Chapter Text
Eternity is a horrible thing.
Immortal beings such as elves and angels, who persist unless slain, tend to believe that they can understand its weight. That they have experienced and come to accept infinity, due to their lengthy lifespans. They’re quite foolish in that way.
It wasn’t until Scott died that he realized just how erroneous that belief was. The thousands of years he’d lived and died in a cycle of reincarnation paled in comparison to what lay ahead. How was he to know that even the lovliest of things would become downright torturous after enough time?
No matter how pretty or blissful their afterlife, for a person to exist eternally without the capacity for true growth or change was… it was awful. Unbearable.
He had never before stopped to consider how much he might miss that simple feeling of a broken fingernail or the stinging scrapes and bruises from an unfortunate tumble. But in a world without suffering, pleasure becomes the norm and normalcy becomes painful. What a tragic thing, to forget how to simply feel okay.
It didn’t help how undeniably artificial everything became as the centuries wore on. His sprawling meadows and cozy domestic relationship splitting at the seams every time he peered close enough to glimpse the inconsistencies.
Or rather, lack thereof.
The same sentences repeated with precisely identical intonation one too many times. Flowers bearing petals just a touch more symmetrical than could ever be natural. Smiles ever-so-slightly off painted onto familiar faces. Those miniscule details that screamed wrong, wrong, wrong sticking in his mind stubborn as pine sap until he couldn’t drown them all out anymore.
Because this wasn’t right. This wasn’t real.
Nothing here was real.
It had been hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions of years (not that this meant anything in the face of eternity) when he finally cracked.
Scott was sure he’d been a pitiful sight. Fallen to his knees and curled pathetically inwards, body wracked with uncontrollable tremors. Hands held out in prayer, clasped together so tightly the knuckles were pale as bone. An attempt to quell their shaking. The snowy wings gifted by his god half extended to catch a breeze that didn’t exist. Crystalline tears clung to the eerily flawless poppies below, blending with the evening dew. Pure desperation laced in his every word.
Pleading with Aeor to grant even a sliver of mercy. Whatever form that may take.
Whether it meant a return to that previous cycle of death and rebirth, or simply erasing him. Unweaving his very soul from the tapestry of the multiverse. Anything.
Anything at all to escape the unbearable torment of what was meant to be his happy ending.
Aeor had been more than merciful. The stag had chosen to be indulgingly, altruistically, generous. Like the benevolent deity he was, Aeor made a grand sacrifice for his champion.
Summoning up those last fading remnants of power of a forgotten and unworshipped god, Aeor had pulled Scott from death’s grasp and transported him somewhere new. A world where the elf could once again experience the thrills of life’s twists and turns, the oh-so necessary and riveting nature of uncertainty.
Where Scott would be able not only live, but thrive. He could grow and change, encounter unfamiliar people and gain new experiences. He could rediscover the near-forgotten miracles of learning, of taking risks, of witnessing something -anything- for the very first time.
He could breathe again. He could truly feel again.
And wasn’t that just the most unbelievable thing? That Scott had consumed the few remaining shreds of divinity from the very god he’d sworn unwavering fealty too, unknowingly and with such a selfish request?
It was difficult to feel the guilt of his actions while so overcome by relief and gratitude. By Aeor’s grace and generosity, he was free.
His start in the new world had been difficult. It had been confusing, and even scary at times. Scott reveled in those feelings. Clinging greedily to those sensations he’d been too-long deprived of. It was nothing short of glorious.
When he’d first awoken in the world Aeor selected from him, it had been inside of somebody’s home. Scott was immediately drawn in by what he saw. The architecture was unlike any he’d ever encountered before. The joy he felt at the realization was unmatched.
Scott had no clue how long he’d spent, just marveling at the unfamiliar material and design of the home. It was small, but had plenty of character. Small scorch marks decorated several of the furnishings, and the walls had been stained with ash and soot. It brought to mind a certain explosive-loving emperor, and Scott smiled remembering the friendship they’d once shared. (While he was undeniably a petty and occasionally spiteful person, it was practically impossible to hold a grudge for so many years.)
Eventually, the apparent owner of the abode returned, entering through a window rather than the perfectly functional door. He was a short human man, donning a reflective silver jacket, large dual-colored goggles, and a head of oversaturated deep blue hair.
He’d been… less than pleased to find Scott inside. A small spark of energy had begun to form in his palm, pointed directly towards the newly-resurrected elf. Acting purely on instinct, he’d frozen the man in a large block of ice leaving nothing free save for his face.
