A/N
Look, i can explain.
I had an idea. Idea was really good. Said idea caused me to write down this absolutely insane fic that is likely the darkest thing i have ever written.
I have no regrets.
TW (lemme know if I forget anything!): torture, unhealthy relationships, typically dark sbi level morbidity, references to psychological manipulation
Synopsis: hero Tommy is captured by the villain's Syndicate, but he's their family (very dark sbi ensues)
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The wound on Tommy's hand was really starting to hurt.
And that wasn't because he was weak. No, he was far from that. But what had started off as a simple cut from a swinging knife, just barely grazing his skin to release a trickle of blood, had now devolved into a mess of dried crimson and a violent burning.
Even with the bag covering his head, he could tell that the jagged line on his forearm was swollen beyond belief, wrapped hastily with cheap bandages and disinfectant cream that Tommy was 90% sure not to be used on open stab wounds. But what other options did he have at the time? It was either that or be run through with Tech– no, the Warrior's spear– left to bleed out dry with the rest of his victims. He could still see the flashes of their stained, writhing forms, full of just enough life to keep them twitching with broken hands, but too little to ever have hope for a savior.
Tommy would've found that unpleasant death was more favorable to his current predicament. At least those poor souls weren't weighed down with heavy chains looping around their necks, draping down to their wrists and ankles, and locked with an immovable tie. They were free to say their last goodbyes to their friends, their lovers, their family. Tommy was blind to all but the scratchy bag atop his face, the cold kiss of metal around his arms, and the blistering pain that radiated from his arm.
Maybe it was selfish to feel such little pity for the ones he'd failed to save. As a hero, saving them was his one duty since birth, trained and armed with lethal weapons if it meant that civilians would see the sun. But Tommy couldn't even do that, too skittish to raise his sword if it wasn't in defense against the Syndicate's heavy swings and infinite thirst for bloodshed.
And look where that had gotten him. In the exact spot he had always hoped to avoid, willing to die if it meant that he would be spared the long, torturous experience that was about to become his life.
He could see the faint outlines of the villain's forms through the bag, heavily shadowed and nothing but a foggy mist to his blinded eyes. He would've thought he was imagining it if it wasn't for the occasional twitch from one of their stoic forms, a sharp inhale, the shuffle of boots on concrete.
Then there was the villain directly beside him, eyes burning into the back of his skull, a hand casually resting on the chair. His every breath seemed to shake Tommy to his core, wondering if each careful whisper of air would be the start of a threat. His skin was covered in goosebumps from the unpleasant chill; face naked with the absence of his tight mask. He felt so helplessly out of control that it was difficult to focus on anything other than the few things he knew were real; the world around him, not the emotions that simmered in his head, nor the ghosts that seem to be standing around him with harsh whispers of disappointment. The words of his mentor lingered in the back of his mind, telling him to steel himself to the environment around him. Familiarize it so that he wouldn't be caught off guard when his kidnappers inevitably slipped up.
Tommy did his best to listen, he really did.
But there was only so much he could do at sixteen when he found the group of the most savage murderers known to L'manburg surrounding him, ready to pounce like a cat to a whimpering mouse.
And it was so quiet. So quiet it felt like the thin air was suffocating him– or maybe that was the bag.
Until-
There. The sound of metal sliding across a sheath, just barely intelligible.
Tommy's breaths came to an abrupt halt as he registered the implications of that one noise; enough to reignite the pain flaring beneath his infected skin. The knowledge that more of that pain was soon to come tenfold, with a dull blade dragged across his skin until he was too broken to do anything but laugh in hysteria.
He had seen enough of the victim reports. He wasn't an idiot, despite what his superiors in the Hero office liked to believe.
He knew what would happen if he was caught.
He just wasn't ready for how real it suddenly felt, when he knew that it wasn't just a flickering nightmare at the edge of the dream world. That it was reality. That it would soon become the only reality he knew.
Tommy couldn't help the small noise of fear that escaped his tightly-closed lips, nothing but a hum amidst the gentle movement next to him. It was pathetic, he knew. It was weak and only emphasized how small he truly was. He was no match against these men; the monsters he couldn't even see, only knowing that they were feet away from him, if not closer.
