, but he was excited. Something was happening. He was gonna do something. See something. “That’s out of our territory, Boo. I’m not trying to start shit with the Captain today.”

Holy shit, that was a name Tommy hadn’t heard in a while. He removed his hands from Bee to clap them together. The Captain was a legendary vigilante. No matter how much Nox tried to label her a villain for going against corrupt heroes, most of the city viewed her in Prime’s light.

“What do you mean she’s asking for our help! How does she know who we are?” Now Bee was really freaking out. A slightly buzzing was echoing off of him, flying out in the air in all directions. If Tommy looked close enough, he’d see Bee was just ever so slightly vibrating in both excitement and anxiety. “Crows, Boo! What the fuck! If she’s fighting the Syndicate, she should be asking for Nox back up, not some twopenny vigilantes.” Bee pulled in a big breath, but ended up cutting off his own lungs. “Of course she wouldn’t ask for Nox help, what am I saying? Nox hates her. But us? Why not Jester or Briar or— fuck I don’t know, bossman. Just,” now he actually breathed, “Send me the location and get to her now . If she needs help, it must be bad. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Come on!” Tommy whined impatiently. He stomped his foot against the ground. Flung his arms around. Did anything to distract himself from the building excitement thrumming through his veins. Even without a beating heart, the feeling was flowing through him. Filling him completely. “Let’s go kick some Syndicate ass, Bee!”

Tommy followed Bee throughout the city. Out of their district, a place Tommy had seldom left before. With each district they passed through, the higher they got, the feeling sitting in Tommy’s chest doubled. Ttripled. It filled the space in his lungs where the air should be, overwhelming the dead boy searching for any semblance of release.

Of course, he knew where he would find it.

They ended up at a warehouse in one of the upper districts. The sounds of fighting grew clearer the closer they got.

This was gonna be big.

Really big.

Bigger than Tommy or even Bee knew. Bigger than the Captain knew. Bigger than even the Syndicate knew.

“Okay, Tubbo, you’ve got this,” Bee whispered to himself, thinking no one could hear. He shook off his limbs, rolled his neck, and pushed back his shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

With that, he launched himself into the fray.

Laughing, Tommy followed.

The inside of the warehouse could only be described as pure chaos. Syndicate men were scattered around the place along with what looked like half the vigilantes in the city. Vigilantes from all districts, from the lowest to the highest, were there. All in one spot. All answering to the Captain’s call.

“Holy shit.” Tommy’s eyes were filled with awe and wonder as he watched the carnage.

He could see Jester throwing his razor-tipped cards every which way. They flew through the air, perfectly following the path Jester set out for them. Cutting up or stabbing any Syndicate member who had the unfortunate pleasure to cross that path. The scar on his face twisted as he cackled with each throw. With a quick step, he punched a lackey square in the face and danced out of the way of an angry vine.

Briar had no less than ten Syndicate men wrapped up, unconscious or getting there, in her vines around the warehouse. Working with her was Siren. Who was lulling all the captured men into unconsciousness. Tommy was shocked at how well they worked together. Flowing in and out of each other like a well oiled machine, despite their territories being the opposite sides of the city: Briar in district fourteen by the Crow Wood and Siren in district twenty three against the Empee Sea.

Neither had ever been seen outside of their own districts. Vigilantes tended to find one district—usually the one they live in—and stick to it. It avoided causing unnecessary conflict in the wrong circles.

District five was the Captains.

Everyone knew that: Vigilantes, Nox Heroes, civilians. Even the Syndicate knew. The Syndicate avoided the Captain’s district. There were a lot of rumors as to why. The public’s favorite being that they were scared of her. But there were more floating about the rumor mill. Nox’s favorite was that the Captain was the Syndicate. Or at least one of the leaders. There was never any Syndicate conflict in her district because she took care of all their business there. Another was that she struck a deal with the Crowfather. More likely, the Crowfather struck a deal with her to keep their business out of her district as long as she kept her nose out of their business.

Whatever the reason for the Syndicate’s avoidance, they weren’t avoiding it now. Now, they were invading.

Boo was teleporting all over the place, leaving countless end particles in his wake as he fought lackey after lackey. Bee was buzzy through slightly above the ground, an incredibly successful attempt at making up for his lack of height. His stingers were on full display. Sticking out of his wrists and elbows, he used them to his full advantage as he stung men and women left and right.

They were both okay. Alive. Surviving. Winning.

The vigilantes were winning.

On her own, the Captain—as amazing and talented as she was—wouldn’t have stood a chance against the sheer amount of lackeys there. But with Jester, Briar, Siren, Boo, and Bee? It was no contest. The only question was how long it would take for the group of vigilantes to completely decimate the Syndicate force.

Based on how they were fighting, not much longer.

The Captain was a true sight to behold on the miniature battlefield. Her wild, white curls were like a halo around her head. They flew gracefully from beneath her pirate hat with every step and turn as she cut down men where they stood. Her eyes were narrowed and focused. Nothing existed to her outside of the sword in her hand and the men around her that would like nothing more than to see her bleed out on the concrete.

And Tommy got to see it all first hand.

Vigilantes and Syndicate alike slashed and stepped right through him as he walked among the fighting. He’d never seen anything like it. Not in his short life nor his even shorter death.

It was horrific, the amount of blood he was stepping through.

It was terrifying, the number of bodies, dead or dying—injured and bleeding nonetheless—that passed through his own corpse.

It was, “Awesome,” Tommy breathed out as the Captain stabbed her sword through his chest and into that of the gunman behind him. He looked down, eyes wide, at the sword sticking out of his chest. “This is so fucking sick.”

She yanked the sword clean out of both their chests, only one affected. The, now dead, gunman behind Tommy fell through him, landing face down on the concrete floor.

“Gross.”

With his final thud, and the ever growing pool of blood, the warehouse fell silent. Only sounds of harsh breathing could be heard in the absence of violence. The fighting was over.

Tommy looked around the warehouse frantically, easily spotting Bee’s yellow outfit among the wreckage. He ran over to the two, ignoring the dead or unconscious bodies on the floor. “You guys fucking killed it out there!” He cheered as they shakily smiled at each other.

“How you feelin’, Bee?” Boo looked down at his still vibrating partner.

“Like I need to pass out for the next five days.”

“Fair enough.”

“I, for one,” Tommy somewhat cut in, forcing himself between the two. His right arm was slightly inside Boo as he wrapped his left around Bee as best he could, “Feel like I could run a mile. Fight a God. Fight the Syndicate! Let me at ‘em. The Crowfather and his stupid sons wouldn’t know what hit ‘em. I’m Tommy-fucking-Iden, you hear? I’m unbeatable!” He cackled while no one could hear. “What are they gonna do? Kill me? I’m already dead, you stupid bitch.”

The warehouse doors slammed open.

Everyone turned.

Tommy still had his arm through Boo as the vigilante forced Bee behind him.

A bullet flew through the air.

Tommy moved. He was already dead. Better he take it than anyone else.

It went through him.

A thud and whimper echoed behind him.

Chapter End Notes

This is a complete hypothetical and not at all a real situation happening rn, but say someone was making fries with their dinner, yeah? Say, okay, that they maybe took them a out a smidgen too early and now they're left with slightly raw fries. Really just cannot be asked to put them back in the oven.This person wouldn't face any negative consequences for eating slightly raw fries, will they? They've added a lot of salt to cover up the bad. Answer ASAP.

Again, completely hypothetical and I am not at all asking for myself :)

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One for Sorrow

Chapter Summary

One for sorrow. Two for mirth. Three for funeral. Four for birth.

Five for heaven. Six for hell

Seven for the devil, his own self.

Chapter Notes

I was alone this Christmas and wrote a good chunk of this yesterday running off 0 hours of sleep, a cowboy playlist on Spotify, a singular Monster (specifically a can of Mango Loco), and Malibu rum and apple juice. I am tipsy, sleep deprived, on crack, slightly ill, and wanting so desperately to be a cowboy. So that's why this chapter may be the way that it is.

Same warnings from last chapter ig? Violence, blood, death, etc. (Jfc this fic is so much more violent than I was planning lmao)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

For the first time in a long time, Tommy wished he woke up alive. Even if only for today. He could go back to being dead tomorrow, for all he cared. Just for now. For right now in this small singular moment, Tommy wished he was alive. He wished he was solid again. He wished air filled his lungs and blood rushed through his body as his heart beat rapidly in his chest. He doesn’t need to be seen or heard or liked or loved. He just needed real bone beneath living flesh.

Flesh strong and solid enough for a bullet to lodge in to.

So it could be in him instead of Boo.

He’d be unaffected, uncaring, of all the weapons that had flown through his body during the fight. Bullets, knives, swords, cards, vines, all passed harmlessly through him and harmfully into someone behind him.

But he hadn’t cared.

He didn’t care about them: the Syndicate men who were encroaching on the Captain’s territory, happy and ready to maim or kill any vigilante that got in their way.

Who he did care about was Boo. He cared about Bee, too. More than he should considering they didn’t know he was there, but he cared nonetheless. Now Boo had a bullet lodged deep into his shoulder and Bee was freaking out. And everyone was freaking out.

All because Tommy couldn’t take a bullet, no matter how much he wanted to.

The gunman hadn’t come from the slamming warehouse door, but he did use it to his advantage. Firing off at one last target. His aim was as true as a dying man’s could be. Before he was a deadman himself with the slice of one of Jester’s cards across his throat. It scattered to the ground, blood coating the edge.

“Bee!” The Captain called, her eyes narrowed at the warehouse door. A shadow was blocking the entrance, but Tommy couldn’t bring himself to care as he fell to his knees besides Bee. His eyes scanned over Boo, worryingly eyeing the bullet wound. The vigilante’s only wound, it seemed. “Bee!” She called again when he didn’t respond.

He was too focused, murmuring either to himself or Boo as he kept his hands clasped and pushed down on Boo’s shoulder.

“Bee,” Boo coughed, finally dragging his attention, “The Captain.”

Bee’s head shot up. His gaze bounced around the warehouse before landing on the Captain. “Yes, Captain?” His voice buzzed with the nervous energy of a thousand bees.

“Get Boo out of here,” her voice was tight and tense, her eyes refusing to look away from the shadow at the door.

“But—”

“Now, Bee!”

“What’s the rush?” The voice was deep; it rumbled down the walls of the warehouse, filling Tommy’s brittle bones.

“Go, Bee. Quick,” the Captain hissed.

Bee nodded frantically, grabbing hold of Boo’s arm, trying to lug him off the ground. “C’mon, Boo, you gotta teleport us out of here.”

Boo struggled to nod as he used Bee to help him sit back up. He winced at the pain shooting through his shoulder.

End particles manifested and fluttered around them both as Boo prepared to teleport. Even with the mask, Tommy could feel the concentration and focus Boo was putting into his powers. Yet, nothing happened.

“Don’t send them off yet, Captain .” The menacing monotone seemed to fill the warehouse wholly and completely. It flowed through every empty space, surrounding the vigilantes and Tommy. They couldn’t breathe without his voice filling their lungs. “The fun’s just beginning.”

Who the fuck was this guy?

Tommy looked over his shoulder at the warehouse door. He stared at the man’s shadow blocking the frame. His eyes struggled to focus on him. The man might as well have been surrounded by thick, murky water. Everything about him and the air around him was fuzzy and not entirely there . It was strange and unnatural. The man seemed more shadow than man, but Tommy was certain he was there. Real and corporeal.

It was Tommy’s eyes that were the problem. Maybe he was finally starting to decay, after all this time.

The man was there, he had to be. Tommy just couldn’t fucking see him properly. Whoever he was.

Whoever he was, was starting to get closer. Closer to Boo and Bee who were still stuck in the warehouse. Unable to teleport to safety.

“Aye, back the fuck up, big man.” It was the thought that counted as Tommy stood in front of his half-friends, a poor attempt at shielding them from the blurry man. He often forgot, especially in times like these, that he couldn’t actually do anything. More than he could remember: the amount of times he had tried to take a punch, a knife, a bullet; the amount of times he’d charged at someone fighting—hurting—one of his vigilantes, fully prepared to take them down only to go right through them.

Yet, with every failure to help, Tommy tried again. Hoping, praying to the Crows that this time, just this once , it would work.

Even now, the man who was just not right continued to step closer despite Tommy’s words—words he couldn’t hear but Tommy said nonetheless. Maybe this time he would be heard.

He wasn’t.

Maybe this time, I can help , Tommy thought to himself as he let out his best unheard battle cry and ran straight for the man. Straight through the man. He disappeared like a flutter of feathers on the wind. Falling away into nothingness as Tommy made contact.

Holy shit. “I did it!” Tommy cheered. He threw his arms in the air as he faced the vigilantes, all too stunned to speak. “I actually fucking did something! No one can fuck with me! I’m unstoppable!”

“Holy shit,” Jester’s voice was high, in shock and awe, as he spoke through the quiet of the warehouse. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Down fluttered a King of Hearts. Despite the slight shadow that seemed to overtake the card, it was clearly Jester’s. Oh . It landed peacefully on the ground, gliding in front of Tommy’s feet. He wanted to kick it. Rip it to shreds.

(One for sorrow.)

The Captain’s head snapped to the Jester. His words seemed to knock her out of his shock. “How did you know he wasn’t the real one?”

“I didn’t,” Jester laughed, something deeper hidden inside it, as he forced himself to relax. The others, bar the Captain, followed his example. “I just wanted to cut the bitch. Didn’t think he’d just fucking disappear.”

“Don’t worry, Jester, I’m still here.”

They came from the shadows: three more men walking at the bottom of the ocean. To Tommy, they all looked completely the same. He tried to stare through the fuzz and blurriness of everything around them. Trying to make out any distinguishable features. Different colored hair, skin, outfits. Anything.

Yet they were all the same in the water.

The Captain seemed to be the only one ready, prepared, for them. She seemed to be expecting it as she rapidly turned to face the man almost directly behind her. Her sword held beautifully against his throat. Tommy was quick on his own feet, staring headon at the man closest to him. Closest to Bee and Boo—still unable to teleport and bleeding evermore. He stared him down, being as threatening as the corpse of a sixteen—or was he seventeen by now?—year old could be. Tommy moved, with speed he never could possess while alive, to be over Boo and Bee as Bee forced himself to stand. To leave kneeling at Boo’s side.

Boo wasn’t going anywhere right now. Not physically.

Neither were these men.

If Bee needed to fight, he would fight. And he would be ready for it.

Bee and Tommy stood side by side, in front of Boo. The height between them would be laughable if anyone could see it.

Jester pulled out more of his cards as Briar and Siren moved their backs to each other. Daggers drawn out in front of them as they prepared for more men to appear from the depths or for any of the three to make a move.

Which they hadn’t. Not yet.

A tense silence was building as they stood there. Menacingly. Surrounding the vigilantes and Tommy. Watching. Waiting.

For what? None of them knew. Tommy couldn’t see any expression on the face of the man before him to give way to what his was feeling or thinking. He just stood there, a sword or staff held comfortably in his hand, his head tilted down to look at Bee and Boo.

“What do you want, huh? You fucking freak,” Jester called, breaking the silence. “This is the Captain’s district, now get you ass out of—”

The air was cut.

As was Jester’s throat.

His cards fell from his hands. Scattering across the concrete floor and fanning themselves out at the man’s feet. His hand, shaking from pain and shock, raised up to his throat closing over the fatal wound as he stared at the man in front of him. The pain was clear on his face, even through the comical mask.

“Holy fuck.” Tommy watched in shock, unable to tear his eyes away as the vigilante fell to the ground.

Joining the ever-growing pile of bodies, his blood mixed with the others’.

(Three for funeral.)

Siren’s hand shot to her mouth as she swallowed a cry. Briar’s vines snaked across the floor, shielding Jester’s still-warm corpse from any further harm. Boo had his eyes wenched shut in pain and mourning while Bee refused to look away from the man in front of them.

He wouldn’t let him or Boo be next.

Neither would Tommy.

The Captain hadn’t watched as Jester fell. Her sword stayed raised. Her hands and eyes steady. She stayed strong. “Get out of my district, Valravn. You and the Syndicate have done enough.”

“No,” the voice came from everywhere. Three more men stepped from the ocean of shadows. “I don’t think we have, Captain.”

The air was cut and fighting began. The vigilantes were outnumbered. Even if Jester was breathing and Boo was on his feet, there were too many men. But they fought anyway. The men fought back.

All six men. The same man.

Valravn.

Tommy still couldn’t see them clearly through the haze. He’d never seen Valravn when he was alive either. Only heard his name. Whispered under breaths, scared the boogeyman might hear as people spoke of the Syndicate. Of their most ruthless man. Of the way he and the men of the Syndicate behind him would lay down the lives of Nox Heroes, civillains, and vigilantes alike to get to their goal.

Swords clashed. Vines twisted, grew, and caught. Wrapping themselves violently against Valravn, unsure if it was actually him or one of his magpies—a stolen name that shouldn’t belong to him or his shadow selves. Siren threw her knives, watching as the man would dodge. Watching as the blade lodged itself into the villain’s shoulder before he would rip it out and continue fighting unphased.

Not far from Tommy, buzzing grew as Bee faced off against a magpie alone. He was doing his best against the much taller blur of a man, but it was clear he was losing. Tommy wished he could help. Wished he could do absolutely anything against the villain besides stand there stupidly.

Dead.

All he could do was watch. Watch as the vigilantes did their best in a fight they were most likely going to lose.

(Six for hell.)

No one had beaten Valravn, yet. Not since he came from seemingly nowhere after defeating an undefeatable, beloved vigilante. He’d been a favorite in the city, among the people, the media. Even to Nox Heroes.

He was loved.

Now he was dead and his name unspoken. Soon enough, probably forgotten. Tommy’s generation was the last one he was alive in. It’d be up to them to continue his legacy.

But he’d been dead since Tommy was young. Younger than he was now. Younger than when he himself died.

Tommy didn’t properly know the city with him in it. He only really remembered a world with Valravn.

A world where Valravn was staying. Refusing to leave. No matter how the Captain sliced at him with her sword. No matter how Briar wrapped him in her vines. No matter how Siren tried to sooth him with her voice as she flung knives his way. No matter how Bee buzzed around him, trying to land hit after hit on his blurred body.

No matter how Boo struggled to his feet, a hand pushing on his bullet wound and end particles frantically fluttering around him in the chaos.

He limped forward, moving toward Bee, leaving his blood behind. He stumbled.

Tommy failed to catch him. He watched, disappointed, as his hands went right through Boo. “Be careful!” He tried to scold.

Of course, he went unheard.

As he always did.

Boo righted himself, and continued on. Seemingly unnoticed by his fellow fighting vigilantes and Valravn and his magpies.

Siren and Briar continued on against their magpies.

The Captain continued against her own and the real Valravn. One of the three men she was fighting had to be the real Valravn. There was no way he would waste his time with some lower level vigilantes from districts fourteen or twenty-three. He definitely wouldn’t focus on the likes of Boo and Bee. They were practically unheard of outside of Tommy’s district.

Though the Captain had heard of them.

Somehow.

Boo continued on to Bee, stumbling over the smallest pebble and pocket of air. Nevertheless, he persisted. His breath grew heavy. His eyes weary. His hands shaky. Tommy kept an eye on him, refusing to look beyond to any of the fighting happening around them. He’d already seen Jester die, he couldn’t handle seeing anyone else do the same.

Again, Boo tripped. He was so close. Not close enough, though.

Again, Tommy went to catch him. He knew in his heart of hearts, his hands would pass through bone and flesh. As they always do.

Yet Boo never hit the ground. Nor did Tommy’s hands pass through him.

Instead, Boo’s shoulders floated just above Tommy’s hands. Stopped by some other force.

“What the fuck.”

Boo’s breath hitched as Tommy’s eyes landed on the large hand clasped on Boo’s bad shoulder. The vigilante was yanked back into a standing position as gracelessly as ever and forced to face the man who caught him.

“Watch it!” Tommy shouted, forcing himself through Boo to stare the stranger in the eyes. “He’s hurt, you stupid bitch.”

The man before him was clear. Not blurry or fuzzy or underwater or victim to any misshapen appearance due to Tommy’s decaying eyes. The dead boy looked back around at the vigilantes, all unaware of Boo’s current predicament. They were still fighting against the blurs of creatures, all six scattered among the place. One for each of Briar, Siren, and Bee; three reserved just for the Captain.

The man with Boo in his grip could look like them. If he was blurry or they clear, Tommy had a gut feeling they would all actually look the same.

They would all have the same massive, hulking frame. The same raven black blade grasped in a gloved hand. The same pink plaited hair running over their shoulder or down their back. They would all have the same skull-like—considering Valravn, it may be an actual skull—mask on their face, showcasing red glowing eyes.

Tommy was sure Valravn was looking right into his own eyes. Right directly into his mind, body, and soul. Reading the frantic thoughts running rampant through Tommy’s head. He knew it wasn’t possible. No one could see Tommy. No one could see or hear him. Let alone read his thoughts, see his soul.

Yet here Valravn was.

Tommy had the overwhelming, sudden, visceral and violent need to cry. He felt certain the devil was before him.

(Seven for the devil, his own self.)

Suddenly, as sudden as Jester died, the fighting stopped.

Valravn’s magpies stopped, no longer pursuing the vigilantes. They didn’t disappear, dissolve back into the shadows or vanish in a flurry of feathers like the one Jester killed. They stepped back, away from whoever they were fighting. Just out of swinging distance, but still easily accessible. If only the vigilantes would take a couple steps forward.

But they didn’t. A mixture of simple surprise and pure exhaustion overtook them. All looked much more worse for wear then they did fighting simple, human, unpowered Syndicate men. The Captain’s hat was gone, her hair unleashed and unruly, and her clothes disheveled, covered in blood and sweat. Siren and Briar both had more cuts and bruises to add to their collections. Siren was bleeding heavily from her leg, stabbed by a magpie with her own knife. Briar had a cut running along her own forehead, the blood dripping along her brow, soaking into her mask and falling into her eye. Bee was panting, buzzing a foot off the ground as he stared. He didn’t look injured—at least not moreso than before Valravn showed up. His stingers didn’t hit the magpie once, but it didn’t seem like the magpie landed a hit on Bee either.

Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. The city only lost one vigilante tonight.

So far.

The voice, Valravn’s voice, only came from him when he spoke. “I think you’ve lost jurisdiction, Captain.”

Four heads snapped to stare at the Syndicate leader.

Bee gasped, “Boo!”

“Let him go,” the Captain growled, turning her back to the magpie as she took a step towards the real man. “He’s just some low level vigilante from forty two.”

Behind him, Tommy heard Boo whimper as Valravn tightened his grip.

Buzzing filled the air.

“Bee, don’t !” the Captain shouted.

In less than a second, the buzzing got louder. Near deafening to Tommy’s decaying ears. Bee let out a heart wrenching battle cry as he shot through the air. Boo’s fear filled whimpers and pain filled cries morphed into warbles as end particles manifested around himself and by extension Valravn and Tommy.

Bee flew through Tommy, a millisecond too late.

They were gone. The magpies too. Disappearing in the same flurry of feathers from before.

“No!” Tommy felt something inside him crack as Bee cried. “No! Where did they go? Captain !” He turned to his idol, hoping for an answer. A solution.

“He’s gonna be okay, Bee—”

“You can’t say that!”

“He teleported them out of here—”

“You don’t think he’s working—”

“Don’t you dare suggest such a thing,” Bee growled at Briar, “He wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“We don’t know him, or you , for that matter,” Briar tried to defend herself, raising her bleeding palms in surrender. “I’m just saying that Valravn went straight towards him, some two bit vigilante no one’s heard of, and he just teleports them out of here. He didn’t teleport you two out of here. He didn’t go until Valravn showed up.” She took a breath, trying to calm herself as her mind raced in panic. “How’d he even know this was happening? He showed up way before you did. How’d you hear of a fight in five if you guys are from forty two, huh? Huh, Bee—”

“That’s enough, Briar!” The Captain glared. “I called them here. I asked for their help. That’s why they were here, me . Now, instead of trying to accuse—as you so kindly put it—some ‘two bit vigilante’ of working with the fucking Syndicate, we have a body to bury and three districts left unsupervised.”

“Boo—”

“Boo will be fine, Bee,” the Captain tried to reassure. She wasn’t successful. Bee was panicking and Tommy wasn’t faring much better. “He teleported them out of here. He can teleport back. Or to your home. Or wherever he wants to go. That’s the trouble trying to kidnap the ender-type: can’t really keep them contained.” She laughed bitterly at the end. It seemed almost involuntary. “If he doesn’t come back here, I’m sure he’ll be back in forty two.”

She paused, taking a breath as she looked around the warehouse and the bodies littering the floor. Jester’s among them, still covered in Briar’s vines. She leant down, white curls curtaining her face as she picked her hat up from a pool of blood that wasn’t hers. Cringing, she didn’t put it on.

“You should go, Bee,” she said softly. “Nox will be here soon. You and Boo haven’t made it on their radar yet. I’d hate for that to happen. You don’t deserve it.”

Bee looked around too.

He couldn’t tell corpse from unconscious.

“Briar. Siren. Make sure he gets to forty two.”

“But, Nox—”

“I can deal with those heroes just fine, Siren, don’t you worry,” she assured, “Valravn was here. Mask is probably on his way. I’ll be fine.”

Siren nodded, eyeing Jester’s covered corpse for a moment. Now that the fighting was done, they could mourn. She and Briar, heads down and eyes sad—trepidation floating among it all—walked to Bee and ushered him out of the warehouse.

“Wait,” the Captain called for a final time, “Take Jester with you. Please. I don’t want Nox to get him. He deserves to be in twelve, where he belongs.”

Once they were almost out of the district, Mask arrived at the warehouse. The Captain was sat outside, disheveled and bleeding. She said nothing to the hero, only nodding to the broken doors. The Nox Hero walked inside, squeezing between a gap in the doors. He was greeted by a sea of blood and bodies, living and dead.

Jester not among them.

Briar walked out of district five carrying the vigilante in the vines. She split up with Siren, Bee, and Tommy in district twenty to bring him to his birth district. She brought him to his home, a flat he shared with his fiances so they could mourn and bury him. Quietly. Respectfully.

Honors Nox wouldn’t have given.

They let the districts he protected know and spread the word to other vigilantes that may be willing to pick up the load.

Siren left Bee and Tommy at the edge of forty two. Let them walk to Bee and Boo’s home. Tommy followed the whole way. He usually didn’t. It had always felt wrong—and still did—to try and figure out their identities. They would never know that he knew, but it felt like an invasion of privacy. One he would never be able to come back from. But he needed to know. He needed to know if Boo was okay.

He flowed through their flat’s broken window. Hoping and praying the Crows Boo was okay. Alive. There .

Anything but dead or gone.

Chapter End Notes

It is so important to me that y'all know I had no intentions of killing Quackity. I got the bit right before he was about to die and said to myself, "Wait a minute, am I killing Quackity?" And I had to. Techno really wanted to kill him, okay. I have no control over that.

Also shoutout to an anon on Tumblr for giving me Techno's villain name!

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Books Borealis

Chapter Summary

Tommy found new friends to annoy but they won't shut up about this dumb bookstore.

Chapter Notes

Two updates in less than twelve hours?? Both over 3k words?? Hello??? What kind of crack am I on?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The rooftop felt weird without Boo or Bee by his side.

He wasn’t alone; he tried not to be these days. But it was weird to not have at least one of the duo by his side. They’d been taking a break, since everything that happened that night at the warehouse. Neither had gone on patrol often. When it happened, they tried not to get too far from their flat. Boo went out less than Bee did, but Boo didn’t like when Bee left. And Bee hated when he couldn’t watch over Boo.

So they stayed in their flat. Holed up. Where it wasn’t nice but it was safe. Away from still alive gunmen, stray bullets, and Syndicate leaders.

He went out on patrol when they did but he still felt wrong being in their home. Seeing them without their masks when they couldn’t give him permission to be there, to see them.

After that first night he went in, following Bee through the still broken window, just to see if Boo was there. After seeing Boo safe as could be, bleeding onto their ratty sofa with the bullet gone from his shoulder, he hadn’t gone back. He’d stop following them on the adjacent building. Gave them their privacy and space.

All in all, Tommy hadn’t seen much of them the past few weeks.

Without them, he’d gone back to what he did before he ran into them that night on top of his building. The routine he had when he was alive. Waking up whenever his corpse chose to, he walked to the bakery. Sat at the tables, eavesdropped on random conversations, spoke to his old boss—good ol’ Sam, who still didn’t know why Tommy stopped showing up for work—and spied on his old coworkers as they did their job.

He’d spend hours at the bakery before moving onto the warehouse. With any box that was conceivably big enough, he would fold his limbs into it. His coworkers would unknowingly carry and place him on forklifts and shelves and the back of lorries all while he giggled to himself for making the box infinitesimally heavier with the weight of his spirit.

Tommy doesn’t ever go to his usual last shift. Instead he went to the corner grocer. The one he was stabbed in. The one he was pretty sure—but not positive—caused his death. It was one of the last things he remembered doing alive: walking home with a bag of bloodied groceries and a stitched up stab wound. His back to three Nox Heroes, Ponk, Fundy, and the attempted robbers.

Ponk was cool.

Tommy still had the knife Ponk gave him. The one he was stabbed with. His dried blood was still crusted onto the steel blade. It was sitting harmlessly on Tommy’s coffee table since he couldn’t pick it up and fiddle with it anymore.

That and every other one of Tommy’s possessions hadn’t been touched since he died. His landlord never came to check on him. Or re-rented the place. Tommy wasn’t even sure the old lady knew he was dead and rotting. Not six feet under, instead wandering the city and currently sitting on a random rooftop in district fifteen next to a renowned Nox Hero, but nevertheless.

Mask was strange company. Odd compared Tommy’s usual companions of Boo and Bee. Sometimes Apollo and Kinoko joined him. Sometimes only one of them did. But more often than not, Mask was seemingly alone.

Of course, Mask was almost never alone. Not that he knew that. Tommy was the only one aware of Tommy’s own existence. Especially not if Tommy could help it. He was the most interesting person Tommy found to follow beyond Boo and Bee.

Despite his oddness, Mask was good company. He talked to himself a lot, and made funny noises when he thought no one could hear. Danced and sang in bursts whenever his brain told him to and no cameras or people were in sight.

It was entertaining.

Entertainment was hard to come by. He tried to entertain himself for a while as he tried to make himself more useful. Tried to make himself more tangible and real , so he could affect the world around him. Once he’d figured it out, once he was able to push and grab at the smallest items with the smallest part of his hand for the shortest amount of time. He’d started acting like a cat, just to bring himself some joy.

But even that go boring after awhile.

But not only was Mask entertaining, more importantly, he was fun and real.

When Mask talked to himself, Tommy filled in the empty parts of the conversation. He made noises back, smiling brightly every time. He danced and sang along with the hero. Different music playing in their heads but coexisting all the same.

He felt alive with Mask.

Tommy knew Mask couldn’t see him. Couldn’t hear him. Didn’t know he existed, beyond a most like faded and forgotten moment in the lowest district that happened a while ago. Ages ago. So long ago even Tommy couldn’t remember.

But it felt like he did.

And that was enough for Tommy.

“You should order Dominos tonight,” Tommy said, not looking at Mask as he kicked his legs into the neverending air below him.

“Chinese? Mexican?” The hero questioned himself, sitting beside Tommy. Kicking his own legs as he watched the city that ran on several stories below them and as far as the eye could see in any direction.

“Listen man, you can never go wrong with pizza,” Tommy assured. “You have to get one of the kind with a barbecue base though. Tomato is nasty.” He scrunched up his nose in disgust, shaking the fruit out of his mind.

“Pizza?” Mask’s voice raised in question. He vaguely titled his head like a confused dog as he considered the option. His finger tapped against the plexiglass mask covering his face.

The click click click of his nail against the black line of a smile rang nicely against Tommy’s ear. “Yes, man!”

Mask turned his head down, looking at a store front not too far down the road. “Dominoes?”

“That’s what I’m saying, big man!” Tommy cheered. This was nice. “If you have an order over forty you can get it half off, too!”

“Don’t they have that deal going on right now?” They both watched as people walked in and out of the Dominos. They stared—as best as they could from so far away—through the window as people, couples, and families ate their pizza. “Oh I’d kill for a pineapple pizza right about now.”

You what?

Tommy’s legs stopped swinging midair. He slowly turned his head, staring down the side of Mask’s mask. “What did you just say?”

“Oh pineapple sounds so good right about now,” Mask groaned, rolling his head and shoulders back as he rubbed his stomach.

“I—” Tommy cut himself off in shock as he tried to gather himself. “What the fuck? I… I can’t believe I’m friends with you! You heathen . And you call yourself a hero!”

“I’m not a monster!” Mask called, making Tommy pause a moment. Confusion. Disbelief. Hope. Solemn remembrance. “Pineapple on pizza is so fucking good. And stop eavesdropping on me Apollo. Don’t you have a date to get ready for?”

Silence hung in the wind as Apollo spoke to Mask on their comms.