The following conversation had been a bit tense, to say the least. There had been some critical misunderstandings, owed to Scott’s total ignorance regarding the universe he now inhabited. How was he meant to know that there was an odd system regarding “heroes” and “villains,” of which this human apparently fell into the latter category? Or that beings like angels and elves (of which Scott was both) were thought to be naught but fiction to this world’s people?
As they spoke, the homeowner’s anger and shock gradually gave way to a litany of other emotions, before finally settling on an exhausted sort of resignation. The two had struck a deal. (Not with destiny, though.) Scott was fairly uninterested in villainy himself, having grown tired of politics long ago, a weariness that never faded. But even still he agreed to be the man’s “secret weapon.” An emergency backup for dire situations.
It wasn’t as though Scott were lacking in raw strength. While Aeor was gone, his power wasn’t.
It was a vanishingly rare occurrence, for an angel to outlast their god. Many were under the false belief that for one to do so would make them a Fallen. That was not the case. To Fall was to have the divinity torn away, ripped from them by the very deity who had elevated them from mortality to begin with. Such a process left their soul broken and fraying at the edges, occasionally even resulting in the former angel’s demise.
This was not what happened to him.
Aeor had not revoked his angelic status, (though perhaps Scott would have deserved it for the consequences of his selfishness) and Scott instead became an Untethered angel. While his god Fell, he didn’t. Aeor’s divine grace, his legacy, lived on within Scott.
He was still capable of performing miracles in his god’s name, though the power was more limited. After all, Scott only held the fragment of Aeor that had been granted to him when he’d become his angel, his champion. He could no longer act as a conduit for the true might and divinity of his god, because that god no longer existed.
Thinking of that made him feel ill, though. He tried not to ponder it too much, instead putting his focus towards basking in the simple joys of living. He even embraced the perils, ones he faced more than a few times while upholding his end of the deal with the human.
In exchange for his aid in battle, the man educated Scott on the intricacies and culture of this world. It was incredibly different from anything he’d experienced before, but still he adapted quickly and with little difficulty. Scott was fairly well practiced in that sort of thing, having to learn and memorize countless foreign customs in order to create and maintain positive relations with other empires. Such were the duties of a responsible monarch.
Scott wasn’t quite sure when he’d gone from viewing Jack as nothing but a contractually-bound ally and mentor in matters of normalcy, to a genuine friend. It was undeniable how he’d come to genuinely care for the human. He’d grown fond of Jack’s loud and chaotic nature, even if it could still be a bit irritating on occasion.
Quite honestly, the chaos was one of the things Scott enjoyed. That unpredictability he’d lacked for so very long. It was impossible to guess what wild thing Jack was going to do next.
For example, when Jack threw open the door to their apartment with unnecessary force and a shout of “Oi! Scott! I’ve got someone for you to speak to!” the elf had absolutely zero clue what to expect.
Despite knowing it could be practically anyone, Scott still found himself blinking in confusion at the person he encountered when he finally reached the doorway.
Half-hiding behind Jack in a way Scott suspected was meant to be subtle, was a lanky blond teenager. After a couple moments of processing, he remembered that it wasn’t normal for someone in this world to have quite so many scars. Especially not someone so young.
He also noticed how among the teen’s litany of battle-wounds were marks clearly left by an enderman, which was exceedingly abnormal considering how there were no longer any living endermen in this universe’s overworld (though he supposed it was possible that the wounds had simply been inflicted by a hybrid.)
“Jack.” Scott hoped his tone managed to convey how thoroughly unimpressed he was at the moment. “Why do you have a child?”
“I’m not a fucking child! And he doesn’t- he doesn’t fucking have me, I’m just here.” The child crossed his arms with a scowl.
Scott raised a single eyebrow. He was almost impressed by the way this teen managed to be so confrontational while also visibly anxious. This subtle insight into the kid’s personality did nothing to illuminate Jack’s reasoning in bringing him here, though. Scott opted to initiate an impromptu staring contest with his roommate until answers were provided, remaining pointedly silent.
After a couple unnecessary moments of tension, Jack took a step away from the child, pointing to him and blurting out “He’s from your world!”
“...What.”
“...Ayup. Name’s Tommyinnit, biggest man in any universe.” The child said with an awkward half-wave.
Jack started inching away, as if he thought it was okay to bring home a random child from another universe and then not explain. Scott was not going to just let that slide.
