Chapter Text
After his weird confession thing to Dream, Dream felt his forehead for his temperature and then told him to go home and go to sleep, considering it was the middle of the night and freezing outside. Tommy didn’t want to go home. If he went home then he’d have to deal with the ramifications of his out burst. Tubbo would tell him he was worried, Tommy would tell him he was sorry, and then Tubbo would get that weird look on his face and make Tommy feel awful for taking a bit of time for himself.
So instead of going home, Tommy lied to Dream and snuck over to where he kept his vigilante gear. His Phoenix gear was kept in his apartment most of the time but he had recently been keeping away from Las Nevadas as Phoenix so he began stashing his gear behind a dumpster- It was a very secure dumpster, okay? He made sure to keep his gear safe- ish. But it was in L’manberg so he wasn’t seen inside of Las Nevadas.
Once completely in his vigilante gear, Tommy let out his wings and flew around L’manberg. He wasn’t usually on patrol that night so there were a few more crimes to stop than usual but he didn’t mind. He liked to remind people that he could protect the city whenever he wanted. All the time.
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“Chrysanthemum.” A shake at his shoulder. “Thes, come on, wake up.” Another.
A grumble climbed from his throat. Boots thudded against the concrete. Hands gripped his shoulders.
“Thes!”
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Tommy shot up gasping for breath. He looked around frantically. He was inside of the backroom of Casa de los Girasoles. He took a couple steadying breaths as the remnants of his nightmare flooded from his system. He ran a hand down his face and sighed. He hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. After patrolling, he’d gone straight into work. Yes, he was bone fucking tired but he refused to break. Tommy shut off the alarm that had woken him and rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel his grogginess. He had set an alarm for his nap. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of sleep Tommy had gotten collectively in around three days.
Tommy refused to break.
He walked back into the front and stood behind the bar. He took people’s orders, served people drinks and tried his hardest not to fall asleep.
“Tommy?”
Was a cucumber a fruit?
“Tommy.”
Like, what counted as a fruit? Because Tommy figured it was a vegetable but it had seeds, didn’t it? Wasn’t that the rule?
“Uh, hello?”
Or was it that ground shit where everything that came from the ground was a vegetable? Was the technically true? Well, which vegetables didn’t come from the ground?
“Tommy!”
“Is a cucumber a fruit?” Tommy asked absently. He focused on the guy standing in front of him. Some random customer. He had brown hair, brown eyes framed by wire rimmed glasses, a red beanie, an ugly mustard yellow sweater and some washed out blue jeans. Tommy was sure they’d never met but he looked familiar. There was something about this guy that rang some bells in Tommy’s mind, he just couldn’t place which ones, or why, or why the guy’s face kinda made Tommy want to punch him but also want to hug him. Tommy’s emotions were all over the place at the moment.
“What?” the guy blinked. “Uh- I think they’re a vegetable.”
“But they have seeds,” Tommy insisted. The guy opened his mouth but then stopped. He looked off to the side.
“Wait.”
“I know, right?” Tommy rubbed his chin half-heartedly. “Like, they could be a fruit or a vegetable. They grow in the ground, don’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“But they also have seeds. Like, what’s the rule for what is considered a fruit?”
The guy pursed his lips. “I... don’t know. But now I have to. Hold on.” The guy pulled out his phone and, presumably, googled it. He waited a moment and then frowned at his phone. “Some bullshit about flowering plants- Is a cucumber a fruit though?” He typed something else in and waited another moment before looking back up at Tommy. “Yes. A cucumber is considered a fruit.”
“Huh. Weird.” Tommy looked down. Then he looked up. “Oh! Shit- Welcome to Casa de los Girasoles, what can I get you?”
The guy smiled kind of... fondly at Tommy, which made no fucking sense. He did, however, order, giving the name Wilbur. The coffee order he asked for was something that would kill any able bodied person but still, Tommy served it to him because it didn’t violate any of his rules.
What were his rules, you ask?
- Big Man Tommy is always right.
- No more than four alcoholic drinks in the span of an hour.
- No mixing drinks of any kind, especially not caffeine and alcohol, unless it’s approved by Big S.
- If you are in a group, Tommy needs to be aware of the DD (designated driver).
- Big S is sometimes always right.
Tommy would have to add a new one after this dude, because he was weird. He seemed like the type of person to burn ants as a child– But simultaneously not have a childhood at all because whatever was drinking this monstrosity was clearly an eldritch horror.