“Yeah, exactly. I don’t want to hear it,” Mask’s voice was light as he teased one of his usual partners. “Fucking idiot.”

Apollo must have finally left his ear.

“No, Apollo’s right and he should say it,” Tommy argued. The smile was clear in his voice and on his face. If only anyone could hear him. “You’re a fucking wrongen for that one, big man.”

“Prime, Kinoko, fuck off ,” Mask hissed through his comms. It wasn’t malicious, but Tommy could tell he was getting annoyed. “‘Apollo told me’,” he raised his voice mockingly and made his accent more akin to Tommy’s, “Shut up! You literally eat bananas with fucking mayonnaise. Mayonnaise , Kinoko. I don’t want to hear about how pineapple shouldn’t be on pizza when that’s your comfort food.”

Tommy’s face grew a grimace as he heard the hero speak. “What the fuck is wrong with you guys? You’re all wrongens. Why do I hang out with you?”

Mask, of course, didn’t answer. Never has. Never will.

Not unless he dies too.

Which wouldn’t be happening anytime soon if Tommy had anything to say about it. Which he didn’t. He couldn’t do anything. Boo got shot because he couldn’t stop the bullet. He got taken by Valravn because Tommy couldn’t stop him.

He ignored the part where Valravn was alive and Tommy was decidedly not . As well as the bit where Boo took Valravn, not the other way around. Boo was the one to teleport them out and then teleport himself back home, sans Syndicate leader.

Speaking of the Syndicate.

“What do you mean Crowfather was spotted in district five?” All fight left Mask’s voice as he went alert. All of his attention was focused solely on the voice in his ear. “You mean to tell me you had actual, important information to tell me and you decided to open with how pineapple shouldn’t be on pizza.”

There was a pause.

Kinoko was no doubt answering with a smug, “Yes.”

“I hate you. I’m on my way.”

Mask lifted himself from the edge of the building. He kicked out his legs and shook off his arms. The sounds of bones cracking filled the air as he twisted his back and neck. “Fuck I’m  getting old,” he muttered to himself.

“You’re telling me,” Tommy joked, trying to keep his mood light as his brain shot back to a few weeks ago. Bee’s own call with Boo. The Syndicate in district five. “It’s gonna be so sad when you… you know. Don’t know what I’ll do myself.”

He really didn’t. But Tommy was seldom honest with himself, so he ignored that fleeting thought. If he actually thought about it, he’d realize he’d have actual company and not this poor excuse of it he told himself was good enough. But he’s Tommy. He tries not to think.

Instead he followed Mask as he made his way across the rooftops, rocket boosters in the hero’s boots helping him get across wider gaps and over streets. The people passing below looked up at the sound of the green clad man in awe and wonder.

It was easy not to think about the last time he made his way to district five. The journey was much shorter and from a different district and far more fun. Bee had been anxious; Mask was excited.

He was always excited for a fight. He thrived on them. They made his blood pump and his ears ring. He loved winning them even more. Which he often did. In his entire career as a hero, Mask had only lost once. Barely. Against Valravn. He called it more of a draw than anything.

Valravn called it a victory.

Mask would take any chance against the Syndicate to change the villain’s tune. If Crowfather was in district five, seen in district five, then it was on purpose. Something was happening. Something the public needed to see. And if the public was involved, Crowfather’s sons were far behind. That is, if they weren’t already there.

In district five. The Captain’s district. Again .

They hadn’t been there, not that Tommy’d heard—and with his incorporeality, he heard a lot of things—since the warehouse incident. Despite Valravn’s words that night, he started to figure it was a fluke. The Syndicate wouldn’t actually break their deal with the Captain.

Apparently, they would.

Which wasn’t good.

If the Captain couldn’t keep them back, no one could.

Not even Mask. No matter how much he likes to think he could.

They arrived in district five quickly. Far quicker than Tommy had expected. But Mask was excited. Tommy could practically see him vibrating from the adrenaline. He was almost worse than Bee.

Kinoko was perched on an office building. Mask didn’t even have to say anything for him to start speaking.

“Apparently, Captain saw Crowfather go into that building not even twenty minutes ago,” he said plainly, pointing to a seemingly meaningless bookstore.

“And she told you?” Mask sounded confused.

Tommy didn’t blame him. He was too.

“Yeah,” Kinoko didn’t sound like he knew what was going on either as he shrugged. “Got a call from an unknown number—don’t know how she got my private number. She said she spotted the Crowfather in her district and after that incident at the warehouse, she wanted us to know.”

Mask shook his head, staring down at the bookstore. “Why wouldn’t she call me?” He was talking to himself. But Kinoko was here now.

“I don’t know, Mask,” Kinoko sighed. He finally looked away from the store to look at Mask’s white forever smiling face. His goggles stood firm on his face, covering his eyes from both Mask and Tommy, but Tommy could still see his furrowed brow as he tried to think of a reason. “Maybe she couldn’t find your number? You’re more elusive than I am.”

Mask reluctantly nodded, shaking himself off. “Right, well it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“It really doesn’t,” Kinoko agreed. His goggles turned back to the bookstore. “What kind of business do you think Crowfather has in Books Borealis?”

“Maybe he wants to buy Harry Potter,” Tommy piped up as he crouched next to Kinoko. He shoved him lightly, ignoring the way his hands passed through him.

“Maybe he’s getting the newest Percy Jackson book,” Mask joked. “Heard Valravn’s a big Greek mythology fan.”

Tommy looked up at Mask in awe, a wide smile on his face. He laughed joyously, “You get me, big man. Holy shit. We’re so fucking connected, right now. I’m in your ‘ead.”

Kinoko’s laugh was light, more air than noise, “Yeah, maybe.”

“Maybe their secret base is in a bookstore,” Tommy thought aloud. “They’ve got the entrance hidden behind a bookshelf. You have to pull a book to open it.” Kinoko and Mask didn’t hear Tommy as he spoke. But, for once, that was okay. He was ignoring what they were saying, too. Too caught up on his running thoughts. “What book would it be? It’s fucking Crowfather and the Syndicate. Maybe something significant like War and Peace or The Art of War . Or— they sell movies at bookstores don’t they? Wait, no, that’s libraries. Are there The Godfather books? Because that’s basically what Crowfather is. His name is almost the same.”

Tommy stopped. Catching breath he didn’t need. He should be paying attention to the heroes but he didn’t like thinking seriously about the Syndicate. Even weeks later, he couldn’t shake the feeling that flooded him when he looked in Valravn’s eyes.

“Ooo!” He jumped excitedly, ditching his perch by Kinoko. “Percy Jackson! Definitely a Percy Jackson book if Valravn had any in— Hungry Hungry Caterpillar . No one would expect the secret entrance to a secret villain lair to be in the kids’ section! Crows, I’m a genius. You know, the Syndicate should really consult me. I’ve got some banger ideas…” Tommy turned back to Kinoko and Mask, only to find them both gone. “Guys?”

“Heard anything from Nox yet?” Mask’s voice came from far away. The two heroes had moved a couple buildings over to one that wasn’t in direct eye-shot of the bookshop.

“What the fuck, guys,” Tommy called to them as ran across the rooftops. “Warn a guy, next time.”

“Haven’t told them yet.” Tommy heard Kinoko respond as he jumped over the alley.

“You haven’t told Nox yet?” The incredulity in Mask’s voice could be heard from a mile away. “Why?”

Kinoko looked away from the store and up at Mask. A stupid smile graced his face. “Forgot.”

Mask stared for a moment. His smiling mask gave nothing away to what he was thinking or feeling. “You forgot… to tell Nox—you know, the organization that runs heroes that we’ve been working for for the past how many years? You forgot to tell them , those guys, that the leader of the Syndicate was spotted in broad daylight in one of the uppermost districts?”

“Yes.” Kinoko had no shame in his voice or face as he turned back to staking out the store.

“You’re so fucking stupid, George.” Tommy felt dirty. He wished he could close his ears.

“Fuck off, Dream,” Kinoko dragged out Mask’s real name.

Tommy shouldn’t be hearing this. Tommy shouldn’t be a part of this.

“What were they gonna do anyway? Huh? It’s not like they can raid the place,” Kinoko added. “The information came from a vigilante. And not just any vigilante. But the Captain for Prime’s sake. It’s unreliable by their standards. They can’t raid the place on her word alone. It’s a fucking bookstore, Dream.”

“Stop fucking call me that, you idiot,” Mask hissed. He shoved Kinoko before quickly grabbing him by his collar. They were on the top of a very tall building. Pushing was not a good idea when you could actually make contact. “Sorry.”

Kinoko brushed him off. Uncaring. Maybe understanding. “Besides, if I’d told them, they would just have you doing what we’re doing now. Except with the added facts of dragging Apollo away from his date with his fiance and questioning me as to why exactly the Captain has my number is giving me info on the Syndicate. It wouldn’t look good.”

“You’re just trying to come up with reasons instead of just owning up to the fact that you forgot.”

That seemed to set him off. Even if only for a moment. “I own up to that I forgot.” He held up a finger to Mask’s face. “I’m just also glad that I did.”

If Mask’s eyes were visible through the mask, Tommy was sure he’d see them rolling. He could feel the, Yeah, whatever , building under his breath and the scoff that would follow it. But Mask knew he had company now. He built himself a filter for this. So, instead, the hero stayed quiet.

And the quiet stayed.

Not even Tommy spoke as they watched the bookstore, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing ever did.

Tommy didn’t know how long they sat in there, in that stupid silence. Only the distant sounds of the city echoing up at them. But he was growing bored and tired of it. He flung his head back, his hair brushing down, almost reaching his shoulders. A loud groan escaped from deep in his chest.

“I was here for like ten, fifteen minutes, before you got here,” Kinoko said suddenly, flicking a scrap of concrete off the ledge and falling to the street below.

“Kinoko,” Tommy said, a bright smile on his face as he turned to the mushroom-themed hero, “I could kiss you right now. I won’t because that would be fucking weird cause you know you’re a grown ass man and I’m dead . But, still.”

“So?” Mask said over Tommy’s words.

“So,” Kinoko pulled the word, making it longer than its measly two letters, “How long have you been here?”

Mask shrugged, his arms crossed over his chest as he glanced down at his watch. “Like an hour or two.”

“An hour or two,” his partner repeated.

“Again, I say: so?”

“So,” he did it again, a smile on his face this time, “We’ve been watching for an hour and a half. The Captain told me about Crowfather about ten minutes before I got to that building. Who knows how long it took her to find my number. Or if she already had my number, get the guts to contact a Nox Hero whose had no problem hunting her down in the past.”

“He’s been in there a while,” Mask finished off his thoughts.

“He’s been in there a while,” Kinoko repeated, “If he was there at all and this isn’t the Captain playing a cruel trick on us—”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Mask cut in adamantly.

“I don’t think she would either,” he assured. “But what is the leader of the Syndicate doing in a bookstore for over two hours.”

“Maybe he’s reading! The criminal!” Tommy’s words fell flat even against his own ear. It still broke the tension for himself, barely, but nonetheless. For that he was grateful. “That’s what libraries are for, you fucking wrongen.”

“Somethings happening, Mask,” Kinoko sang.

“And it’s happening in there.”

Chapter End Notes

Honestly, loved writing Tommy and Dream "interactions." Writing this chapter went by so quick. Next thing I knew I was 3k words in and the main thing this chapter existed for hadn't happened yet. So next chapter which, based on how I've been writing today, will be out soon :)

Also Ranboo is fine! Why did Valravn target him tho?? Hmm. I wonder. Anyways! Have a nice night/day y'all! It's 3 am and I'm gonna go pass out :D

Tumblr!

As Above, So Below

Chapter Summary

Tommy infiltrates the Syndicate. He's dead, what are they gonna do about it? Cry, probably.

Chapter Notes

*side eyes the word count jumping from 13k to 18k* ahahahaha anyways

*side eyes the 300 kudos* what the fuck is that allowed?

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tommy just wanted to be useful. Kinoko and Mask couldn’t just waltz into a bookstore that may or may not be housing the Syndicate. Not without good reason. Because the word of the Captain was not a good one. It was, in fact, a very bad one.

If they went in dressed as civilians, they would be exposing themselves if they actually discovered a Syndicate hideout. Maybe that’s what the Syndicate wanted. They wanted to drag two heroes out. Either have them do something that would leave them empty handed and flak on their back or have them expose themselves.

Crowfather is never spotted in public. Yet the Captain saw him easily. Obviously. In a district he had vowed not to step foot in all those years ago.

It could be a trap or it couldn’t. They had no way of knowing without actually risking it all.

But Tommy could find out. Tommy could go in undetected and see what was going on in the Books Borealis. The Syndicate—or normal bookstore owners and occupants, whoever was there—would be none the wiser. He was the perfect subject.

He realizes he wouldn’t actually be able to tell Kinoko or Mask or anyone, for that matter, of his findings. But he was sure if he was determined enough, he could find a way. If he couldn’t and it was a trap and Mask or Kinoko—or, Crows forbid, both of them—infiltrated Books Borealis and he was unable to warn them—

Crows, he wouldn’t be able to handle the guilt.

But it was too late. He was already there. He’d already left Mask and Kinoko’s side and was standing in the middle of a relatively empty bookstore. If he left now, the burden of not knowing would haunt him until his heroes found out the hard way.

“Okay.” Tommy shook off his decaying limbs. He let out a shuddering breath, forcing the stagnant and stale air from his lungs. “I got this. Time for some spy shit. Nothing escapes the eye of the wonderful and amazing Tommy Iden. He is a God and not even the Syndicate stands a chance because he is such a big and massive man.”

The shelves were full and the shop relatively empty. Tommy only saw the person behind the register scratching away at their fingernails. They weren’t paying attention to the few consumers scattered about the rather large bookstore; they looked like they’d honestly be anywhere but there.

“Same, big man,” Tommy nodded in solidarity at the cashier. His mind was a battle, arguing with itself about whether or not really wanted to be there. On one hand, this information would only be for him and no benefit to anyone no matter how much he tried to tell himself the opposite. On the other hand, this was potentially the entrance to a Syndicate base.

The Syndicate was cool.

Objectively, yes, they were evil. They had done many wrongdoings in the eyes of the city and a few to Tommy personally—

He brushed his thoughts of Boo out of his mind as best he could.

The Syndicate was responsible for so much chaos, carnage, and death. But villains were always cool. Look at Crowfather compared to someone like Mask. Crowfather was simply just cooler. It was a better name. He had a better outfit. He had cooler powers, especially considering Mask had none.

He just had a better overall aesthetic.

Which was something Tommy could appreciate.

He did base himself off the Old Crows. Which, in Tommy’s opinion, while incredibly risky and exactly something a rich fuck from the upper districts would do, was so fucking epic. She was incredibly cool and amazing and awesome and actually cared unlike stupid fucking Prime .

Tommy’s surprised the man hasn’t faced any backlash from the goddess herself about his persona. He’s been in the city, running the Syndicate and using that name, longer than Tommy’s been alive. And he’s still standing. He’d been standing so long that by the time Tommy’d first heard of him, he thought he was a god too.

Which he wasn’t. He was mortal. Just a man. No matter how much Crowfather tried to present himself as otherwise, the city knew it to be true.

A mortal man hiding out in a bookstore of all things. If the Captain’s info was to be believed. Which it was. At least by Tommy.

Now he was wandering semi-aimlessly among overflowing bookshelves. Eyeing the spines, waiting and hoping for something to stand out to him. Titles here and there caught his eye as he walked. Books he maybe would have read once upon a time if he enjoyed reading. Middlegame , Harry Potter, Percy Jackson.

The latter made him pause in his steps.

He couldn’t help but think back to the rooftop not too long ago. What Mask had said. He was probably joking. Just making fun of Valravn for liking Greek mythology—which looking back, was weird; wasn’t one of partners named after a Greek God? But maybe there was some truth in the statement.

Mask knew Valravn better than Tommy ever could.

Tommy’s hand reached out. His fingers brushed along the spines of all the Percy Jackson books. “Crows, there are so many. What the fuck?” His outstretched index landed on the very first book in the small collection of The Lightning Thief before shrugging and pulling the top down. He waited with baited breath, holding the book half-out of the shelf, as he willed something to happen. He kept his ears perked for a click of a lock and the squeak of hinges, but nothing ever changed. No noise sounded, so fog mysteriously rolled out from the cracks in the bookshelf as it opened itself up to a winding staircase descending into darkness.

Tommy threw his head back with a groan. “Fuckin’ shit .” He doesn't know why he expected the first book he tried to reveal the Syndicate’s lair to him, but he did. He refused to give up, though.

It was almost how comical, how determined he was for one of the many Percy Jackson books to be the secret to the Syndicate. He pulled down every copy of every book from every series.

Every single time.

Disappointment.

“Nobody likes these stupid fucking books, anyway,” Tommy grumbled, glaring at the shelf that did nothing wrong. “Only Valravn would like these stupid nerd loser books.”

He pulled all the books out. So they were all leaning back at a terrible awkward angle. Just to bring himself some form of satisfaction before he stalked away from the shelf, trying none of the many other books housed there. Books that could potentially lead to the Syndicate base.

Instead, he continued down the winding aisles. Passing shelf after shelf as nothing stood out to him. No title, or spine, or little design on the bookshelf that may indicate, “Hey, secret Syndicate base here!”

Everything was, unfortunately, near identical.

If Tommy was anybody else, or on any other mission—or no mission at all—he might appreciate the beauty of Books Borealis. Which it had an abundance of. It was housed in probably one of the oldest, antique buildings in the district and the owners—Syndicate or otherwise—took full advantage of that. It was laid out like a labyrinth, not that Tommy noticed.

Each section flowed into each other with their ancient, hulking oak bookshelves. Signs hung from the ceiling with chains, old and weathered with a script that was able to find the perfect balance between fancy, victorian, academia, and legibility. Fake torches stuck out of the walls between the shelves, it was the only lighting in the whole—

Wait a minute.

Fake torches.

A contemplative look took over Tommy’s face as he stared down the torch closest to him. His lips pulled tight and his brow furrowed. One decaying hand raised to his chin as he stared at the fake fire.

“They wouldn’t…” He started to tell himself, before stopping. His eyes narrowed. His head tilted to the side. “Or would they?” Tommy shook his head as he forced his eyes back to the rows and rows of books. “No they wouldn’t. That’s stupid.” He walked down the aisle, his back to that torch but another was ahead of him. “They’re the Syndicate for Crows’ sake.” His pacing stopped. His eyes widened in realization. “They’re the Syndicate. Expect the unexpected! They’re hiding out in a bookstore for fuck’s sake. No one was expecting that. And torches are so obvious—so are the books, really, they should do better.” He shook out thought path, “Not the point, it’s obvious. Too obvious. Like so obvious, people would think it’s too too obvious and not even bother to try. That’s how obvious. But these Syndicate shmucks, they’re smart.” He paced up and down the aisle, passing through the store attendant as he ranted and raved to himself. “They know no one would expect it so that’s exactly what they did!”

Tommy stopped in the middle of the aisle, directly between two false torches, his hands on his hips and chest puffed out like a superhero. “But I did. I did expect it. Because I’m Tommy Iden and I’m the smartest man in the city— in the world!— in the universe!” He grabbed his collar and puffed it out, looking mighty proud of himself, “That’s why Mask and Kinoko sent me here.” They definitely did not do that. “They knew my brain power was unmatched.”

There was an entire bookstore, albeit not a large one, of torches for Tommy to choose from. He chose to stay at the ones he happened to stop in front of. Fate, or something like that, he told himself.

“Now, which one do I choose?” He tapped his fingers against his chin as his eyes darted back and forth between the two torches. He ignored the ones behind him. Out of sight, out of mind. “Eenie,” he pointed his finger at the torch to the left, “Meenie,” to the right, “Miney. Mo. Catch a tiger by its toe. If it hollers, let ‘im go. Eenie. Meenie. Miney. Mo.” His finger landed on the right torch. And now that he looked at it, it seemed to be slightly different then all the others. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly how, but he could feel it deep within his decaying bones.

There, of course, wasn’t a difference.

He told himself there was one anyway.

“Alrighty.” Tommy stretched his arms out in front of him as he tried and failed to crack both his fingers and neck. He approached the right–side torch with an unprecedented amount of confident swagger in his step. “Get ready to be got, Syndicate scum.”

Nearly eye-level with the torch, Tommy wrapped his fingers around the stem and pulled.

Nothing happened. The torch didn’t even think about budging.

He gripped it tighter. Tried to pull it harder. Put all his concentration in making sure his corpse didn’t fall right through the offending sconce. Yet, still, it did not move.

He groaned in frustration. Something guttural and deep in his empty chest. “Fuck yourself!” He yelled at the innocent torch. It hadn’t done anything. Which was exactly the problem. “I will make you move.”

Both his hands wrapped themselves tight around and he yanked. He put all his energy into his atrophied muscles. Pulling and grasping and yanking. Hoping and praying to the Crows for this stupid fucking torch to move even just a milimeter. To give him some satisfaction.

This torch hated Tommy. It refused to give in.

He let himself fall limp. His arms were stretched above him, refusing to let go of the torch as he tried to use the weight of his dead body to reveal the secret door to the Syndicate lair. A door that was definitely opened by a random torch among many identical torches sticking out of the wall at a small, unnoticed bookstore in district five.

Because that made all sorts of sense.

Tommy was almost ready to give up, about to move on to the left-hand torch—or any of the other innumerable torches scattered about Books Borealis—when something happened.

His body dropped.

Just by a millimeter. Maybe even less.

It dropped nevertheless.

The torch had moved.

And further into the shop, deeper than Tommy could see with his ever-failing eyes, the noise of a door sliding opening rang out. A light, not from the torches, flooded the aisle. This light was cool, white, and sterile. Nothing like the warmth of the false fire in the torches.

This was new. This wasn’t something Tommy was meant to see. He could tell.

This is what he was waiting for.

“I fucking knew it,” he whispered to himself.

He gently uncurled his legs, placing one foot to the ground after the other before unwrapping his hands from the torch. One upright, steady, and fully on the ground, Tommy walked towards the light. He wasn’t sure what to expect. What he was going to see once he turned the corner. But he couldn’t help but feel excited. Finally, something was happening. He finally did something.

It felt nice to be useful.

Even if he still hadn’t quite figured out how to share his usefulness.

It was progress.

His fingers wrapped around the last bookshelf, curling gently around the wood as he gently pushed his head into the next aisle. Peeking out like he was afraid of being seen, Tommy spied the gap in the wall he was sure wasn’t meant to be there.

It was unmanned. No person in sight. Just a descending staircase and fluorescent lights goes down, down, down beneath the shop and city.

“ Holy shit ,” he breathed. A massive smile grew on his face as he let himself fully enter the aisle. “I knew the Captain wasn’t lying!”

He hesitantly approached the door, almost afraid someone was going to appear. Yell at him about how he shouldn’t be there—which he definitely shouldn’t. Alive or dead. But no one ever showed up, from the staircase or anywhere in the shop. So Tommy continued on. Slowly. Slower than he’d ever been, even when he was alive.

Tommy was never a careful kid. But staring down the staircase into what could be nothing other than the Syndicate base, left him cautious. Images of Valravn flashed in the back of his mind. The feeling that flooded him when he’d looked into his red piercing eyes. The terrified look on Boo’s face after he was shot by a Syndicate man.

The door in front of him made today blaringly real .

Fucking around in a bookshelf, pulling at books and torches like a little kid hoping for a secret door to open up was one thing. The door actually opening was another.

But he was already here. He’d made it this far.

Tommy had plenty of opportunities to walk away, to leave himself innocently and blissfully in the dark. But he wanted an adventure and an adventure was before him.

He took a hesitant step through the threshold. And another. And another. Walking further and further down the stairs. Deeper and deeper into the Syndicate.

Deep in his chest, unmoving and unused, he could feel his heart begging to beat.

It stayed still. Useless as ever.

By the time he reached the bottom of the rather long staircase, the door that led back to the bookstore, to normalcy, had closed itself. Not that it could stop Tommy from going back. But he didn’t. He continued down the hall, shaking out his limbs as he tried to will himself to be excited rather than nervous. He couldn’t be caught. Seen. Even if he somehow was, what were they going to do to him? What could they conceivably do to him?

You can’t kill a dead boy.

You can’t hurt a ghost.

Those thoughts repeated through Tommy’s head as he wandered aimlessly through the maze of hallways stretched below district five. He didn’t know what he was looking for. He didn’t think he was going to get this far if he was entirely honest.

Aimless got boring quickly. The longer he walked the same bland, identical halls, the more his nerves evaporated. He turned a corner, hoping for something. Anything . Crows, he’d take Valravn at this point. Just something more than another fucking doorless hallway.

“What the fuck.” He stopped in his tracks and just. Stood. “This is just…” Tommy looked ahead and behind him. Absolutely nothing. “This fucking sucks.” He said plainly. “Where’s the flair? The pizzaz? You’re a fucking supervillain organization, for Crow’s sake. Look evil! Not like the fucking bitchboy version of the backrooms.”

No one said anything.

It was silent.

Not even eerie. It was kind of a nice silence. The silence that fell after rain.

Tommy doesn’t know how they managed that but they did.

It was comfortable .

“Crows, you’re fucking losers—” Someone ran through Tommy, cutting him off before he could insult the Syndicate further. He stood in shock for a moment at the unexpected violation before it properly hit him. “Fucking finally!”

The offender turned a corner and Tommy gave chase.

Bland hallways had morphed into oddly homely ones. White brick walls were replaced with vintage wallpaper as the linoleum floor turned to burgundy carpet beneath Tommy’s feet. He hadn’t seen the man who ran through him since he turned a corner not long after Tommy started chasing him, but he’d been able to hear the fast, frequent thuds of his sneakers against the linoleum. Joined sparingly by a squeak or two of the rubber catching wrong along the floor.

Tommy followed his ears around a corner and through a large set of double doors—the first doors he’d seen since the stairs—and wound up in this place. It looked, and felt, like the hallway of an old manor. Like on the practically ancient multi-million homes that were in the uppermost districts.

There’s no way that’s where he actually was, he hadn’t actually walked that long on his own nor did he chase the man for any lengthier amount of time before he lost track of his footsteps in the carpeted expanse of a hallway. But at least this section of the base had more doors. And was far more interesting than the previous halls in Tommy’s humble opinion.

So, even though Tommy had lost his unwilling and unknowing guide, he was content. Things were changing. There were so many doors to choose from. And that was just in this hall. He could see an intersection up ahead, leading to more and more doors leading to only Crows know where.

He wandered down, a light skip in his step and a content smile on his face. He reached out and touched everything within his hand’s reach. His fingers brushed themselves against the mid wall trim and flowed over the wallpaper. Every door, he shoved his head through. Each door leading to a disappointingly empty room. Some looked like storage, some offices, a lounge. One room was filled with nothing but oddly large filing cabinets. He was tempted to go further into there and rifle through the files but he really couldn’t be asked.

Tommy wanted to see someone .

Whoever had run through him was clearly in a rush to get somewhere. Which meant something was happening. And it was happening here. Behind one of these countless wooden doors.

Tommy just needed to find out which one.

Which was turning out to be a mucher harder task than anticipated.

That was until he heard muttered cursing and the sound of a slamming door.

“Which door was it?” The voice groaned. It was shaky and nervous. “Why do they all look the same? Why are none of them labeled? This is a fundamental design flaw.”

Tommy turned the corner.

It was the guy who he was chasing. He had a stack of files held tightly to his chest as he frantically opened and closed doors, looking for wherever he was meant to be. Now that Tommy could get a good look at him—an actual, proper one that was more than just a blurred, speedy back—he realized he knew the man. It was the store clerk.

“Of course even the cashier is Syndicate,” Tommy muttered disappointedly to himself. “No men are decent anymore.”

He watched as the guy did what Tommy had been doing. This man only had about one hundred times the anxiety with every action and movement. Tommy thought the man might cry as he was faced with yet another disappointing door and empty room.

It was getting kind of sad, honestly.

Even though the guy was clearly Syndicate scum, Tommy was starting to feel bad.

He walked his corpse down the hall, getting closer to the clearly panicking man as he flung another door open. The guy threw his head back with a near scream.

“Hey man,” Tommy tried to placate. He gently raised his hands, trying to be comforting even though this man definitely wouldn’t get any comfort out of it. Even if he could see Tommy. Tommy was still a months old corpse. He probably didn’t look too comforting to the living eye. “It’s okay. Take a deep breath. Have some, uh,” Tommy fumbled with his words, abruptly dropping his hands to search through his pockets. “Have a… carrot?” He pulled a clearly old baby carrot out of his jeans pocket and held it out to the man. Not that he ever remembers ever really buying carrots, but, hey, it was there. “Have a carrot. Calm yourself.”

The man, of course, did not calm himself. Not in the slightest.

Not until he opened the final door in this section of the hall. He stared into the room as he let out a sigh of relief. He forced all of the tension out of his body and brushed the sweat from his forehead. He straightened the files still held tight in his grasp as he stepped through the threshold and closed the door behind him.

“Rude,” Tommy muttered to himself, still holding the baby carrot. He looked at it a moment before shrugging and shoving it back into his pocket.

His sneaker clad feet were silent against the carpet as he wandered to the correct door. This time, he didn’t bother shoving his head through first. He barely even prepared himself before walking straight through the oak. He didn’t know what was on the other side of the thick door but Crows was he excited to see. Tommy hoped for a wide open room, filled with people and plans with a massive table at the center where they were conducting an important meeting that would tell him everything he needed to know about them. All their plans, identities, hideouts, secrets. Crowfather would be sat at the very head, directly opposite of the door Tommy was phasing through; on either side of him, wrapped in his black feathers, would be his sons.

Tommy would see it all as he stepped through.

Expecting everything, Tommy was met with another hallway.

“Fuck’s sake!” He tried to punch the door but his fist just went through. “I just want to see something cool!”

It was a shorter hallway. No doors lined the sides. Directly across from him, closing not-so innocuously, a set of tall double doors stood. Tommy barely caught a glimpse into the next room before it shut behind the cashier.

“Second time’s the charm,” Tommy said to himself as he walked through the next set of doors.

Even though the phrase was inherently incorrect, it rang true for Tommy.

A large room spread out before him. A larger than life table made out of some material Tommy couldn’t identify took up the middle of the room. Along the walls were cork boards covered in documents and photos. Colored strings created intricate non-patterns as they connected news articles, post-its, photos, and printouts. Green, blue, and orange strings twisted across and with each other across one wall, connecting cork boards, occasionally joined by a bit of white or yellow.

Each corkboard was overfilled with papers and pins and stationary, all of them bleeding out into the wall with the abundance of information. There were maybe ten or so corkboards spread across two walls, all connected with at least one piece of string.

“Crows,” Tommy breathed out. He wasn’t even focused on that. He should have been. But he wasn’t. His eyes were glued to the man sitting at the head of the table. In Crowfather’s seat.

Files filled with papers and photos were scattered around him, but he was looking at any of them. Instead he was looking at Tommy. Well, through Tommy and at the cashier.

“Connor,” the masked man’s voice was smooth against their ears. It danced with the air as it flowed into their heads. “You’re late.”

With those words, all the work Connor did to calm down and make himself presentable went out the window. “Yes, I know. I’m so sorry. I got lost and I couldn’t find the right door. They all look the same and I really think we should invest in labels or plaques or something but that’s not the point. I eventually found it, hence me now being here. And I have the files you asked for!” He pulled the manilla folders from his chest and held them out, prideful and anxious, to the Syndicate leader.

Other people were sat around the table, non masked like their leader. Even then, Tommy didn’t recognize a single one. They all looked comfortable, most keeping their eyes away from Connor and down at the papers in front of them, not because they had to but because they simply weren’t interested.

A smirk grew on his face as he pushed himself up and away from the table. He sauntered around the edge, his black trenchcoat billowed lightly behind him. Tommy moved out of the way, leaving Connor vulnerable but what could he have really done? Gently, almost kindly, he took the files into one of his gloved hands while the other went to Connor’s shoulder.

Tommy looked away. Nothing ever went well when a Syndicate leader grabbed you like that.

“Relax, Connor,” his voice carried quickly through the air. It sounded like the crashing of waves against a cliff face, a mother calling for her lost child, and the cawing of a thousand crows on the horizon. Tommy felt a chill run down his spine as he realized who was in front of him. “It’s okay. This place can be confusing. You’ll get the hang of it. Now, take a seat.”

With his hand still on Connor’s shoulder, Whippoorwill steered him to an open seat and pushed him into it. He kept the files in hand as he walked back to Crowfather’s seat. He moved the files that he’d been pouring over to Connor and placed the files Connor had brought in front of himself.

“I’ve been going over those for the past hour,” he pointed to the messy pile in front of Connor, “See if you can find anything I can’t.”

Connor nodded frantically, the forced relaxation starting to wear off, and put himself to work.

The room fell into a semi-silence. No one spoke but the sound of papers being shuffled and turned filled the air with the scratching of graphite and felt.