The elf crossed his arms, feathers ruffling in annoyance. “Jack. Like, actually what the hell?”
“Uhhhh this is Niki’s son, he places blocks, and I’ve just remembered I have very important villain things to do so-I’ll-see-you-later-bye!” His roommate rushed out, before dashing down the steps in a blatant attempt to avoid further questioning. Rude.
“He is literally such a liar. He doesn’t even have his costume! How dumb does this man think I am?” Scott asked, offended.
“You know Jack Manifold. Always a bit of a wrongun, that one. I reckon his incredible bitchiness is so powerful it’s managed to transcend universes.”
The elf laughed. “So true. We should totally tell him that when he gets back.”
While being ditched with a random inter-dimensional teenager hadn’t been on Scott’s agenda for the day, he wouldn’t say it was the worst possible turn of events. It was shocking, at the very least. For good or for ill, being surprised was a unique quality of life that he had come to thoroughly appreciate.
So sure, why not. He could roll with this. Like Jack before him, Scott would take up the reins of mentorship for a person struggling to find their footing in an entirely new world. After all, who could possibly be more qualified?
Fundy was acting very normal.
If he kept telling himself this, it would become true. He was manifesting it. Speaking it into existence. (Only in his own head, of course. Talking to himself out loud was not the kind of normalcore-boy behavior he was going for right now.)
He was being very normal, and nobody could tell he was anxious. Not even his own dad.
Especially not his dad.
…These self-affirmations were not helping as much as he’d like.
It was hard not to feel anxious around his dad. Especially recently. Wilbur had been getting more and more stressed as the days wore on, and Fundy couldn’t help but be afraid of the day that anger got turned on him.
Not that it ever had. Even if Wilbur was prone to snapping at people when under pressure, (Fundy had seen it more than once over Saturday family dinners) he was always careful not to misdirect his frustrations towards his son.
Even on the rare occasion that he did, it was never more than a few pointed words that he apologized for profusely after calming down.
He really was a great dad.
Fundy had been with Wilbur since he was eleven, his dad being barely twenty at the time. He still couldn’t be quite sure why the hero had decided to foster some random kid, but Fundy was definitely grateful for it. It was really nice to finally have an adult who actually talked to him and cared about his happiness, instead of just being ignored or receiving bits of shallow small talk at the best.
Not that Wilbur was perfect, obviously. He could still be pretty dang annoying.
Due to his career in heroism, Wilbur was overprotective to a fault. Even though his identity as Alchemist was almost entirely separate from his personal life, it hadn’t stopped a villain from connecting the dots enough to use Fundy as bait in a trap. They’d both managed to escape unscathed, but it had planted the seed in Wilbur’s head that his heroism put Fundy in constant danger.
It had been only one instance, though. Not to mention that it had been two years since this happened. Plus, he wasn’t made of glass. Fundy was more than capable of taking care of himself. None of his caretakers had ever bothered to drive him to and from school before Wilbur, so he’d learned at a young age how to be quick and clever to avoid getting mugged on the walk.
He was older now, and more capable. Even ignoring the fact nobody had even attempted to use him to get to Wilbur since that incident two years ago, he would probably be able to handle himself if something like that happened again. He’d done a lot of training (without his dad’s knowledge) to be sure of just that.
As great as it was that Wilbur cared, it was stifling. He still treated Fundy like a naive little kid. Never letting him go anywhere by himself, and rarely permitting him to leave if he was going to be with friends his old age instead of a trusted adult. Hell, he was lucky his dad even let him keep his job.
Freezy Cold wasn’t even the place Fundy wanted to work, but at least it was something. As much as he begged and pleaded to just be allowed to work at Quackity’s casino, his dad insisted he had to wait until he was legally old enough. It wasn’t like he’d be handling alcohol or working security, either! Quackity had offered to employ him as a dealer, and Fundy had wanted nothing more than to accept.
But always doing his utmost to ensure Fundy never had the opportunity to be hurt (or experience a shred of freedom) wasn’t the only manifestation of Wilbur’s overprotectiveness, oh no no no! There was also the emotional aspect.
Despite the fact Wilbur knew full well that Fundy was aware of his identity and all the things working as a hero entailed, he still had an annoying habit of hiding injuries so as not to worry his son. As if Fundy was just some little kid that wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Wilbur also outright refused to talk about work. Even when it was clearly bothering him, like right now. He’d been getting more and more stressed out over the last couple weeks, but his lips remained sealed tighter than a stubborn pickle jar.