- Possible entities get carded.
“Can I-” Tommy started but paused.
Wait.
- Whatever Dream wants, he gets.
There. Now:
“Can I see an ID?”
The Wilbur guy blinked at him, hand outstretched to grab his drink, which Tommy was now hording close to his chest. “I’m sorry?”
“I want to see an ID,” Tommy repeated slowly, as if talking to a child.
A muscle in Wilbur’s jaw jumped. “Why?”
Tommy gave him a deadpan look. “‘S a bar, innit? I can card you if I wanna.”
Wilbur frowned. “But I’m not ordering alcohol.”
“Don’t care.” Tommy crossed his arms- Which was harder than he thought considering he was still holding the entity’s coffee hostage. “ID or no coffee. Capiche?”
Capiche? Tommy had never said that word before in his life. Oh. But he knew who had. Prime, if he was starting to get Dream’s vocabulary, he was going to slap himself so hard in the face.
Wilbur blinked at him. Then the corners of his mouth twitched and Tommy realised he was trying not to smile. Utterly confused, Tommy just stared as Wilbur took out his wallet and grabbed his ID. And oh. What kind of dumbass carried around hundreds of pounds in cash while just- walking down the street? Well, Tommy did suppose this guy didn’t look like he’d have more than some lint in his wallet, maybe a fly or a couple cobwebs so it wasn’t all the bad. There was small part of him that hoped the weird guy got mugged, just because it would be funny.
“Here.” Wilbur handed it to Tommy and he grabbed it, looking it over.
Wilbur Soot. Age- uh 23? 24? (Tommy wasn’t the best at counting, okay? He never went to school, be nice to him.) Wow. Tommy thought this guy would be in his thirties. Tommy glanced up and narrowed his eyes at Wilbur before looking at his photo. It looked like him, taken a few years ago though. He was smiling in the picture and smiling in real life. The real life smile freaked Tommy out more than the immortalised smile he had in the photo.
“You’re weird,” Tommy told Wilbur while holding out both of his hands: the coffee and the ID.
Wilbur took them both. “Thank you.” Tommy didn’t know what he was being thanked for, handing over his things or calling him weird, but he decided not to ask.
“Sure. Just don’t die by drinking that, okay? I don’t want your blood on my hands.”
Wilbur tried to fight off an amused grin but failed miserably, like what Tommy just said was funny. This guy was weird. “See ya, Tommy.” Wilbur gave a short wave before turning and leaving. Tommy watched him go, dread slowly pooling in his stomach. What. Why, you might be asking? Because Tommy did not wear a name badge and he had never told this guy his name. He had called to Tommy before but he was far to engrossed in his fruit/vegetable thoughts to clock it— and Sam wasn’t in today so it wasn’t like the guy could’ve overheard him say it and neither was Dream, Sapnap or George. So how the fuck did he know his name?
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“You can’t find anything?” Tommy asked incredulously, voice pitched higher than usual. He was pacing behind Tubbo’s desk chair. They were in his lab in the apartment. The two of them weren’t... exactly on good terms with each other at the moment but Tommy had to fucking know. Tubbo liked to pretend like nothing was wrong when there was things wrong so it wasn’t like he was going to turn Tommy away when he asked for help.
Tubbo shook his head. “A couple things like vague school records but nothing else. It’s like-” He huffed. “It’s like his face was scrubbed from the world.” He was running facial recognition on the weirdo who knew Tommy’s name and just had to know if a cucumber was a fruit- and Tommy was like 80% sure he didn’t google it and texted someone about it. It turned out that Wilbur Soot was some kind of ghost. Fuck, he was some kind of eldritch horror, wasn’t he?
It was like Wilbur knew how to evade CCTV- or he spent his downtime scrubbing his face from them. It was concerning. Tommy was concerned.
“So this guy just-” Tommy groaned and pulled at his hair. Tubbo was up in a matter of milliseconds, pulling Tommy’s hands from his hair.
“Oi.” Tubbo ran his thumbs in small arches along the skin of Tommy’s hands. “We’ll find something, okay? Everything’s gonna be fine.”
Tommy took a deep breath. “Right. Yeah.” He sighed. “I’m... Tubbo, I’m scared.”
