Chapter Text
There’s a key difference between ambition and greed. Ambition blooms in people like a flower, it grows from a desire within one’s self change the world outside of them. Greed on the other hand infects people like a deadly virus, makes them desire things they are not prepared to work for.
____________________
Tommy liked to think he was a gracious person. A giving person. The upstanding-type, you know? The kind of guy a girl could take home to her parents. He wasn’t a goody-two-shoes by any means, he wasn’t the poster child of samaritanism, but he wasn’t like, a criminal or anything.
“GET BACK HERE!!! THIEF!!! THIEF!!!”
Okay, maybe scratch that last bit.
Money was tight this month, screw him! He was broke, his friends were broke, and it didn’t help that Tommy didn’t have a job to pay for his… well, Tubbo liked to call it an ‘obsession’, but Tommy told him that was a dirty word. No, this was… a hobby. A passion-project. He liked helping people.
“I’M CALLING THE FUCKING COPS, YOU BASTARD!!”
An overreaction, to be certain.
Look, stealing wallets and purses was petty theft at worst, and Tommy was never one to steal from those down-and-out. His victims were in the top percentile, which was something he prided himself on being able to get away with. Though in this one instance it seemed he hadn’t been as slick as usual. Blame it on the weather.
Robbery honestly did irk him quite a bit, as he was supposed to be the one stopping petty robbers like himself. Oh well, call him a hypocrite. But like he said, money was tight this month! Besides, one rich as hell bastard isn’t going to miss five hundred dollars from his wallet when the leather slab carrying it was probably worth more than that in itself. He chucked the offending credit card holder onto the sidewalk at his feet, having no use for anything else inside. Driver’s license, credit cards, all that was too deep in the crime world for him to dip his toe into. No, he’d stick with the cash, keep it clean and simple.
He could still hear the screeching voice of the stuffy prick he’d swiped it from echoing down the street, getting closer by the sound of it. He quickly ducked into an ally to his left and grabbed the gun from his belt, holding it into the air as he aimed, closing one eye and sticking his tongue out in focus beneath his gas mask. He fired, a grapple attacked to a long, thick cable shooting out and sinking into a hold high up on a building that must be at least a block away. He pressed the release, and tensed his stance as he was pulled gracefully from the ground, his hood falling back mid-jump as he whooped excitedly.
He loved this feeling, gliding over rooftops, like he was Zephyrus. If he closed his eyes for a moment, he could feel the air beneath his feathers, feel the lift and sway-
He opens his eyes just in time to catch himself on the side of the building, his fingers scrambling on the rough surface for a grip. He pressed the return on the gun and watched as the steel cable wound itself neatly and perfectly back into place before he once again aimed and shot himself off further into the outskirts.
“I’m HOOOOOME!~” Tommy sings as he kicks the flimsy front door open to the apartment he shared with his accomplices. A groan sounded from the couch, indicating that Tubbo was at the very least, conscious. The tv droned in front of him, casting moving blue shadows onto the wall behind Tommy. He stepped inside and used his foot to close the door, much softer than his grand entrance.
He pulled off his gas mask and goggles, the two pieces of equipment leaving terribly red rings around his cheeks, nose, and eyes. His hair was a deflated mess from being pressed against his head due to the morph-like hooded under shirt Ranboo made for him. Perfect for hiding hair color, and just reflective enough in the right light that cars won’t hit him if it’s too dark. A perfect solution to an unforeseen issue.
He still remembered the night he came home, chest heaving and dazed, just barely-there enough to explain to Ranboo and Tubbo that he’d swung out of an alley and landed in the street, just dim enough due to the lack of street lamps in the outer factions that a semi truck had nearly hit him dead-on. Only because of his quick reaction time and a lucky grapple-shot (he hadn’t even aimed, just pointed and pulled the trigger-) did he make it out with minimal scratches.
At the time he hadn’t recalled, but thinking back on it now Tommy could remember feeling the tip of his heel hit against the bumper of the truck as he was pulled to safety. After that night, Tommy hadn’t been allowed out until they’d gotten him some reflective gear. Subtle enough for stealth, but also Tubbo safety-approved.