It was just frustrating, especially since Fundy knew he could help. He was smart. Whatever the problem was, he’d probably be able to come up with at least the framework for a solution. Even if he wasn’t, it would still be nice to be in the loop. When your job is in heroism, any problems at work can affect people in the entire city. Being kept in the dark probably put Fundy in more danger, even if Wilbur refused to see it like that.
He was sick of being babied all the time.
So maybe, perhaps, Fundy had dabbled in a bit of classic teenage rebellion. Who could blame him? When faced with so much parental smothering, anyone was bound to lash out. At least it wasn’t anything too extreme.
…Okay, maybe it was a bit extreme.
…Very extreme, actually. At least by most people’s standards.
But Wilbur didn’t know, and Fundy was pretty keen on keeping it that way. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. Or majorly piss him off.
Yeah, that’s why Fundy was currently just a giant bundle of nerves. He’d been carrying out his little acts of rebellion for almost a year now, and keeping them hidden really well. That didn’t stop the faint anxiety that buzzed beneath his skin whenever he had a conversation with his dad. He really didn’t want to get caught.
Days like this were a lot worse, though. When Wilbur would spend longer than usual at work, coming home with a gentle smile that did nothing to hide the slight furrow in his brow and the clench of his jaw.
If Wilbur discovered his little secret when he was already in such a terrible mood from work, he’d be absolutely pissed. Fundy would probably be grounded for the rest of his life, at the very least. The fox hybrid shuddered at the thought.
Tired as he was, Wilbur was also incredibly observant. It didn’t help that his own sleep deprivation left Fundy far less capable of masking his emotions than normal.
“Everything alright, my little champion?”
“Yeah, Dad. I’m fine.”
He was fine.
Wilbur wasn’t going to find out.
Definitely.
After a lengthy discussion in which Tommy was made horrifyingly aware of how much weird shit he’d inadvertently done in this universe already, Scott had cheerfully declared that he was going to help Tommy acclimate to this world’s culture. No matter how much Tommy had nagged the man and tried to force him to explain what the fuck that was supposed to mean, he never received an answer more specific than “Oh, you’ll see!”
Scott was a bit of a bitch, but he had also dissed Jack Manifold with a practiced sort of ease, so he couldn’t be all bad. Only a man of incredible culture like Tommy himself would participate in such distinguished pastimes.
So, Tommy made the decision to at least give this guy a chance to prove his worth as a teacher-figure. It would be nice to finally be able to do shit like use features on his phone besides messaging without twenty minutes of suffering and intense labor. Plus, it was nice having someone who’d presumably know exactly what aspects of this world Tommy would and would not understand.
“Sure. Teach me. I am ready to be full of the knowledges, Scott.”
The elf grinned, clapping his hands together loudly. “Great! Alright, most important thing first. You and me- we’re going a little trip. This is very important. Absolutely vital to your understanding of this world, trust me.”
Well that was definitely sus as hell.
Tommy made sure the distrust was plain on his face. If Scott really was from his world, he’d probably understand. Everyone here seemed soft as hell, like they’d never even spent years in constant danger. While he’d heard some rumors that there were servers like that, he wasn’t sure they held any truth.
“Is this a trap? You legally need to tell me if this is a trap. Otherwise that would entrapment, which is a crime.” Tommy stated confidently, arms crossed in defiance.
Scott seemed thoroughly unimpressed by the teen’s attempts at an intimidating glare. “It’s not a trap, it’s the first step in your official training.”
On one hand, that was not really much less sus. On the other, he was curious as shit. This world was big and confusing and weird, and now that Quackity wasn’t an option… Tommy could really use some guidance. He was man enough to admit everything would be easier if he didn’t try to be a stubborn dumbass and to go it alone.
That didn’t mean he was just going to agree off the bat, of course. He had some demands.
…One demand.
It was fucking important, though. Nobody could deny that.
Important enough Tommy decided not to bother phrasing it as a question. If Scott had an issue with this, he could fucking fight him. Tommy wouldn’t hesitate to throw hands. Especially not when the stakes were so high.
“I’m going to bring my dog.”
“Sure. Where is it?” Good, it seemed Tommy wouldn’t be needing to get into a physical altercation on this fine day.
“He’s back at Niki and Puffy’s flat.”
Scott’s face morphed into a more thoughtful expression. “Alright. I can take you there to get your dog, or whatever, but there’s just… one tiny thing.”