Tommy narrowed his eyes as the small group. “What the fuck are you guys doing?” He walked forward, leaning over the shoulder of some woman to read one of the many papers scattered across the massive table. It was a newspaper article from before Tommy was born, published by some house that had long gone out of business. On the front cover was a picture. It was hazy and blurry and old but even then who it was was undeniable. “Is that the Captain? Crows, she looks like a fucking kid in this.”

He brought his gaze up around the rest of the table and noticed similar things tossed about. Newspapers old and new with peoples and names he both did and didn’t recognize. Some referenced heroes, others vigilantes—both ones Tommy did and didn’t know—others were about a highschool in district eighteen winning the city-wide swim meet and the swimmer that won it for them, a good samaritan in district thirty seven that pulled a pregnant woman out of burning car, or a robbery turned stabbing in district forty two.

One of the women at the table let out a gasp at one article in front of her. Some looked up, others didn’t, but she had Tommy’s full attention. She pushed herself up from the table, article clutched tightly in hand as she walked to the walls. Her eyes shot across the many cork boards before landing on one crossed in red string. She held the article up to the numerous already pinned on the board or taped to the wall around it, comparing pictures and words as Tommy walked over.

He stood behind her, easily able to see over her head. Blue eyes scanned over the pictures and articles and post-its, moving faster from input to input as he took it all in.

The woman nodded, confident in herself and her findings as she taped the news article—something about an unnamed local teen growing a luscious community garden—to the wall. She grabbed a roll of red string and attached it to the newspaper before dragging it across the board to a picture of none other than Briar.

“Holy shit,” Tommy breathed as he looked over the other corkboards. There was one for each major hero and vigilante scattered about the city. Mask, Apollo, Kinoko, the Captain, Briar, Siren, and more Tommy didn’t recognize. Jester’s board was still hung up, a surprising amount of gold and orange string going between his and Apollo’s. His eyes skimmed over all the boards and the information tacked onto them. “They’re trying to figure out who you are.” He followed the corkboards down the wall, stopping abruptly at the final one.

It was clearly a new addition. It was almost completely bare. Nothing had bleed out onto the wall. Only five or so articles were pinned and no string was to be seen. Tommy didn’t bother reading any of the articles, instead his eyes stayed glued to a grainy picture in the center. It was clearly taken from some shoddy CCTV footage.

Boo and Bee.

They were in some grocer—potentially Fundy’s—surrounded by what could be nothing other than Boo’s end particles.

“No! Nope! Not happening!” Tommy shouted, turning to face the table and the culprits of the board behind him. He didn’t notice that Whippoorwill was looking over at Bee and Boo’s board. Had he noticed, he might’ve shut up. “You guys are going to stay as far away from Boo and Bee as physically, humanly possible. They are vigilantes from forty two . They’ve got nothing to do with you! You hear me you stupid sons of bitches?”

Whippoorwill pushed himself up from his chair, looking directly at the spot Tommy was standing.

He felt himself freeze. Stagnant air caught in his throat as the villain stalked over to him, blatantly ignoring the questioning stares of his subordinates. Tommy knew Whippoorwill couldn’t see him. No one could. Whippoorwill was still staring through him, like he’d done with Connor. He was seeing nothing but a mostly empty corkboard and bland wall.

Despite knowing this, Tommy couldn’t bring himself to move.

Whippoorwill stopped directly in front of Tommy, angling him head down to stare Tommy right where his eyes would be. Deep brown, almost black, eyes were visible behind his mask. Tommy could see the confusion in them, the depth that told him Whippoorwill was looking just beyond Tommy.

Suddenly, his eyes darted to the side. His gaze hardened. His eyes burned into the spot of the wall next to Tommy’s head.

“Now, who the fuck are you.”

Chapter End Notes

Wimblr Foot is finally here baby. Also I highkey stole the description of Will's magic voice from description of Renfri's in The Witcher lolz. Also shit is absolutely going down. Let's go babey!

Tumblr!

The Whip-poor-will Situation

Chapter Summary

Of course the first person to see Tommy since he's died would be some stupid Syndicate motherfucker.

Chapter Notes

I couldn't leave y'all on the cliffhanger for too long but don't ask me how I somehow made an interaction between Wilbur and Tommy 3.2k words. I have no idea how this happened. This was not the chapter plan.

Also Happy 2022! What the fuck :D

See the end of the chapter for more notes

What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck.

Was Whippoorwill talking to him? To Tommy? The dead boy no one heard, saw, or knew existed in the slightest? That him? That boy?

“I asked you a question, invisible boy,” Whippoorwill hissed next to Tommy’s ear.

Apparently so.

“ Who are you? ” He repeated harshly to the wall, his voice filled with waves and mothers and crows. He refused to turn his gaze to look directly at Tommy and Tommy did the same. He instead chose to stare straight ahead at the table of incredibly confused Syndicate members. All of which had remained in their seats but had abandoned working entirely to stare at their boss who looked like he was yelling at the wall.

Tommy gulped, refusing to answer.

Whippoorwill didn’t like that.

“Invisible boy,” he almost sounded like he was singing as he pushed more power into his voice, “ Who are you? ”

It washed over Tommy like water. Brushing over his rotting skin and torn clothes without leaving him wet. “Mind your business.” If Whippoorwill didn’t like him not answering, he was going to hate that. “Bitch,” he added for good measure, ignoring the slight shake to his voice.

Tommy’s words sounded far and distant against Whippoorwill’s covered ears. It struggled through layers upon layers of veil before landing in the villain's earlobe leaving him nearly incomprehensible. He could hear that Tommy was speaking more than what he was saying.

“Speak up, Invisi-Boy,” he teased. Many things were hidden in the layers of his voice: waves and cliff sides; mothers and deathful daughters; crows, ravens, and whip-poor-wills. Kindness was not among them.

“Oi! Don’t give me that stupid fucking nickname, Whip Poor Will,” he was practically shouting in Whippoorwill’s ear. Tommy let the smallest speck of irritation and anger flood through him without a fight. He encouraged them to grow and fester. Drown out the fear and anxiety that had been ever growing since Whippoorwill somehow noticed him. “Yeah, Whip Poor Will. Because it’s a poor villain name. That’s why Valravn is cooler than you. Stupid bitch.”

The words sounded like whispers against Whippoorwill’s ears. Some things made it through the veils. His eyes shot to look directly at— through —Tommy. “What did you just say to me?”

“I called you a bitch, bitch boy,” Tommy yelled, pushing himself away from Whippoorwill and the wall. “Because that’s what you are. You’re a shit villain, too.”

Whippoorwill spun abruptly on his feet as Tommy walked away. His eyes were wide with anger layered over confusion beneath his mask as they looked around the room.

“Yeah, I fucking said it,” Tommy let his irritation cloud an sense of self-preservation as he got in Whippoorwill’s face. “You’re a shit fucking villain. You have a stupid name and a stupid outfit,” he poked the villain’s chest, letting his finger push through. Briefly, he thought of trying to actually push his heart. Just to see what would happen. As quickly as the thought entered his head, it left. So, too, did his finger. “And a dumb mask. And your power is dumb!” Tommy tried to think of the actual name Nox had given Whippoorwill’s powers. “Fucking ‘vocal manipulation’ or something like that. Oooo, good for you, you can fuckin’ imitate birds and shit. The whole persuasion thing could be cool if anyone else had the power, but you probably just use it to make people be friends with you ‘cause Crows knows you wouldn’t have any otherwise. ‘Cause you’re a fucking loser .”

Whippoorwill wasn’t looking through let alone at him. His eyes were darting around the room, scouring and searching for any trace of Tommy. Tommy could barely hear him muttering under his breath. “Where the fuck did you go?” His subordinates, some now standing but still at the table, looked at him concerned.

“Uh, sir?” The woman who had been at Briar’s board nervously called out to him. “Are you alright?”

Whippoorwill was failing to keep a calm composure as he called, “Did any of you see where the little runt went?”

“You can’t see me?” Tommy was confused when he realized that Whippoorwill actually couldn’t . “What the fuck, why can’t you see me?” No one could. But Whippoorwill had . Now the only person who had even acknowledged that Tommy existed had lost sight of him too.

“Who?” Connor asked from his spot at the table. “No one was here.”

“He was!” Whippoorwill spun, his trenchcoat billowed out behind him as he glared at the cashier. “It’s his ability. He’s invisible. Kind-of.”

“Kind-of?” They sounded skeptical.

“They think you’re fucking crazy,” Tommy laughed, cackled, screamed. “Oh that’s bloody brilliant, that is!” He waltzed around the supervillain, teasing ripe on his tongue. Whippoorwill was staring ahead at the table and the Syndicate men who definitely didn’t think their boss was having a semi-psychotic break; Tommy was staring at him. His eyes crinkled up as he smiled and laughed. “And you are crazy, Whippoorwill. I’m a figment of your imagination. Ooooo!”

Whippoorwill turned to look where Tommy was standing. Tommy could see the confusion on his face even through the mask. His brown, nearly black eyes glared down at where Tommy was.

Tommy could tell it wasn’t actually at him.

Whippoorwill forced his eyes to look back at the table. Tommy watched as his brow furrowed. His gaze darted from Tommy to the table, growing more confused as he went.

“What the fuck are you doing, you freak?”

“How the hell are you doing that?”

They spoke at the same time. Tommy looking at Whippoorwill, Whippoorwill looking at the table.

“Who are you talking to?” It was someone at the table speaking. “Uh, sir.” They added at Whippoorwill’s glare.

He didn’t answer for a moment. He stared directly at the person who spoke. Looking deep into their eyes and soul as he stuck himself in thought. Silence reigned in the room as Whippoorwill stared. Well, silence reigned for the Syndicate members. For Tommy, the room was far from quiet thanks to the word vomit spewing from his mouth occasionally broken up by his own cackling screams of laughter.

“Crows, I can’t wait to hear this.” Tommy wiped a crocodile tear from his eye. “‘Oh yeah, just talking to the dead kid’,” he tried his make his voice deeper and smoother as he mocked the villain, “‘Just talking to the fucking corpse!’ Crows, the papers are gonna have a field day with this if it gets out.” He raised his hand in the air, marking the space for a newspaper headline as he spoke, “Syndicate leader Whippoorwill goes batshit fucking insane. What will Crowfather do now?” He sobered himself suddenly. He barely noticed Whippoorwill glance at him out of the corner of his eye before going back to staring. “And I will make sure it gets out.” His voice was serious but he wasn’t.

Well, if he knew how to get the information leaked or speak to the press as a whole, he would definitely take advantage of it to speak any slander he could think of.

“Leave,” Whippoorwill spoke suddenly. His voice was quiet and menacing. Yet it echoed loudly, hitting their eardrums harshly even without any power behind it. No one moved. No one breathed; Tommy never had to in the first place. “ Leave .” There they were: the waves and mothers and crows.

Within a breath, the room was a flurry of movement as the workers were forced to leave. Within a breath, the room was empty bar Whippoorwill, Tommy, and the fluttered papers scattered across the table and floor.

Whippoorwill glanced at Tommy again, almost making sure he was still there even though Tommy was almost certain Whippoorwill still wasn’t actually seeing him. Even if he was looking directly at where Tommy’s would be. He only looked for a moment though, for a single breath, before focusing on the just shutting double doors at the other side of the room.

“How do you do that?” The villain’s head tilted ever so slightly with the question.

“Do what?” Tommy asked honestly. His words were muffled against Whippoorwill’s ears, barely audible but audible nonetheless.

He strained his ears as he processed what Tommy said. “I’m assuming it’s an ability. Some strange twist on invisibility? Unless you’re a hybrid. But I can’t think of what kind of hybrid has invisibility. Phantom? From what I can see of you, you don’t look phantomesque.”

“So you can see me.” Tommy knew he probably shouldn’t be having semi-friendly—perhaps a better word would be not-hostile—conversation with a major supervillain but he was curious. He didn’t really know how long he’d been dead for, certainly a good number of months by now; in all that time, no one had even hinted at seeing him.

It wasn’t his fault the first person to do so was Whippoorwill.

“Kind of.” Whippoorwill knew he probably shouldn’t be having a casual conversation with the kid who had clearly broken into one of the Syndicate’s most secret and secure bases, but he was curious and the kid genuinely seemed harmless and as clueless as he was. Like he’d accidentally wandered into this situation.

“Kind of?”

“Hard to describe,” he admitted, “You’re kind of blurry? I guess that’s the right word. Like you’re not entirely here. Like a mirage?” He didn’t seem confident in what he was saying. He was spouting out whatever came to mind. “I can’t see you when I look at you, though. So you might be blurry ‘cause I can only see you like this,” he gestured vaguely to how he was looking straight ahead. “Could probably see you better if I was wearing my glasses.”

“You need glasses?”

“That’s what you took away from that?” Whippoorwill sounded incredulous as he turned to look through Tommy. “Really?” He turned his eyes back to the door.

“Well, excuse me .” Tommy had a small smile on his face as he spoke. He tried to remind himself that this was a supervillain. Not just a member of the Syndicate but a leader . This man, this incredibly powerful and dangerous man, had corkboards covering the walls; each one dedicated to one of the people he called friends to try and find out their secret identities and any piece of information they could. They had a board dedicated to Boo and Bee.

Yet Tommy was talking to him, almost like a friend.

But Tommy was talking to him .

It wasn’t simulated like it was when Mask talked to himself. He wasn’t talking at him, like he did with Boo and Bee. He didn’t have to pretend to insert himself in the conversation. He was actually having a conversation.

“I figured the oh so great and powerful Whippoorwill would have working eyes.” So he let himself relish in the fact that this was a genuine conversation he was having. He was talking to someone and someone was hearing him. He just had to ignore who that person was.

“My eyes work you little gremlin!”

“No.” Tommy said simply. “They don’t. You can’t even see me.”

“Yes I can.”

“No, I don’t think you can.”

“You're standing right next to me.”

Tommy moved. “No I’m not.”

“Well that’s just fucking stupid.” Whippoorwill sighed with a grin.

“No it’s not, you’re stupid!” Tommy shouted. “Stupid,” he added for good measure.

“Wow!” Whippoorwill rolled his eyes, a smile clear in his voice as he sarcastically stretched out the word. “That was really impressive. Used all your brain power for that killer of a response, I bet.”

“I only used a fraction of my immense power,” Tommy boasted. “I am so great and powerful and you wouldn't stand a chance against me. But I decided to be kind.”

Whippoorwill dramatically flung his arms in the air, holding his hands together in prayer and praise. “Oh, thank you so much oh powerful Invisi-Boy. You are too merciful.”

Tommy just stared, disappointed. “What the fuck are you doing?” This is one of the most powerful and feared men in the city? This guy? Really?

“What?” Whippoorwill almost seemed offended at Tommy’s words.

“C’mon, man. Really?” The dramatically offended look on Whippoorwill’s face brought Tommy more joy than he could ever have imagined. He wanted it photographed and framed and tattooed somewhere. It was hard to keep a straight face, but he did his absolute best as he added, “Stop calling me Invisi-Boy. Not everyone wants a shit nickname like you. And I’m not a boy, I’m a man. ”

Whippoorwill pointedly looked directly where Tommy’s eyes were. “You look like a boy to me, Invisi-Boy.”

“You can’t even see me, you fucking prick!”

His gaze turned back to the door as he laughed. “I can just tell, Invisi-Boy.”

“My name’s Tommy, you absolutely fucking asshole bitch of a man,” Tommy seethed, “Call me it.”

The villain seemed to soften ever so slightly. “Hello then, Tommy. I’m Whippoorwill.”

“I know your name, you prick,” Tommy glared lightly. “I’m not sure if you know this, but you’re kinda famous, big man.”

“Comes with the territory,” he shrugged.

It was silent.

It was nice. Comfortable, somehow. Before Whippoorwill ruined it.

“What are you doing here, Tommy?” He asked, trying not to spook Tommy. He didn’t want him to run out of sight again. Not before he got his answers. “How’d you even get in here? You seem just like a random kid with invisibility.” Quickly, calmly, he added, “You don’t have to be invisible anymore, by the way. I already know you’re here and I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t hurt kids.”

“I’m not a kid,” Tommy grumbled, crossing his arms indignantly over his chest.

“Right. Of course not.” Whippoorwill assured, doing his best to keep sarcasm from his voice, “My point still stands, though. It’d be nice to properly see you.”

“I can’t fucking turn un-invisible, dipshit,” he glared away from the villain. “I would if I fucking could.”

It was clearly a touchy subject. To Whippoorwill, it was clear Tommy didn’t have full control over his abilities. Poor kid was half invisible and didn’t know how to make it stop. “Right.” He nodded, pretending he fully understood. “How’d you get here then?”

“Crowfather,” Tommy admitted.

“Crowfather let you in?” Whippoorwill couldn’t hide the confusion in his voice. That didn’t seem like something his father would do.

Actually. Whippoorwill looked at Tommy as best as he could. He was young. There was no doubt in Whippoorwill’s mind that he was a full blown kid. He also looked a little worse for wear. His clothes seemed torn and dirty and his skin looked grimy and bruised. All of that on top of clear issues with his ability: he was actually exactly what would tug at Crowfather’s heartstrings enough to let him into a Syndicate base.

“No,” Tommy said, knocking Whippoorwill’s thought process out of his head. “I was with—” No, he couldn’t say. Not really. It was nice to have someone to talk to but he couldn’t give away Mask and Kinoko or the Captain. “I was just wandering and I saw him walk in here so I followed.”

Whippoorwill narrowed his eyes at the complete audacity and lack of self-preservation in this kid. “You saw the leader of the Syndicate and you decided it would be a good idea to follow him?” He asked incredulously. “Things don’t usually work out well for would-be heroes, Tommy. I don’t recommend it.”

Tommy just shrugged. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I could have been caught—”

“You were,” Whippoorwill didn’t hesitate to point out. “I caught you.”

He rolled his eyes at the villain, “Yeah but it’s not like you couldn’t do anything about it. Can’t touch me. Can’t hurt me. Can’t kill me. No risk, high reward.”

“Who’s to say I can’t kill you?” He wouldn’t, of course. “You seem pretty mortal to me.” Whippoorwill went to poke the kid, but Tommy moved slightly. Enough, it seemed, to move out of the way of his finger. Little did he know, Tommy didn’t move out of the way. Whippoorwill’s finger was sitting innocently in Tommy’s bicep, much to the kid’s chagrin.

“I’m dead, Whippoorwill,” he deadpanned. “Can’t kill what’s already dead. Now get out of me. It’s weird.” Tommy moved further out of the way, dislodging the villain entirely.

Whippoorwill, however, hadn’t noticed. He was too busy running Tommy’s words through his head on a loop.

“I’m sorry,” he put his hand up, silencing Tommy as he was about to speak again. “Did you just say you were dead? ”

“Yeah.” Tommy didn’t understand Whippoorwill’s shock. He thought he’d already figured that out. “Are your ears broken too? Crows, you think you Syndicate villains would be better put together than this. Everyday villains, I understand. But you’re the Syndicate for Crow’s sake. You should have better standards.”

“My ears work just fine, you fucking brat!”

Tommy could tell Whippoorwill was going to say more and he was getting his rebuttals ready when the doors slammed open. They hit the walls on either side with a resounding crack making Tommy nearly jump out of his decaying skin.

Whippoorwill immediately got on the defense, dropping the light hearted and joking demeanor to one Tommy was more familiar with seeing on the news.

“They said you’re talking to yourself,” the man at the door was blurry and fuzzy, hidden under layers of water deep in the ocean. One of Valravn’s magpies. “That’s supposed to be my thing.”

“I’m not talking to myself, Val ,” Whippoorwill spit. “I’m talking to my new bestie Tommy.”

“Not besties.”

Whippoorwill ignored him, and tried to wrap his arm over his shoulder. Tommy didn’t move out of the way. Instead, Whippoorwill’s arm went right through him and back down to his side. The villain stumbled, expecting to lean his weight on Tommy.

He looked at Tommy, losing sight of him. “What the fuck?”

“I told you I was dead, dumbass.”

“Crows, you’ve really lost it.” The magpie moved forward. It made it to Tommy and Whippoorwill, who was still reeling over the fact that Tommy hadn’t been joking. The magpie placed a blurred hand on Whippoorwill’s shoulder, almost comfortingly. “It’s been years since the accident, it’s time to let them go,” it joked.

Whippoorwill didn’t respond.

The magpie shook his shoulders. “Hello? You hearing me? Ignore the voices,” he teased.

Looking away from Tommy, who was looking at both of them with a judgmental look on his face—was this seriously how the villains acted when no one was watching?—Whippoorwill looked at the magpie with wide eyes.

“Get Crowfather.”

“What, why?”

“Don’t get Crowfather!” Tommy objected over the magpie. “We don’t need Crowfather.” If Whippoorwill could see, who knows who else in their weird little family could. Valravn might be able to see him for all he knows.

“Haunted,” Whippoorwill muttered out.

“What?”

“Base is haunted.”

“No it’s not!” Tommy shouted, shoving himself between the magpie and Whippoorwill. “Base is definitely not haunted.”

“Base is definitely haunted.”

The magpie stared through Tommy to Whippoorwill. Tommy couldn’t see the expression on his face but Whippoorwill could see the confusion and concern that was building.

“I swear to you, there is a ghost in this room right now and he’s standing right in front of us.”

Tommy looked at Whippoorwill betrayed. Not that Whippoorwill could see him directly in front of him. “What the fuck, dude?”

“I’m sure I believe you, Will,” the magpie patted Whippoorwill on the shoulder. “Crowfather and I are on our way.”

Fuck.

Tommy was fucked.

And he was running. He pushed himself away from Whippoorwill and through the magpie. He was too busy running to notice the magpie disappear into the flutter of feathers on the wind. Falling away into nothingness as Tommy made contact. He didn’t bother listening to Whippoorwill call for him or the distant—but growing ever closer—pounding footsteps that couldn’t belong to anyone but the real Valravn with Crowfather by his side.

He ran as fast as his rotting legs could take him down the carpeted halls, away from Whippoorwill, Valravn, and Crowfather, into the linoleum floor and doorless halls. He threw himself up the stairs and through the bookshelf. Tommy didn’t bother with the aisles as he ran through the bookstore. Deeper into the shop, he could hear the secret door opening.

Little did they know, he was already gone.

Deep down the street, passing by and through people as he picked random directions, hoping one would lead him home.

On top of an office building down the street, Mask and Kinoko watched as the door of Books Borealis vaguely fluttered open and closed without a person stepping through.

Chapter End Notes

In case some of y'all haven't clocked it, Wilbur can only see Tommy in his peripheral vision! If he tries to look at him head-on, Tommy is invisible for him like he is for everyone else. And he can hear Tommy best when he's in the peripheral, when he's not it's very very very very distant mumbling. :)

Hmm, I wonder why Wilbur can see him and no one else can...? Hmm... weird.

Also, I've been getting a number of comments about Tommy's corpse (is it still in his apartment? has it been found? wtf?) and let me just say that his corpse is a very interesting subject in this fic and I have a lot planned with it and everything surrounding Tommy being dead. Cause y'all still don't really know how he died. Granted, neither does Tom.... weird.

Anyways :)

Just some food for thought.

Tumblr!

Rotting Carrots and Corpses

Chapter Summary

Tommy realizes some things and doesn't realize others.

Chapter Notes

Long as chapter for today! Like 7.4k words long lmao.

Also I love reading everyone's theories about Tommy! Keep 'em coming!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Today, Tommy woke up dead.

He’d long been used to the feeling of the still and emptiness of it all. He couldn’t remember what it felt like to have a heart beating in his chest or blood flowing through his veins. That was how he marked how long he’d been dead for, he’d forgotten being alive. He remembered his life and what he did but not what it felt like.

No longer could he remember the feeling of his heart skipping a beat or the warmth of the sun or chill of the breeze on his skin. No longer could he remember the relief that came with every breath or the satisfaction of a full stomach—not that he felt it much when he was alive. All functions had halted when he breathed his final breath and refused to let air back in his lungs; when blood stopped flowing, stilling and clotting in his veins. It left his lungs and heart empty but his limbs oddly heavy.

He’d grown used to it now.

Every now and again, he missed how it was before. Not in any sort of genuine sense—his life had grown to be a thousand times better after death—but in a nostalgic sort of way. In the vaguest sense of the word. He missed things he couldn’t remember and never appreciated while he was alive.

In his head, he’d begun to romanticize how he’d lived. He knew it wasn’t true. He knew the days were hard—three jobs was a lot for a sixteen year old in the lowest district—and the nights harder—his flat had no heating or air conditioning, the summers were unbearably hot and he risked hypothermia every winter. Often, he went to bed shivering or sweating with no food in his fridge and even less in his stomach. It wasn’t nice.

His life—death—was nice now.

His flat was still either too hot or too cold but Tommy couldn’t feel either. His fridge was still mostly empty—inside it sat a single box of dinosaur nuggets that should have been frozen but his freezer has been broken since he moved in so he settled for the fridge. Now it probably wasn’t safe to eat. Fortunately, despite Tommy’s still empty stomach, he didn’t need to eat. His stomach could stay empty without worry or pain.

It was nice.

In death, Tommy got to leave all the negatives of his life behind while keeping and manifesting positives. He still experienced emotions; he still got to see people; he got to walk around the city without fear of harm. He’d been making friends, as one-sided as they all were, it was still nice. Boo and Bee. Mask, Kinoko, and Apollo. They were all interesting people he never would’ve had the chance to befriend if he was still living considering what they all did for a living.

Which could be stressful at times. They all risked their lives. Constantly.

Boo and Bee had no one bar each other to patch them up after a rough night patrolling and Mask, Kinoko, and Apollo faced proper supervillains on the daily. They were all frequently and consistently at risk and Tommy could do nothing about it.

At a certain point, maybe after he’s dead for a little longer, Tommy will grow to accept it. Grow to accept he’s powerless to protect them from harm. He couldn’t even keep himself safe when he was alive; it’s impossible for him to keep someone else safe now he’s dead.

Doesn’t stop him from trying. Doesn’t stop him from trying to block bullets and knives. Doesn’t stop him from yelling out to Boo or Bee when he’s on patrol with them or shouting for Mask to duck when someone tries to sneak up behind him.

One thing he doesn’t know he’ll ever get fully used to is the silence. He can handle the weird feeling of still blood in his veins or the uncomfortable feeling of empty lungs. But he forgets, over and over again, that no one knows he’s there. No one can see him. Or hear him. He doesn’t exist to anyone but himself.

Except for Whippoorwill.

Whippoorwill knew he was there. Whippoorwill could see him, could hear him. Albeit not fully. But he could nevertheless. Valravn couldn’t, not as far as Tommy knew. Nor could anyone else in the Syndicate. But Whippoorwill could .

He’d wanted to stay, when he found out. He knew it wouldn’t have been right, not when he’s friends with and cares for Boo and Bee, and Mask, Kinoko, and Apollo. The Syndicate has done so much damage and harm to his heroes and they’d started to turn their sites onto his vigilantes. He shouldn’t have stayed and been friendly with Whippoorwill as long as he was. He shouldn’t have bantered and teased and bullied the villain like they were old friends.

But Whippoorwill did it back.

Tommy wasn’t sure why. In all the weeks since he’d been to the base beneath Borealis, he still hadn’t figured out why Whippoorwill had let his guard down so quickly and easily.

Whatever reason he’d done it, Tommy was happy he did.

It’d been nice. Having an actual conversation, even if it started a bit sour. So nice that he’d started to forget where he was and who he was talking to. He’d known it in the back of his head, but he stopped acknowledging it. His mission of ‘infiltrate the Syndicate’ had turned into a fun, simple, easygoing conversation between Tommy and his new friend.

Then Valravn showed up.

It was only one of his magpies and not the actual man. But where one of his magpies was, Valravn himself wasn’t far behind. Valravn with his piercing red eyes that looked directly into yours even when he couldn’t see you. His eyes that somehow made you feel every ounce of fear and terror in the city. His hands. His gloved, bulking hands that could probably break bones in a single snap and grabbed onto your friend’s shoulder and twisted into his bullet wound. Forcing him to teleport them out and away, scaring everyone.

Valravn was bringing Crowfather.

Tommy hadn’t had the misfortune of meeting him yet. And he didn’t want to. Valravn scared the shit out of him—which he would never admit out loud. Tommy Iden was a big, strong man who could kick Syndicate ass in his sleep. But that was when Valravn didn’t know he existed. With Whippoorwill blabbing his big mouth to his father and brother, Tommy couldn’t handle the oncoming anxiety that walked hand-in-hand with the mortifying ordeal of being known by the worst supervillains the city had seen in decades.

Tommy hadn’t been able to handle the possibility of it. So he ran. Like a coward.

He hadn’t even gone back to Mask and Kinoko, who he assumed were still perched across the bookstore. He ran all the way from fifteen to forty two. Which wasn’t a short trek, especially not on foot, but it wasn’t like Tommy really felt it. He didn’t get the exhaustion that came with running miles upon miles without break.

He didn’t get tired, period.

Sleeping was more for fun or just a way to pass the day or night by. It’d become his favorite pastime the few days he’d holed himself up in his flat after the incident at Books Borealis.

Those few days were strange for Tommy. He’d been so used to seeing people on the daily, talking at them constantly and following them around forty two or the city as a whole. Those few days he’d been completely and utterly alone. He’d done his best to avoid it while he was alive and even moreso since he died. But he couldn’t bring himself to step through the door or out the window and go find Boo or Bee, or just walk the ten-fifteen minutes to Fundy’s or the bakery.

He could feel himself going crazy in the one room flat. He managed to figure out how to turn on the TV back when he was training after Boo got shot, but there were only so many channels he had access to and even those got boring after a while. Especially when you spent all your time in your flat, too afraid to leave lest you get seen—because someone had seen you—by a Syndicate leader.

The madness had been starting to get to him and he vowed to never delve further than Casper the Friendly Ghost and into Poltergeist territory.

Swallowing his fear took longer than he liked to admit. But he did it. Eventually. Able to convince himself that Whippoorwill was the only one who could see him and even that was conditional. How likely was it that he’d come across Whippoorwill while out with Boo and Bee, let alone on his own? The city was huge and Books Borealis was almost as far from forty two as you could get.

So he started on his own.

Delicately going through his door and walking himself down the stairs. Going back to the routine he had before he started hanging out with Mask. One that wasn’t incredibly dissimilar to the one he had while alive. After two weeks of that, he started seeking out his vigilantes again. He wasn’t able to find them the first night he went looking and nearly drove himself to a panic attack.

A breathless feeling was strange to experience when you quite literally didn’t need the air.

Breaking the vow he made to himself, Tommy made his way to their flat. Telling himself it was just to see if they were okay, uninjured, alive. Which it was. But if he made a spot for himself on their ratty sofa after he found them sitting and laughing at some kids show, he didn’t need to tell anyone. He did his best not to look at their exposed faces, but it wasn’t like he already knew what they both looked like after their warehouse incident with Valravn.

If he went back to their flat a couple more times after that. Well, that was between him and Death.

The bakery was busy when Tommy walked in one Saturday morning. It was filled with the regular mornings as well as everyone just getting out of church. An old gothic one dedicated to the Old Crows that was visited by most people who practiced in forty two. Tommy used to go with his mom every Saturday. He thinks he only remembers going once or twice after the funeral the other ministers held for her. After that, he had to throw himself into his many jobs so he wouldn’t join her.

Maybe he’ll go next week.

It’s been too long.

For now, he’ll sit in the bakery watching the church goers. Fiddling with his feathered bracelet, chatting at Sam—who had long ago stopped asking Tommy’s coworkers if they’d seen him—and his favorite regulars who still ordered the same thing and still occasionally wondered where the blond kid who usually served them went.

“I’m sorry, Hannah,” he said to one of his regulars who was ranting on her phone, “But it’s time to break up with him. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“He doesn’t deserve me, does he,” she repeated down the phone to someone who had said something similar. “No, you’re right, Niki! He doesn’t!”

“Atta girl!” Tommy remembered when Hannah first brought her boyfriend to the bakery. He couldn’t remember the guy’s name—he had in fact viciously scrubbed it from his mind the second he said it. It was their fifth or sixth date as an official couple and even though they both lived way over in fourteen, Sam was Hannah’s dad and she loved the bakery. She’d wanted to share it with him and he just seemed overall uninterested the entire time.

Tommy fucking hated the guy.

He had sneaking suspicion Sam did too.

“I’m gonna break up with him today. Right now ,” Hannah said vehemently down her phone to her friend Niki, who Tommy had met briefly back when he was alive and adored greatly. “Thank you so much, Niki. I’ll see you later. Heard Karl was doing something tonight for the anniversary. You gonna be there?” Hannah looked straight ahead, coincidentally at Tommy’s ear, as Niki responded. “Awesome, I’ll see you then. Stay safe! Love you!” She kissed down the phone as Tommy pushed himself up.

“My work here is done.” He bowed jokingly, saluting over to Sam who was pretending not to listen from his spot behind the counter. “You’re welcome, big man!”

Fran, the bakery dog, barked at Tommy and he laughed as Sam sighed.