The gas mask and goggles were entirely Tommy’s choice and design. He wasn’t a tech expert like Tubbo, but he’d managed to make a few modifications to them. He’d removed the filters in either side, which made room for the vocoder that he implemented inside the left filter. It had only taken him a week and a half with an excruciatingly detailed YouTube video, but he did it all on his own. Who cares if Tubbo could’ve done it in two days and made it more stream-line? This was his passion project, and goddamnit if he was going to let Tubbo take all the glory for his masterful costume. With a simple coat of red craft-paint around the rims and bolts, it was the perfect mix of black and ominous, and flashy Tommy flare.
As it was though, Tubbo was sprawled on the couch, absolutely dead to the world save for Tommy. After removing the bulkier parts of his disguise (The red hoodie could stay on. It was incredibly comfortable-) he headed to the kitchen, leaving the facial coverings on the counter as he explored the cabinets and fridge.
“What’s there to eat, Tubso?” He called back with his face in the freezer. He basked in the cool air, as the night outside was musty and damp. It was going to rain later.
Tubbo groaned again and rolled over, his hair wonderfully sticking up and his eyes blinking drowsily. “…Don’ know. Haven’t gone shoppin’ fr’ a few days…” He slumped back down on the couch and tucked his head against the armrest in a way that Tommy knew wasn’t comfortable from experience.
“You gonna go to bed on your own, or am I going to have to drag you there?” He mused as he closed the fridge doors, walking over to Tubbo cheekily with his hands in his hoodie pockets. Tubbo groaned again but held up his wrists like a criminal who knew he was going to be cuffed. Tommy just laughed and pulled Tubbo up into a sitting position my his forearms, and then to his feet. He was honestly surprised as the amount of imbalance Tubbo had in that moment, swaying dangerously to the right, and then the left.
He held out his hands on either side of Tubbo’s shoulders warily, hovering incase his friend decided to fall. “You still with me, Tubbo? You good to walk?”
“‘M fine.” He mumbled, his eye’s not even open. Tommy sighed, knowing full well that Tubbo had no grasp on when enough was too much.
He’d probably gotten up at the ass crack of dawn, no breakfast, coding for hours and hours, never leaving that stupid blue hued screen in his dark-ass bedroom. At dinner time he’d probably come out and eat some frozen meal garbage and crash on the couch until Tommy got home at four or five a.m., letting his brain turn to mush in front of whatever soap opera was playing on the last channel anyone was watching.
He muttered this all to Tubbo as he carried his friend into their shared bedroom, where Ranboo was already asleep on his mattress. Bless him, Tommy’s one good roommate. He deposited Tubbo gently onto the mattress they shared and pulled the blanket up over his shoulders, his friend already asleep before he’d even been properly laid down.
Tommy spend the next few minutes getting ready for bed. He changed into his night clothes, tossing his sweater, undershirt, and joggers into the laundry to be washed next time they went down the street to the laundromat. He brushed his teeth, and did a brief clean of the living room, picking up all Tubbo’s monster cans and Ranboo’s packets of chips and cookies. He also remembered to leave the five hundred dollars on the kitchen counter, for Ranboo or Tubbo to put towards rent. He turned off the tv and all the lights before hooking up his phone to charge and leaving it at that, heading to bed.
Sleep came easily to him, exhausted as he was. Flying across rooftops and running for your life would do that to you. Before he’d started his escapades, he’d nearly gotten diagnosed with insomnia due to his poor sleep habits. Now, the moment he hit the pillow it was lights out, no question. He reveled in it, getting all his energy out during the evening, then sleeping the night away.
____________________
Phil stared out over the city, a small smile on his face. This was good. It was good that there was no crime to report. It meant that their city was in an era of peace it hadn’t seen in a long while. Still, the quiet made him antsy.
“How’s faction six looking?” He asked over the comms, his index and middle finger pressed to his ear.
”All’s quiet in six.” Wilbur’s voice crackled through the receiver. ”How’s two?”
“Also quiet.” He replied, staring out over the yellow-lit streets, still alive with night life as he watched from his perch atop a nearby roof. It had begun to drizzle about ten minutes ago, and the raindrops just kept getting bigger. His wings sheltered him for the most part from the rain, the water shimmering on the feathers before cascading off, effectively weather-proofed for flight even in storms.