Tubbo’s features softened just a little bit and it made Tommy want to make fun of him for it but he held back. Tubbo reached his hands up to cup Tommy’s face, pulling him down so he could press their foreheads together. “I know, Toms. But I promise you, there’s no reason for you to be scared. I’m right here. I would never let anything happen to you.”
Tommy nodded. He knew. He would always know. Even if they were technically fighting, Tubbo would always be there for him.
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Wilbur came in again. Then again and again and again and he, somehow, became a regular. Tommy had no fucking idea how it happened but when Wilbur didn’t come in, Tommy got confused, wondering where he was. It was weird. This guy was... weird. There was something off about their interactions but slowly, Tommy began to stop feeling so afraid, so unnerved by the man who knew who he was.
Wilbur was kind. Despite the unnaturalness of his smile, he was kind. Well, he was to Tommy, at least. Sam, not so much. It seemed like Wilbur was avoiding Tommy’s manager as much as possible. It was weird, yes, but people often did that with Sam. Well, normal people, at least.
George huffed as he set both of his hands on his hips, practically pouting. He was looking up at Sam, the towering man doing nothing to hinder George’s easy confidence. They were arguing about- something. Tommy couldn’t really remember what exactly it was about but he knew it was incredibly funny and definitely warranted Dream and Tommy giggling to themselves in the booth they were hiding in. They didn’t want to feel the wrath of their friends and, honestly, it felt nice for Tommy to be slumped against Dream as giggles wracked his body instead of pressed against a cold wall as sobs made his skeleton shiver.
Tommy yawned and Dream turned. “You get any sleep last night, Tom?” the older man asked.
Tommy nodded. “Yuppers. I jus’-” Yawn. “Just tired. But ‘m fine.”
The truth was, he was tired. He was also kind of in pain. He went out as Phoenix before coming in for his shift an hour ago so his injuries, which he “forgot” to tell Purpled about, were irritated with his shirt. It was just a few bruised ribs. He was fine. Tired, yes, but fine nonetheless.
It was because he was so tired and because he swore Dream was evil with mind controlling powers or something that Tommy started dozing off. He leaned to the side, head falling onto Dream’s shoulder. Tommy felt Dream tense but he was too tired and too in pain to move. This position took some of the pressure off his torso so he wasn’t going to be moving for the rest of his shift (if ever).
Dream wasn’t tense for long. He eventually relaxed enough for Tommy to shift into a more comfortably position where he was curled under Dream’s lifted and offered arm.
“Tommy?” came Dream’s soft voice. Tommy made a small noise. Dream chuckled. He set a hand in Tommy’s hair. The gesture lulled him even deeper into a state of unconsciousness. “Get some rest, Toms. I’ve got you.”
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George looked disapproving and yet amused at Dream’s predicament when he finally walked back over to the table. He had been refused one and for all about no more alcoholic drinks until the hour was up. Well, it was either that or no more drinks all together across all of time.
The predicament Dream was in being the boy sleeping soundly tucked against his side. “Not a word, NotFound,” Dream said, quiet enough so as to not wake Tommy. “Not a word.”
George held his hands up in mock surrender. He was standing next to the booth. “I won’t,” George said. He still looked far too amused for Dream’s liking. “But you have to know that our shift starts in twenty minutes.”
Dream looked down at the sleeping boy. All he could see was blonde curls not unlike his own, though Dream’s were darker and longer. The truth was, Dream didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to go to work. For the first time ever, Dream was perfectly content being Tommy’s pillow rather than a hero to the entire country.
But that was selfish, and Dream knew what happened when he got selfish.
He swallowed. His fingers began running through Tommy’s hair. He had really liked it when they were at the beach in South Manberg. “I’ll- I’ll take the day off.”
George blinked slowly at his best friend as his eyes narrowed. Dream ignored his gaze. “Hold on- let me get this straight.” George placed his hands down on the table, leaning over to do so. “You- You.” He pointed at Dream. “Dream Wastaken, are taking a voluntary day off?” When Dream nodded, George let out a snort. He pushed on his palms so he was standing again. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Dream glared at him. “It’s not too late to change my mind.”
George let out a sharp laugh. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes it is.” He unfolded an arm to grab his wallet and chuck a twenty pound note on the table. He reached over and ruffled Dream’s hair. “I’ll tell The President if you want,” He offered softly, knowing Dream hated talking to him.