The hand that was lazily strewn on the chair, fingertips just barely grazing his shoulders, shifted at the noise, almost subconsciously. Like they were itching to grasp his arm, to rub small circles into the shaking skin just as the man always had.
But the villain refrained.
A tear slowly ran down Tommy's cheek, another whimper escaping him as the air around them resumed its normally cool tension. His legs were starting to go numb with how tightly they were pushed to the chair, wraps of metal cutting off his circulation and a mix of the weakness potion he'd been given. To keep his powers useless, sparks of psychic energy did nothing but land uselessly on the floor in flashes of green and purple that he could see through the brown fabric.
A throat cleared nearby; the hand shifted ever so slightly to press against his shoulder, feeling the shiver that racked through his weak form.
The voice that came afterward was sugary sweet, dripping with familiar tones of manipulation and coercion. Like it was laced with injections of drugs, but pinpointed to drive opponents to follow the villain's every whim.
"You're awfully scared, little Theseus," whispered the man, honeyed words practically dripping with the nickname that was once spat during battle. The whiplash was enough to confuse Tommy's already foggy mind; struggling to register the difference between the mastermind that had chained him here and the friend he'd learned to rely on.
When Tommy made no response other than the slight inclination of his head, slackening further in his chair as another wave of weakness hit him, the man laughed. It was a quiet clinking of bells.
"I wonder what for?" he whispered. "What would make such a powerful hero so...terrified? Surely he would've known what was coming for him."
Tommy could almost envision the tilt of his smile, the same smile that had greeted him every morning on his way to and from work. Gone would be the mischievous glimmer in his eyes, replaced by taunting steel that revealed nothing but a sliver of concealed rage.
And there it was again. The sound of metal again, scraping against the floor, as though it was being dragged towards him.
His breathing quickened at the sound, the bag pressing to his lips and making it difficult to breathe with every desperate inhale. He gasped, subconsciously straining against his restraints in an instinctual fight as the scrapping drew closer and closer, the hand brushing against his neck remaining unflinchingly still.
Tommy struggled, fire burning his wrists as he yanked and tried to slip his hand through the small loop of chain, attempting to knock bone out of its socket if it meant escaping.
He didn't want to die. He didn't want that sharpened metal to slice open his skin, to leave him covered in cuts and shrapnel of bone, voice raw from screaming pleas for mercy. He wanted to go home-
"Stop," said a deep voice, a rumbling monotone echoing through the room.
Tommy instantly fell still. Not at the command of the words, no, this voice held no honeyed coercion through them. He froze at the unspoken power that they implied. The power that he'd seen the effect of before, just earlier that day.
"Enough, Wilbur," the same deep voice said, the swish of boots against the floor punctuating his words. "We don't want him to pass out, now do we?"
Tommy would've thanked them if he wasn't aware of what his presence here implied; a presence that he feared more than the manipulative words of the villain. The Warrior was almost worse than the Siren that stood beside him, hand still gently radiating warmth into his shaking form.
No, the Warrior didn't deal with twisting mazes of words.
He preferred to operate under the motto of dealing threats before warnings, leaving most at the end of his blade nothing but confused husks of people, paralyzed with fear at his erratic dealing of pain.
They were an even worse pair. When one hero was stuck in the same room as them both, knife held to their threats and the gentle words of the Siren in their ear, they were never left alive. Or, rather, they were never left mentally intact if the villains were feeling particularly hateful.
Tommy knew exactly which of the two endings he would soon face.
No, these two monsters were angry. And it was all Tommy's fault.
As though sensing his words, the hand rubbing smooth circles into his shoulders traced up, resting just beneath his throat where the bottom of the bag over his head sat. It took everything in his weakened willpower not to lean into the familiar touch as slender fingers hooked under his jaw, inspecting the blossoming bruise on his neck from the fight.
Wilbur–Siren– hummed in what Tommy would've thought was a thoughtful consideration, if he didn't know the mocking truth that hid beneath it. One used to belittle him further.
"You got a little hurt in that scuffle, it seems," Siren noted, tilting his head up to an almost painful degree. Tommy's fingernails dug into the arms of the wooden chair, grounding himself while the villain's free hand touched at the colorful spot, blacks and purples marking the indentation of a fist.