”This weather is awful.” Techno complained from his comm, making both WIlbur and Phil chuckle. ”Who’s gonna be out doin crime in this weather? Not me.”
“Mate, we can’t abandon post ‘cause your hair is getting wet.” He chided jokingly. “Weather like this brings all sorts of criminals out of the underbelly. Keep your eyes peeled, even in the rain.” The two other heroes give varied confirmations before the lines go down, indicating they’d all dropped transmission.
The night progressed in much the same way it had began, with little to report and nothing to act on. Still, even on the quiet patrols, they were always vigilant. Phil, Wilbur, and Techno, otherwise known in the public eye as Zephyrus, Willow, and The Blade, were the top three heroes in the country, all three of which resided in the bustling cityscape of L’manburg. A city with roots deep in factorial manufacturing, but which had sprung very rapidly into the twenty first century, leaving troves of abandoned warehouses behind ripe for riff-raff to settle in.
It wasn’t uncommon for the heroes to stop arms trades, drug deals, and violent crimes of all kinds. Wether inside city limits or out in the factory wastes, it was all a part of their patrol, and they needed to scan every bit of the city in order to make sure it was safe. They didn’t do it alone of course, there were plenty of heroes around to aid them. With sponsors from governments and local organizations, the heroes had a headquarters where they could all coalesce and create one giant team, dedicated to the safety and prosperity of L’manburg.
It just so happened that they were the heroes on duty tonight. Aside from being in the top three, they also shared a floor of the headquarter’s living space, making them neighbors. Phil, being the oldest by far out of the three of them, had become a bit of a parent to them both, particularly Wilbur. The younger two had come into the business very young. Wilbur had been seventeen, and Techno only fourteen.
Phil had both physically and metaphorically taken them under his wing, he himself being in his late twenties at the time, not miles ahead of them, but old enough to be a guiding hand. Tutoring and training them to be the heroes they’d grown to become. They were quite the family, and Phil couldn’t be more proud to call both the boys his sons.
Once the patrol was over, the sun barely reaching the tip of the horizon, the heroes were called back to HQ for an assessment of the night’s activities. With nothing to report though, they were finished in no time and sent to rest.
The HQ living quarters were a sight to behold, in all honesty. The majority of the skyscraper was living space considering how many heroes it housed. Though the rooms were architecturally identical in many ways, each hero that lived there took it upon themselves to make their apartments a home.
Wilbur’s apartment was the place to be for music. The walls were lined with guitars and keyboards, where there weren’t instruments on display there were sound-dampening pads, as to not disturb Phil, who was his next-door neighbor.
Sapnap’s kitchen was the hot-spot (joke intended) for cooking. If the boy wasn’t a hero, he could’ve gone to culinary school to be a master chef. He had enough utensils on display to arm a small militia, and a huge dining table that everyone gathered around for get togethers and events.
It wasn’t exactly normal, but it was home, and it was fun. Wilbur adored living with other heroes, other people who understood him. Who cared about him. And though Techno would never say the same out loud, he knew the other agreed. Phil was like their leader, being in the number one slot will do that, but it was more than that. Yes he was older, and liked to act like he was wiser at times, but there was something else about him that just beckoned people to follow him. He was a natural leader, and he wore that badge with grace, honor, humility, and pride all at once.
After preparing for bed, brushing teeth, putting on pajamas, turning down all the lights and closing all his blinds (Wilbur enjoyed keeping the floor-to-ceiling windows open at all hours of the day) he finally laid down in bed, pulling the covers up over himself as he drifted off peacefully.
____________________
Tommy was up by noon, lifting himself off the stiff mattress with a matching stiffness in his neck and shoulders. Couldn’t afford luxuries like a bed frame, too bulky in their already cramped and tiny apartment. Especially for two separate beds, no no, mattresses on the floor would due. Tommy could deal with a crick in his neck.
He stood up and stretched his arms to the ceiling, touching it lazily with the tips of his fingers before exiting the bedroom to see what was for breakfast- or, lunch, he supposed. He noticed a note on the counter and plucked it up, pulling it open and taking a minute to decipher Tubbo’s horrendous handwriting.