“Sorry, Sammy boy,” Tommy’s smile was bright on his face as he walked through the counter to stand with Sam and Fran. Fran looked up at him, bright eyes begging for pets. She barked at him again when he didn’t give in. “I’m just irresistible to the ladies.” He leant down slightly, running his decaying fingers through Fran’s always wonderfully soft fur.

She barked again.

“What has gotten into you, Fran?” Sam looked down at his dog, his hand joining Tommy’s against her head.

“Oh, aren’t you a perfect girl?” Tommy’s joints creaked as he lowered himself into a crouch, rubbing both his hands against her fur. She opened her mouth, her tongue rolling out of the side as she happily panted at the attention. “Yes, you are,” he babbled, “You’re amazing and perfect in every way. Yes.” He exaggerated his nod, making her do the same much to the amusement of Sam. “Yes, you are.”

Ignoring that he already had, Tommy would die for Fran. He’d kill for Fran. He’d kill Sam for Fran.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize that Fran knew he was there. It had taken months and months of Tommy visiting the bakery to notice. Even then, it had taken Fran running through him and looking back confused like she had expected and been planning on taking Tommy down with her pure strength and speed.

The genuinely almost offended look on her face at Tommy’s audacity to not be solid made Tommy scream out a laugh before he actually realized Fran could see him.

Two people— things —were on Tommy’s list now. His old boss’ dog and a Syndicate supervillain.

What a good list of potential friends he was making.

After he realized Fran could see him, he realized other animals could see him too. Pigeons purposefully got out of his way and cats tried to rub themselves against his legs before glaring at him when they fell right through his calves like it was his fault he was dead.

Fucking with pigeons was a wonderful pastime, he found. Much better than sleeping.

He kicked at them as he walked, knowing he physically couldn’t cause them any harm. It was nice to see them fly and flutter off, some occasionally coming back to try and peck back at him, only to be met with disappointment as they fly right through him.

“Yeah, fucking stupid loser bird,” Tommy called to the most recent angry pigeon that had just nosedived through his head. “Get good, bitch!” He shoved himself through the door of the corner grocer not far from his flat. He missed the loud ding of the bell that would ring throughout the shop, letting Fundy know he was coming in for his weekly grocery trip. Every now and again he could push the door open enough for it to hit the bell, but it wasn’t the same as being able to shove it open and waltz through the threshold like he owned the place.

“Fundy, your God is here!” He yelled into the mostly empty store. Tommy doesn’t know if he’s ever seen anyone there bar himself and Fundy in the years he’d been shopping there. Those robbers from way back when don’t count, neither do the Nox Heroes.

Apollo might, solely because he bought Tommy’s groceries.

The shop was only ever marginally busy and had any real customers during the day. Never late at night when Tommy usually gave Fundy a visit. So it was a bit of a shock to find a small amount of people wandering the shop when Tommy barged through the door. Not just any people, either.

Vigilantes.

Tommy easily spotted Boo’s tall frame towering over the aisles in his full vigilante regalia as he looked at the bread. The buzzing of Bee echoed further into the shop and the Captain of all people was standing at the counter. She had her back leaned against it as she talked to Fundy, keeping an eye on the younger vigilantes.

The weirdest part was, not the fact that there were three vigilantes in the shop, but that Fundy was treating it as a completely normal situation. He seemed completely calm and relaxed as he talked and laughed with the Captain. Her signature pirate hat was situated loosely on Fundy’s ginger and gray hair, threatening to cover his eyes. Every now and again, when he laughed a little too hard, he’d push it to the back of his head.

Tommy stood just in front of the door. Shock on his face.

“What the fuck?”

He was more confused than angry that the vigilantes had appeared in his shop. This was his time with Fundy. He hadn’t planned on hunting down Boo and Bee today to hang out with them, but he wasn’t opposed to it.

A crash rang out.

Boo’s head swiveled and snapped to the noise. Both the Captain and Fundy perked up.

“You okay there, Bee?” The Captain called.

“Anything you break, you buy!” Fundy yelled after.

The only response either got was a groan and the sound of more things tumbling to the linoleum floor. A vwoop sounded as Boo teleported to his friend and Tommy followed. He didn’t bother navigating the aisles, instead he walked right through the shelves to get to Bee and Boo. One of which was on the ground, buried beneath a shelf of junk food. The other wasn’t making a move to help him up and was just laughing.

Like the good friend he was.

“He’s fine!” Boo told the others.

“I am not fine!” Bee protested, “I’m dying. I’m going to die under here,” he cried dramatically. He tried to wiggle his way out from beneath the shelf and products, but nothing seemed to work.

Both Boo and Tommy just watched and laughed.

“Crows,” Tommy sighed, placing a mask of disappointment over his smile that was threatening to break through. What was with the people in this city? First Mask acts like a complete dweeb, Whippoorwill’s a dramatic loser, and now Bee. Pretending to cry beneath a shelf because he can’t get it off him.

The vigilante looked up at Boo, doing his best at puppy dog eyes. “Help.” He laid limp, covered in junk food.

“You weren’t even supposed to be back here,” Boo pointed out, finally moving to crouch down and potentially help his partner. “You were supposed to be getting the wine.”

“But they had Maltesers,” Bee whined.

The fond frustration emanating from Boo was almost palpable as he looked down at his best friend. “Crows, Bee.”

“Just shut up and help me.” He thrust one hand up, nearly knocking Boo in the face.

Boo rolled his eyes beneath his mask as he grabbed Bee’s hand. Gripping it tight, he teleported them both into the next aisle. Tommy cringed as the shelf collided with the floor, no longer blocked by Bee’s body.

“What in the name of everything holy are you two doing back there?” Fundy called from the front of the shop. His voice was mostly teasing, but Tommy could hear the underlying anxiety. “You better not have broke anything!”

“We didn’t!” Bee called before Boo got the chance. He looked over and up at his partner. Whispering harshly, he added just for Boo to hear, “Help me fix this.”

Tommy watched as Boo’s shoulder fell in resignation. “Whelp,” he clapped his hands together, the sound of rotting flesh colliding ringing against his ears alone. “You have fun with that, boys.” He patted both of them on the shoulder, his hands falling through them a moment before he pulled away. Chuckling as he walked through the shop, he heard Boo mutter something not very kind to Bee.

“Captain!” Bee yelled, “Boo just said a mean word to me!”

“Good for him!”

Tommy couldn’t help the scream of a laugh that forced itself past his lips.

Bee sputtered behind him as Boo and the others laughed.

“I don’t like any of you!” Tommy could almost see Bee pouting. His arms crossed over his chest and lips pursed as he refused to help Boo clean up his mess.

“Well you don’t have to come,” the Captain said as Tommy walked through the final shelf, joining her and Fundy at the till. “I doubt Boo will mind having a break from you.”

“No, I want to come!”

“That’s what I thought.”

Fundy laughed quietly, mostly to himself but the Captain could still hear. “Kids, am I right?” Fundy teased.

“Fuck off,” the Captain laughed, shoving him back. She reached over the counter, snatching her hat off his head.

He let out a shout of disappointment, throwing his hands to cover his hair. “Wait, no, Captain, I’m sorry!”

“Too late,” she said smugly, fitting the hat nicely on her head and moving away from the counter so he couldn’t snatch it back.

Tommy couldn’t help but think his words weren’t wrong. He hadn’t seen Boo, Bee, and the Captain together since the incident at the warehouse however long ago, but it was obvious they three had hung out plenty of times since then. The Captain was clearly fond of them and Boo and Bee seemed to have lost a lot of the starstruckedness they had back at the warehouse. They all seemed a lot more comfortable and casual.

It was nice.

Tommy had thought it was only himself that hung out with Boo and Bee. Neither were any the wiser to it. So it was good to know they had actual friends outside of each other.

The Captain let out a dramatic and loud sigh, “Okay!” On her wrist was a watch, clearly showing the ever growing night. “We are going to be late if you two don’t move your asses along. So chop, chop.”

The clap of her hands was quickly followed by the scuttle of Boo and Bee. Both of whom appeared suddenly around the corner, a small pile of groceries in each of their arms. They stared at Fundy and the Captain for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to do. She sighed again, sliding out of the way and gesturing gently to the counter. Fundy gave a small wave. The both darted forward, dumping their loot on the counter for Fundy to ring up. They both pulled crumpled and torn bills from their many pockets and dumped them on the counter.

Proud smiles adorned their faces, though they could only see Bee’s it was safe to assume Boo was sporting one as well.

Fundy was quick and good at his job as he efficiently and carefully tossed everything into bags to hand to the three vigilantes. “You guys have fun tonight. Give them my best.”

“Will do, Fundy.” The Captain opened the door, watching fondly as Boo and Bee scurried out into the night. “You stay safe, you hear.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tommy slid himself past the Captain and through the still open door, finding Boo and Bee just standing by the road. “Where are you guys going? Ooo, is there a party!”

Of course, neither answered.

The Captain made her way out of the shop, smiling at the younger vigilantes, “Are you two ready? It’s a bit of a ways to twelve.”

“Yes, Captain,” Boo and Bee nodded together.

“Alrighty then,” she nodded back. Gesturing up to the top of the Fundy’s grocer, she smiled, “Let’s go.”

Tommy didn’t know where they were going. He did and didn’t want to know at the same time. On one hand, he was incredibly curious about what kind of business any of the three of them had in district twelve considering they either stuck to district five or forty two. The last time Tommy can remember Boo and Bee leaving their district was, coincidentally, the first time they met the Captain. On the other hand, however, it was nice to not think. It was nice to just follow the three vigilantes, pretending he felt the wind brush through his greasy hair as they jumped from rooftop to rooftop, trekking deeper into the city with each street they passed.

It’s been too long, he thinks. Since he got to properly let go and relax with Boo and Bee. There was always the nagging thought in the back of his mind that some petty criminal was going to get lucky or, Crows forbid, Valravn would come back for Boo. But with the Captain with them, he knew they were going to be okay. Even if something did go wrong, she would have their backs.

So he let himself relax. Let himself not think about what could be lurking in every alley they jumped across.

And he flew.

Not literally.

He doesn’t think he can do that. Not that he’s tried.

But he flew across the rooftops regardless. Staying neck and neck with Bee as sped through the city and Boo were teleported every couple of meters. The Captain was ahead of them, but not by much. Every now and again, she looked back, making sure they were both still there. She smiled brightly back at them as they crossed the streets from district ten to twelve.

The second they crossed over, she slowed their party down. Halting them on a seemingly random building. The three of them stopped, all hunching over or leaning back to catch their breaths while Tommy watched, a bright smile splitting his face.

“Oh that was nice,” he said to himself, nodding in agreement with his own statement. “Free running is a good time. I should do that more, even without you guys. You slow me down. But that’s understandable. I shouldn’t expect you three to keep up with such a big man like me.” He watched as Boo leaned against his knees and Bee arched his back to look up at the night sky, both doing their best to breathe evenly. “Crows, imagine needing to breathe ,” he teased, “Couldn’t be me. I've just evolved, I guess.”

“You guys good?” The Captain’s laugh was a little breathless itself as she eyed Boo and Bee.

Bee threw up an aggressive thumbs up while Boo nodded like a bobblehead.

“Great,” her laugh was more solid as she straightened herself up, about ready to keep going. “We’re basically here, anyways.”

“Oh thank the Crows,” Boo wheezed, letting himself fold to the ground. “Just,” he coughed lightly, “Give me a moment.”

The Captain and Bee were fully prepared to give him that moment—and take advantage of it themselves—when someone forced open the roof door. Tommy jumped, immediately on the defense, as were Boo and Bee. They forced away their exhaustion, grocery bags still gripped tight in hand as they prepared to fight whoever appeared.

The Captain, however, smiled at the purple clad man standing in the doorway. His chest heaved through his purple sweater as he smiled widely at the vigilantes. “You made it!” He cheered.

“We made it!” The Captain matched the man’s energy perfectly. “Is everyone else here?”

“Yup!” He nodded aggressively. His brown fluffy hair bobbing up and down, seemingly having a mind of it’s own as he nodded. “Briar and Siren got here a bit ago and Jello just showed up. A lot of people showed up early.” He paused for a moment, his energy disappearing as he thought. “Actually, I lied,” it returned tenfold as he brought himself back, “Bad isn’t here yet! But he’s the only one gone now that you three are here!”

The Captain smiled kindly, softly. Tommy thought there might be some sadness in there as well.

“Oh,” the man seemed to realize something, “Come in, come in!” He gestured wildly to the door, moving so he was no longer blocking it. “Hello! Hello!” He waved to Boo and Bee, both who hesitantly waved back with their shopping bags. “Oo, you brought things! I love when people bring things.”

The Captain led them all down the stairwell and into the complex. The man and Tommy brought up the rear.

“I’m very sorry if we’ve met before,” he spoke to Boo and Bee, forcing himself through Tommy’s corpse and between the vigilantes, “I can’t remember your names.”

“We haven’t met,” Boo assured confidently before faltering himself. “I think.”

“We haven’t,” Bee was fully confident in his answer. “I’m Bee and this is my partner Boo.”

“I’m Tommy.”

The man smiled brightly at them both. “Nice to meet you Bee and Boo. I think I’ve heard about you. You’re both over in forty two, aren’t you?” When they both nodded, he joined. “That’s a long way, thank you for coming. I’m Karl.” He stopped walking abruptly, sticking his hands out for them both to shake. They hesitantly grabbed a hand each and shook. Karl’s smile somehow grew. “I used to have a partner, you know.”

“Okay, Karl,” the Captain cut in, stopping them in front of a seemingly random numbered door.

“We’re here!”

Just through the door, they could hear the murmur of voices. Tommy, wanting to be special, pushed himself to the front of the group and through the door. On the other side was a flat typical of district twelve, filled with more vigilantes. Siren had her pink hair tied up in her usual ponytail with a glass of what Tommy assumed was water held in her hand. A smile was stretched across her face as she talked to Briar. Vines were wrapped down Briar’s body, one of them holding a plate for her as they laughed together.

Tommy moved further into the flat as the door opened behind him. He walked ahead of Karl, the Captain, Boo and Bee, taking note of the people he did and didn’t recognize scattered about the living room and connected kitchen.

Two men, both clad in green, were sat on one of the sofas. One of them didn’t look entirely solid, like he was verging on becoming transparent and falling apart. There was a tinge of green across his skin. Tommy would have been worried if he was sick if he didn’t look so overjoyed and unbothered by the concerning state of his skin and being.

The man next him, the one he was chatting so animatedly too, was almost familiar to Tommy. He had a gask mask covering the bottom of his face and green hair situated comfortably on top of his head, falling vaguely over the goggles over his eyes. There was a trident laying innocently at his feet.

“Is that the fucking Warden ?” Tommy asked incredulously. He knew no one would answer. Well, at least, he thought no one would. He was pretty sure no one here could see him, even conditionally. But he could be wrong.

Fortunately, Boo and Bee seemed to have the same reaction as him. They both asked a similar question, though much more quietly and discreetly, to the Captain as Karl walked through Tommy to re-greet his guests.

“Yes, it is.” The Captain answered calmly. Like it was normal.

If the Captain was legendary, then the Warden was mythic. Godlike. He had been a vigilante back when Tommy’s mom was growing up. The explosive vigilante had started out in his home district of thirty one, but by the time Tommy was born he’d spread throughout nearly the whole city. He focused mainly on the lower and outer districts—the ones that got ignored by Nox more often than not. He rarely went into the inner ring, only when he thought they, or the heroes, needed his help.

He would go.

He would help train and support any new vigilantes that popped up throughout the city, no matter what district. He was the one that trained the Captain. He was the one that trained Magpie. Everyone thought he died alongside him.

Guess everyone was wrong.

“Isn’t he, you know,” Boo paused, like he wasn’t sure how to word it, “dead?”

The Captain looked at him confused, like the question was ludicrous. Like it wasn’t something the entire city has believed for the past near-decade. “No? He retired. After that fight with… Valravn . He was pretty beat up and put down the trident. It was meant to be temporary but here we are.”

Here they were indeed.

Tommy was fascinated by the new vigilantes, especially Warden. He took advantage of his deathliness to learn everything he could about Warden and the vigilantes he didn’t know. Apparently, the man Warden was talking to went by Jello and he patrolled a small cluster of districts on the eastern edge. Tommy thought his name was little dumb, but his ‘best friends’ quiet literally called themselves Boo and Bee.

Someone who called themselves Royal appeared from further inside the apartment. Apparently, she patrolled down in thirty seven, sticking more to the shadows and thriving on staying unknown. Even in her own district. She had been a hero back in the day, but something happened to make her leave Nox. The same thing that pushed the Syndicate out of the cracks and got Magpie and Warden attacked by Valravn. The same something that got so many Nox Heroes dead or injured.

Tommy couldn’t remember it. He remembered his mom keeping them inside, afraid to take a step outside even though they lived in forty two and Nox nor the Syndicate ever bothered. Though, he supposed, she didn’t know that. The Syndicate had just crawled out of the woodworks.

He’d also only been ten. He was far too busy being ten to worry about the politics of heroes and villains and vigilantes.

Now it was his entire life.

Well, afterlife.

He stood to the side in Karl’s flat, watching as Boo and Bee tried to integrate themselves among the more experienced vigilantes. Tommy doesn’t know if they’ve seen Siren or Briar since the warehouse however long ago, but no one seemed to hold any resentment over Briar accusing Boo of being Syndicate. Which was good.

In Tommy’s time with Boo and Bee—and their time with the Captain—they’d learnt that there was a semi-organized vigilante group. All vigilante’s knew each other and they had for a while. Back when Warden had been a mentor to all vigilantes and then the Captain took up his title after he didn’t die. Boo and Bee had somehow been late to the party and their official invitation had been the Captain asking for their help.

Tommy watched, a light smile on his face as Boo and Bee built up their confidence. Making friends and building a support group of people who could actually help them if they ever get into trouble.

A knock sounded at the door, dragging only Tommy and Warden’s attention. Neither moved to anwer. Tommy merely watched as Warden tapped Karl on the shoulder before nodding over to the door. The excitable young man practically jumped off the couch to open the door. He was quick to pull the man on the other side into a hug with a happy shout of, “Bad!”

Tommy didn’t recognize the man and he was dressed as a civilian. The only one dressed as a civilian besides Karl—and technically Tommy as well. Everyone else in his flat was clearly a crime fighter. Tommy still didn’t know why they were here. No one had made any mention as to why a good number of the semi-known vigilantes in the city were all congregating at a civilian’s flat in district twelve—a district none of them patrolled.

All of them had brought something with them, too. Even Bad had a small bag in his hand that he didn’t hesitate to hand off to Karl.

“What kind of asshole doesn’t bring a gift?” A voice said to his right. It was a new voice, floating in something vaguely familiar. He’s not sure who the statement was directed toward, as far as he was aware everyone had brought something with him.

Bar himself, of course. But how was he supposed to know to bring one when he didn’t even know what was going on. Plus, he had no way to actually get a gift considering his situation .

He glanced at the man next to him, quickly doing a double take. He was dressed up in his vigilante regalia just like every other vigilante there. His costume, outfit, whatever you wanted to call it, was covered in blood. His whole chest was covered in it, dried and cakey, coming from the slit across his throat.

“Jester?” Tommy asked, eyes wide at the dead man next to him.

The dead vigilante snapped his head to look at Tommy, his eyes wide beneath his mask. “You can see me?”

Tommy only nodded.

Jester stared at him a moment. His eyes slowly narrowed beneath his mask as he tried to figure Tommy out. “You know what? Good . ‘Cause I gotta bone to pick with you kid. Every other asshole in this place brought a gift except for you .” Jester poked at his chest. Tommy flinched back as he actually made contact.

Jester looked like he was going to say more, tear Tommy a new one, but he stopped. His mouth was open, having already prepared the next word, as he stared at Tommy’s chest and his bloody finger. He furrowed his brow as he poked Tommy again, watching in awe as his finger made contact with his ratty hoodie and the rotting flesh beneath. He poked him over and over again as Tommy watched.

It was weird at first. No one had ever actually touched Tommy before. He’d been able to briefly affect objects but he never actually felt any of the beneath his fingertips. Weird quickly grew annoying as Jester continued with his incessant poking.

Eventually, Tommy grew sick of it. He slapped Jester’s hand away, quickly registering the contact. “Could you fucking stop, maybe?”

“Why can I touch you?” Jester asked instead of apologizing as he went to poke Tommy again.

“I’m dead,” Tommy deadpanned, “So are you.”

“I know I’m dead!” Jester snapped. “But I ain’t seen anyone else.”

“I mean, me neither.” Tommy shrugged. “You’re the first ghost I’ve seen since I died.”

“How long have you been dead?”

“Fuck if I know, man. A while. Longer than you, I know that.”

“How do you know that? Can you tell?” Jester shot one question after another. “I mean, you definitely look more dead than me. I mean, like, what the fuck is going on with your skin man.”

“I know because I was there when you died,” Tommy said, brushing off Jester’s hand as he went to poke him again. “Can you seriously stop?”

Jester poked him again. He looked up at him with what he probably thought was an innocent smile but just looked downright mischievous to Tommy. He poked again. “Alright I’m done,” he laughed as Tommy glared. “It’s just weird, man. I haven’t properly interacted with anyone since I died. Wait—” He looked at Tommy, properly into his eyes, “Did you just say you were there when I died?”

“Yeah,” he nodded over to Bee and Boo who were chatting amicably to Royal and Jello, “I’ve kinda semi-attached myself to those two idiots. I was with Bee when the Captain called them for help. So I just followed ,” he shrugged, “Kind of regret it, kind of don’t.” At Jester’s look he added, “I just… did not like seeing Valravn in person. Like his magpies were fine, but the guy himself,” Tommy shuddered. “I mean, the magpies were kind of annoying to look at because they were just wrong and blurry and frustrating, but I’d rather deal with them than Valravn, ya know.”

“No,” Jester said honestly, “Can’t fucking tell the difference. Can you?”

“Yeah,” Tommy frowned. Couldn’t everyone? “The magpies are like,” he waved his hand in the air to try and get his point across, “Like…” He sighed as he failed to think of the words, “Like, you know when you look at someone in a pool from the deck? They’re weird and not clear. Obviously a person, but you can’t make out too many details? That’s what Valravn’s magpies look like. You saw a bunch of them the day you died.”

“Yeah, and they all looked the same. Like Valravn,” Jester reiterated. “Maybe it’s a dead thing. I haven’t seen him since then.”

“Probably, then,” Tommy nodded in agreement. “Hate fuckin’ looking at them, though.”

“I mean Valravn’s an ugly motherfucker anyways,” Jester laughed, nudging his shoulder with Tommy’s.

He guffawed. “Don’t I fucking know it, man. Holy shit. The whole lot of ‘em are. Losers, too. Especially Whippoorwill.”

Jester cackled, breathlessly adding on, “You know, I’ve heard Crowfather’s a weeb.”

“No you have not!” Tommy screamed out a laugh.

“I have!” Jester nodded, tears almost forming in his eyes.

“Crows, that’s amazing,” Tommy breathed out, wiping nonexistent tears from his eyes.

“I’m Quackity, by the way,” Jester—Quackity—held out his hand.

Tommy barely noticed the dried blood caked there as he clasped it in his own decaying hand in his. “Tommy.”

“Nice to meet you Tommy,” Quackity nodded with a smile. “Welcome to my party.” He spread his hands open and wide, gesturing at the collection of vigilantes, Karl, and Bad.

“I thought this was Karl’s party?”

“Well, Karl’s throwing it,” he emphasized. “It’s not like I can invite people being, you know, dead and all.” He sniffed, flicking at his nose. “But the party is for me. Karl was my fiance when I died and he’s an old sap with a bad memory so he said he was gonna have a get together—this isn’t really a party, let’s be honest. If I was throwing it, it would be a fucking fiesta. A rave . You get me?” Tommy nodded. “But, yeah, he wanted to throw a ‘party’ every year on the anniversary of my death so he wouldn’t forget me. It’s really sweet, honestly.”

It was.

Tommy, however, was focused on a different part of Quackity’s spiel. “You’ve been dead for years .” That couldn’t be possible. There was no way Tommy had known everyone for years .

“Just one,” Quackity corrected.

What the fuck . There was no way Tommy had known Boo and Bee for over a year. There’s no way he’s been dead for over a year. If what Quackity said was true—there was no reason for him to lie—Tommy had been dead for a while . Much longer than Tommy thought. How long had he been dead for?

“Yeah,” Quackity continued in Tommy’s panicked silence, “So this is the first of many. I expect you to be at every single one, little man.” He pointed and poked at Tommy’s chest. He slapped his hand away but neglected to point out that he was taller. “And I expect a gift next time, you hear me? No excuses.”

“Uh, yeah.” Tommy brought his attention fully back to Quackity. He brushed thoughts of time deep into his mind. That was something he would have to contemplate and panic over when he didn’t have company. Because he had company right now. Someone could see, hear, and touch him. Fully. “Lemme see.” He shoved his hand into his hoodie pocket, feeling the can of pepper spray he’d left when he’d gone to bed all those nights ago.

How many nights ago?

He moved onto his jeans pocket, vaguely remembering having something inside one of them. His fingers wrapped around something. He let out a victorious shout as he pulled it out. Proudly, he held his open palm out to Quackity. A small moldy and rotting baby carrot said in his decaying hand. “Happy Death Day!”

Quackity looked down at the carrot and Tommy’s hand with a disgusted look on his face. “...Thanks?”

Hesitantly, Quackity held out his own hand. The disgust was exaggerated but still genuine as Tommy flipped his hand to drop the carrot into Quackity’s. It fell through the dead vigilante’s bloody palm, letting out a small, barely audible thumb as it hit the hardwood.

“What the fuck, man?”

Tommy couldn’t help but laugh.

Neither of them watched as the carrot rolled along the floor, stopping quietly at Warden’s boot.

Neither saw as the ex-vigilante looked down and picked it up.

Chapter End Notes

I know that my fic end note has said like don't expect consistent or frequent updates. I've never left more than a day between updates which completely goes against that. However, I'm now expecting y'all to believe that cause y'all shouldn't expect an update before this Saturday, maybe even next Sunday. It's why I was okay with this chapter being so long. It's to stave y'all over. I've got the plan for next chapter and it shouldn't take me long to write but I simply just won't have the time to do it until the weekend. So bare with me :)

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Fish in a Birdcage

Chapter Summary

Tommy tries to avoid existential crises by helping fight crime

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Things were changing. Tommy wasn’t sure what to think about it. His first few… what? Days? Weeks? Months? Years ? He wasn’t sure. He’d never thought about how long he’d be dead. He hadn’t thought he’d been dead for long but it’s been at least a year. Maybe more. Probably more.

But his first few moments being dead, after he’d gotten over the shock of it all, had been good. They’d been nice. Relaxing. Fun.

Slowly, all of that had been going downhill. Every now and again, he would have good days? Weeks? Months? He would spend time with Sam and Fran at the bakery or Boo and Bee on their patrols.. But then there was the warehouse incident with Valravn and weeks? months? years? later the Whippoorwill situation at Borealis.

Because of the Syndicate, his afterlife had been progressively worsening with brief and fleeting moments of reprieve. Boo and Bee were getting dragged further and further into the world of vigilantism in the city. Gaining more friends and better support than Tommy could offer dead or alive, but also putting themself more and more into danger as they became more well known outside of forty two and its surrounding districts. Mask, Kinoko, and Apollo, while frequently searching after the Syndicate, have upped their efforts tenfold.

Everywhere Tommy went, no matter who he went to—vigilante, civilian, hero, or otherwise—he felt like he was constantly surrounded by the Syndicate.

He was sick of it.

They were planning something. Something terrible.

He felt useless. What was he meant to do about it? He struggled to help against petty criminals, let alone the Syndicate.

Worst of all, they wouldn’t stop talking about it.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. About anything, really. Tommy’s mind was on a constant loop of questions and thoughts and panics. How long had he been dead for? He didn’t actually know when he died. He’d just been assuming that it was after he was stabbed at Fundy’s. All he knew for sure was that he’d been sixteen.

Now, he’s at least seventeen. Maybe eighteen, depending on how long he knew Boo and Bee before the warehouse.

Thoughts of his death brought him to questions of how he died. Yet another mystery. Ponk had healed his stab wound and he hadn’t starved. Why was he a ghost? The appearance of Quackity told him there were others, yet why hadn’t he seen them? He lived in a massive city chock full of super powered individuals, the death toll was massive.

Yet in all his time dead—however long that was—he’d only encountered one other ghost.

And what the fuck was going on with Whippoorwill? Why could the creep see and hear him, even if only partially.

Nothing made any sense anymore. It never had.

Tommy just never actually thought . Any concern that would pop into his mind, he would immediately brush away. It wasn’t like anyone could remind him. No one knew he was there.

Except now people did.

Quackity had latched himself on to Tommy and Tommy had done the same to him. It was a true connection. A genuine, mutual, reciprocated friendship that the two had been seeking and longing for since they breathed their final breath.

It was nice.

Crows, was it nice.

As it turns out, it was something they both needed. The company. Someone who would never let them forget. Questions and confusions that they had both been letting float away from their minds came rushing back with someone to ask them to. Neither had figured anything out: why they hadn’t come across any other ghosts, how Tommy could interact with the living world, everything with Whippoorwill. But the thoughts were out now, actually said and brought into the universe.

“How do we know we’ve never seen another ghost?” Tommy asked, laying against Karl’s couch as he stared up at the ceiling. Quackity was sitting cross-legged on the floor attempting to push the power button on the TV remote. It was sitting innocently on the coffee table, but that didn’t stop the dead vigilante from yelling at it every time his bloodied finger passed through it. “I mean, you didn’t even know I was a ghost until I told you.”

“That’s because I wasn’t paying attention, man,” Quackity stopped his fruitless task. Hopefully Karl, or their other mysterious fiance Tommy had yet to meet, would come home soon and put on Invader Zim. “I mean, have you fucking seen me?” He laughed as he gestured to himself. He definitely looked dead, covered with blood and part of his inner throat exposed thanks to Valravn’s blade. “Have you seen yourself?”

“The fucks wrong with the way I look?” Tommy pushed himself to sit. “I’ll have you know I am hot. You hear me? H-O-T. The ladies flock and swoon because of my absolutely amazing good looks.”

Tommy had caught himself in a mirror back when he first died and made sure to avoid any reflections since then.

“I’m sure you were a big ladies man, kid,” Quackity assured teasingly, raising his hands vaguely in surrender. “But, seriously, we both look dead as fuck. It’s pretty damn noticeable. Especially in a city like this where people die violently every day. I’d know if I’d seen another dead fucker. So would you.”

Tommy said nothing other than a quiet, “Suppose so.”

“But there’s no way we’re the only ghosts, my man.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. He was getting kind of tired of this back and forth Quackity was doing. “Make up your mind, Big Q! Are we the only ghosts or not?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know!” He tried to shove at the remote but he just went right through it. Letting out a groan of frustration, he turned his masked gaze back to Tommy. “You’ve been dead longer than I have! And you’ve got this little ghostly fucking superpowers. You can interact with shit and Whippoorwill can see you!”

“You just need to practice more,” Tommy said, leaning forward to Quackity and the coffee table. He paused for a moment before pressing the power button. Invader Zim flickered onto the screen. “It took me a while to be able to do it.”

“I’ve been practicing for months, man,” Quackity whined. His neck arched so he could glare at the offending popcorn ceiling, “I’m tired.”

“It’s not been months.” Tommy rolled his eyes in the way only teenagers could. “And we don’t know Whippoorwill can’t see you. You’ve never seen the asshole.”

“Well, I don’t really plan on meeting a Syndicate leader. The last time I saw one, things didn’t work out too well for me.” He stuck his bloody finger into his slashed throat.

Tommy grimaced. “That’s so fucking gross dude.”

“Says you!” Quackity copied his face, “Crows, if I have to look at you for another second I might barf.”

“Oh fuck off!” He tried to scowl to hide the smile on his face as he shoved at Quackity, making contact in a way he was still trying to get used to again.

“Oh right, how could I forget. You’re Tommy Iden, the man, the myth, the legend.” A blood-covered hand met a masked forehead as Quackity pretended to swoon. “Ladies flock for your rotting ass.”

“And don’t you fucking forget it.” Tommy nodded proudly. “Now keep practicing.” He turned the TV back off much, ignoring Quackity’s whines. “I know I am amazing and all powerful, but someday you’ll be like me with just a little bit of effort.”

Quackity huffed, grumbling under his breath like he was the child and not Tommy. He glared at the remote, trying to take a steadying breath he didn’t need before reaching out. His index finger was held out perfect and poised, dry blood cracking beneath his fingernail, as he lowered his hand down to the remote. Stopping a breath above the power button, he took a deep one his lungs rejected. Tommy watched as he lowered the final centimeter and through the remote. Again.

“Fuck’s sake!”

“It’s fine—”

“It’s not fine, it’s fucking annoying,” Quackity cut Tommy off with a huff, “I’ve been doing this shit for months and no progress! Not even a little. Do you understand me? Zero. Zilch. Nada.”