Even now, Tommy could still feel the sudden pain as air was punched from his lungs, an unyielding hand wrapping around his throat and throwing him into the piles of debris on the floor. The choked gasps for oxygen that came afterward, barely dodging the swings of a glowing axe with heaved pulls away. The grin on the Warrior's face as blood soaked his hands, striking down until Tommy finally, finally, fell unconscious
He turned his head away, ashamed at the scrutiny Siren now put him under even while knowing exactly what had caused the injury. The grip on his jaw was sure to leave marks by now, and each gentle prodding of the man's finger made a small wave of pain course down his neck.
"Fuck you," Tommy managed to grit out, teeth grinding at the weak response. His throat was too dry to speak in anything but a whispered threat, words scraping against his ego like sandpaper.
Tommy braced himself, expecting a harsh tug on his face, a deep threat, or, worse, the slice of blooming agony against his skin. For a sickening moment, nothing but quiet reigned, his quickened breaths and chains sliding against the concrete greeting his straining ears.
Until Wilbur laughed, the same ringing of windchimes that had plagued his mind only moments before. His fingers loosened beneath his jaw, allowing his head to once again droop to his chest while the man nearly cackled like he was the star in some old horror film.
Then the laugh cut off just as quickly as it had come, the reverberation of bells bouncing through the walls. It was jarring; the transition of weakened words of anger to bracing for pain, only for it to end with the echo of joy.
The only warning Tommy got was a small tsk before the bag was tugged from over his head and discarded to the ground by his feet. Light pierced his eyes as he rapidly blinked, struggling to see with the sudden harsh glare of fluorescents and flickering of shadows. The entire world had gone from black to a swirl of colors and shapes, impossible to see with the straining of muscles to peer up.
It hurt. Seeing hurt; blossoming a headache with every blink. But he couldn't look away. He had to know what to prepare himself for, to be ready to fight back whenever he had the free chance. To know the difference between manipulative words and reality-
Wilbur– no, this was Siren– came into focus.
It was all too familiar; the wave of curls covering his eye, the slight upward tilt to the corner of his mouth, and the loving glint in his eye. The same look that he had given him so often before, accompanied by a hug that pulled him close to the man's chest, filling him with indescribable joy and comfort.
Wilbur, his brother, his enemy, his best friend.
The man who now cupped his cheek with adoration, his villain mask nowhere to be seen. The man that, if it wasn't for the sharp blades mounted to the wall behind him, cutthroat tips reflecting in the stark light above them, Tommy would've truly believed to still be the man he once knew.
Tears dripped down his own face at the thought, running down his chin and pooling onto his stained shirt. Wilbur's thumb moved to catch them easily, grazing beneath his eye to flick the water onto the floor, right beside the stains of gore.
"Shh, you're okay, Tommy," his brother whispered, his own eyes shiny with unshed tears. As though he truly shared the pain Tommy now felt, only amplified further by the gentle touches brushing against his splotchy face. "You're going to be okay, darling. I promise."
Tommy only cried harder at that, chains rattling with every rough shake of his bruised and battered form.
A second figure stepped beside Wilbur; a silent move that only came from years of calculative spying. Unlike the villain before him, this one's mask was clutched in his hand, knuckles gripping the shiny boar skull with patches of faded red blood. His red eyes were stoic with no emotion dancing behind the vibrant irises, pink hair cascading over his shoulders in waves of tangled strands.
He was the antithesis of his brother. Where emotion reigned, careful thought stood in power.
It was just like how it had always been. Wilbur, laughing as Tommy once again demands that they watch Up instead of whatever depressing film the elder wanted, Techno sitting casually to the side with a book in his lap and glasses perched on his nose. He would always hide his smile behind the worn pages, pretending to be indifferent to the choice.
But, when the decision was left to him, he always agreed with Tommy. Because he was his brother and would rather sit through the same movie hundreds of times than see Tommy frown.
The thought only left him with another round of violent sobs, the chain around his stomach digging painfully with every wailed cry. Wilbur's hands shifted down to rub gentle circles into the top of his spine, coaxing him to collapse forward with a rough pant and whistled wheeze for air. Tommy couldn't help but let out a pathetic whine, weakness potion drugging him into a haze of emotional pinpricks with every whispered comfort from his brother, every sharp jab of Techno's presence pricking his heart.