’Back in a few, wanted to let you sleep. Thanks for the rent money. Groceries soon. -T’
Tommy smiled fondly and tossed the note in the kitchen bin. ‘Back in a few’ in Tubblish meant he’d be out for the rest of the day, which in turn meant Tommy probably wouldn’t see him again before his self-proclaimed patrol time. Even so, he was glad Tubbo had seen the rent money.
Tubbo knew exactly what Tommy did to earn money, and he was okay with it. Ranboo was less in the loop, but never the less he didn’t ask questions and told Tommy that he supported him, no matter what. They were the best people Tommy had ever met in his entire life, he didn’t know what he would do without them.
Before he got too teary-eyed over a simple ‘See you soon’ note, he headed for the fridge to see if anything had changed from the night before. Likely not, but you never know. He managed to find a box of only half-freezer burnt breakfast rolls and shoved two in the microwave, pouring out the last of their orange juice before chucking the jug in the trash.
With his meager breakfast taken care of, he suited up (he has more than one hoodie!) and set out on the city, his mask and goggles firmly in place over his face as he hopped from roof-to-roof.
His faction, faction nineteen, was the second closest to the outer wastes where the warehouse district was. Crime was rampant, and hero patrols were minimal, meaning it was up to people like Tommy to keep crime out. He says people like Tommy, but what he really means is… Tommy. He’d never met another person who did what he did. Maybe that said something about him, but if it did, Tommy wasn’t sure what it was. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
As he was leaning over the side of one of the shorter skyscrapers, trying to get a good view of the alley below, he heard a crackle from the police scanner he had on his phone. A handy app Tubbo had programmed for him for vigilante-ing. Very useful.
”This is Morgan on twenty-eight and one, reporting a hit-and-run robbery, requesting back up”
Tommy leapt to his feet and shot off the grappling hook in the direction of First street, swinging that way as quickly as he could. Sure it wasn’t a big crime, sounds like an unarmed run and go robbery, not unlike the one he committed the night before, so it didn’t sound too dangerous, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t important.
Tommy tried not to be scornful about the nonchalant tone the officers use over the line, reminding himself that they’re staying calm for a reason, that they can’t let crime affect them emotionally, that way it affects him. That’s the difference between them.
He arrived at the scene in moments, noticing a woman looking obviously shaken talking to a police officer. He stopped himself, watching the interaction as the officer appeared to say something consoling before moving to his vehicle and driving away, his lights off. He approached the woman then, she seemed a bit startled at his get up, but perhaps she recognized him from the papers, because she let him approach.
“Hello.” Tommy began, trying to seem friendly despite his rather ominous getup. “I heard there was a robbery here. I came to help.”
“Oh! A-are you a hero?” She asked, still looking shaken. Tommy decided not to make things complicated and gave her a nod.
“Could you describe the person who stole your bag to me?”
“Shit, shit, shit!”
“Get back here you bastard!!” Tommy shouts as he chases the thief down the street, hot on his heels. He was a smaller guy, shorter than Tommy but built stronger, and he was putting up a damn good chase. “I SAID STOP!!” He shouted, watching as the thief burst through the doors of a store just a few yards ahead, a chime ringing out behind him. Tommy had to drift on his sneakers to stop in time to follow him inside, grabbing the door as it was about to close.
He stood in a huff, looking around at the people in the store who all stared at his costume. He had no time to explain, he just started searching the aisles for the man. The thief.
“Where’d you go…” He mumbled after stalking the refrigerators back and forth. He hadn’t left, Tommy would’ve seen. He just- maybe the bathroom, he noticed. There would be a window In there for him to squeeze through.
He checked the bathroom, pulling the squeaky wooden door open and stepping onto the old, stained tiles as it creaked closed behind him. He started checking stalls, opening each one but finding them all empty, and no window to be seen. The fucker had gotten away somehow, what was-
Suddenly there was commotion out front, and Tommy rushed to the door, pushing it open just a crack.
“GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!! DOWN, DOWN, DOWN!!” A male voice screamed, causing everyone in the shop to panic. Tommy’s eyes widened in horror. Three men, all wearing black ski masks, holding hand guns. A robbery. Armed robbery.