“It hasn’t been months, Big Q,” Tommy tried to be actually reassuring this time. “It’s been a few weeks, max. Okay?”

“No it fucking hasn’t, Big T ,” he mocked angerly. “We’ve been working on this since a couple days after my fucking Death Day Party bullshit.”

“Hey!” Tommy scolded. “That wasn’t bullshit. Karl put a lot of effort into that. And that was a couple weeks ago.”

“It just wasn’t,” Quackity said plainly. “It was like three months ago, man. Karl’s birthday is in a couple days. I remember shit like this. So stop trying to tell me shit was few weeks ago when it just wasn’t. You should know by now that you’re bad with time, Thomas.”

“I’m great with time. Mr. Clock they call me,” Tommy tried to deflect. “Hey, Big Q, you know a word that rhymes with clock?”

“You’re in fact incredibly bad with time,” the vigilante didn’t let him, “You’re somehow worse than Karl and he’s got the worst memory I’ve ever seen.”

“I bet Boo could give him a run for his money,” Tommy tried again.

“I’m sure he could,” he gave in slightly, his voice a little softer as Tommy’s grew rougher. He tried again with the remote, not letting his frustration show as his hand fell through the coffee table. “And I think you might be able to give both of them a run for theirs.”

“I really don’t wanna talk about—”

“How long you been dead for?”

“Quackity, please .”

Sometimes, Tommy wished he could go back to not thinking. He missed doing stupid, reckless, head empty shit with Boo and Bee, and Mask. He loved hanging out with Quackity, but sometimes the asshole would make him think about things he really didn’t want to think about. More often than not, he could get the dead vigilante to stop. To let them just be dead because it’s not like there’s anything either of them could do about it. Thinking wouldn’t bring them back to life. It wouldn’t stop their bodies decaying, wherever they were.

So, when things got too much, he’d run back to Boo and Bee until his head was sufficiently empty again. He’d trapeze around forty two with them, being slightly useful in fights against petty criminals. He’d move pieces of garbage, pull out a stick, anything that might throw the offender off their rhythm.

The laugh that burst from his chest sounded more like a scream against his ears as the man trying to rob an innocent old woman ate shit against the concrete. His untied laces got caught against the pipe Tommy pushed into the center of the alley. Tommy could practically hear the skin against his knees and palms getting peeled back as he skidded against the dank ground of the trash filled alley. Boo and Bee held back their own laughs as Bee helped the old woman back up and Boo apprehended the down criminal.

“Good try, man,” Boo said as he yanked the man up by his shoulder, “You almost made it three steps this time! Maybe next it’ll be four!” He roughly pulled the woman’s purse down from his shoulder and held it tight in his grasp as he pushed the robber into the piles of garbage against the brick wall. “This purse wasn’t really your style anyway. Animal print would suit you best, I think.”

“Boo!” Bee called. His hand was wrapped around the woman’s as he helped her stand. “Can you stop taunting him and find her cane? He threw it that way,” he gestured vaguely to one side of the alley.

“You threw her cane?” He sounded like a disappointed parent as he huffed down at the man still lying dazed in the garbage. “That’s messed up dude.”

“Yeah dude,” Tommy added, actually adding nothing. “That’s fucked.” He shook his head. Tutting in disappointment as his greasy locks fell over his eyes. His decaying fingers brushed them off of his forehead before forming a fist and punching through Boo’s shoulder. “Come one, Boo boy, you’ve got a cane to find. I’ll keep an eye on the wrongen don’t you worry.”

Shock bounced down the alley as Boo disappeared in a cloud of end particles, reappearing further down the alley. “My goodness,” the old woman jumped with a start, her shaking hand placed lightly on her chest while her other gripped Bee’s hand a little tighter. “How in Prime’s name did you do that?”

“He’s End,” Bee answered for him.

“Well I never,” she said astonished, “I’ve known many a ender-type in my day, and I’ve never seen one move like that.”

“Well, Boo is our special little man ,” Tommy cooed like a proud grandparent. “Yes, he is.” Bee said something similar, laughter in his voice that grew with Boo’s indignant shout. “Our little man. So small and short.”

“Boo! I cannot believe you would say such a thing!” Bee teased as the old woman laughed. “Exposing today’s youth to such vulgar language. We’re supposed to be role models.” He turned to the still giggling woman, “I am so sorry that you had to hear such terrible words, miss.”

“Oh stop, you flatter me,” she lightly hit her hand against Bee’s armored chest. “But young man—”

“Aha!” Boo held up her cane triumphiantly. He pulled it up from the garbage, brushing off anything caught along the wooden staff. Not bothering to walk, he appeared in front of Bee and the woman with a vwoop and dust of end particles. “Ma’am.”

She gently took the cane from his outstretched hand, slowly letting go of Bee as she settled against the wood. “Thank you, young sirs.”

Tommy watched the three—vigilantes and victim—with a light smile on his face. He laughed as the old woman began to scold Boo for his language. A faint sound behind him cut him off, though. He spun around, prepared to fight to his best ability—which wasn’t saying much—only to be met with the robber struggling to push himself out of the garbage pile. “Oh no you don’t, you little shit.” He reached over the struggling man, grasping as tight as he could on the overflowing dumpster and pulling. Two stuffed trash bags fell over the lip of the rusted dumpster. One landed nicely on his lap, forcing a huff of air from his lungs. The other fit perfectly on his head. “Nice hat.”

Boo, Bee, and the woman turned at the noise, cutting off their conversation as they watched the man groan in pain.

“Good job man!” Boo gave him a thumbs up. “Almost there. I believe in you.”

“Shut,” he coughed roughly, flailing as he tried to get the garbage bag from his head. Tommy focused all his energy into his hands as he kept the bag from falling. “The fuck up.”

Boo gasped, his hand flying to cover his mouth. “That was a naughtly word.”

“Yes, watch your tongue, boy,” the woman scolded, clutching her purse as she leaned on her cane. “You, young man,” she spun surprisingly fast for a woman of her age, “Need to keep an eye as well.” She patted her purse against Boo’s gut, unable to reach his chest due to their combative heights. “You never know who’s listening, so best keep your mouth clean like your partner here.”

“Yeah, Boo.” Bee had a smug smile on his face as he looked up and up at his partner.

“Yeah, Boo,” Tommy parroted, his hands still held firmly against the trash bag. He let out a satisfied grin as the robber seemingly gave up on trying to get the bag off his head. “Watch you fucking mouth.”

“But, he—” Boo tried to tell the woman how Bee had a worse mouth than him, but she was hearing none of it.

She waved him off, starting down the alley. A three beat melody echoed out as she hobbled down toward Tommy and the robber. Cane. Foot. Foot. She stopped next to Tommy, staring down at the robber with an unreadable look on her wrinkled face. She tapped at his leg with her cane, earning herself a groan and glare. “You shouldn’t rob people, young man. It’s very rude.”

“Fuck off, you old bitch.”

“That is no way to speak to anyone, boy,” she scolded. Otherwise she was unaffected by his words, unlike Tommy, Boo, and Bee. All three were taken aback by his harsh words. Tommy kicked at him, disappointed as his leg phased through the robber’s but content to do it over and over again as though maybe this time he’ll make contact.

It was the thought that counts.

Boo and Bee looked aghast on her behalf, ready to give him a piece of their minds once the old woman was gone.

The robber said nothing more. Nor did the woman. Not until she reached the mouth of the alley. Tommy, Boo, and Bee stood by the robber, assuring he didn’t try to escape or go after her more. The vigilantes were prepared to help her home, but she held up a hand, casting a long shadow down the alley before they could offer.

“You be careful.”

“We should be saying that you, ma’am.”

Her laugh was light, unassuming, hiding so many things in its depths. Tommy felt the little remaining air get sucked from his still lungs. Something was wrong. The woman didn’t turn back to face them. “Perhaps,” she contemplated, “But Boo, watch yourself. Be careful with your ability. People are after you.”

“Wait, what?”

Tommy didn’t like this.

“Very rarely can enders do what you can, to the extent that you can,” she vaguely explained, something hidden in the depths of her wavering voice. “You’ve caught a lot of eyes since becoming one of the Captain’s vigilantes. Just be careful who you talk to. Who you trust.”

She continued her three step walk. Cane. Foot. Foot. She turned out of the alley, hobbling down the street as she disappeared from view. Tommy and Bee gave chase. Calling after her, leaving Boo behind in his shocked confusion. “Wait, ma’am!” They called as they turned out of the alley, met with street lights shining on nothing but empty pavement.

Boo had quickly fallen into a panic. Tommy wasn’t faring any better. The only one who seemed to hold any semblance of calm control was Bee. The only reason he wasn’t panicking was because Boo was . He knew if he started freaking out, too, it would only make Boo worse. Which was the exact opposite of what he wanted. He wanted his Boo calm again. Well as calm as Boo ever was on a normal day. Which wasn’t saying too much, but it was better than Boo refusing to leave his room let alone the flat.

In the same boat, Tommy refused to leave the vigilantes’ sides. It took him less than a moment for him to realize who the mysterious old woman had been referring to. He couldn’t help but remember the boards hung on the walls in the Syndicate. A board dedicated to countless heroes and vigilantes. The mostly empty board dedicated to Boo and Bee.

How long ago was that?

How much had their board grown?

How much did the Syndicate know about them? About Boo? Apparently he was the one they were after. Bee was just collateral. A way to get to the ender-boy.

Tommy couldn’t let the Syndicate get to either of them. Not if he could do anything about it. Which was next to nothing.

But not nothing.

There was something he could do, finally.

It took him nearly an hour to convince himself to leave Boo and Bee’s flat. He was afraid that the second he took his eyes off the two the Syndicate would swoop in and take them away. Or get rid of them. The next time he went back he’d be met with their rotting corpses and ghosts.

Then they could be actual friends.

But he’d rather have them alive than know he still existed.

His journey to district five from forty two felt simultaneously infinite and infinitesimal. It could have taken him a second or a month; he was none the wiser as to which. However long it took him, he hoped Boo and Bee were still okay. At home. Together. Out of the Syndicate’s slimy grasp.

He’d barely passed through from district seventeen to six, when he heard someone call out his name. Tommy spun on his heels, hopeful surprise quickly melting away as he spotted the bloodied vigilante pushing himself through random pedestrians.

“Thomas!” Quackity shouted, the slash in his throat contorting as he spoke. “Big T!”

“Big Q!”

“I was starting to get worried about you, man.” He clapped Tommy on the shoulder, both preening at the contact. “Was headed to forty two to start scavenging for you. Was worried I was gonna find you lying in some gutter.”

“I’m already dead, Q,” Tommy deadpanned. “How are you gonna find me dead, again? Double dead?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, grimacing slightly as some drunk ran through him, chasing after a pigeon. “Maybe I'll find your corpse.”

“Let me know if you do.”

They laughed, unmoving as the late night crowds rushed through them, all heading to some club or home.

“Where’ve you been, man?” Quackity asked, gesturing for Tommy to walk with him. They moved with the crowds, heading deeper into six. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen you at Karl’s.”

“Forty two,” He answered simply. “Been with Boo and Bee for a bit. Helping out and that. I’m on my way to five, now.”

“Boo and Bee got business with the Captain?” His voice was surrounded in confusion as he scratched at the flaky blood around his neck. “I haven’t heard Karl or Jello mention anything about a meeting.”

“No, no, I’ve got something to take care of,” Tommy corrected, turning down a road that would lead them through the district instead of further in.

Quackity looked incredulously at Tommy. “What business could you possibly have in five, Tommy? You’re dead for Crows sake.”

Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, a hindrance to no one but Quackity who had to force himself to stop as well, Tommy eyed his fellow ghost. He had been planning to go into the Syndicate alone. Deal with Boo and Bee’s board by himself and maybe mess with the others’ as well. But it’d be nice to have someone with him. A lookout. Someone to tell him when Whippoorwill showed his stupid masked face so he could get out of there without getting caught.

“How do you feel about breaking into the Syndicate with me?”

Quackity couldn’t help but laugh. It was high and loud, startling some of the pigeons around them, as the dead man cackled. Too bad for him Tommy wasn’t joking. It took him an embarrassingly long time to notice. Only after a solid minute—not that Tommy could really tell—of the teenaged ghost not joining in, did Quackity sober up.

“Wait. Are you serious?”

“Yes, Quack, I’m serious,” Tommy let a twisted smile grow on his face as he pushed down all his worries for Boo and Bee. “You in or no? ‘Cause I’m going with or without you.”

“You want me to break into the Syndicate with you?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, smile shrinking slightly. “Yes.”

“The Syndicate?”

“Yes, the Syndicate.”

“Me?”

“Who the fuck else, Big Q?”

Quackity let his own devious grin grow. “Well, why didn’t you say so sooner, Big T!” He rubbed his bloodied hands together like some cartoon super villain. “I’d love to. Got some business with Valravn now that I think about it.”

“Great, let’s go!” He didn’t mention how Valravn definitely wouldn’t be able to see Quackity, or the fact that Quackity had yet to make any progress in interacting with the living world, or that hopefully they wouldn’t actually see any Syndicate members. Instead, Tommy clapped his hands together, a satisfied smile on his face as he led Quackity through district six and into five.

Like a child with too much curiosity to contain, Quackity asked question after question about Tommy’s business in the Syndicate base and Tommy answered them all to the best of his ability, all until they stood in front of Books Borealis. Tommy with his hands on his hips as he gazed up at the bookstores Closed sign. Quackity, a confused look that was clear even beneath his mask.

“This doesn’t look like a Syndicate hideout,” Quackity said plainly.

“Have you ever seen a Syndicate hideout?” Tommy asked, genuinely curious.

“Well, no,” the vigilante sputtered, throwing his hands about as he gestured to the bookstore. “But this is a bookstore.”

“Yes. Yes it is,” Tommy nodded before walking through the doors, leaving the vigilante behind without explanation.

“Uh—” Books Borealis looked unthreatening and unassuming. Nothing like where Quackity would assume the Syndicate would base their operations. He stood for a moment, thinking Tommy was playing a prank and hoping he would come back out and lead him to a warehouse or mansion or some creepy, dilapidated building that looked like it housed the city’s largest organized crime organization.

But Tommy never came back.

Quackity huffed, running his bloodied hand down his forever-masked face. He dragged his red stained skin down, forcing air from his lungs as he stepped up to the doors. He’d been prepared to try to pull the door open when Tommy thrust his face through the glass.

“Fuck’s sake!”

Tommy’s scream of a laugh thrashed against Quackity’s ears as the vigilante tried to catch a breath he didn’t need. “You coming?”

“Yes, I’m fucking coming. Crows. Fucking kids these days.”

“Hurry your old ass up.”

“I’m hurrying! I’m hurrying!”

Chapter End Notes

Ahahaha long time no see y'all. Been very busy! In the time between updates, I managed to get both a house and hypothermia. And I think I fucked up my leg. But yeah! New chapter! Tommy and Quackity are teaming up. Absolute legends. Also my beloved boy is gonna be in the next chapter! Hopefully out sooner than this one was!

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At the Bottom of the Ocean

Chapter Summary

Tommy and Quackity go show the Syndicate who's boss. Things don't go to plan. Well, they do. But, they don't.

Chapter Notes

*side eyes the 1000 kudos* ahahahah what the fuck

Also the google doc is over 100 pages and I'm losing my mind

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tommy was practically buzzing as he led a confused Quackity through the bookshop. He brushed off all of the vigilante’s questions as he walked through bookshelves, stopping in front of the correct one. Well, at least, what he thought was the correct one. It’d been a while since he’d been to Books Borealis. It was only that one time, however long ago, that he’d walked the aisles. He hadn’t even been the one to open the entrance to the Syndicate base beneath the city. It was that cashier, Conar something or other.

But he was pretty sure it was this shelf.

“Tommy, I love you man, but what the fuck?” Quackity stood next to him, staring at the seemingly normal bookshelf. He eyed the titles, hoping for a message to pop out at him to explain why they had stopped. All that stood out to him, however, was a couple copies of the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy.

“Welcome to the Syndicate, my friend.” Tommy wrapped his rotting hand around the back of Quackity’s bloodied neck as shoved him forward. He laughed as the vigilante screamed, flailing through the bookshelf. He didn’t hesitate to follow, shaking off the weird sensation of passing through paper and wood.

When he came out the other side, he was met with Quackity in what was decidedly not the staircase down to the Syndicate.

“Wait, what?” Tommy frowned, looking around the shop they found themselves in.

“The Syndicate is a stationary store?” Quackity asked from where he was sat on the floor.

Tommy looked down at him. He was leaning against his elbows, the rest of him spread about the linoleum. “What are you down there for?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Tom,” Quackity said sarcastically, pretending to think. “Why would I be on the floor? Hmm, I wonder. Maybe it’s because somebody shoved me through a bookshelf !”

“Woah!” He raised his hands up in surrendering, his joints rubbing against each other as he moved. “In defense, this was supposed to be a staircase.”

Quackity’s face fell flat. “A staircase?”

“Yeah,” Tommy didn’t realize the trouble he was in as he continued to look around the admittedly nice stationary store. He eyed a bee covered notebook and dual-tone pen. “They’ve got this massive base below Borealis. The staircase is hidden behind a bookshelf. Thought it was that one.”

“Wow,” Quackity’s sarcasm flooded the air as he sent an open smile Tommy’s way, “That’s so cool , Tommy. So you meant to push me down a staircase?”

He finally clocked onto Quackity’s antagonistic tone. His eyes darted away from the notebooks and pens, back to his dead friend. “Are you mad at me?” Tommy asked incredulously.

“Am I mad—? Yes, Tommy, I’m mad at you!”

“What the fuck? Why?”

“What do you mean?” Quackity finally pushed himself off of the linoleum. “You were gonna push me down a flight of stairs.”

“Oh no,” Tommy said dramatically, “Crows, forbid you fall down the stairs, old man. Be a real shame if you got hurt . Oh wait! I forgot! You’re dead!”

“Doesn’t mean I enjoy falling down stairs, Tom!” He yelled.

“How would you know?” Tommy’s rotting hands gripped onto the ratty fabric at his hips. “Huh? You ever fall down stairs?” He didn’t give Quackity a chance to answer before he continued. “‘Cause I have. And, to be honest with you Big Q, it was a good time. I had a blast. It’s like a bumpy slide. Remember slides?” Again, he gave no time for Quackity to speak as he rambled on. “I know you’re fucking ancient and probably can’t remember that far back, but slides are fun. Okay? Say it with me: F. U. N. Fun .”

“Don’t patronize me,” Quackity seethed as he pushed past Tommy. He disappeared back into Borealis, walking through the wall Tommy shoved him through.

“I don’t know what that word means.” Tommy blew a raspberry, knowing Quackity couldn’t hear. He huffed, straightening out his hoodie and failing to brush the dirt off his ratty jeans before following back through to the bookshop.

Quackity was stood on the other side, tapping his foot expectantly. “About time. Where’s the base?”

“Behind a bookshelf,” Tommy grimaced at him, gesturing to the numerous shelves surrounding them.

“We’re literally in a bookstore.”

“That’s the point, dipshit,” Tommy said as he walked down the aisle, briefly poking his head through a shelf to see what’s on the other side.

“No need to be rude.” Quackity huffed as he followed.

“No need to be rude .”

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck off .”

“Oh that’s it,” Quackity rolled up his sleeves, showing off his forearms that were caked in dry blood.

“ Oh that’s— ” Tommy cut himself off with a scream as Quackity shoved him through a bookshelf. He and his scream disappeared on the other side while Quackity stood triumphantly in the aisles of Books Borealis.

“How you like them apples, you little shit,” Quackity mocked, brushing his hands together as he followed through the bookshelf. Only, he wasn’t met with the stationary store or another neighboring business. He was met with a staircase leading down to nothing and the echoing screams of Tommy Iden as he tumbled into the depths.

The last of the air stuck in Tommy’s lungs was forced out as he landed against the familiar linoleum of the Syndicate’s underground base. He coughed as faint laughing echoed against his ears. Pushing himself onto his back, he looked up, up, up the staircase to see Quackity’s vague silhouette making its way down.

“You’re a bitch,” he coughed.

“You’re right, Tommy,” Quackity laughed as he got closer, “That was fun.”

“Get fucked.”

“Aw, what?” Quackity jumped, skipping over the bottom three steps and landing in front of Tommy’s turned head. He crouched down, cocking his head to the side, “You didn’t like the ‘ bumpy slide ’?”

Tommy glared at the vigilante’s once-blue boots, now covered in a terrible mix of blood and dirt that would be stuck there for the rest of Quackity’s afterlife. His eyes traveled up his crouched form, landing briefly on the slash in his throat left oh-so-kindly by Valravn before stopping at the black eyes shining beneath his jester-esque mask. “I fucken hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Quackity laughed as he strained himself up, brushing at the dried blood and dirt on his pants. He thrust his hand down, offering Tommy an up and a truce.

The boy glared at it for a moment, eyeing the dried blood caked beneath his finger tips. Tommy let out a sigh. He lifted up his own rotting hand, placing it harshly in Quackity’s. He refused to look at his own decaying skin as Quackity helped pull him up.

“There we go.” His bloodied hand brushed at Tommy’s shoulders as he sent him a smile. “Now we’re even.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Ever the teenager, Tommy shrugged out of Quackity’s grasp and turned on his heel. He led them both down the seemingly endless linoleum halls, every twist and turn from when he chased that cashier rushing back. Soon enough, much faster than Tommy remembered, they were before the massive double doors.

The linoleum turned burgundy carpet. White brick was replaced with vintage wallpaper.

Tommy continued to lead. He didn’t bother checking every door like before, though Quackity felt the need to do it anyway. Tommy huffed, thoroughly amused by the vigilante’s antics. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as he made his way along the plush carpet.

Door after door, Quackity would thrust his head through the wood before letting out a disappointed noise at being met with another file room or empty office. Door after door, Tommy would let out a light laugh.

Until they reached the one. Or, at least, Tommy was pretty sure it was the one.

It was the final door in this section of the hall. While Quackity was distracted with a door slightly further down, Tommy poked his head through the oak door. There it was. The short hallway and double doors sitting innocently at the other end.

“Oi! Big Q!”

Startled, Quackity pulled the upper half of his body out of a random door down the hall. “Yes, Big T?”

“This is it,” he nodded to the door in front of him.

“Oh yeah,” Quackity grew mischievous as he rushed to Tommy. “Let’s fuck some Syndicate shit up.” Harnessing the energy of a cartoon villain, he rubbed his hands together as he looked up at Tommy. “What’re we waiting for?”

“Nothing, let’s go,” Tommy nodded forward and walked through the door.

Quackity followed excitedly, only to have everything drained out of him as he was met with another hallway. He threw his head back and groaned. He looked like he was on the verge of stomping his foot on the ground and throwing a tantrum.

“Relax! It’s through there.” Tommy laughed, gesturing through the double doors.

“Oh thank the Crows!” Quackity cheered as he ran through the door.

Tommy watched as the vigilante disappeared through the oak doors. Vaguely, barely, he could hear him shouting on the other side. He strolled down the hallway, calming his nerves and talking himself up.

He didn’t necessarily have a bad time the last time he was in that room. Speaking to Whippoorwill was kind of fun. Especially considering he was the first person to actually see and speak to Tommy. Seeing Valravn again hadn’t exactly been the best time. But, in theory, with Quackity here Tommy wouldn’t be seeing any Syndicate members let alone leaders.

He was prepared to walk through the doors when Quackity thrust his face through the oak. “Crows, Q!” His decaying fingers clutched at his hoodie.

Tommy was expecting Quackity to say something about payback for earlier, but his face was set. Somber. Serious. “You need to see this.”

His face disappeared back through the doors and Tommy followed. On the other side, the room was empty. The walls, however, were covered. The number papers on and surrounding the corkboards had grown tenfold. The different colored string weaved a sinister web across the walls, connecting vigilantes, heroes, and independent villains. The walls were a sea of pictures, news articles, post-its, and string. Green, blue, and orange curled around each other, occasionally intercepted with white or yellow. Red and pink intertwined and separated repeatedly across Briar and Siren’s boards. Gold occasionally twisted with the orange and, further down, black and brown were practically never separated.

Quackity’s—or, rather, Jester’s—board was covered in a beautiful non-pattern of gold string. It was strung only within Jester’s board and entirely untouched. It was falling apart, multiple news articles and photographs scattered the floor beneath it. No one had bothered to put them back up or just take the board down after Jester’s death.

Quackity himself stood in front of his board. Beneath the mask, his eyes darted frantically along the sagging string. Stopping at photographs and the newspaper cutouts. All dedicated to him.

There was a newspaper article about some kid winning loads of money in a casino game, right beneath was his obituary. Across the kid’s face, was a big red ‘X’ with a push pin in the middle. A gold string was wrapped tightly around it, dangling across the board to a news article about Jester’s escapade, dated a week after the kid’s death. On a post-it, the word ‘WRONG’ was angrily etched with a pen.

“Did they kill this kid?” His hand shook as he pointed at the obituary. Tommy walked to his side, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as he read the obituary. It said he was seventeen, and had been set to go to New City University on a full ride. “Is he dead because of me?”

The light hearted feel of their mission disappeared before their eyes.

Tommy said nothing as his eyes scoured Jester’s board. There were two others like it. One was a guy from district eleven in his mid twenties, there was a similar red ‘X’ over his face and the angry scrawl of ‘WRONG’ by an article about Jester dated not long after the obituary. The other was a young man—younger than the first, younger than Tommy —from district nine. The same ‘X’ and ‘WRONG’.

“Crows, I’m gonna be sick,” Quackity noticed where Tommy was looking. Tears sprung in his eyes as he read the fifteen year old’s obituary. “This is so fucked.”

Tommy remembers what Whippoorwill told him.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t hurt kids.”

Looking up at the smiling photo of the now dead fifteen year old, presumably killed by Syndicate hands, Tommy knew Whippoorwill was spouting absolute shit.

Tommy knew he shouldn’t have believed a word to come out of that bastard's mouth. He was a supervillain. A leader of the Syndicate. He was Whippoorwill for Crows’ sake. Tommy had just been happy to have someone see him, speak to him, hear him. But now he had Quackity. He wasn’t desperate for connection anymore. Not as much, at least. He wouldn’t let down his guard next time.

Crows forbid they run into Whippoorwill again.

“Fuck Tommy, what are we doing here?” Quackity asked. His bloodied hands were shaking as he brushed them over the ‘X’s and rageful ‘WRONG’s.

“We’re going to stop this,” determination flooded his voice as he gazed down at the countless cork boards. Further down, a board covered with red had a news article about an unnamed teen and her community garden. Above it, like Jester’s, was a picture of a woman with a red ‘X’ over her smiling face and a terrible ‘WRONG’ by her obituary. “We’re not gonna let them hurt anyone else.”

“How?”

Tommy marched down to Briar’s board, reading about the dead nineteen year old with rage-filled eyes and tears brushing at his lashes. He raised his rotting hand up and gripped the paper as tight as he could before ripping it from the wall.

They both watched the torn papers flutter to the ground. Her smiling face looked up at him, barely visible beneath the bleeding marker. Tommy went into a frenzy, scratching and clawing at the board before he decided to yank the whole board from the wall. His fingers held for a moment before passing through the frame. The board stayed but papers shook and fluttered to the ground.

“Keep watch, Quackity,” Tommy said, staring down at the scattered, torn, near illegible papers. “I’m destroying everything; I don’t need Whippoorwill catching me.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He didn’t see what Quackity did as he moved down the wall, periodically tearing articles and pictures and string from boards of vigilantes, heroes, and independent villains alike.

The Syndicate wasn’t getting their hands on anyone.

Tommy doesn’t know long he’s been alone in that room. He can’t remember when Quackity finally left to keep watch in the hall. He can’t remember when he pulled the rusted switchblade from his hoodie pocket and started slashing at the boards. All he knows is Quackity’s gone, there’s a knife in his hand, and he is standing in a sea of shredded paper and colored string. Only one board had any pictures and articles left pinned to it. The rest were torn and bare.

He stared up at the article of Boo and Bee and the robbery they stopped in forty. The first time they ever spread outside of their home district. At least, that the news knows of. No one knew about the warehouse. Not really. Only that Mask had an encounter with some Syndicate lackeys in five. No mention of the vigilantes. Valravn. Jester .

Vigilantes were always underappreciated.

Nox Heroes always basked in their stolen spotlight.

Not this time.

Tommy held the point of the blade to the grainy image of his friends in the bank. It was probably taken from CCTV footage. It didn’t matter. Especially not as Tommy dug the blade between his friends, piercing into the cork beneath. He pulled down, slashing through the newspaper article easily. He cut at the string, at all the photos of people the Syndicate expected to be under their masks. All the suspects were wrong. That was somehow worse.

He didn’t want to add to the seemingly ever growing list of the Syndicate’s victims.

There was only one thing left to destroy. He was poised, ready to add it to the pile at his feet, when someone tapped on his shoulder.

Fuck . Quackity must’ve spotted someone. That’s the only reason he’d be back.

Tommy shoved the switchblade back in his pocket. The blade was still out. It cut through the fabric of his hoodie but he remained unbothered as he spun to face Quackity.

Only… it wasn’t Quackity.

He looked harmless. His yellow sweater was cut and stained blue, a clear wound cutting through his stomach. He looked dead.

“Are you meant to be doing that?” His voice was high and wispy. It fluttered kindly against Tommy’s ears. He sounded like a stereotypical ghost. Tommy squinted, vaguely able to see the massive table through his sweater. He looked like the stereotypical ghost, too. Like the kind Tommy would expect to whisper in his ear when he was scared in a room alone. His eyes were an empty white as looked around at the carnage Tommy caused. He looked confused.

“Uh,” Tommy wasn’t sure what to say. His previous rage washed away with the sound of the ghost’s voice. Where the fuck was Quackity? Why hadn’t he warned him there was another ghost? “Yes?”

“Oh, alright then!” His confusion melted away to glee, his empty eyes meeting Tommy’s. “Do you need any help?”

Tommy stared.

The ghost stared back.

He turned to look around the room, seeing that he was pretty much done tearing the paper from the walls. Most were torn. Only to as many pieces as Tommy could get it to without wasting too much time.

The Syndicate were smart. They could piece it back together. Put them back up. It would take time. Maybe enough time to find a way to warn everyone. But, eventually, everything would be up and running again.

There was only one way to make sure nothing could come from this. To make sure the Syndicate had nothing to build from.

Not expecting much, Tommy looked to the empty eyes before him, “You wouldn’t happen to have a lighter on you?”

The ghost perked up, his smile ever shining as he pulled a light from his pocket. “Here you go!”

Tommy took the lighter from his slightly transparent hands. He flipped it with his rotting fingers, lightly brushing over the puppy printed on the side. On the other side, a scratchy sword was etched in with what looked like pen ink. His fingers brushed over the indents. “Uh, thanks, man.” He struggled to hold it, focusing all his energy into the palm of his decaying hand so it would fall through to the floor.

He blinked. His eyes quickly went in and out of focus. The lighter sat comfortably in his hand. Tommy frowned down at the puppy.

“What’s your name?” The ghost asked, knocking Tommy from his staring contest with the printed dog. “I’m Ghostbur, by the way.”

“Tommy,” he answered absentmindedly before his thoughts caught up with him. His eyes shot up to look at Ghostbur. “Your name is Ghostbur ? Like actually?”

“Yeah,” Ghostbur didn’t seem to see any sort of problem with the denominative nomenclature surrounding him.

“Your parents named you that?”

“No.”

“I— Oh,” Tommy didn’t really know what to say to that. He continued to fiddle with the lighter. The dog was kind of cute. Tommy wanted a dog. He missed Fran. “You named yourself Ghostbur?”

“I’m a ghost,” he said, like it was the most simple thing in the world.

“Well, that’s kind of obvious, big man,” Tommy laughed. “No offense, but you look fucking dead.” He narrowed his eyes at Ghostbur, staring down at the slash in his sweater and skin and the blue stains surrounding it. “Is your blood blue?”

Ghostbur looked down at the dried blood on his sweater like he forgot it was there. Maybe he had. “Uh, yes! I think so.” He nodded happily, his voice wispy as ever. “Is yours?” His head was tilted to the side, like the puppy on his lighter. Brown curls twisted towards the floor beneath his red beanie. He barely gave Tommy the chance to answer. His eyes narrowed at the few bits of Tommy’s exposed skin. “Yours looks red!”

“It is,” Tommy said plainly. Twisting with the lighter, testing out the flame as he tried to kick the mass of papers into some form of a manageable pile. Over and over again, his foot went clean through the crumbled and torn pieces littering the floor. “Fuck’s sake,” he hissed under his breath.

“What are you doing?” Ghostbur asked, innocent as ever.

“I’m trying to make a fucking pile.” He groaned as his ratty sneakers shot through the papers.

“Why?”

“So I can burn it.”

“Why?”

“For fun,” Tommy deadpanned, quickly growing annoyed with the empty ghost. Crows, he hoped he never turned into that. Fuck, what if he turned into a that. A shell without an actual name just floating around. Wait, what the fuck , Ghostbur was floating. Had he been doing that the whole time?