Wilbur's melodic voice only made it worse, pressing his lips to the boy's furrowed brow and leaving a close-lipped kiss behind, smoothing out the harsh lines with a stray rub of his thumb. The action was methodic, planned, used on him so many times before during his bouts of panic and half-conscious cries for help.
It made him feel small; made him feel reliant. Like he needed Wilbur's presence of reassurances coated in powerful sugar to make him compliant and safe.
He heard a croak, too late realizing it came from himself as Wilbur's grip only tightened, half-hugging him to his chest from the side, coos mumbled in his ear that Tommy was too overwhelmed to comprehend. All he could understand was the tone, making him go slack in the hold, fingers untightening from their splintering grip in wood.
"You're okay, Toms. See? You're okay."
"You're safe."
"We aren't going to hurt you. Just breathe with me, okay, hon? Can you do that with me?"
Tommy's head fell forward to the crook in Wilbur's neck, pressing his face into the scarce heat it provided. He wanted to sink into that warmth; to let it consume him, take him away from this horrible place and back to the Craft Family Household, where he could try to bake muffins again and fall asleep on Techno, who would complain about it in the morning but secretly hold Tommy in his tired state. Where there were no torture mechanisms lining the room, where a lock didn't keep him trapped in his one spot to suffocate in Wilbur's caging hug.
He was so tired. He was so done.
And this room was fucking freezing, making his infected blister burn even more with every blast of frigid air.
The thought almost made him laugh. Felled by some cool air. It was a fitting ending for him.
But Wilbur protected him from that. Wilbur was his brother; he wouldn't hurt him!
The room spun for a moment, a sudden wave of queasiness building in Tommy's stomach as he attempted to move his head. But it felt like his brain was stuffed full of rocks, cementing him to his spot on Wilbur. He found himself leaning even further into the unbreakable hold. It was comforting, in a strange way. To rely completely and wholeheartedly on his brother allowing the logical portion of his mind to vanish just as quickly as his hopes for release did, leaving him with nothing to do but blindly accept the scarce familiarity that Wilbur offered.
Tommy felt his tears slowly begin to subside, choked sobs transforming into measured breaths. But as his panic filtered away, leaving his mind with his rolling tears, so did Wilbur's careful touches, heat seeping from his skin before vanishing entirely. He leaned forward, chasing that addicting warmth, but Wilbur had already moved too far away for Tommy to reach, even if he wasn't chained down.
A small whine escaped him at that, the absence of his brother's heat leaving him feeling hollow and cold.
Wilbur let out a sympathetic noise as he stood near the back wall, head tilted to the side in a scarily similar way to how Techno appeared when calculating the most effective way to rip someone apart while still keeping them alive. Gone was the small, adoring smile that had been situated on his face, replaced with a sly smirk that practically screamed power. Tommy shivered at the sight, curling into himself at the whiplashing change of demeanor.
His arm really fucking hurt.
His head hurt.
His heart hurt.
Techno took a casual step forward, axe casually held at his side. The blade glowed with numerous enchantments, thrumming with a quiet power as the runes wrapped around the netherite blade, perfectly crafted for lopping off heads and dismantling anything that may lie in the Warrior's way.
He cleared his throat, glancing at Wilbur with a half-raised eyebrow, looking almost bored at the man's theatrics.
"You done?"
His words were clipped, cutthroat, and straight to the point. There was no room for error in his tone other than bland delivery.
Tommy found himself treasuring their simplicity, the lack of soothing touch that accompanied every syllable, despite how much he craved for Wilbur to come back and wrap him back to his chest, securing them together.
He wanted Wilbur. Not Siren.
But where Wilbur had once stood, a villain remained. The same person that haunted Tommy's dreams every night until he awoke with wretched shudders, dry heaving over the side of the bed.
His brother who–only days ago– had brushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead while he cried, coughing up nothing but daggers through his throat.
The same person who now just nodded to Techno; the faintest of inclinations despite the loving attitude that had previously overcome him. Most of their conversation happened through a long look, each calculating the other's next move while Warrior shifted his axe from hand to hand, knuckles whitening on the worn grip.