This patrol suddenly turned into something Tommy wasn’t entirely sure he was prepared for. He was used to taking on crooks one-on-one, and while he’d dealt with weapons and firearms before, three guns was two more than he’d ever had to handle with at a time. He was out of his depth.
“Mike, check the bathrooms.” The lead guy said, tilting his head to the man on his right, who nodded and started heading toward the back of the shop. Shit.
Tommy pulled back and ran to a stall, pulling off his mask and his goggles. He couldn’t be seen as a threat, otherwise they’d kill him immediately. He had to appear non-threatening in order to make it out of the bathroom. Once he was out, then he could start crushing heads. He just had to appear-
“HEY! YOU! OUT!” A voice, apparently named Mike (stupid. Unless it was a code name, which it didn’t sound like it was) rang out in the bathroom, making Tommy flinch. He shoved his mask and goggles into his hoodie pocket as quickly as he could, and managed to push the grappling gun into the back of his pants with his hoodie tucked over it just in time for Mike to slam the door to the stall open and grab him by the collar of his hoodie, pulling him all the way out into the main shop before throwing him roughly to the ground. The grappling gun dug sharply into his lower back, and he knew he’d have an oddly-shaped bruise there for a few days at least.
“Now, we’re gonna make this all real nice and simple.” The lead said, his gun pointed in the air. Tommy could hear a woman somewhere weeping softly. “Every one of you is gonna put your wallets and phones in the middle of the room here, and no one gets hurt, got it?”
Immediately everyone began shuffling in their pockets and taking out their wallets and phones, Tommy just watched in horror, his eyes apparently catching with the robber’s.
“Ey, what’s the matter with you? You ain’t got a wallet or a phone or somethin’?! Pull it out, NOW!!” He shouted, pointing his gun at Tommy’s chest.
“I- okay! Okay! H-hang on-“ He stammered, shifting around looking for his wallet. He managed to find it, worn and frayed as it was, and tossed it into the pile.
“What, no phone? You’re a kid and you got no phone?” The robber continued, seeming almost amused at him. Against his will, Tommy’s cheeks heated.
“I-…I left it at home..” He lied, feeling the weight of his phone in his front pocket, luckily concealed by the weight of his hoodie.
“What a fuckin’ loser.” The lead mumbled, turning away from Tommy with a scoff that made him flinch. He felt like a coward. Like a fucking loser. He was Tommy fucking Simons. He didn’t stand for shit like this. He was a vigilante justice extraordinaire, and here he was cowering on the ground in front of three idiots who didn’t know how to keep their names out of one another’s mouths.
Tommy could hear police sirens coming closer, and suddenly everything froze. The three robbers swirled around, and like glass breaking, everything went to shit all at once.
“WHO THE FUCK CALLED THE COPS?!” The lead screamed, all three of them pointing their guns in everyone’s faces, even the poor cashier, who couldn’t have been older than Tommy. Poor girl was in tears. “I SAID WHO CALLED THE COPS?!”
Everyone shook their heads, and Tommy heard the sound of a child crying, looking over to see a little boy and his mother, the kid hiding his face in her shoulder. She looked terrified as she shook her head, her entire body shaking as she held her son.
Tommy didn’t realize one of the men had stopped shouting about the cops and was studying him, taking a step closer. “…HEY! Hey, you!!” The third man said, motioning to Tommy, whose gaze was immediately back on him. “The fuck you lookin’ at? The fuck?! Get over here!” He graved Tommy bodily by the shoulders and threw him back, toward the front of the store. Tommy made some kind of cowardly yelp and winced as he was again thrown back on his grappling hook, which dug painfully into his spine. "You’re the poor bastard who doesn’t have a phone, aren’t you? Huh? AREN’T YOU!?”
Tommy nodded fervently as the gun was shoved in his face, wincing and flinching violently away as it got closer. The man’s eyes smiled under his mask. “Yeah… You fuckin’ prick, bet the cops would love you, huh? Little charmer? Little fuckin’ mama’s boy? You look like it!! HAH!”
Tommy just flinched harder, barely processing the words he was being shouted at. All he could think was ’Please, please, for the love of god get that gun out of my face’ Before he could form another thought, he was being brought to his feet by an iron grip on his upper arm. Again he thought of bruises that probably wouldn’t go away for days.