“Oh, I love fun!” Ghostbur cheered, clapping his hands together.

He easily lowered himself to the ground and picked up a mass of papers in his arms before dumping it in the corner. Tommy watched in awe as Ghostbur easily corralled the paper into a massive, slightly more manageable pile with complete and utter ease. He kicked some and picked up others until there was a pile in the corner of the room beneath Jester’s board.

“How— I— Uh— What?” Tommy sputtered, nearly dropping the lighter to the floor. He floundered, catching in his other hand before it hit the burgundy carpet.

“Ta da!” Ghostbur smiled brightly, his teeth as white as his eyes as he floated proudly above his pile of papers.

Tommy walked—not floated, how the fuck does he float?—over to Ghostbur. “Thanks, Ghostbur—”

“No problem, Tommy.”

“You, uh, might want to get out of the way,” Tommy gestured, igniting the lighter as he gestured to the pile beneath Ghostbur’s feet. “I know you’re a ghost and all, but I don’t want to risk it. Ya know?”

There he went again, cocking his head. “What are you doing?” He floated, unmoving above the pile.

“I’m going to light it on fire, Ghostbur,” Tommy explained. Ghostbur knew that already. Or he should have. But he seemed a little empty in the head. Everywhere, really. He was transparent.

“Oh they won’t like that.”

“They? Who’s they?” The flame went out. They stayed unmoving.

“They won’t like that at all. Techno would be very upset if I let you do that,” Ghostbur muttered mostly to himself. He rubbed his hands together nervously. His frame seemed to flicker in and out of view.

And maybe Tommy was seeing things, but it looked like his wound was bleeding. A drop of blue landed onto the papers below before sizzling out of existence.

“Oh no!” Tommy shouted, trying to calm Ghostbur’s ever-growing panic. “Techno asked me to do this. You won’t get in trouble. I swear.” He didn’t know who Techno was, but that was an bridge he would hopefully never have to cross.

“You promise?” In a second, Ghostbur wasn’t above the pile anymore. Instead, he was right in front of Tommy. Eye to eye. He stopped flickering. Tommy could still see the wall behind him, but Ghostbur was still there. Solid. Well, as solid as a transparent man could be.

“I promise!” Tommy smiled, lying through his teeth. “Pinky swear.”

He held out his rotting pinky. Ghostbur eyed it a moment, almost uncertain at the sight of the appendage. Tommy was tempted to show him how to do a pinky swear. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ghostbur had forgotten how. Or maybe he never knew how? Who knew how old Ghostbur was. How long he’d been dead for. It seemed like ages if his mind was that far gone. Or maybe it wasn’t, Tommy thought briefly as Ghostbur wrapped his gray, transparent pinky through Tommy’s corpse-like one.

Ghostbur nodded. Tommy returned the gesture.

The ghost smiled brightly, clapping his hands again. “Do you think we could have s’mores?” Tommy wasn’t sure what to say. Fortunately, Tommy cut him off before he could say anything. “I love s’mores.”

“Do you have stuff for s’mores?” Was what he landed on. Why not humor the poor ghost. Where would a ghost have s’more supplies? Would he even have any? Tommy wasn’t sure, but Ghostbur seemed confident that he did. He nodded happily, saying he’d be right back, before disappearing through a wall. Tommy just stared at the wall he’d disappeared through. Waited a moment for him to come back before shaking off whatever the fuck had happened since Ghostbur appeared and reigniting the lighter. “Okay, then.” He walked to the center of the crude pile and knelt, lighting the corner of the nearest paper on fire. He watched, satisfied as the fire spread.

“Tommy, dude, you will never believe this— Woah, what the fuck?” Quackity excitedly burst through the doors, stopping halfway through the table in the middle of the room to stare at Tommy and his burning pile. He stared at the fire. Tommy looked expectantly. “I… I will come back to that,” his bloodied finger pointed at the festering flames. His excitement grew back on a moment’s notice, “There’s another ghost! And he’s freaky looking!”

“Well, that’s rude.”

Quackity ignored him, continuing on, “Not as freaky as you, but still. He was super pale and transparent and I swear to Crows he had blue blood . And the best part is— Are you ready for the best part?” He asked, nearly jumping out of his skin at the chance to tell Tommy about something he’d already seen.

“What’s the best part?” Tommy humored.

“He fucking floated !” Quackity thrust his hands in the air like a floating ghost was the best thing to happen to him since sliced bread. “Floated! He was like a genuine, bona fide ghost!”

“You know we’re also ghosts, right?” Tommy teased, walking away from the growing fire. He shoved the lighter into his hoodie pocket, briefly pricking his finger on his still open switchblade.. “It’s important to me that you know that.”

“Of course I know that, you dick,” Quackity hissed, slapping at Tommy’s chest as he got nearer. “But he was like a ghost! Like a ghost ghost! Casper and shit.”

Tommy couldn’t help but laugh. “You wanna know the best part? And, no, it’s not that he floated.” Tommy rolled his eyes, “His name’s Ghostbur. Ghostbur , Q.”

Quackity’s resounding cackle filled the air. “No fucking way. Do you think after we’re dead long enough we get ghost names? I call Ghostity.”

“Heh, titty ,” Tommy’s childishness was ignored.

“Or maybe Quackighost? No, that’s shit. Ghostity. Stop laughing,” Quackity laughed, “Your ghost name is gonna be something shit like Ghostmy. Ghostommy? Ghosty?” He guffawed as another name popped into his head.“Ghommy!” He practically screamed as he cackled. “Oh that’s brilliant.”

Tommy shoved at him, pushing him out of the table. A smile on his face and laughter in his voice as he said, “Shut the fuck up, Quackity.”

“Okay, Ghommy,” he sputtered with a grin.

“ Okay , Ghost-Titty,” Tommy mimicked.

“That wouldn’t be my name,” Quackity insisted breathlessly, “Ghostity. Say it with me, now: Ghost-Itty.”

“Ghost-Titty.”

“Ghost- Itty .”

“Ghost- Titty .”

“Ghostbur!” Ghostbur’s voice interrupted their childish debate. The light of the fire shone warmly against his gray skin. A packet of graham crackers and chocolate were held protectively in his arms with a bag of marshmallows clutched in his fingers. The s’mores supplies.

Oh.

Tommy wasn’t expecting to actually make s’mores in the fire of burning Syndicate evidence. He didn’t expect to be a ghost either. Things happen.

“Ghostbur!” It wasn’t Quackity or Tommy to greet the ghost, though they had both raised a hand to wave. The voice was deep and muffled slightly behind the door, showing just how loud it was.

Ghostbur turned to face the doors, slowly floating towards Quackity and Tommy as the doors flung open. In the threshold, a man they were all familiar with. Quackity shuddered while Tommy glared at the blurry man. He walked along the bottom of the ocean, marching towards Ghostbur with an unreadable look on his face.

Fuck, he could see Ghostbur.

Could he see them? He hadn’t before. Maybe Whippoorwill have given him his powers or something? Tommy knew that wasn’t how it worked before the thought even passed fully through his head.

“Hello,” Ghostbur said calmly as one of Valravn’s magpies stood in front of him. Even floating, Ghostbur had to look up ever so slightly to look where his face should be.

“Hello, Ghostbur,” Valravn’s voice sent chills down Quackity and Tommy’s spines. “Did you not hear me calling for you?”

“Sorry, magpies ,” Ghostbur, ever the friendly, could only put a hint of venom into the word, “I only talk to the real you.” He huffed, crossing his arms as best he could considering the boxes and bags held against his chest and dangingly from his hand.

The magpie huffed before disappearing in the mist. It was nothing like the way Tommy’d seen other magpies disappear. It was a lot more lowkey than the fluttering feathers that would melt into the shadows.

“That’s what his magpies look like?” Quackity hissed, once he was sure it was gone. His bloodied grip was tight against Tommy’s ratty hoodie. Not that the kid minded.

“Yeah, it’s freaky.”

“You could say that again.”

“It’s freaky,” Ghostbur said cheerfully. Smiling back his fellow ghosts, before turning to the sound of approaching footsteps.

This time Valravn, the real one, marched through the doors. His familiar mask sat comfortably on his face, but his clothes were new. “Are those his pajamas?” Quackity whispered harshly in Tommy’s ear as they edged there to the far corner of the room, far from Valravn and the fire he wasn’t acknowledging.

Valravn thrust his arms out, almost like he was showcasing himself to Ghostbur, “You happy now? I’m here.”

“Yes, thank you.” Ghostbur nodded with a grin.

“You’re welcome,” he responded absentmindedly, “Now what are you doing?”

Ghostbur perked up at the question. “We’re having s’mores.” He thrust out the graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows for Valravn to see.

“We?”

“Yes!” Ghostbur nodded confidently while Tommy frantically shook his head. “Me and Tommy—” he turned back, gesturing to where Tommy and Quackity were watching with bated non-breaths. “Oh hello? What’s your name?”

“Quackity.”

“Ghostity.”

Tommy and Quackity answered over each other, unsure as to why they answered the question but doing so anyway.

“Hello, Quackity-Ghostity,” Ghostbur waved cheerfully. Quackity waved back. “Will you be having s’mores with us?”

Quackity felt himself nodding as Valravn cut in. “Okay, Ghostbur. I’m sure you and your,” he coughed out a word no one could catch, “ friends will have a great time with your s’mores. Where are you having them?”

“Over the fire,” Ghostbur smiled. Beneath Jester’s board, the fire was dying. It had consumed most of the paper, turning it to nothing but charred ash.

Valravn stretched a smile on his face. The kind of smile Tommy recognized as a ‘I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’m just gonna go with it’ smile. “What fire, Ghostbur?”

A short laugh forced itself from Tommy’s chest at the look Ghostbur gave Valravn. “The fire?” Ghostbur used his grayed hand, marshmallow bag still clutched between his fingers, to motion to the burning embers and small flame.

Beneath the mask, Valravn’s eyes followed where Ghostbur was pointing. His jaw dropped as he spotted the walls of empty boards and the smoldering ash. “Ghostbur, what did you do!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Ghostbur defended before immediately calming and retracting, “Well, I pushed it all into the pile.” Ghostbur couldn’t see Tommy furiously shaking his hand, urging him to stop talking. “ And I gave Tommy the lighter. But Tommy pulled it all from the wall—”

“Ghostbur, stop!” Tommy hissed. Valravn didn’t react, but Ghostbur did.

Hesitantly, looking back at Tommy, Ghostbur finished, “He said you told him to.”

Tommy let out a defeated sigh, deflating against Quackity who was being oddly silent. He had refused to take his eyes off Valravn. Every moment that passed without Valravn noticing them fueled the fire burning in his chest. His gaze hardened beneath his mask as he raised his hand to brush at the slash in his throat.

Valravn and Quackity alike were seething behind their ghost friends. Though for very different reasons. Valravn couldn’t believe Ghostbur had managed to destroy every single piece of hard work and effort he and the Syndicate had put into finding out the true identities of Nox Heroes, villains, and vigilantes of the city. Years of time and grueling effort sat burned to ash at his feet. He knelt down as Ghostbur spoke, nudging at the embers hoping for something yet knowing nothing was there.

Starting out fearful, Quackity had built up himself and his rage. He was absolutely ready to give Valravn a piece of his mind while Tommy dealt with an upset Ghostbur. He rolled up his sleeves, showing off his bloody forearms. Blood that was there because of the Syndicate.

Because of Valravn.

He marched away from Tommy’s side, ignoring his questions and Ghostbur’s brief look as moved himself next to Valravn. “You stupid son of a bitch,” his fist punched through Valravn’s skull. The villain sat unaffected, unknowing to the ‘beating’ he was taking as Quackity kept punching and kicking at his killer.

Ghostbur kept his eyes—white eyes slowly turning the same blue of his blood—on Tommy through it all. “Did you lie?” He asked. “Tommy?” He pushed as Tommy stayed silent.

“Yes, okay, I lied!” He gave in, throwing his arms up in defeat. “I’m sorry but they were going to hurt my friends and this is the only way I could stop that from happening. Okay?”

“Hurt your friends?” Ghostbur seemed confused at the concept. Valravn perked slightly, but otherwise didn’t move.

Moving closer to Ghostbur, Tommy looked confused in his own right. “Yes, Ghostbur. They’re the Syndicate. My friends are vigilantes and heroes. The Syndicate doesn’t like them. Crows, the Syndicate killed him,” he abruptly threw his arm out in Quackity’s direction, briefly watching as Quackity whispered harshly in Valravn’s ear while Valravn just sat crouched over the dead fire with his eyes closed and head hung.

“The Syndicate doesn’t hurt people,” Ghostbur said simply, sounding like he was telling both Tommy and himself.

“Who are you talking to Ghostbur?” It seemed Valravn had enough of eavesdropping; he was inserting himself into the conversation. He raised to his feet, rising through Quackity who yelled in shock at his sudden movements.

“I told you,” Ghostbur was growing all the more frustrated with everything, “Tommy!”

“The Tommy who did this?”

“Ghostbur, don’t—” Tommy tried.

“Yes.”

He failed.

“Where is Tommy, Ghostbur?” Valravn darted his eyes around the room, completely washing over the other ghosts. “Right now.”

“He’s right next to me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! I’m looking at him right now. Hello, Tommy,” Ghostbur smiled. His eyes were slowly fading back to a milky white as he waved.

“Hello, Ghostbur,” Tommy waved back, defeated.

“Hey, Ghostbur!” Quackity shouted, “Why don’t you tell Valravn Jester thinks he’s a bitch!”

“Okay.” He nodded to Quackity before looking at the Syndicate leader. “Jester thinks you’re a bitch,” Ghostbur said happily.

“Jester’s here?” Valravn did not sound happy.

Ghostbur shrugged; Valravn grew more upset.

“Okay, okay,” Valravn shook his head, brushing his fingers through his hair as he tried to collect himself. “What is Tommy?”

“He’s a ghost, like me!”

“Yeah, bitch, I’m dead,” Tommy added, “You can’t touch me!”

“Then why can’t I see him?” Valravn asked simply. He looked tired, like a parent that just absolutely does not want to deal with the absolute nonsense their kid is spouting.

“Tommy,” Ghostbur whispered to him instead of answering. The whisper was pointless, the room was otherwise quiet. Everyone could hear him. “Tommy, come here.”

Tommy, who was already standing pretty near to Ghostbur, hesitantly moved closer to the gray ghost. Ghostbur dropped his graham crackers and chocolate onto the table—still holding firm to the marshmallows—as he grabbed Tommy’s wrist. Tommy tried to ask what he was doing when Ghostbur’s grip tightened. It was almost painful. Which couldn’t be right. Tommy was dead. He couldn’t feel pain. He hadn’t felt the fire licking at his skin when he was stood in the middle of the once burning pile. He couldn’t feel his open switchblade currently slightly digging into his stomach, with the slightest bit of pressure he’d be pierced.

But Ghostbur’s fingers wrapped around his rotting wrist?

That hurt.

His vision went blurry. For a moment Valravn looked like one of his magpies. The world seemed to turn and stretch before it all snapped back into place. In a moment, Tommy was fine again.

There was a thud.

“Ew, what the fuck?” Tommy heard Quackity say from behind him. “Crows, that’s disgusting.”

Valravn’s eyes were wide beneath his mask, unbelieving to what he was seeing as Ghostbur smiled brightly. “Tommy!” He let go of Tommy as he gestured. But not to the ghost beside him. No, his hands gestured lower. To where Valravn was looking shellshocked at the burgundy carpet.

Tommy followed Ghostbur’s hands and Valravn’s gaze. His eyes fell down, down, down to the body laying on the carpet. The familiar red hoodie was ratty and torn, the handle of his knife stuck out awkwardly from inside his hoodie pocket as the blade stuck itself in his stomach. The puppy lighter was sticking out vaguely from one end, having been knocked in the fall. The ragged blue jeans with worn holes in the knees still had mud licking at the edges from his sneakers. His hair, once a golden yellow, was greasy and limp as it spread around his head like a halo against the dark floor. The worst part was his eyes: grayed out and lifeless as they stared blankly at the ceiling, unseeing everything around it.

Tommy couldn’t even stand to look at the skin. It was green and sickly, having gone through so many stages of decay. He could almost smell his own body rotting as it laid on the Syndicate floor.

Chapter End Notes

I bet y'all weren't expecting that! I certainly wasn't. I was just thinking of how to end this chapter and my brain went "hey, wouldn't it be fucked if Ghostbur stole Tommy's corpse? That'd be messed up." And now here we are.

Tumblr!

The Physical Impossibilities of Death in the Mind of Someone Living

Chapter Summary

Tommy goes back to church and does whatever you're meant to do in a church

Chapter Notes

There was so much dialogue last chapter so there's like none this one. Okay? Okay. Cool.

Also I would like to share one of my favorites comments reacting to last chapter.

From user Kirra: "Ghostbur is the type of person to see Tommy's corpse and ask 'is anybody gonna steal that?' And not wait for an answer"

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Old Crows, above and below, guide me home.”

Tommy can’t remember the last time he stepped foot in a church. He’d gone a few times after his mother’s funeral. But not often enough. Never enough. But he was here now. His hands, smooth, soft, and no longer rotting, were clasped together behind his back as he knelt before the pew. The arch in his back and neck were smooth as he faced the beautiful ceiling of the church. His eyes were shut, unseeing of his surroundings, as he whispered out his prayer to the Old Crows.

He was so confused. So unsure of everything that had transpired over the last few days? Weeks? Months? However long ago it’d been since he stepped foot in Books Borealis. How long ago, again? Since he’d talked to Quackity, met Ghostbur, seen Valravn.

Lost his corpse.

Became a true ghost.

He was still reeling from the feeling that washed over him as his soul finally separated from his body. It didn’t make sense. But there was no other logical conclusion. Tommy’s corpse should have been rotting away in his flat, at some morgue, or buried six feet deep and pushing up daisies next to his mother’s grave. It shouldn’t have been there. It shouldn’t have been him .

How was it him?

How had he kept his corpse ?

You don’t get to do that when you die. You don’t get to keep your body as it was and walk around with it in the afterlife. When you die you get to feel the horrible feeling of breathing your last breath as your soul is dragged from its mortal form. You get to watch from above as your body is found, as your friends and family mourn. As you’re buried beneath the earth or burnt to ash so no one has to smell your rotting stench anymore. So no one can watch as your skin turns green, as your blood clots deep in your veins, as the last of the air is expelled from your lungs.

Tommy had all of that. He could feel all of it. Constantly. He missed it.

It was strange to think, he knew, when he walked into the church that morning, but he knew it was true all the same. He felt a terrible sort of emptiness deep in his soul. He missed the feel of his joints grinding together, of his blood as one solid mass in the shape of him. He could remember the feel of an unbeating heart in his chest. Of lungs that would refuse to take in air. Of his skin slowly but surely deteriorating and falling away.

Now his skin was smooth and he was empty.

He hated it.

He had hated the feeling until it was gone. But it helped keep him there. Constantly looking down at his skin, seeing the decay up close, it reminded him he was dead. Reminded him how he used to be alive.

His clothes were still ratty, his hair still greasy. But his skin was clean. His eyes are full of life. As much life as a ghost can have.

He’s never felt so dead before.

When he had to look down at his corpse, deep below Books Borealis with Quackity, Ghostbur, and Valravn all looking too. Looking at him. His lifeless body. He could do nothing to stop them. It wasn’t like Quackity and Ghostbur had already seen it. It’s what he’d looked like since he died. His skin slowly getting worse as the weeks? months? years? passed by in a blink. He didn’t want Valravn to see. It felt wrong. Valravn hadn’t known him. Didn’t know him. But he still got to gaze upon his corpse like it was something meant for him to see.

It wasn’t.

Valravn wasn’t supposed to know he existed. No one in the Syndicate was. No one period . Not outside of forty two. Not outside of his shitty little routine of his jobs and trips to Fundy’s. It was his world, those few blocks. He only existed there. He only existed to people there. That’s how it had been for his whole life and that’s how he expected it to be forever.

Through death, he met more people but they didn’t know he existed. Not at first. It wasn’t until Whippoorwill that things started changing and he’d loved it. In the moment. He always loved it in the moment. Then time would pass. Things would change more . Getting seen by Whippoorwill brought comfort, life, joy. Questions . Terrible, debilitating questions Tommy could never dream to know the answers too. Then came Quackity. More questions came. But so too did the comfort, the familiarity, the bond . He brought reprieve from the questions. He didn’t need to think when Quackity was around unless Quackity made him think. Asked his own burning questions which Tommy never should’ve faulted him for.

But he didn’t know the answers.

With Ghostbur, things got worse. It hadn’t seemed that way at first. Not really. Of course more questions would pop up, they always do, but it would be another person who could help answer. Someone who had clearly been a ghost longer than Tommy and Quackity combined. But then he had to go and do that . However he did it: separating Tommy from his corpse and leaving him here to be empty and lonely and his body in the hands the fucking Syndicate. Who knows what they were going to do with it. Valravn—or, rather, Techno according to Ghostbur—had seemed completely disgusted by the appearance of Tommy’s corpse.

Which Tommy couldn’t really fault him for. He would even know how he’d react to the body of a long dead teenager just appearing out of nowhere.

Really, since he was so disgusted by it, Valravn, Techno, whatever he was called should just give it back. Let Tommy be whole again. However strange, bizarre, and disgusting ‘whole’ was for one Tommy Iden: a walking, talking, haunted corpse. He’d rather constantly feel death and decay eating away at his bones, be unable to look at his reflection without feeling ill, get constant comments and looks from Quackity about his rotting appearance. Anything is better than the empty. Anything is better than the Syndicate.

It’d be worth it to be whole. To interact with the world again.

Tommy hadn’t been able to touch or move anything since the Syndicate got hold of him. He’d lost any and all connection he had with the living world thanks to Ghostbur and his freaky powers—or whatever that was. Whatever he’d done to physically separate soul and body and left Tommy feeling unreal. Otherworldly. Ethereal. He hadn’t felt any connection since that night at the Syndicate.

Was this how Quackity felt before Tommy came along? Like the only thing that was real was him. Like he wasn’t even sure he was real.

Tommy knew he was. Knew he had to be. How else would everything that’s happened have happened? How could Ghostbur pull his corpse from where it somehow got stuck deep in the veils of the afterlife, separating it from its soul? Bring it back to corporeality. Make it real again while making him not . Quackity was real. Ghostbur was real. Boo, Bee, Mask, Fundy, Sam—who was probably prepping for his usual church-rush in an hour—were all real.

Both dead and alive, they existed. Tommy knew they did. Knew he did.

He was sure of it.

People were sure of a lot of things.

Sometimes they were wrong.

An astronomer from a time long before Tommy’s thought there were canals on a distant planet up in space. He’d seen them with his own eyes through an ancient telescope; he saw cultivated canals and was sure there was a civilization up there doing the work. No one believed him. He died, believing himself that there was life and society blooming in a far off world. He argued it on his deathbed with no one there to listen.

He, of course, was wrong.

He was seeing nothing but the non-pattern of blood vessels in the back of his eyes being reflected through. There was nothing there but an empty planet void of life and anything worth sustaining.

But he’d been sure there was life up there. As sure as Tommy was now.

He was sure about a lot of things. Not just his—and everyone else's—existence. He was sure in his emotions. In the rage and sorrow that filled him wholly and completely until his vision was blurred at the edges. He was sure that the Syndicate was up to no good. Why else would Valravn have carted his corpse away, deep into the Syndicate to a place not even Ghostbur could follow. Where they were forced to watch as Valravn carried Tommy down a hall and disappeared from sight. None of them able to overtake the threshold. An invisible barrier buried deep within the veil stopped them in their tracks. Tommy nor Quackity had ever felt anything like it. Everytime they tried to cross, to chase after Valravn and what was rightfully Tom’s, they felt like they were drowning. The veil pressed down all around them, forced its way into their empty lungs and veins. Filled them full until it was oozing from their eyes and Ghostbur was forced to grip them tight and pull them out.

He could remember the rage that filled him as he forcefully pulled his arm out of Ghostbur’s grasp. “Let me go! Let me go!” He could remember huffing, panting, desperately trying to get air into lungs he no longer possessed. “What the fuck was that, dude!”

And the stupid look the took over Ghostbur’s face. A light smile as he looked so damn proud of himself, “I fixed you!” He looked like he was expecting Tommy to cheer and laugh and hug him tight. Thank him profusely for stealing away his corpse from beneath his skin.

“You didn’t fix shit, man!” Tommy’d seethed, finding a small perverted sense of joy at the crestfallen look that overtook Ghostbur’s smile. It had nearly been beaten out by the guilt, but Tommy made sure to shove that deep down into his chest. Easy to do with no organs taking up the space. “Give it back!”

“Techno has it,” Ghostbur had pointed out oh-so-unhelpfully. “And we can’t go there.”

“Yeah, I fucking noticed,” he’d hissed, a bitter taste hot on his tongue. “Felt like I was dying. Again .”

“That’s not possible, you’re already dead.”

“I’m gonna fucking hit him, Q.” Tommy had turned his back to the antique ghost, looking almost desperately at his quiet friend.

“Tom, you need to take a breather man,” Quackity had tried his best, placing bloodied palms on Tommy’s rot-less ones.

“No, I don’t! I need to get my fucking body back, is what I need to do. And I’ve found just the bastard ghost bitch to help me do that.” Tommy vividly remembered the way Ghostbur seemed to shrink under his glare. “Ain’t that right, Ghostbur .”

“I can’t go in there.” The hallway had sat unmoving under Ghostbur’s point.

“I don’t care about the fucking Syndicate rules you follow—”

“I physically can’t go in there. Neither can you.” Like Tommy and Quackity hadn’t already figured that out. The hard way .

Quackity, somehow knowing Tommy better than Tommy knew himself, grabbed Tommy’s elbow before he even realized he was going to punch Ghostbur. “Relax, man. We can’t do anything about it. Not right now. Not here.”

“But—”

“But nothing. He can’t go in there. None of us can. It’s okay; it’ll be okay. And is it really so bad?” Quackity had tried, trying to smile beneath his mask. But even Tommy could tell it was strained.

“That’s me —” Tommy hadn’t been able to help the way his voice broke. How the emotion seemed to overwhelm him all at once. “They don’t get to have me.”

“It’s not you. It’s just a body. You,” Quackity had poked hard against Tommy’s chest, proving he was still solid in the veil. “ You , are right here. Not down the hall or buried six feet. Right here, in front of me.”

“It’s not ‘just a body ’, Q. What the fuck. How can you say that?”

“To be completely honest with you: it was doing you more harm than good.” Tommy could almost feel the hot breath on his face when Quackity had huffed. “You looked like shit. It was dragging you down, man. Now I don’t really know how any of this shit works, but you’re better off without it.”

“Fuck you, man.” The finger he’d sent Quackity’s way hadn’t been anywhere near kind. “Fuck you.”

“I’m just telling you the truth, man. You actually look good now.” That had been the first time Tommy had to acknowledge the lack of decay and rot. Smooth skin and less greasy hair. He’d look alive if not for the fact that he wasn’t. “Now, let’s just go, Tommy. There’s no point in staying. You did what you planned to do. You know? Destroy all that Syndicate shit? You did that! Now, let’s go celebrate however ghosts celebrate shit.”

“Get fucked, Quackity.” Tommy still felt regret at the words that followed. He hadn’t seen Quackity since. Not that he had been searching. Instead he’d been moping. Mainly in his flat.

He had too much time to himself, holed up away in his mind.

He was sure that something was wrong. With him. With the city. With the world.

With the church.

Nothing felt right anymore and he fucking hated it. He wanted, needed , pleaded for his corpse back. He whispered the prayer on his lips to the Old Crows, forcing the words through the intricate ceiling of the church hoping something—someone—out there would be listening.

Tommy knew it would be too much to ask to be alive again. To actually have a beating heart and working lungs and solid skin. He wasn’t entirely sure he would want it if he could have it. He just wanted what was rightfully his. Nothing more, nothing less. The Old Crows—above and below—would be able to get through the impassable barrier in the Syndicate. Surely. Tommy just needed to reach them.

Plead with them.

They were benevolent. They had taken care of him his whole life, and his mother before him, and her parents before her. The Old Crows watched over the Idens. Protected them in life and death.

Surely.

As the last of his prayer escaped from betwixt his lips, Tommy screwed his eyes shut before finally allowing them to flutter open to the rafters. It was weird to know they no longer were glazed over with a milky white, but instead the same vibrant blue his mother used to admire. He let them run along the rafters in the ceiling. Smoothly moving along, occasionally diverting their path to follow a spider or lightning bug that had somehow made it into the church.

His gaze locked onto the lightning bug crawling around the stone. It scuttered along the cracks, spreading its wings to flutter from space to space. Faint light exuded, casting faint shadows in the shallow crevices of the ages-old stone. Tommy hadn’t realized it was already summer. He can barely remember the last summer he felt. The sweltering heat. The sweat that would build along his back and weld his clothes to his skin. Air so thick you could feel it weighing on your chest.

He had died in the fall. However many years ago. When the air was crisp and the leaves were fading to orange. When breathing was sharp, not heavy. Nor nonexistent. When the lightning bugs had gone and the spiders were scuttling away and the mosquitos fell back beneath. But now it was summer. The sun was hot, not that Tommy could feel it against his empty skin. The church was cool. Unfelt, still.

The wood of the pew was probably smooth. The cushion of the kneeler probably felt soft through his jeans. Vaguely, Tommy remembered the feeling from when he was young. Clasping hands with his mother as she taught him how to pray way back when. The man, with clicking, echoing shoes tapping down the aisle of pews, could probably feel it all as he sat beside Tommy. Tommy glanced at him as he pulled himself out of prayer. He pulled his eyes from the ceiling and his hands from behind his back. Sitting properly in the pew, Tommy eyed the man beside him. All day, not a single person had even gone near the pew Tommy was in. Almost like they could sense something was off. Was wrong. Yet this man, dressed like any other church goer, didn’t seem to get the memo.

His blond hair was tied back in a few braids, slightly brushing against the collar of his robes. The black feather dangled from his left ear, which was odd. Most wore it around their neck, some—like Tommy—wore it around his right wrist, none wore it around their left. Only the priests were allowed to wear it from their ear. Their right ear.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, watching as the black glimmering feather fluttered lightly from this man’s ear.

“It’s rude to stare, you know,” the man whispered, unheard by the congregation but clear against Tommy’s ears.

Not a man. A ghost. Another one.

Tommy relaxed slightly. Maybe this was another side effect of losing his corpse. Now that he was a bona fide ghost, he could actually see the other dead of the city. Quackity must have been a fluke, squeezing through the cracks of the veil. And who knew what Ghostbur’s deal was. (None of Tommy’s business, that's what it was. Not after he snatched his corpse from right beneath his skin; it would be too soon the next time Tommy saw Ghostbur stupid sweater.)

“Your feather is wrong,” Tommy whispered back. He knew no one else could hear him, but talking in a church never felt right. Church was the place for whispers and prayers. Nothing more, nothing less.

Gently, almost like he’d forgotten it was there, the man reached up a scarred hand. He clasped gently at his earlobe, pulling down and brushing the black feather. “Huh,” he hummed, “I didn’t realize there was an incorrect way to show your love for the Old Crows.” He fully looked at Tommy and, for the first time, Tommy was almost grateful for what Ghostbur had done. It was nice for there to not be a look of disgust on someone’s face when they were forced to look at decaying skin and empty eyes. “How do you do it?”

Tommy pulled up his hoodie sleeve, acutely aware of how underdressed he was as the man eyed the ratty red fabric. Flicking down his smooth wrist, a feather held gently between two chains rested gently against the back of his hand. It was the only thing he kept after Ghostbur stole from him. His switchblade was no longer sitting snugly in his pocket, nor was his newly acquired puppy lighter. But the bracelet stayed. “A lot of people opt for necklaces,” Tommy added. “But no one does earrings.”

“Why?” The man seemed amused as he questioned Tommy.

“It’s for priests.”

“Who’s to say I’m not a priest?” He smiled, faint lines giving away his age. Not old. Or, at least, he wasn’t old when he died. Nowhere near it. But he was older than Tommy. Older than Quackity. He looked like his mom. Back before she died. When lines gave away how much she smiled and slight grays to how she fretted.

Tommy looked down at him. He looked like congregation: how Tommy should look. Not like the clergy stood in the front of the room, unawares to the two ghosts in the empty pew.

“You don’t look like a priest,” Tommy said simply.

For some reason, he expected more of a response. More than, “Well, I suppose you’re right,” whispered gently followed by, “What’s your name?”

“Tommy.” Before Tommy got to ask for the man’s own name, the church erupted. Cheers and shouts of awe echoed off the stone, startling the spiders and lightning bugs. The ghosts looked away from each other, to see the commotion.

A crow had gotten in the church.

“Well, I’ll be.” The man smiled up at the ceiling, watching the crow fly through the rafters.

“Crows,” Tommy breathed out, a smile adorning his own face.

“Crow,” the man corrected with a smirk. “There’s only one.”