Until, finally, he sighed and took a few, slow steps toward Tommy. The sound of the heel of his boots pressing on worn concrete echoed right into his skull.
When he stopped, he was only a few feet in front of Tommy. Too far away to touch him, but close enough that the battle axe could easily slice open his exposed throat.
He took in a deep breath, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. The golden jewelry lining his ears, piercing a ring in his nose, and dotted along the edge of his eyebrow shone in the overhead lighting, casting his face in harsh, gold-tinted lines. With every slight twitch of his face, Tommy watched in morbid fascination as the reflection moved along with it.
But, unlike Siren, his face revealed none of the inner turmoil dwelling beneath.
"Theseus," the man greeted, long hair swishing around him. Tommy hysterically wondered how many hair products he had to go through in a week to keep it that well-maintained, lips twitching to form the faintest of smiles at the thought.
But the thud of bone against the ground shot him straight back to reality, jolting up in his seat before recognizing that Techno had merely dropped his bore mask on the ground. It rocked back and forth against the smooth rock before coming to a halt, hollow bone clinking out a foreboding tune.
Techno seemed unsurprised when his address heeded no response, his gaze lingering on the mask he'd lazily discarded before stretching back up to meet his eyes. Tommy swallowed.
"Wilbur's done toying with you, little one. You needn't be so worried," he started, studying the changes in Tommy's face that he couldn't mask in his drugged haze. The light flinches that caused metal cuffs to rattle; the flicker of a frown on his face; the sniff as he staunched the rising flood of tears blooming behind his eyes. All was painfully obvious under his indifferent stare, making him want nothing but to sink into the floor. Or to hide his face in Wilbur's chest, to escape from the glare that Techno never had before fixated on him without a mask to hide behind.
But he shouldn't want Wilbur. The Warrior had just had that he had been toyed with. That he shouldn't want his brother back, especially in such a state where he had no control.
But Tommy was only human.
Techno seemed to easily come to the same conclusion as Tommy, a small grin forming on his face with no real humor behind it.
"After all," he lazily gestured to Siren, who stood stoically in the background. "We both know he never acts on what he truly means."
Tommy's nails carved thin lines up the arms of the chair, sniffing again.
"Wouldn't you agree?"
Tommy said nothing.
"Theseus, if you want this to turn out well for either of us, I would recommend using your words. Don't be a child."
"Fuck off," Tommy finally spat, a faint repetition of his earlier response, though far more anger hiding behind this wave of words.
Little did they have to know that the true person he was angry at was himself. For being so foolish to be caught. To pretend that he didn't know the secrets the Craft family hid behind closed doors and cheery facades.
He was angry for falling into Wilbur's–Siren's– gentle words so easily, like a moth to a flame, no self-control of thought of self-preservation hiding beneath his craving to be held.
Techno took another cautious step forward, this one so slight that Tommy couldn't even hear it hit the floor.
"Toms–" the repetition of the nickname was eerily similar to Wilbur's– "We both know I don't operate the same way as Wil. I will hurt you if it means you learn to fit it through that unknowing little mind of yours that things can be done for the greater good. And," the man paused. "We both know that your little attempt to kill Phil wasn't for that, was it? It wasn't some act of anger, some sort of...vengeance to get back at us for killing Tubbo.
"It was another order made by the same government you seem fit to bow down to."
Tommy didn't dare to even breathe, watching through frozen eyes as the axe was gently lifted from the ground with something akin to reverence, gliding through the air until the tip landed just below Tommy's eye. His bottom eyelash was caught beneath it, the blade stinging as a hair-thin cut was sliced through his skin.
Warrior paused, waiting for a reaction from Tommy.
He received none, other than a quick glance towards Wilbur. Like a silent plea for help that he knew would never be answered.
He couldn't tell if Wilbur smiled at that or if it was the trick of the light, mixing in with his fear-driven thoughts to conjure hallucinations of further villainy.
"Tell me, Thes," Techno asked gently, words laced with a foreign level of carefulness that only emerged when they had played board games together on rainy days. "Tell me you did it because you were angry. Tell me that you dumped that vial of poison in my father's drink because you wanted him dead yourself. Tell. me."