He could feel himself being walked toward the entrance, and the door being propped half-open against his chest as he was shoved out of the doorway, halfway still inside. But the thing he was focused on the most was the feeling of a cold barrel on the back of his neck, a silent sob wracking his chest as he tried desperately not to cry.
There were words being said, shouted, the gun was pressed against his skin and he bit his tongue to choke back a terrified cry because he thought that was going to be it. That was it. But it wasn’t, and soon after that he was being thrown back to the shop floor, his eyes shot open and his chest heaving as he looked around. It was like he’d been underwater and he’d just resurfaced.
Everyone else in the store looked at him with stark expressions, and horrified eyes. He looked around at them all, feeling terribly small.
The woman from before, the one with her son, held out a shaking hand to him. “Oh, dear, come here, come here.” She whispered, waving him toward her. And in that moment Tommy didn’t care that she was a fucking stranger, he didn’t care that he didn’t even know her name, he dove against her and felt her squeeze him tight, hushing him as he shook like a leaf. He didn’t remember when he’d started crying. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I promise, I won’t let them hurt you.” She whispered, her son’s quiet hiccups still coming from Tommy’s left where he was hiding his face in her shoulder.
He was supposed to be the hero where there was none. Now, he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t even save himself. How was he supposed to save all of them?
____________________
“We’ve got something boys.” Phil called over the comms to Wilbur and Techno, who immediately perked up at the alert, hitting their fingers against the earpiece to increase the volume. “An armed robbery of a shopping mall in nineteen. At least three men, maybe more. They’ve taken hostages apparently.”
“Shit!” Wilbur cursed. Phil could imagine him running a hand through his hair with his unoccupied hand. “Why didn’t they alert us sooner?!”
“Police were handling it. It apparently escalated very quickly.”
“Crime tends to do that.” Techno interrupted in monotone, making the other two nod just slightly in agreement.
“Meet at the cross roads of Fourth and Twenty-Eighth in five. I’ll see you boys there.”
Police were gathered around the perimeter of the store, cop cars creating a barricade that was inescapable for someone without wings. Phil approached the head officer, who tipped their had to him.
“Afternoon, Zephyrus.” They greeted, to which Phil tipped his own hat. They wasted no time getting into the details. “Here’s what we have so far: There are three armed men inside. At least two of them are powered, one with some kind of frost-effect, the other with increased strength. We're not sure how strong, but his first went right through the formica countertop if that gives you any indication.” They said with a small huff, before continuing. “There are five hostages inside. Two women, A man, and two children. One of them is around six years old.” They say gravely. Phil’s face falls in understanding.
“We’re here to help. There’s no time to waste.” He says curtly, turning to the other heroes. “Our priority is the hostages. We’re dealing with kids here, we need to act carefully and quickly. We should-“
“They’re coming out!!” One of the officers said, shouting to Zephyrus and the lead officer, who both turned to the front of the store. Two men were heading for the entrance, or- it seemed that way. Something was off in the way one of them was moving. When the door opened though, it all became horrifyingly clear.
“LISTEN UP, MOTHERFUCKERS!!” A shrewd and gravelly voice called out. “WE’RE GONNA WALK OUT OF HERE WITH OUR CASH, AND NO ONE GETS FUCKIN’ HURT, AIGHT?”
“He’s got a kid Phil, holy fuck-“ Willow mutters, grabbing Phil’s shoulder as they watched the psychopath press a gun to the throat of a terrified teenager who looked on the verge of a panic attack.
“ALL OF YOU, BACK THE FUCK OFF, BEFORE WE START SHOOTING PEOPLE!!” As if to emphasize his point, the madman raised his gun in the air and fired a shot into the sky, and the kid in his arms shrieked, his eyes shut tightly as he bent away from the noise, pulling hard against the hold on his arm. Willow tried not to flinch, but he saw the way the boys arm bent at the motion. Super strength, the was going to leave a fucking mark.
And just like that, before they could even say a word to the robber, he was back inside, dragging the boy with him.
“Blade.” Phil began, turning to his younger son. A chill ran down Willow’s spine at the sound of his father’s voice, so cold and brutal. “I need you to help me draw the robbers outside while Willow goes in and takes care of the hostages. If we can get them out here and keep them busy, they’ll be too distracted to keep any kind of formation, they fall apart, and that’s when we catch ‘em.” He says, smacking his fist into his open palm at his last sentence to emphasize his point. Techno gives him an understanding nod.