Tommy couldn’t help the obnoxious laugh that broke through his lips. Not that anyone outside their pew heard. Though, it seemed the crow caught on. It swooped around before gently flying closer to the congregation and landing on the back of the Tommy’s pew. The passerine perched lightly between Tommy and his companion, cocking its head at Tommy. It’s beady black eyes sparkled with something he couldn’t even hope to comprehend as the church fell into an awed silence. No one in the congregation dared to breathe as the crow settled on the empty pew.

“I’ve never seen you here before, Tommy,” the man said, seemingly testing the waters as he reached out and gently stroked the crow’s head.

Tommy glanced briefly at him before looking back down to the crow. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid.” The crow seemed entirely unbothered by the man’s touch. He wanted to do the same. Feel its feathers beneath his fingers. He knew he wouldn’t actually be able to feel anything, but it was a crow. Maybe even a Crow. Tommy wanted the chance.

“You still look like a kid to me,” he laughed lightly, moving his finger down the crow’s back. Tommy only rolled his eyes, too entranced to give a proper response. “Go on.” He urged, pulling away his hand. “She won’t mind. She’s looking at you for a reason.”

Not questioning how he knew, Tommy gently reached out to brush the back of his finger against the crow’s head. Unlike the nonreaction the crow gave the man, she leaned lightly into Tommy’s touch. Quick whispers erupted from the congregation as the crow closed her eyes and fully leaned into Tommy’s hand.

Unknown to Tommy, a priest—with a feather dangling gently from his right ear—hesitantly abandoned his spot at the front of the church and walked between the pews. His shoes clacked against the stone brick, echoing in harmony with the whispers as he made his way to the crow and pew.

“I’m Phil, by the way,” the man, Phil, smiled gently at Tommy. His own feather dangling as he moved his head to look down at the crow and Tommy. “She likes you.”

“Really?” Tommy had never felt more like a child then when he looked up at Phil. He had a massive toothy grin on his face, his eyes filled with hope and awe. He was a kid again, hand held tightly in his mother’s, excitedly pointing out every crow he saw throughout forty two.

Phil couldn’t stop his own smile from growing. “Yeah.”

As the priest got closer, the crow flew off, halting him in his steps. Tommy and the rest of the congregation watched as the crow took flight. A lone feather fell among the pews as it soared over their heads, landing in the hair of a young girl with a smile and laugh to rival Tommy’s. The passerine perched comfortably on the priest’s stand, staring not at the congregation but the tome stuck there. The hall watched with bated breath as the crow seemingly read the words, before turning round to dig its beak into its feathers. It plucked on free, leaving it gently on the open tome, before flying deeper into the church, disappearing from their sight.

Tommy’s eyes stayed glued to the wall the crow disappeared behind. Phil’s eyes were on him.

Chapter End Notes

Tommy when he's with people: Haha fun ghosty times. Vigilantes. Heroes. You're a bitch and I fucked your mum! Lets fuck around and have a good time. Let's go babey! Pogchamp and that!

Tommy when he's alone: The universe looks deep into my soul. I'm too afraid to look away. She calls out for me, reaching for me with her star filled grasp yet I can't understand what she's saying. I'm too far away to join her and I'm only getting farther. Life is pain, death is worse.

Also it only took 42k words but Philza's bitch ass is finally here. Lets a gooo!!!

And to any confusion still lingering from the last chapter: Tommy had basically been possessing his corpse, which is why he was able to interact with living world and Quackity wasn't. It's also why he looked as though he was rotting. 'Cause while it was happening slowly, his body was still decomposing in the veil. Tommy now looks how he did when he died and is no longer rotting since his soul and body have finally been separated. Also Tommy was 15/16 when he died and still physically looks that age. Over a year has passed since his death, though most likely more 😁👍

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Halt the Decay, Just for a Moment - Part One

Chapter Summary

Without lungs, Tommy finally takes a breath.

Chapter Notes

Hey.... how y'all doin? Ahahaha been a bit.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Following the crowd of the church goers, Tommy and Phil found themselves at Sam’s bakery. Sitting at a table in the corner none of the church goers dared to touch. Like with the pew, they seemed to be able to sense something wasn’t quite right. They ushered away anyone who tried to approach the table. Out of respect or the unwillingness to deal with religious zealots, people left the table alone. Which was nice for Phil and Tommy.

“You said you haven’t been in a while?” Phil asked, absentmindedly fiddling with the feather on his ear. Tommy twiddled with his own bracelet. “What brought you back?”

Tommy, looking out over the filled bakery, spotted Hannah sitting in her usual booth with Fran lying comfortably at her feet. She reached down, gently scratching between Fran’s ears as she stared at her laptop. Sam dropped off a mug of coffee at her table, holding his own cup of tea in hand as he sat with his daughter. They chatted and laughed and Tommy couldn’t help but be jealous. He used to sit with Hannah on his break, chatting with her and Sam and petting Fran. The bakery had always been his favorite job of the three.

“Tommy?” Phil asked again, dragging Tommy away from the family that was nearly his.

“What? Oh, yeah, sorry. I didn’t have the time to go after my mom died, and after I did I got a little, uh,” he tried to think of the word, “preoccupied?”

He didn’t see Phil’s slight twitch at his words.

“I was here a couple weeks?—” Tommy wasn’t really sure how long ago it was that he’d hung out in the bakery. Petting Fran and listening in as Hannah debated breaking up with her boyfriend, he acting as an unheard angel on her shoulder. “—back and the crowd came in and I realized how much I missed it.”

“It’s always nice to see people finding their way back to the Old Crows,” Phil said, a kind smile on his face.

“I don’t know if I was ever lost ,” he said honestly, tapping away at the table. He forced himself to ignore the way his fingers went through the wood. He missed the vague taps of his once decaying nails against wood brushing against his ears. Now they were smooth and full and falling through. “I just couldn’t get to church every Saturday.” An almost bitter laugh fell out of his mouth, “Or any Saturday.” Tommy felt an odd need to defend himself to the man before him. Assure him he was still devoted. “I still prayed. As often as I was able, anyway. Still wore my feather.” He jiggled his wrist for effect. “And all that.”

Laughter was something Tommy liked unless it was directed at him, like Phil’s seemed to be. It jingled in the air. falling nicely against Tommy’s ears, despite the fact that Tommy was sure Phil was making fun of him. “Relax, Tommy, you’re not on trial. You don’t always need to do anything. The Old Crows are the only ones who can judge you and they are always forgiving.” A twinkle shone in Phil’s eyes, shining with something imperceivable, “The Old Crows will always guide you home.”

Almost absentmindedly, Tommy added, “From above and below.”

“From above and below,” Phil echoed.

From there, conversation seemed to flow easily between the two ghosts. They moved on from talks of church and Crows, neither mentioning what had happened in the church—though that didn’t stop the chatter in the bakery being filled with talks of a crow and spirits—and onto talks of life and death and the happenings of both. Tommy didn’t notice Phil’s hesitancy to talk about the latter two. Nor did Phil notice Tommy’s own, or, if he did, he was kind enough not to push.

It was rude to ask someone how they died, though that didn’t stop either of them. Tommy spoke vaguely of falling asleep and Phil spoke of that very church. Neither said more beyond that and neither pushed for more than what they were given.

It was nice.

It was always nice until it wasn’t.

But it hadn’t fallen yet, and Tommy was going to cherish it until it did.

Phil was the least dead looking ghost of all the other ghosts Tommy had met. He wasn’t covered in blood and cuts like Quackity nor was he gray and transparent with a terrible portmanteau of a ‘ghost name’ like Ghostbur. He looked like a normal dude. He looked like Tommy, now that he wasn’t decaying. If they could be seen, no one would look again. They would simply see a father and son enjoying a chat after church. Nothing more, nothing less.

Of course, there was far more—so much more—to them both that neither knew but they didn’t need to worry.

Tommy didn’t want to worry. Tommy wanted to relax. He had taken care of the Syndicate as best he could, destroying months, and probably years, of evidence they’d built trying to discover the identities of vigilantes and Nox Heroes. He protected his friends with all his power and lost his body with no way of getting it back. In the days? weeks? months? since Ghostbur ripped him apart, he was growing to accept it and adapt. He still wanted it back, but praying the Old Crows—above and below—was his last ditch effort. If nothing came from that, then nothing ever would.

He would get to full acceptance. Eventually.

Until then, he would pretend like nothing is wrong. Especially around someone like Phil, who had no clue to the going ons of Tommy’s afterlife and the Syndicate and Nox Heroes and vigilantes. Tommy could wait to break more when he was alone or with Quackity.

Whenever he saw Quackity again.

If he ever saw Quackity again.

But after the terrible words exchanged between dead-long friends in the Syndicate, Tommy wasn’t entirely sure he ever would.

He liked to hope so.

The only people either could talk to were ghosts. While that number seemed to be oddly growing, it was still small. Outside of them there was only Ghostbur and, now, Phil. It was a limited circle and they had their whole deaths to forgive and forget the incident in the depths of the Syndicate.

Until then, Tommy would cling to the ghosts he had. Quackity wasn’t speaking to him—though Tommy wasn’t really speaking to him either—and he was almost one hundred percent sure that Ghostbur lived and worked with the Syndicate. He wasn’t entirely sure how that worked, but Valravn—Techno, whatever—could definitely see and chat with Ghostbur. They clearly knew each other and were best buds; another notch against Ghostbur on Tommy’s shit list.

Presently, that left Phil.

Tommy was worried he might be annoying Phil if not for the kind smile on the older ghost’s face. He chatted and laughed with Tommy, humoring his every thought and whim. They followed each other out of the bakery as other church goers slowly filtered out of the building. Each group of the congregation that passed, gave a glance and muttered a prayer at Phil and Tommy’s table and eventually they had enough.

They followed behind a family, amused when they noticed their shoulders rise and backs tense with the ghosts behind them.

“Ooooo,” Tommy wavered his voice, waving his arms about. “Watch out! We’re gonna getcha!” He lunged forward, thrusting his hands into their backs. He cackled as they shivered and sped up, sparing another glance at he and Phil’s table. “OooOOooo spooky ghosts!”

“Mate.” Phil struggled to get the singular word out, cackling in his own right as they followed the family out to the street. They watched as they rushed back to the church, quietly calling for a priest.

Still laughing, they walked down the street. “What?” Coughs and laughs broke the word into pieces. “I’ve just blessed their lives. Tommy Iden, King of the Ghosts, is a true sight to behold. They should be honored, really.”

“Oh, yeah?” Phil teased, “King of the Ghosts, are you?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Tommy tugged on the front of his hoodie, puffing out his chest as he raised his chin high. “Seeing as I am the bestest and hottest of the ghosts in the city, I am the King.”

Phil’s eyes scanned over Tommy’s greasy locks, glossing over the strands that were probably once a gorgeous gold. “I don’t see a crown on your head.”

“It’s getting made right now,” said Tommy. His response was quick, flying off his tongue in a millisecond.

“By who?” Phil couldn’t help but humor the boy.

“Another ghost, duh.” Tommy dodged out of the way of a couple walking on the sidewalk. His arm flowed through the man’s. He didn’t notice how his other arm did a similar thing to Phil.

“Who?”

“Relax, Owl, you wouldn’t know him, he lives in another district.” Tommy loved the way Phil’s laugh echoed down the street. He didn’t notice how some people turned their heads at the noise. They were walking aimlessly down the city streets, passing through and around the usual Saturday crowd: people going home from church, going to work, or going further into the city for Prime.

Tommy knew where they could go: he and Phil. Where they were presently headed. He knew forty two like the back of his rot-less hands; he assumed Phil was the same. If they kept walking down this street and took a left at the only nondenominational church in the district they would wind up at the little park nestled between forty two, forty one, and the end of the city. There was a great playground and set of swings and paths that led to the Crow Woods.

His mom had never let him go in there. She said it was far too dangerous for a boy his age. But now, as he and Phil walked and talked and laughed, Tommy got the urge to run. To explore. He’d seen more of the city than he ever imagined he would since waking up dead thanks to patrols with Boo and Bee, and Mask. But he’d yet to go beyond .

He’d yet to step more than three feet into the Wood—he did that while alive—nor has he ever laid eyes on the Empee Sea. Tommy’s pretty sure he’s never seen a body of water bigger than the pool at the Boys & Girls Club.

He’s reminded, yet again, he can do what he wants now. Nothing can stand in his way. No one can stop him. If he wanted to, he could just leave. Turn his back on the city that did nothing but kill him and see what else was in the world. Go to another city, country. Crows, he could probably find a way to cross the ocean to another continent. Ships went in and out of the port constantly, it’s not like anyone could find him stowed away. He wouldn’t even have to be a stowaway.

As long as Whippoorwill wasn’t on board, no one would see him.

Speeding up, with a joyful skip in his step and fueled by thoughts of his future afterlife adventures, Tommy guided Phil through forty two with a purpose. No longer were they wandering aimlessly through the crowds and Phil could tell.

“Where we going, mate?” He tried to ask. But Tommy merely brushed him off with a wave and usher.

Tommy pushed ahead, no longer trying to go around people. He did his best to ignore the odd feeling that washed through him with every person that walked through him. In the near distance, he could see the short steeple rise above the crowd. “Hurry up, old man!” Tommy called behind him, barely able to see Phil’s blond braids and Saturday best through the rush.

“I’m not old, you little shit!” Tommy heard Phil before he saw him. The feather dangling from his ear glinted oddly in the summer sun. It moved quickly and harshly from its chain as Phil weaved in and out of the crowd, seemingly never letting himself pass through someone.

“Yeah, yeah, your crows feet say otherwise,” Tommy laughed, dodging as Phil tried to slug him. “I know the Old Crows are great and all, but I think you’re taking it a bit far.”

Pushing up his sleeves, showing off rough skin and various golden bracelets, bands, and bangles, Phil feigned for Tommy. “That’s it! Get over here!”

“No!” The word was drawn out in a laugh as Tommy ran into the crowd. “No, thank you!”

He turned the left, heading towards the park. His laugh created a beautiful melody as it mixed with Phil’s and the intelligible talks of the crowds. Hundreds of footsteps and cars intermingled, Phil’s thudding feet stood out among the noise as he chased Tommy down the pavement. The buildings started to wane and change around them as they got closer to forty one and not so luscious park. The wrought iron fence stuck harshly from the ground, a rusted gate with a sign for Corvid Park posted above it.

Not bothering with the gate, Tommy ran right through the fence and b-lined toward the swings. The swings were surprisingly empty. Kids swarmed the playground, playing various games and climbing over the equipment. A pile of five kids were practically stacked on top of each other in a basket swing, screaming and cheering as a teenager—an older sibling probably—pushed them up and up. She jumped each time they came near, grabbing onto the edge of the basket as it swung up and used her own weight and gravity to launch the kids away.

A line of joyful kids were sat at the sidelines gleefully awaiting their turn. Which left the normal swings nearly empty, much to Tommy’s own glee. He ran through the mulch, kicking up none of it. He sat on the swing, unable to push himself or get it to move. But the thought was enough as Phil entered the park. Instead of running through the fence like Tommy had, he jumped over it.

“Crows, Phil, be careful!” The seemingly genuine concern in Tommy’s voice made Phil stop in his tracks. “Your brittle bones can’t take it!”

“Oh, fuck off,” Phil groaned. Though he was unable to hide the laugh in his voice as he made his way to the swings. No longer running but not walking either, he stopped in front of Tommy. Finally taller now that Tommy was sitting, Phil mock glared. He crossed his arms over his chest, his sleeves having returned to their normal position during the chase, and feigned disappointment. “I’m not old, Tommy. And—” Phil held up a hand as Tommy opened his mouth to interrupt, “Ah, ah, ah! No, I am speaking.” Tommy’s face screwed into a scowl as he crossed his own arms and slouched in the swing. But he didn’t interrupt. “And even if I was. Which I’m not . It’s very rude.”

Tommy stared up at Phil, a contemplative look on his face. His scowl dropped and so too did his arms. Phil nearly thought he was going to apologize. Phil was wrong. Phil had only actually met Tommy that fateful Saturday and knew very little about the ghost boy.

“Well, Phil,” Tommy said, looking sorry but not meaning it, “too bad I don’t give a shit!” He wiped the faux look off his face and cackled at Phil. “Cause you’re old and I’m king so you have to do whatever I want and I don’t have to listen to a word you say.”

“Oh, of course.” Phil rolled his eyes before falling dramatically into a bow. “Forgive me, Your Highness! Please, forgive my ignorance.”

Eying him, Tommy was unsure. Should he really forgive Phil—if that was his real name—for dishonoring him, King of the Ghosts , in such a way? Should he trust Phil at all? He didn’t know him. Not really. Not at all. But Phil could see him. Which meant one of two things: either he had some weird funky powers like Whippoorwill except multiplied to the nth degree or Phil was a ghost. The latter made more sense. It was more likely. It felt better to Tommy. As far as he had noticed, Phil hadn’t batted an eye at Tommy passing through random civilians or talking about his death.

Ghosts could be trusted. Quackity was good. Ghostbur was… complicated . Ghostbur was Ghostbur and that was that, in Tommy’s mind.

But looking at Phil, still in his dramatic bow, Tommy felt an odd sense of familiarity. Of comfort. He didn’t know where it was coming from. The blond braids that reminded him so terribly of his mother? Or the feather dangling from his ear that seemed to glint with the same light in Phil’s eyes? Was it simply the way he carried himself? And the way Phil seemed to go along with and encourage Tommy’s every joke and bit no matter how ridiculous or childish? Quackity did the same, but it was different with Phil. Paternal, rather than fraternal.

“You are forgiven,” he said easily. “But don’t do it again or I’ll fuckin clart ya. And you don’t wanna be clarted by me, Mr. Philza.” Tommy didn’t know where the nickname came from, but it felt right. “I’m the strongest man in the city. The biggest man of all.”

“Of course, King Tommy,” Phil laughed, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

As it so often did, time ran away from Tommy. He couldn’t begin to decipher how long he and Phil had been at the park. Talking at the swings, making fun kids, or exploring the nooks of the park Tommy’s mom never let him see: all of it blended together in his mind. The only way he really knew time had passed was the ever growing emptiness of the playground and the stretching shadows that grew ever longer as the sun began its descent into Crow Wood.

Phil had pulled him over to the pond when he realized any time had passed at all. The still water shining the gorgeous gold of a setting sun, shimmering with waves as ducks waded their way across its surface.

Tommy had his eye on one particular duck in the pond. Putting all his focus into it, watching its webbed feet occasionally break the water and trying to track it whenever it dove. Anything to distract himself from the passage of time. A passage he was growing evermore aware that he was unaware of.

“You know,” Phil said, his eye caught by another duck. A baby. Yellow like the sun and Tommy’s hair yet spattered in mud as it followed behind its mother. “When my son was a kid, much younger than you are—” Phil ignored Tommy’s protestful sputters. “—he named all the ducks here. He was very determined to name and hug every single one. Now they didn’t mind the naming, but I remember a good deal of mama ducks being very upset about him plucking their chicks right out of the water so he could hug them.” He laughed, staring now into the water. His eyes unfocused as he pulled himself into the memory. “I’m pretty sure he still has a scar on his hand from a particularly nasty bite.” Tommy’s eyes darted to Phil’s hand, where he absentmindedly brushed over the rough skin. “He kept going, after that. He just learned to be more sneaky. Stubborn shit,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Tommy didn’t dare to speak. Enraptured as Phil continued on. His voice ebbed and flowed with a melody. It grew more heavy, weighed down by such a heavy, solemn, sadness that Tommy almost couldn’t take it. He raised a hand, multiple golden bracelets hanging off his wrist as a silver ring shining in the sunlet, and pointed to the oldest duck in the pond.

“Is it weird that I recognize her?” It was rhetorical. Tommy had enough since to realize before he responded with something stupid. “She’s the only one I do. I think he named her Barnaby.”

“That’s a stupid name,” Tommy could help but saying. He cringed internally immediately as the words left his lips. It was clear something had happened to his son and here Tommy was, a complete and utter fucking idiot, insulting his duck.

Fortunately, Phil laughed. “What would you have named her?” For once, it seemed, for the first time since they arrived at the pond, Phil took his eyes from the water. He looked, angling his head slightly upward, to look at Tommy’s eyes.

Tommy looked back.

“I dunno.” He shrugged, moving his hand down to fiddle with his bracelet. “Something good. Something epic. Something like,” he paused for a moment, dragging his eyes up to the painted sky as he thought, “Clementine.”

Phil looked back to the water, to the old duck with two names. Tommy almost thought he was upset with the name he had chosen. It was the first one to pop into his head, but it seemed to fit the old girl as she wadded her way toward them. Tommy could feel his shoulders rise with anxiety and fear—not of Phil. He doesn’t think Phil would do anything to him, but of rejection. Saying nothing, Phil nodded; Tommy let himself relax.

Barnaby-Clementine kicked herself over to the edge of the pond. Her feathers looked soft and smooth, unbothered by the slightly murky water. She looked up at Phil, cocking her head so she could look at him properly with one eye. Her gaze dotted along his form before letting out a quiet quack.

“I think she recognizes you,” Tommy said. A smile grew as he watched Phil and Barnaby-Clementine have an odd sort of moment.

She quacked again, louder this time, as she pushed herself further out of the pond. She shook her feathers and gathered herself before waddling over to where Phil and Tommy were sitting in the grass. She stopped in front of Phil, huffing up at him and wheezing in her hold age. Phil didn’t move; he only smiled down at the old duck.

“Hello, again. Long time, no see.”

She quacked in agreement, in greeting. For a moment longer she stood, seemingly waiting for Phil to do something. When he did nothing but stare and smile, she let out another quack. This one loud and angry and frustrated as she kicked her legs back into motion and waddled closer. She climbed right onto his lap, uncaring as she got mud and water all over his church robes. Another quack directly into his face—one that caused both Phil and Tommy to flinch and laugh—and Barnaby-Clementine curled up onto Phil’s lap. Resting her head on his knee so she could stare up at Tommy.

It was an odd moment. A joyous one as well. Tommy was too distracted by the duck, by the sheer amount of personality stuffed into her small, old, fraile body that he didn’t realize. His mind glossed over details that didn’t add up. His eyes didn’t catch them. His brain didn’t process them.

Instead he focused on petting Barnaby-Clementine. The glint in her eyes that she shared with Phil and his feather. The phantom feeling of her feathers beneath his rot-less hand as he tried to stroke along her head. Her rageful quack that sounded out before she tried to bite him and the confused one that followed when her beak went right through his hand. The intermingling of his and Phil’s laugh and Barnaby-Clementine’s frustrated sounds as Phil kept moving, disrupting her sleep.

Looking up at the ever-darkening sky as the sun set behind Crow Wood, Tommy felt at home.

Chapter End Notes

I will forever be a part of Team "Philza Minecraft is Not Old." Simply because I am correct and he is not old. Thank you, have a nice day.

Also, you can all thank the one person who left a long ass fucking comment on Chapter Ten the other day (it was like weeks ago yikes). It was lovely. I have been so incredibly tempted to take this fic down, and they are the reason I decided to upload this chapter. Everyone clap. Goodnight.

Halt the Decay, Just for a Moment - Part Two

Chapter Summary

Tommy hangs out with some superheroes

Chapter Notes

Happy Gay Month

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Summer passed by in moments. Fast and fleeting and never ending. Phil managed to keep him grounded in the passing of times and seasons. It wasn’t everyday or nearly every week that Tommy saw Phil. But it was enough. Enough so Tommy didn’t really notice the time in between. The empty space that was easy to fill with empty thoughts or patrols.

Patrols he had finally started going on again.

The moment Tommy had set fire to the papers at the Syndicate, he had been so excited to finally see Boo and Bee again. Ghostbur’s little trick had put a plug on that excitement. Ghostbur’s little trick had put a plug on a lot of things. Tommy hadn’t spoken to anyone before that fateful Saturday with Phil. Too depressed or out of it to leave his flat. Step through the door and face the outside world and however it may have changed from his body being stolen.

It had been mere luck that Tommy stepped outside late one Friday night and was able to find the day. That he had enough motivation from finally leaving his flat to stay out and wander ‘til the sun rose so he could finally go to church like he said he would do all those weeks? months? years? ago.

That was the first night of the rest of his afterlife.

After a long night of staring up at the stars—Phil pointing out constellations and telling the actual history while Tommy spouted absolute shit off his tongue—Tommy and Phil split ways. They gently laid Barnaby-Clementine back in the pond and walked back out of the park. Tommy turned back into forty two while Phil went off into forty and beyond. From then, they would meet at church. Not every Saturday, but enough for them to keep close. Every now and again, Phil would miss a Saturday but Tommy made it his mission to go to every single one so he wouldn’t miss a single moment.

He had done it clearly and intentionally. Never telling himself he’d go on patrol with Bee and Boo on the weekend. He would go with them whenever he came across them. Rarely did he actually have to search them out. If he stayed out in forty two a few hours past sunset, he was bound to run into them.

Mask was a different story. He was a little harder to find, but not at all impossible. He mainly stuck towards the inner districts, but out of pride and principle, Tommy refused to step foot in the inner circle. Regardless, Tommy had to search for Mask. Usually, he would start with four—the closest he could to the inner circle without actually being inside—and slowly move around until he eventually came across Mask, Kinoko, or Apollo.

They never made it easy for him.

It was hard tracking down Nox Heroes. Especially when they were trying to stay out of sight. But once Tommy caught sight of them, he was locked on. Mask’s white mask was hard to lose track of, as was Kinoko’s mushroom themed outfit—the reds, whites, and blues sticking out like a sore thumb against rooftops once Tommy found the right building. He rarely found them when he wasn’t looking.

But sometimes he was lucky. Sometimes he would catch a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. He would look up and see a flash of Apollo jumping from rooftop to rooftop, boosted by bits of flame shooting from his fists. And Tommy would rush up the closest building and chase the hero down. Without lungs to run out of breath, he would eventually be able to catch up.

The chase was half the fun.

The other half was listening to one-sided conversations they would have over their comms and playing a strange game of telephone to guess what they were saying.

“What if I flung you into the sun?” Apollo would say, his hand held to the device in his ear.

(Now, who is the person on the other end of the line? Is it A: Kinoko, B: Mask, or C: someone else entirely?)

“I’ll kick your stupid fucking smiley-face ass any day of the week! You’ll see what it’s like over in thirty seven if you talk shit like that again.”

(If you guessed, B: Mask, you would be correct.)

(Tommy was not correct.)

He huffed in disappointment, thinking for sure that it was Kinoko on the other side of the line. In his defense, it usually was. And nothing could get Apollo wound up like Kinoko. Apollo and Mask had a far more amicable friendship, though that wasn’t to say Kinoko and Apollo weren’t friends. The three heroes were like the Three Musketeers. Thick as thieves and best of friends before they even became heroes. They had all walked into Nox together, hand in hand, and said they wanted to be a part of it. However many years later, they had ridden to the top of the ranks together and now here Tommy was playing a shitty game while they were none the wiser.

“Too bad, I’ve already fucked your mom.” Crows, Tommy would never stop being shocked at the way grown adults—heroes, villains, and vigilantes alike—would act when they thought no one was around. “Better start calling me dad soon, son. ‘Cause based off the way she screams my name it won’t be long.”

“Crows, big man,” Tommy’s face soured up in mild disgust. “What the fuck.”

(Now, what is Mask saying in response? Is he A: Calling Apollo gross, B: Claiming to have sex with Apollo’s mom, or C: Claiming to have sex with Apollo’s dad .)

“Okay, baby, I’ll see you tonight,” Apollo flirted into his comm. “Do I get to be on top?”

(If you guessed D: Claiming to have sex with Apollo, you would be correct.)

(Tommy was not correct.)

“Aw, c’mon, man, you never let me be on top,” the hero whined.

The mild disgust on Tommy’s face grew more and more profound and extreme. “That’s so fucking vile, Big A. I hate hanging out with you.” Tommy, of course, neglected the fact that he wasn’t actually hanging out as Apollo didn’t know he existed. He maybe had a vague memory of saving some kid after he was stabbed in a grocer however many years? ago but that was the full extent he had on Tommy. If he even remembered.

Little did Tommy know, Apollo never forgot.

He could never quite get the face of the half-dead sixteen year old out of his mind.

Nor could Tommy leave the heroes that saved him behind. Which was why, despite how perturbed he was by his idols’ present conversation, he stuck around Apollo. He followed him through the remainder of his patrol. Hopping from building to building as they passed through districts Tommy had never even seen before. From four to eight to twenty eight and nineteen before rounding back through eighteen, seven, and six. They encountered nothing and no one—it was the middle of the day, who committed a crime while the sun was up?—until they got into five.

Both Mask and Kinoko were sitting on an oddly familiar rooftop, seemingly waiting for Apollo to arrive. Apollo stopped a building away, eventually calling out as they failed to notice his distant presence. “I thought it was gonna be just us,” he raised his voice in a whine much to Tommy’s repulsion. “I don’t know if both Kinoko and I’s absolute dump trucks will fit in the same bed.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it fit,” Mask said, laughing at Kinoko’s disgusted scoff.

“Oh thank the Crows, someone finds this shit as nasty as I do,” Tommy sighed, groaning in relief as he ditched Apollo’s side. He sat himself rather comfortably next to Kinoko, glaring off at Mask and Apollo with his arms crossed. “Why are you friends with them?” He leaned over and stage-whispered in Kinoko’s ear, knowing he wouldn’t be heard by any of them.

“Why am I friends with them?” Kinoko whispered to himself, much to Tommy’s elation, as Apollo and Mask continued their perverted flirting. He only let it go on for a moment more—a moment too long in Tommy’s opinion—before he cut them off. Raising his voice so neither could speak over, he said, “Wow, it’s so good to see you, Apollo. I wonder what we’re doing on your patrol. Well, I’m so glad you asked. Take it away, Mask.” Bitter sarcasm dripped like molasses from his voice as he thrusted his arm out toward Mask.

“What are you doing here?” asked Apollo. “You’re supposed to be in the inner circle,” he said to Mask. “And aren’t you supposed to be out in, like, fucking twenty three or something?”

Kinoko didn’t even try to contain his frustration. “Why yes, Apollo, we were supposed to be doing those things,” He said slowly as Mask laughed to himself. “And, yet, here we are. Mask, take it away,” he repeated.

After Mask managed to stop his laughing, he focused on Apollo with his semi-comforting, semi-eery smiling mask. “There’s been more suspicious activity in Books Borealis.” He thrust his thumb behind him, down to the ever familiar, ever haunting bookshop. Tommy felt something heavy in his chest as he realized exactly where he was.

“What do you mean more ? Nothing’s come out of there since the Captain’s tip and that was ages ago. Nox got nothing when they eventually checked it out. It’s just a normal ass bookshop.”

“Yeah, well,” Kinoko pushed himself to stand with the others and Tommy reluctantly joined. He refused to look over the edge down to the familiar storefront. “We’ve got another tip. The Captain, again. She texted Mask this time.”

“Are you sure she’s telling the truth?” Apollo couldn’t help but ask.

Tommy couldn’t help but get defensive. “How dare you!” He got in Apollo’s face, not that he could tell. “You— You rapscallion! Who do you think you are, spouting such complete and utter bullshit about the Captain?”

Mask was the same. No one could see his face, but the tips of his ears tinged red. “She wouldn’t do that, Apollo.”

He said nothing more, but he didn’t need to. Apollo looked sheepish enough as he raised his hands in surrender and uttered an apology. “Who-slash-what did she see?”

“Valravn.” Tommy shuttered at the name, suddenly not as happy to be on patrol. He could see Apollo tense as well. “So many people have gone in and out today, we might have already missed him.”

Right as the words left Kinoko’s lips, when no one was paying attention to the shop, two men walked out the front door. They were both ridiculously tall, though one significantly taller than the other, and wearing normal civilian clothes. Both glanced up at the hero filled roof top before walking in the opposite direction.

“So why are you still here?”

Kinoko sighed. They could all practically feel him rolling his eyes. “In case we haven’t.” They watched as Mask walked closer to the ledge, eyeing Books Borealis for any suspicious activity. “He wants to actually get something done this time,” he said quieter, so Mask couldn’t hear. “He was really down after last time, especially after we took so long convincing Nox to look into it and they got zilch.”

“I know he doesn’t want to believe it, but could the Captain be crying wolf?”

Out of the three heroes, Tommy spent the least of his time with Kinoko. Yet even he could tell how tired he was. “He refuses to listen to me. He’s so adamant that she wouldn’t lie to him but he won’t tell me why.”

“Do you think he’s got a crush on the vigilante mom?” Apollo only seemed to be half-joking. “He always said he was into MILFs but—”

“Oh, please.”

“Yes, please stop talking,” Tommy begged, covering his ears as he glared at the hero. “Every second I spend with you I grow to hate you more and more.”

Mask eventually told them the same. Clearly high strung and refusing to look at the other heroes, he stared down at the bookshop. His hand twitched at his side as a family of four wandered into the shop all smiles and laughs, completely unaware of what they were walking into. Twenty minutes later, they walked back out with an additional bag among their bunch. Still smiling, still laughing. Nothing had happened.