Dream shook his head. “No, I’ll do it. Better to come from me.” He frowned. “Just- call me if Something Bad happens, okay?” Something Bad meaning the Syndicate. Yes, George and Sapnap were more than capable of handling themselves but if they got out numbered, Dream was worried they’d be overpowered and then he’d have his best friends’ funerals to plan for.
Shaking those thoughts from his mind, Dream used his unoccupied hand to grab out his phone. He didn’t have a lot of contacts, just a few. One of them was The President’s. That’s what he called himself at least. The fucking President. Pretencious fuck- but Dream liked his hero’s lisence too much to play with the chance of it being taken away.
George set a hand on his shoulder and gave it an assuring squeeze before he gave a half-hearted wave to Sam and then left, looking back to shoot Dream an encouraging smile. Dream held the phone to his ear and waited for the overly powerful man to pick up.
One ring. Two. Five.
“Divine!” his overly cheery voice came over the line on the seventh ring. Dream smiled, knowing The President would somehow know if he didn’t. “Your shift starts soon, can this not wait until you’re here?”
“No, sir, it can’t. I won’t be coming in today. I’m taking the day off.” There was a certain worry in the back of Dream’s head that The President wouldn’t let him take the day off. He wasn't a man who was fond of slacking and Dream didn’t very much like the idea either. He yearned to be out there, protecting the city that had been nothing but horrible to him- Still, he wished to save its people.
“A day off?” That barked out a laugh made the hairs on the back of Dream’s neck stand on end. “Are you feeling okay, Divine?”
Dream knew better than to think it was a genuine question. “Something has come up. I would like to request some leave.”
“How much?”
“At least a few hours,” Dream said. He looked down at Tommy again. “I’ll make them up by coming in tonight.”
The President took a moment to think about it. “If you add on the hours to your shift when you do come in.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Beep beep beep.
Dream held back a sigh as he pulled his phone from his ear. “Everything okay?” Dream looked up to look at Sam.
“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Dream held up his phone. “Just called in sick for work.” It was easier than explaining the rest of it. Especially if he wanted to keep his identity a secret.
Sam tilted his head a bit. “Oh?” His strangely dark but kind eyes fell to the sleeping blonde and he melted. “Oh.” He smiled. “Tom a bit tired, huh?”
Dream nodded. “Yeah.” He also looked down at Tommy. He watched his fingers moving through the soft curls. “I hope it’s alright that I let him sleep.” There wasn’t a response for a moment so Dream looked back up at Sam. He was staring, jaw slack, at Dream’s fingers. He looked shocked as he watched Dream’s fingers card through Tommy’s hair. “Sam?”
Sam blinked, eyes snapping to Dream. “Hm?” Dream raised his eyebrows a tad and Sam shook his head. “Right, sorry. No, I don’t mind. Let the kid get some rest. Prime knows he needs all the sleep he can get.”
Dream nodded slowly. “Right.” He raked his eyes over Sam’s expression. Dream was very good at reading people, very good at telling a bad guy from a good guy. Sam was... Dream didn’t exactly know what Sam was. He seemed to care deeply about Tommy. He had a kind of- strained look to him as he went out daily tasks. He favoured his left side to his right.
Dream’s eyes flicked down to Sam’s legs. Something off with his balance would explain there being something off with his legs.
“Bionic.”
Dream’s eyes snapped up to Sam’s. “Sorry?”
Sam smiled kindly and shook his head softly. “I have a bionic leg.” He pulled up his pant leg. Underneath it, Dream could see that he did in fact have a bionic leg. It was black mostly but there were small details that were a deep green, darker than Divine’s green. “I could see you looking for something.”
Dream looked back at Sam’s eyes, smile sheepish. “I noticed your balance is off centred. I’m sorry if I pried.”
Sam snorted. He patted Dream’s shoulder. “You didn’t even ask, I chose to tell you.” He pulled back. “But it’s fine.” He gave a kind smile. “Keep being the kid’s pillow for at least a few hours, okay?”
Dream nodded. “Of course.”
“Need anything while you wait?”
“Refill on my coffee? And George’s money’s on the table.”
Sam nodded. He took the money George left and Dream’s empty mug. He then went to making Dream’s coffee. Dream opened his phone and began to mindlessly scroll. He had some time to kill. Unlike usual people who scrolled through Instagram or Twitter, Dream chose to scroll through news articles, wanting to know the things happening in his city. He was weird, he knew, but he didn’t mind what others thought.