____________________
Tommy pulled himself up, rubbing his face with the sleeves of his hoodie with a sigh and a sniffle. The woman- he still didn’t even know her name- gave him a small attempt at a reassuring smile as she held her son close. “Don’t be afraid. The police are here, the heroes are here, we’ll-“ She began, doing her best to comfort him. He liked her, she was so brave, doing that for him now. She didn’t know his name either.
“-I’m, I-I’m alright. I’m alright.” He insists, sending her a similarly strained smile. “I just- I think I lost myself for a moment there.” He whispered, huffing out a laugh.
“That’s alright. You’re alright. That was awfully scary.”
Tommy nodded. “Yes, but… I think I’m okay now.” He said with a sigh, satisfied that there was no shake to It as he let it out. “I think… I think I’m ready.” He mumbled, standing to his feet.
“Honey, sit! Please, they’ll-“ She hissed, watching as Tommy pulled his grappling hook from beneath the back of his hoodie. Her eyes widened. He looked down at her with a smile and turned to her boy, who was also looking up at his with wide eyes. He knelt down for a moment, looking over to make sure the robbers were still distracted with the police, who seemed to be backing off, the cars disappearing from view outside the front.
“Hey buddy.” He whispered, grabbing the boy’s attention. “You like heroes?” The little boy nodded, his eyes like big emeralds. “Well, just you watch this. Cause I’m a hero. Just like anyone else. Just like Zephyrus.”
With that, he stood up, and pressed the release button on the gun, the grapple falling to the ground next to him with a ‘thud’, catching the robber’s attention. All three of them stopped their bickering to look up at him with dumb-found looks, even with their faces covered Tommy would see their eyes.
“Alright, fellas.” He said animatedly, a smile on his face. “Let’s get this over with.
____________________
The Blade and Zephyrus were both in position, after convincing the police to back off a half-block in either direction to give them some space to breathe. Willow was creeping toward the entrance, his back pressed against the wall next to the window. He was about to make the signal to start, when all of a sudden the doors open. Willow’s heart dropped, they weren’t prepared for the robbers to make the first move, but then he noticed- these people weren’t robbers.
He took a step forward and held out an arm as a woman nearly collapsed to her knees as she exited the shop, tear tracks down her face. He knelt next to her, watching as the other hostages exited around them.
“Miss! Miss, what- happened?” He asked, his eyes filled with concern, and a twinge of curiosity. He could hear the police coming in to investigate, and felt Zephyrus touch down near by, his wings disappearing into his back when Willow glanced over his shoulder.
“That boy.” She gasped, putting a hand on Willow’s chest, bringing her back to his attention. “He saved us- I, I don’t even know his name. He saved my son. He saved me.” She smiled, her eyes filled with tears as her son hugged her tightly.
Wilbur nodded to her, helping her to her feet and into the arms of a police officer who would take her statement. He turned to the shop, walking inside with his two partners.
There, in the center of the room, almost comedically so, were three grown men tied together with some kind of heavy chord. They were dazed out of their minds, probably badly concussed by the looks of the head wounds.
“Jesus, some kid did this?” Zephyrus muttered incredulously. “No fuckin way.”
“That’s what the hostage said.” Willow replied, his hands on his hips as he examined one of the faced of the de-masked criminals.
“Zeph, look at this.” The Blade muttered as he pulled on the chord wrapped around the men, pulling out what looked like-
“A gun?” Zephyrus asked, seeing the way the chord fed into the barrel of the machine. “…A grappling gun, I suppose?”
The Blade nodded, unwrapping the long stretch of steel wire from around the men, seeing the way it pressed tightly into their skin.
“This isn’t just some good samaritan.” Willow mused, picking up a length of the chord. “This is some vigilante-shit. Whoever this guy is, he’s had experience.”
“Think it’s a threat?” The Blade asked, looking between the two other heroes.
“…I don’t think so.” Zephyrus replied, though his face was contemplative as he looked at both the grapple, and the beaten men. “…We’ll have to wait and see.”