His voice took on an edge at the end, leaning towards maliciousness. Like the time he had forced Tommy to watch him kill an innocent man for no other reason than that the young hero wasn't listening to him, too enraptured in the Agency's orders to protect the civilians than to get himself out alive.
Tommy still remained silent, every blink reminding him of the blade tucked below his eye.
Maybe he would get a scar to match with Quackity; play up the media as a direct hero survivor of a Syndicate attack, when in reality he'd only survived because he'd allowed others to die.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
He was startled by another sharp sting by his eye as the axe moved a centimeter to the side, sharp edge grazing his nose and leaving behind a line of red, drops of fresh blood beading on the surface.
"Theseus, look at me. Answer me."
Tommy blinked again, fixating his gaze on the red, swirling irises of his second brother.
"Tell me why you tried to kill him."
Tommy's tongue felt like it was led in his mouth, unsure of how to answer as the blade ticked up even closer to his eye. It thrummed with power, pure, unstoppable power that had killed so many before him.
It would be so easy to kill him now.
"I..." he opened his mouth, snapping his jaw shut immediately after as a scared breath rattled through his lungs. Speaking took a ridiculous amount of effort; nearly unfathomable as the pain in his slowly began to increase. As though it was amplified by the terror running through his veins.
"I was angry."
Techno's eyes narrowed, looking unimpressed by the response.
"Somehow, I find myself doubting that Theseus."
Tommy shook his head, slow and unsteady, as he was trapped under the harsh scrutiny of people he called family. Techno's gaze felt like it was boring into his soul, instantly reading his weakened words to be a lie.
"It's true," Tommy muttered, though no force lays behind the rebuke.
Lying was pointless, he knew. But he also couldn't bring himself to speak the truth.
Warrior and Siren exchanged another long look, the slightest flick of facial expressions acting as Tommy's only understanding of what they agreed on. He almost wondered if they were planning how to get the truth out of him, buried beneath layers of carefully twisted lies and broken emotions. Maybe they would dig the axe deeper into his skin, or twist a knife into his palm. Or maybe they'd be more creative, just as the autopsies had said, using acid or either of their true powers.
The blade beneath his closed eye pressed closer, threatening to send another stream of blood sliding across the smooth surface. Its weight rested against his nose, unsteady breaths from his nose making the metal fog.
Until it was gone, torn away, and brought back to Techno's side.
Tommy couldn't help but let out a long sigh of relief, slouching in his chair despite how it tugged the chains against irritated skin.
"Very well then," was all the man said, as though he didn't have a fucking weapon to Tommy's face just a moment before. "If you insist on lying so much, little one, I would recommend becoming better at it. But I guess that the Agency has taken even that away from you, hasn't it?"
He couldn't formulate the words to mumble a weak reply; a hasty defense of the same people who had raised him, who had trained him since he was young.
"You know," Techno paused, as though testing his thoughts, hand flicking non-exist dust off of the edge of his axe. Like he was sampling how to say them to best stick to Tommy; nothing but a bug to a watching spider's web. "I wish you actually did kill my father. That way I could at least know that the heroes haven't brainwashed you too far to feel emotion. That you could still be the anger we need to thrive, to get things done in this godforsaken city."
Tommy was taken aback by the pure hatred that suddenly filled his mouth, spat on the floor with his brother's short-lived speech. The resentment that he'd only heard from Wilbur–Siren–, but never Warrior.
A resentment that didn't end there.
"Tell me Tommy, have you ever been angry? So angry you wanted to rip them apart piece by piece and stomp on their ashes? Because I have. It's normal to want that if someone has wronged you. It's normal to act on those impulses, my treasure, because it's what makes us human. What makes us strong and others weak."
He flinched, a purely instinctual movement, metal dragging against his swollen stab wound. Techno took a deep breath, shuddering with the abrupt string of declarations that had ripped out of him. A rare moment of weakness from the elder, with his fists clenching into white knuckles and teeth grit.
Tommy said nothing. As always, he stood by and watched and said nothing.
"Don't you see, Theseus?"
Silence.
"They've ruined you."
Tommy ripped his eyes away, fixating on the stained sections of the floor. He felt blood from the wound underneath his eye run down his face, reminiscent of a tear, and drip down to join the other dark splotches of gore.