Kinoko and Apollo had enough sense to keep quiet, whisper their words so he couldn’t hear. Lest, of course, they risk incurring Mask’s wrath. Though as time passed on, and Books Borealis remained nothing more than a bookshop, that seemed near inevitable. With every hour that slugged by, Mask shoulders rose higher and higher.

Tommy, fortunately, didn’t have to adhere to the same cautions. He could be as loud and annoying as he wanted. And he took full advantage of his power. It was still the middle of the day; he had no idea what he would do if he wasn’t with the heroes. So he did everything he could to keep himself entertained. He jumped around the rooftop and sang at the top of his lungs. He talked nonstop, prattling on about whatever crossed his mind.

“Have you ever aten a flower?” asked Tommy. He was sitting on the edge of the rooftop, back to the road and legs kicking beneath him as he looked at Apollo. Hours had surely passed since they arrived on the rooftop. “I’ve only ever tried buttercups, but I’ve heard that alliums taste amazing. ” He dragged the word out, looking up at the sky. Eying the clouds, big, fluffy and white, he quickly searched for a picture. “That one—” He thrust his arm up, pointing at one a bit further away that was hovering over the inner circles. “—looks like an allium.” If you swinted your eyes so hard they were almost shut, it could maybe pass for a flower. “I love alliums, you know. My favorite flower, they are. All purple and shit.”

His mom had a flower book that she used to flip through with him. They would sit in their bed, him curled into her side and she would quiz him on the various different flowers from alliums to zinnias and jonquils to dahlias. She would point at the pictures and fawn over their colors. Tell him how the Old Crows themselves had painted every single one, every vein and imperfection.

Occasionally, when they were able, she would take Tommy to Corvid Park. She would set him loose, telling him to avoid the Wood and pick any flowers he wanted. He would always pick the most vibrant ones for her paints just so could watch her later. Setting up in their living room, both sat on the floor in front of her homemade canvas. His little hands covered in paint, he couldn’t help but touch the canvas as she created something so vivid and beautiful. Something that felt so incredibly out of place in somewhere like forty two.

Truth was, he had seldom seen an allium. They didn’t grow in Corvid Park.

But Apollo didn’t need to know that.

Tommy loved them nonetheless.

“Calico-bush is also pretty tasty if I do say so myself—”

“Please, shut the fuck up,” Mask hissed, turning his head only just to look at Apollo  and Kinoko, Tommy sitting between them. The true ghost hadn’t been paying much attention to what they were saying, maybe something about Apollo’s fiance? He wasn’t sure, nor did he care all that much.

“Yeah, shut up .” There they were: the waves, the mothers, the crows. Everyone seemed to freeze on the rooftop. Air rushed out of their lungs as the world held still. Mask kept his hidden eyes on the bookstore, his shoulders rising high while Kinoko and Apollo stared at the intruder.

Tommy wasn’t sure what to do as Whippoorwill stared down the heroes. As unnerving as it was, his black eyes glaring out from behind his mask, Tommy made sure to stare directly into them. After everything that had happened the last time he was at the Syndicate—his rot-less hands a constant reminder—he couldn’t risk getting seen. Even just in the corner of someone’s eyes.

Tommy had a terrible feeling Whippoorwill would remember him.

(He would be right.)

But Whippoorwill hadn’t seen him. Not yet.

He hoped he never will.

When he was living, Tommy had always been afraid that one day—one terrible time—when he closed his eyes, they would never open again. Not that he would die; that had never really been a fear of his. (Seeing the past weeks, months, years of his afterlife, he was right to be unafraid.) It was blinking. That, for some reason, when he tried to open his eyes, they wouldn’t work again. In one moment, he would see the city, the world, and in the next it would all be gone. He would still be able to think, feel, hear, but it was all happening in the infinite nature of nothing. He wouldn’t even have the back of his eyelids to keep him company. Nothing. Not even black.

In death, he had no need for blinking, or breathing, or anything . He had done it still. For a while, at least. First, out of instinct. Then, for a semblance of normalcy. In the same way, he would force his lungs to expand without air and make his chest rise and fall.

But, eventually—he’s unsure when—he stopped.

Standing there, a mere few meters from Whippoorwill, he wished for the need to blink. And he hoped that when he opened his eyes again, nothing would be there.

Chapter End Notes

This and last are technically one chapter (hence the part one and two) but I split it up because I felt bad for not updating for so long and I hadn't finished it yet. Which is why they're both short. Hopefully, y'all will be getting more updates soon but who knows *shrugs* I just work here.

There will be crime boys next chapter. I know y'all're desperate for it.

ALSO FANART I CRI

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The Visitation of the Ghost

Chapter Summary

Tommy meets Whippoorwill again; everything is wrong.

Chapter Notes

I would personally like to say I had no idea that this chapter was going to turn out the way it did. I had a much different plan for this but Wilbur does what he wants okay? He doesn't listen to me. So now we have this, enjoy. Or don't. I'll cry either way.

Also I am not great at writing action so I would like to sincerely apologize lol

See the end of the chapter for more notes

He wanted nothing more than to gouge his eyes out. Tommy’s own or Whippoorwill’s. Either would work. Considering Tommy is no longer in any way tangible, Whippoorwill had a higher chance of losing his eyes. But Tommy wouldn’t be able to do it. One of the heroes would have to. Though, looking at them, tense and ready to fight the villain across the rooftop, they would have no problem with it.

If they were able. Which, looking at them closer, they wouldn’t. Not if they didn’t act soon. Kinoko and Apollo’s mouths were sealed shut with Whippoorwill’s command, and Tommy’s sure Mask’s mouth was forced into a similar, pressured white line beneath his plexiglass smile. Mask’s hand twitched at his side, slowly reaching up to his comms where Tommy knew there was a special button to deafen him. He’d seen the heroes test them out when the technology was first being integrated into Nox. Apollo was also fond of turning deaf when he didn’t want to listen to Mask or Kinoko berate him for doing something stupid again.

Unfortunately, Whippoorwill seemed to notice too. “ Freeze. ” The word rolled off his tongue with the crashing of waves. There was laughter hidden in his voice, like he’d just told a joke none of them were privy to. And the heroes froze. Mask’s hand was stuck so near but too far from the button that could have saved them all. The sparks that were slowly glowing around Apollo’s hand shimmered away. Kinoko was still sitting on the rooftop ledge, frozen and so close to falling.

Tommy was there. Still and silent despite Whippoorwill’s voice having no effect on him. He watched the villain as the villain watched the heroes, a glint in his eyes and a terrible smile stuck beneath his mask. “Well, well, well—” the waves, mothers, and crows were gone as he spoke, “What are we going to do with you?” He stalked around the edge of the rooftop. A wolf marking its territory as it closes in on its prey.

Mask was still facing Books Borealis, unable to move as Whippoorwill came up behind him. He ran his hand along the hero’s shoulder, stroking over the green fabric of his tech suit, as he walked past. He stopped next to Apollo, staring down at Kinoko’s frozen form. He smirked, placing a dangerous hand on the hero’s chest, gripping tight at the protective padding hidden beneath his costume. Whippoorwill looked at the other two, eyes glossing over Tommy’s ghost, as he moved to shove Kinoko from the rooftop. Neither Apollo nor Mask made a move to stop him, but Tommy couldn’t help but flinch forward. Whippoorwill didn’t let Kinoko fall, but Tommy wasn’t able to stop himself from reaching for his wrist. His hand went through Whippoorwill’s own, but that didn’t stop the villain from noticing.

Out of the corner of his eye.

He let out a laugh that would’ve had them all flinching. If only they could move, so it wasn’t just Tommy. It might as well have only been him and Whippoorwill stood on that rooftop.

“Hello, again.” Whippoorwill cocked his head to the side. His eyes burned into the black of Kinoko’s goggles but Tommy knew he was talking to him. “Heard you were snooping around the Syndicate again, little boy.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy mustered. He shuddered at the mention of his last visit to the Syndicate, deathly aware of what was taken from him. He tried to calm himself as he faced Whippoorwill yet again. He couldn’t even begin to comprehend how long it had been since his first time in the Syndicate, let alone the most recent.

“Aww,” Whippoorwill cooed without kindness. “Come on, Invisi-Boy. Why don’t you come back; I think we’ve got something of yours.”

“Stop fucking calling me, Invisi-Boy, you prick.” Irritation and anger were easy. He let them fill him, just like last time. Drown out the anxiety, the fear, the familiarity . He would be damned—more than he already was—if he let himself get comfortable around a Syndicate leader again.

Something was different about Whippoorwill this time around. Off. Even though Tommy couldn’t remember when he’d met Whippoorwill last, he could still remember the encounter itself. Clear as day in his mind’s eye. Whippoorwill had been almost kind, back then. Back when. But now? Now his eyes were no longer a dark brown but void black. Now all the friendly familiarity of their last conversation was gone.

“Right, of course, my apologies.” Tommy might have thought he was actually sincere if he didn’t know any better. “ Tommy .”

Tommy had told him his name why back when, he was sure. If he hadn’t, he had no doubt Ghostbur or Valravn filled both Whippoorwill and Crowfather in on he and Quackity’s visit to the Syndicate. Filled them in on whose corpse lay rotting in their basement and who had destroyed their years of investigation. The heroes didn’t know his name, though. They didn’t know he was there . They knew now, though. The jig was up. Not that it was any sort of malicious trick in the first place. Just some dead kid alone and lonely trying not to be.

“Now, Tommy— ” Tommy hated the way his name flowed out of Whippoorwill’s mouth. It had been kind before. Pitiful. Curious. Various things. None of them malicious. Guarding. Hiding something more than waves and mothers and crows. It was deep and layered and knowing. But Tommy didn’t know, Whippoorwill did. “What’s a kid like you doing hanging around with heroes like this? ” He shoved Kinoko again, but didn’t let him fall.

“Careful!” Tommy couldn’t help it. Crows, what the fuck was going on. Whippoorwill wasn’t like this.

Or, maybe, he was.

Maybe he was putting on an act with the heroes around.

Or maybe he had been putting on an act for Tommy. Back before Tommy destroyed their years of work. Back when Tommy was an innocent dead kid in the eyes of the Syndicate and not a threat.

Whippoorwill laughed. “Oh! Careful,” he sang. His fist clenched tighter at the fabric of Kinoko’s suit. Tommy was the only one who could truly watch as a tear fell from beneath the hero’s goggles as Whippoorwill pulled him forward. “He wants me to be careful with you,” he stage-whispered to Kinoko, leaning his mouth against his ear. “It would be a real shame if you—” He did it again, leaning Kinoko over the ledge watching as the cloth of his suit ruffled in the wind. “—fell.” He roughly yanked him over the ledge and threw him to the rooftop.

Apollo watched, unmoving and unspeaking, as Kinoko rolled against the concrete. The rock tore at his skin until he came to a stop. A groan forced its way out of his lungs.

“I thought I told you to be quiet ,” Whippoorwill hissed; the sound of pain silenced itself.

“Crows, man, just leave them alone!” Tommy shoved at Whippoorwill’s chest, watching dejectedly as his hands went through him.

“Just leave them alone!” Tommy’s voice came out of Whippoorwill’s mouth. It was high pitched and whining as Whippoorwill mocked him. He stared at Apollo’s face as he did. Apparently, he had learned well from the last time he and Tommy had met. Not once did he try to look directly at Tommy; it made him feel wrong. He knew Whippoorwill knew he was there. Knew Tommy was the only person he was talking to even if Mask, Apollo, and Kinoko still had to listen—no doubt, they were confused out of their minds about what was going on. Even still, it made him feel invisible. Which he knew was incredibly fucking stupid because he was .

But to be seen but not looked at, especially in such a malicious way, Crows did he hate it. It made him miss Quackity and Phil and even Ghostbur, in a sense. It made him miss Whippoorwill . How he had been however many months? years? decades? ago down in the depths of the Syndicate. In the belly of the beast. Alone with no one but the Syndicate leader by his side. Because he couldn’t truly face him. Not then. Not now. Never. Not until Whippoorwill was dead as he was.

“You want me to leave them alone?” Whippoorwill cocked his head as his own voice—or what Tommy assumed was his voice—echoed out of his mouth again. His black eyes bore holes into the side of Apollo’s frozen face.

Eyes red and watery, tears soaked through his mask and down his red face. Freeze meant freeze. That meant everything . None of the heroes could move. Anything . They couldn’t use their abilities. They couldn’t blink. They couldn’t breathe.

Tommy watched Whippoorwill roll his eyes as Apollo’s rolled into the back of his head. “Crows, don’t die. ” Waves, mothers, and crows washed over the three heroes. Tommy watched as their chests expanded with their first breath. Apollo shut his eyes in relief, a few final tears falling off his lashes. “You’re not supposed to die, yet. So, stay alive .”

Tommy could feel himself deflate in relief.

“Well,” he added, something sinister in his tone. Finally he glanced back at Tommy, unseeing. “Too late for you, I guess.”

“What the fuck, dude,” Tommy tried to be lighthearted. He hated the air that had laid itself over the rooftop. Crows, anything would be better than this. He wanted the joking, lighthearted banter he and Whippoorwill had built up all that time ago. Not– not whatever this was.

He thought his attempt might have worked as Whippoorwill threw back his head and laughed. He wiped a crocodile tear from his eye as he calmed himself. “It’s too late for him too, I think.” Before Tommy could even begin to ask what he meant by that. Whippoorwill grabbed the back of Mask’s hoodie and shoved . This time, he let him fall.

Mask didn’t get to scream as he plummeted to the sidewalk. He had to stay quiet .

The people below were loud enough for him.

Tommy, alone, was loud enough for him.

At least, now Tommy would have another friend. A real one. Now Mask would really know he was there. Tommy would be able to talk and sing and dance with him instead of beside him.

Tommy wouldn’t let himself lean over the ledge. Look down. See the cracked concrete surrounding his hero and the droves of people with their cries, screams, and camera. Instead he shoved down his grief and his own desperate need to just fucking cry. He found the spark of rage sitting in his chest and fed the fire. He relished in the heat as it grew and festered and filled him fully as he turned his eyes to Whippoorwill.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you, you piece of shit.” Tommy raised his chest. “You stupid fucking rat bastard son of a bitch.” He hit and kicked and screamed. All the while Whippoorwill laughed. The anger turned to rage as his hands went through him and Whippoorwill was left unmoved and laughing.

It was a wild, breathless thing that dug deep into Tommy’s spirit.

“Come on, Tommy.” Whippoorwill raised his hands in faux surrender. The smile on his face could be described as nothing less than deranged as he stared at Apollo. “You should be thanking me.”

Tommy scoffed, sending another fist through his chest. “Thank you?!”

“You’re welcome.”

“Fuck you!”

“ Careful ,” Whippoorwill echoed Tommy’s voice. “It would be easy to add more to that pile down below.”

The threat was clear. Tommy froze like his heroes. His eyes darted frantically between Apollo—his back to the street and his eyes staring off wildly in the distance—and Kinoko—laying face up half a length away, his face bloodied and bruised. He let them land on Apollo. It would be so easy for Whippoorwill to go through Tommy and shove, yet again. Let more screams ring through the air from the street below; none of them from the falling. It would take less than a moment, less than a breath for Apollo to plummet. Kinoko was the safest, but even then, what could Tommy really do to stop Whippoorwill from walking across the rooftop and dragging Kinoko over the ledge.

He wouldn’t even actually have to move. With a single word layered in crashing waves, mothers and deathful daughters, and the cawing of crows, ravens, and whippoorwills, they would do all the work for him. Apollo would turn against his will, raise a boot to the ledge and stand upon it. He would watch with blinking eyes as the mass of a city spread out before him in every direction before looking down. Silent as the ground came up to greet him. Kinoko would ignore the pain rushing through him as he crawled his way to unsteady feet, limped his way to the closest edge, and tumbled over to the air below. Crashing in some dirty alley surrounded by trash and vile as his lungs collapsed in on themselves.

“What do you want, Whip poor will?” The emphasis was subtle, built on spite, and Crows was it dangerous. But Tommy couldn’t help himself. Little victories, he supposed.

“I want a lot of things, Tommy,” he chuckled, not answering.

Tommy was having none of it. “Right now. Right here. What do you want? Why?”

Again, that fucking laugh.

Tommy watched as Whippoorwill himself leaned over the ledge—Crows, what he wouldn’t give to shove . He peaked over, looking down at the street below. Sirens echoed through the air. An ambulance had finally arrived. Nox had been notified that their top hero was dead or dying.

“Questions, questions,” Whippoorwill hummed, his eyes glued on Mask and the ever growing puddle of blood seeping out from his hood.

“Color me curious,” Tommy sneered. He still refused to look. Standing with his back to the chaos and death that raged below.

“You know, curiosity killed the cat.”

“I’m already dead, you stupid motherfuck—”

The laugh was quick, abrupt, and loud. Nothing wild or breathless about it. Shock and glee wove themselves through the notes as a few eyes from the bystanders below looked up and screamed.

“ Motherfuck— ? Really?”

“Are you fucking serious, right now?” Tommy wasn’t going to let Whippoorwill get away with jokes. He had already tried to make it lighthearted. He had already tried to bring back the banter from way back when. It was too late for that. There was no room for it. Not anymore. “You just killed someone—”

“Oh, please.” Whippoorwill looked through Tommy before letting his eyes dart back to the panicking civilians. They knew he was there, watching. “It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last either.” He paused for a moment before letting his eyes dart to Apollo and a terrible smile grew on his face. “I’m thinking about making him next.” He looked back to the street below so he could look at Tommy. “What do you think?”

“Crows, dude, haven’t you done enough?” Tommy pleaded. “Just, fucking, let it be. Let them be.”

“Aww,” he whined, “But it would be so much fun.” Stars shone deep in his black eyes as they moved from the crowd to the various buildings surrounding them. “It would be a little funny. A little goofy. A little silly of me if I just killed the top three heroes in the city right now. It would be so easy, too. Just one little word and they’re gone and then there’s no one in my way.”

“More heroes would just rise to take their place. You would just make yourself a bigger enemy than you already are,” Tommy tried to reason. Crows, he was too young for this. He was, wasn’t he? Or maybe he wasn’t. He certainly wasn’t sixteen anymore. He might not even be a teenager anymore.

“Maybe that’s what I want. I mean—” the laugh that burst from his lips was nothing like Tommy had ever heard before. There was something so painful and vulnerable flooding through it. Though, Whippoorwill was quick to mask it all. “—the City already paints the Syndicate as the villains. We hadn’t even been trying . I’ll show ‘em what a true villain looks like.” Whippoorwill’s fists clenched on the ledge. He flexed his fingers, desperate to grab something. Settling for the lip of the ledge, he pushed himself away. Towards the center of the rooftop. Towards Kinoko. “Fuck what Val and Crow think. Fuck do they know? Huh?”

Tommy wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to hear his last few words.

“Huh?” He asked again, kicking Kinoko in the side. The hero didn’t make a noise. He barely moved. The only way Tommy knew he was still alive was the unsteady rise and fall of his chest and the quick, pain-filled flutter of his eyes.

Something was wrong. Tommy knew that already. But it was worse than he thought. Something was seriously fucking wrong with Whippoorwill. Moreso than before. Moreso than ever.

“Are you alright?” He couldn’t help but ask. Crows, what the fuck was he doing? Whippoorwill had just killed Mask and here Tommy is being genuinely fucking concerned for him. Maybe if he was kind, and didn't antagonize Whippoorwill more than he already had, he could keep Apollo and Kinoko out of harm's way until their backup arrived.

“Are you serious?” Whippoorwill froze. His shoulders rose high, crowding around his ears as he kept his back to Tommy. He stared down at Kinoko’s still form, looking into his fearful eyes.

Tommy wasn’t sure he was going to say more beyond that. But, as he watched Whippoorwill force the tenseness out of his body—or more accurately, deeper into his bones—Tommy knew the answer. No matter what bullshit response Whippoorwill was going to come up with, Tommy knew the truth. Something had happened in the Syndicate. Crows knew what. But something had happened. Something bad . Something that had turned Whippoorwill into this . This thing in Whippoorwill’s bones that leaned its head back to stare up into the sky with closed eyes. It raised its arms on either side, like it was soaking up sun or basking in rain. The sun had long since set and clouds covered the moon and stars.

“I am better than ever, Tommy.”

“Get away from him.” Crows, Tommy could have cried when the Captain’s voice brushed so gently against his ears.

The thing parading in Whippoorwill’s skin slowly moved its head to stare down the Captain’s sword. It raised its hands in surrender and kept its face blank as it stared into the Captain’s eyes. It cocked its head to the side and smiled. “Hello, Captain.”

“Step away from Kinoko, Whippoorwill.” She scowled as he smiled.

He took a large step over Kinoko’s still body. The Captain didn’t flinch as he got closer. Close enough for the tip of her blade to poke into his chest. “Go on, then. Do it.”

“Let them go.” She refused to deal with his dramatics. “Now.”

“Hmm, let me think about it,” his voice dripped caustically as he tapped a finger to his chin. “No.” He glanced back to Apollo, catching Tommy in his periphery. Crows, that smile. “ Apollo, why don’t you— ”

The Captain cut him off with a blade to the throat. She drew a single drop of blood but didn’t move to draw more. She just wanted his attention. She stared deep into his black eyes, looking, searching for something . Tommy didn’t know what. But, whatever it was, she didn’t seem to find it. She let out a sigh. Disappointed or relieved, Tommy couldn’t tell. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you where you stand, Whippoorwill. After what you did. In my district.”

He took another step forward, relishing as the blade dug further in his throat. “It’s not your district. Not anymore, Captain.”

“Your father and I have a deal. You’ve broken it twofold.” Crows, she was a sight. Tommy stood in awe of her. Her wild white curls whipped behind her as the wind picked up. Her eyes burned like steel: narrowed and focused, flooded with unshed tears and filled with rage.

Whippoorwill raised his chin, staring down his nose at her. “I’m not my father.”

“Clearly.”

His hand moved faster than even Tommy could process. It fell from its surrender to grip the Captain’s sword. The blade dug through his gloves and into his fleshy palm. Blood oozed out, dripping onto the concrete as Whippoorwill glared down at the Captain. “Watch your words, Captain.”

Her blade sliced along his palm as she yanked it from his grasp. “Watch yourself, Whippoorwill. I’ve already called your father.”

Blood smeared itself against the Captain’s throat as Whippoorwill wrapped his fist around her windpipe. She remained stoic as he lifted her from the rooftop. “Crowfather doesn’t control me. I’m not a child.”

“Could have fooled me,” she choked out.

Tommy gasped and winced as a crack echoed across the rooftop. He’s pretty sure he was the only one to make a noise as the Captain’s head snapped back with the force of Whippoorwill’s punch. Blood gushed out of her nose, flooding the bottom half of her face in a glorious red. Tommy rushed forward—to do what, he didn’t know. Something. Anything. Whippoorwill looked smug Tommy appeared in his periphery. The Captain struggled to bring her head back up to look at Whippoorwill and Tommy wished he could help. He pleaded with the Crows, with Prime, with any Gods that would listen and would let him help.

The Captain’s head dropped slightly, but that didn’t stop her from staring deep into Whippoorwill’s eyes and showing off her bloody teeth in a starling smile. “You’re having a tantrum. Grow up.” She spat blood in her face before he threw her away from him. Groans rolled from her mouth as she tumbled against the concrete. Tommy winced as he ran to her when she crashed against the edge of the rooftop.

He knelt by her side, motioning like he would be able to help her up when he knew it was useless. That didn’t stop him from trying. He would never let it stop him from trying. He refused. His hand hovered beneath her as she pushed herself to sit, leaning most of her wait against the half-wall at the edge of the roof. “Stop being a brat and lashing out at people who had nothing to do with it. You can’t get everything you want.”

“Yes, I can!”

“No, you stupid boy.” She pushed herself to stand, grabbing her sword in a white knuckle grip as she shoved her hand from the concrete. Parts of her hair, white and angelic, had stained red from her broken nose. “You’re a spoiled kid who can’t stand it when daddy says no. You’re irrational. Hysteric. Crowfather is never going to let you out of the compound again—”

“ Shut up!” Tommy watched in awe as the Captain let waves wash over her. She drowned out the cries of mothers and the cawing of crows as she continued to berate and belittle Whippoorwill. All he could do was watch as Whippoorwill’s face and form crumbled with each dig. Wind grew harsher, making them work to stay standing as the sirens down below grew tenfold. Nox was finally there.

“We laugh about you. It’s no wonder Valravn’s the perfect son. I mean, look at you. I’m not surprised,” she sneered, letting her grief turn to rage and fueling that rage she used to stall. “I don’t blame, Crowfather. I would be so disappointed to have a son like you. My son was good and loved. You wish you were like him and you never will be.”

“Shut up!” He screamed with no power behind the words as he lunged at the Captain. He hand gripped tight along her jaw, forcing her mouth shut. He ignored the blood slicking up his gloves as he forced her to lean backwards. Her pirate hat tumbled down into the alley below.

“Go on,” she goaded through tight lips. “Put the final nail in your coffin. I dare you .”

Puddles grew on the concrete as rain trickled from the night sky. Whippoorwill seethed; his chest moved violently with every breath. The sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air sounded from above them as the wind turned near violent. He looked up, glaring up at the wandering spotlights that were growing ever closer, looking for him.

“Run,” Tommy forced the word out of his mouth. He reminded himself not to freeze when Whippoorwill’s head shot in his direction. His eyes were wide, wild, and star-filled black as he stared through Tommy. Had he forgotten Tommy was there? Tommy had nearly forgotten he existed himself. Too enthralled and confused.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Whippoorwill hissed at him, eyes not on the Captain or Tommy. Instead, focused on a figure on a distant rooftop.

“Prime, you’ve really lost your mind, haven’t you,” the Captain almost sounded sympathetic.

Whippoorwill shook her, tightening his grip on her jaw. He hissed, “Quiet.”

“They’ll kill you,” Tommy called, louder and more confident this time. “Nox, the police—”

“You?”

Tommy scoffed. “I couldn’t kill you if I tried.”

“Would you try?”

“Of course, I would.” It was strange—everything about Whippoorwill on that rooftop was strange—but Whippoorwill actually seemed to calm down at Tommy’s words. His honesty, maybe? Or maybe it was the words themselves. Whatever it was, Tommy continued, “You killed Mask. He is—was—my friend.”

“Please,” Whippoorwill rolled his eyes as the Captain watched, physically forced into silence and filled with bewilderment as she watched him talk to open air. “He didn’t even know you existed. Maybe he’ll be your little friend now. You can be ghost buddies like—was it Jester who joined you when you ruined everything? It would be him, annoying cunt.”

His attention was dragged away from Tommy as the Captain gripped his wrist with her free hand. He winced at the force as she pulled it away from her jaw. “You keep his name out of your mouth.”

“Whose?” Whippoorwill teased. “Jester? I only wish I could have been the one to slice his throat. I would have cut his head clean off, left you with pieces to collect. May you have buried him incomplete. Poor Quackity .” His laugh settled deep within Tommy’s bones. The Captain’s eyes grew wide as she fought against his hold. “Yes, yes, I know. Perhaps I should pay his fiancés a visit? Hmm? They still in that complex in twelve?”

“Don’t touch them!” The Captain sliced at Whippoorwill’s arm. He hissed at the pain, finally releasing her jaw. The finger shaped bruises would haunt her skin for weeks to come. Her boot landed square on his chest as she kicked him back. He stumbled away, tripping over Kinoko’s prone form, laughing all the while.

“You don’t seem to understand, Captain ,” he laughed from the ground, “I do what I want. I don’t care what you, Nox, or Crowfather have to say about it.”

“Is that so?”

The world seemed to freeze around them. Rain stopped still in the air. The wind fell silent. The sirens silenced. The helicopters hovered, blades unmoving, almost above them. Whippoorwill froze too. Of his own accord as he stared at the concrete. Collecting his mind, thoughts, and words as Crowfather flew down from the clouds. At the sight of him, the Captain seemed to relax. She slumped against the ledge before collecting herself. Tommy watched as she dragged Kinoko away from Whippoorwill and to Apollo, standing guard of the still-frozen heroes.

Whippoorwill did nothing to stop her as he sat on the concrete, refusing to look at his father.

Crowfather wasn’t having it, “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

Whippoorwill pushed himself up. He stood tall over her father, glaring down at the winged man. He puffed his chest and raised his chin. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Tommy had no idea how Whippoorwill was able to stand up to Crowfather. The man was terrifying in a frozen world. His wings, darker than night and void of stars, were raised up and high behind him. His feathers stood on end casting a glorious shadow over his son in the light of the helicopter spotlight. His veil shielded his face from view, leaving nothing but the bright shine of his eyes visible. He was a shadow. If Tommy thought Valravn scary, Crowfather was positively spine-chilling. Tommy felt cold, deep in his bones—deep in his soul —as he watched Crowfather stalk towards Whippoorwill.

“You’re acting a fool,” he berated.

“ Leave me alone .” Crowfather’s feathers ruffled as mother’s cried in the air.

“How dare you—”

“How dare I? How dare you , father dear—”

Tommy swallowed his words as talons appeared from beneath Crowfather’s cloak and latched onto Whippoorwill’s throat. They glinted in the night light of the city, digging into his already bleeding throat. Tommy shivered as Whippoorwill whimpered against the hold and beat his fists against his father’s wrist.

Crowfather raised him from the ground and Tommy couldn’t help but think of moments before, when Whippoorwill had done the same to the Captain. Crows, the Captain. Tommy frantically searched the rooftop for her. She was in the corner, bloodied sword drawn as she watched father and son with careful eyes. Apollo and Kinoko, both still behind her, seemed to be slowly breaking through Whippoorwill’s commands. He felt himself deflate with relief. It was far too late for Mask, but they would be okay. They could survive this. He wouldn't be losing anyone else tonight.

Crowfather cocked his head to the side as he looked into Whippoorwill's star-filled eyes. "Who are you?"

Whippoorwill only choked.

"What have you done with my son?"

Tommy wished he could see the expression on Crowfather's face as he threw him to the concrete, right to Tommy's feet. Whippoorwill coughed and wheezed, choking on the air that rushed through his lungs. But Tommy wasn't focused on him. Instead, he stared at Crowfather and, it seemed, Crowfather stared back. Two white pinpricks that could have been nothing other than his eyes peered out from behind his veil. They stared down at Tommy. They looked deep into his skin and bone, landing curiously on his exposed soul.

He felt dirty.

Tommy always forgets how much he hated being seen. Especially by people who weren't meant to. It was different with Quackity, Ghostbur, and Phil. They were as dead as he was. It was natural. Whippoorwill was complicated: filled with half-sight and peripheral madness.

Crowfather saw him. He didn't look through him or see a mirage. He saw him . Head on and tangible and real and— Crows, Tommy was only reminded of Valravn. Way back when and then, years? decades? millennia? ago in that dreadful warehouse with Boo bleeding out behind him and Valravn with his terrible bloody eyes staring through him. Tommy wanted to cry. He wanted to die. He wanted to be alive so he would never have been in any sort of situation where he had to be with Crowfather to begin with. With Whippoorwill recovering below and Crowfather above like some perverted version of the Crows he worshipped so.

"Help me." Whippoorwill stared at the cloud-filled frozen sky as he whispered his pleads to Tommy. His eyes moved, over and down to look into Tommy's decay-less eyes. He was looking at him. "Please."

Chapter End Notes

Y'all said you wanted crime boys! So here's your crime boys, I hope you're happy lol

Wilbur is a rat bastard. I cannot believe he killed Dream like that. I was just writing and next thing I know Wilbur has kicked Dream from the rooftop and Dream is going splat and I don't know what is happening.

I have zero control y'all; I'm just along for the ride and I hate it >:(. I want off!! (/hj)

Like this chapter was completely wild to me, every time something happened or someone new popped up I was like "oh shit! yo! What's up with Will?? Is he about to kill one of the heroes?? Why is Crowfather here???" I'm sure y'all are as fucking flabbergasted as I am lmao

Also it's like midnight. I might come back and edit this in the morning, I might now. Who knows tbh.

End Notes

Unusual, but Domestic was supposed to be my only Dream SMP fic. I told myself that; I promised myself that. I am a grown woman; I don't have time to write fan fiction about block men. Yet, here I fucking am. Hope y'all enjoy lmao.

I promise no consistent or frequent updates. I'm a very busy gal. Read at your own risk.

You can come chat to me and check me out on my tumblr and twitter

Fanart:

Boo, Bee, and Ghommy

Tommy con flowers y bugs

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!

Table of Contents

Preface

The Rich and Smart Live a Lot; A Prologue

It Comes for Good Sons

One for Sorrow

Books Borealis

As Above, So Below

The Whip-poor-will Situation

Rotting Carrots and Corpses

Fish in a Birdcage

At the Bottom of the Ocean

The Physical Impossibilities of Death in the Mind of Someone Living

Halt the Decay, Just for a Moment - Part One

Halt the Decay, Just for a Moment - Part Two

The Visitation of the Ghost

Afterword