For some reason, the sight fueled him enough to speak.
"They haven't done shit to me," he croaked, voice cracking.
Another drop landed on the ground.
But then Techno was in front of him, moving as quick as lightning until he was just as close as Wilbur had been, axe dropped on the ground with a resounding clang. His hand rested atop Tommy's, callused fingers on sliced and scarred knuckles. His fingertips traced over years worth of broken bone, of bloody scars, of split skin.
"Tell me then, Tommy," he rumbled, the deep tone shaking the young hero to his core. "Who sent you to kill Phil, someone you love just as much as Wilbur and I? Who told you to do that? I think we both know that you would never have the guts to do it yourself."
And there it was.
The big question.
Tommy's lips quivered, a fresh wave of tears resurfacing, a few escaping to mix with the blood on his face. Techno wiped those watery streams away easily, flicking them onto the floor with a pinch of his thumb before cupping his cheek.
"Just tell me, little Theseus. Who sent you after Phil?"
His voice was deceivingly gentle. Techno was never this gentle.
But he was his brother.
"Schlatt," Tommy finally whispered, broken and exhausted.
Techno and Wilbur simultaneously grinned, the expression a twin of both relief, anger, and joy. Tommy only collapsed further into his chained seat, face falling into the villain's comforting hold as more and more tears fell. To press into that warmth for reassurance that he had said the right thing, that he was finally done fighting this battle of wits between his family.
Techno supplied it easily, his free hand moving to press around Tommy's wrists, glancing off of the pulse point that steadily beat there.
There was a small click and the rattling clink of metal before the weight over his first hand disappeared. Then the second. Then the heavy concrete that seemed to cement him to the floor lifted, chains around his sternum and legs lifted with unnatural ease until the traces of entrapment were gone, cast away with a lazy toss.
He was free.
The thought only made him cry harder.
"Shh, it's okay Toms," Wilbur cooed, moving to sift through the matted curls of his hair, long nails scratching his skull. "That's all you had to say. I'm proud of you, darling."
Tommy pitched forward, allowing his brother to wrap his arms around him and draw the boy close to his chest, swiping the pad of his finger over the blood dripping from Tommy's face. He hummed, a lulling tune that almost instantly made his eyes fall unwillingly shut, warmth and exhaustion running through him.
Techno crouched next to them, level with Tommy's height to brush the hair from his forehead and trace over his earlobe.
The boy was asleep in moments.
Warrior and Siren smiled fondly at his small form tucked against the younger's chest, breathing deeply from the quick cast of Wilbur's spell. He sometimes forgot how powerful his abilities could act; sourced from strong emotion, at times overwhelming to the receiver. Techno found it funny how quickly the boy had collapsed; evidence of Wilbur's relief and love for the little hero.
"It's decided then," Warrior mused, hand falling away for a moment to inspect the cut underneath Tommy's eye. With a simple touch and wave of energy, the wound healed, leaving nothing but pure, unmarred skin behind. Untouched, just as it should be.
Wilbur glanced at him briefly before pressing his face into Tommy's curls, breathing in deeply. Techno could just barely see his brother nod in agreement, too enraptured by the fact that Tommy was finally there, that he had finally told them.
That they could finally keep him for their own, away from the greedy claws of the Agency.
He would hate them at first.
But Wilbur could make sure he grew used to them. To them being a family, working together to bring back the greatness that L'manburg used to be.
And Techno could teach him all he knew. How to spill blood; reclaim it as his own.
And with that flick of a switch, with Tommy's influence, the Syndicate could rise.
The four of them with it.
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A/N
*cut to the Syndicate and the Agency beating the absolute shit out of each other, decking each other in the head*
Tommy, just wanting to live his life without being manipulated by either side: can i please get a waffle
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Hope you enjoyed! I tried out a kinda new genre of writing style for this one, so let me know what you think compared to my usual. I do prefer writing this more descriptive style for oneshots, but at the same time it takes a lot longer soo...its a tough battle. PLEASE be honest about what you prefer!
Also...lot darker sbi. Which kinda fuels me and idk why. I have no explanation and will apologize for nothing. You knew what was coming from the tags alone
As always, comments, stars, and bookmarks are appreciated <3 have a great day!