Of course there was a catch. There always was, when somebody was doing nice shit for him. Tommy had learned to accept that truth a long time ago, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t still be a bit pissed off about it. Seriously, couldn’t things just be easy for once in his Prime-damned life?
“What.” He snapped.
“...So I’m teeechincally not allowed to drive Jack’s car anymore.” -The elf gave a brief wince- “I mean, obviously I’m still going to, but like… don’t tell him.”
Oh, it was just that. Maybe Tommy had been quick to assume the worst. Hm.
“Alright, deal. Let’s go get my beloved precious Jeremy, king of my heart, god amongst men, ruler of all he l-”
“If you keep inventing titles I’m gonna make you leave the dog at home.”
“Fuck you!”
After spending several minutes searching increasingly unlikely locations, Scott finally located Jack’s spare car key wedged under one of the tiles on the bathroom floor. Tommy wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or terrified by the elf’s dedication. He could respect the grind, though.
They clambered into the car, Scott’s position in the driver’s seat forcing his oversized wings to press into the elf’s back in a way that just had to be uncomfortable. It seemed the seat hadn’t exactly been designed with winged folk in mind. Seemed like a massive oversight, in Tommy’s opinion.
Scott slotted the stolen key into the car’s… key-hole… thing, and activated the vehicle which came to life with a low rumbling sound. Tommy wondered briefly about the safety of this contraption. Now, he was by no means an expert on these things, but both Niki and Quackity’s cars ran a lot smoother than this.
A few seconds later, and he was worried about his own safety for an entirely different reason. Tommy was starting to understand more and more just why Jack had banned his roommate from driving. Every abrupt stop and chaotic swerve only heightened the teen’s anxiety.
“What the fuck are you doing!?”
“Relaaaax. I’ve only crashed, like, twice. Plus, it’s way faster this way!” Scott lifted his hands from the wheel to give a dismissive wave, and they nearly careened directly into a light pole.
Tommy buried his face in his arms. “I can’t believe this is how I’m going to die”
“Oh, don’t be a baby. This is fun.”
“You’re fucking mental.”
Scott rolled his eyes, but to Tommy’s great relief he did start to infuse a bit more caution into his driving.
They finally arrived at the cafe, and he nearly flung himself out of the vehicle. The stale city air had never tasted sweeter, and the stability of the pavement beneath his feet was the best thing Tommy had ever felt. Relief flooded his veins that he had somehow managed to make that entire journey and come out the other end fully intact.
Holy Prime, that drive was going on the list of Top Ten Tommyinnit Trauma Moments™. A high bar, considering his life up to this point.
After every great trial and tribulation, life grants a reward for your perseverance. (<<< That statement is not fucking true at all even a little bit.) In this case, Tommy was gifted the divine presence of his most beloved. His anchor in a sea of uncertainty. His world. The bright, shining star in a cold and unforgiving void. The one who truly understood him, better than any other.
That’s right, Jeremy.
His beautiful perfect Jeremy. The only dog of all time. King of Tommy’s heart.
As soon as he was done recovering from the perilous journey, Tommy had dashed upstairs at Mach 5 and scooped up the precious bundle of fluff into his arms with only the utmost care. He would sooner blow up L’manberg himself than harm Jeremy, even by accident.
…Okay, maybe not that.
But the point stood. Tommy loved this puppy so very much.
With Jeremy by his side, Tommy was unstoppable and infallible. There was nothing he couldn’t achieve so long as this perfect little creature continued to believe in him.
Tommy was not even ashamed to admit he’d gotten a bit distracted and spent ten full minutes just sitting on the couch pampering the small animal with the love and affection that he so clearly deserved.
When he finally returned outside, (after quickly informing Niki that he was off to do big man shit) Scott seemed to be a bit irritated by the wait. Sucks to be him, but the only person whose feelings Tommy cared about was Jeremy.
Yes, Jeremy counts as a person.
But like, a really fucking poggers one who isn’t capable of lies or betrayal. Maybe Jeremy was actually just better than a person. Absolute icon.
Rather than just getting back into the car, Tommy gently and delicately placed his beloved puppy on the ground before drawing his netherite sword. He didn’t point the blade at Scott, but made sure to hold it in a way that displayed his experience in combat.
“If my puppy gets hurt or scared even the tiniest bit, I’ll cut of your fucking head.”
The elf raised both hands in the air, but his expression didn’t look all too intimated. “Jeez. Okay, I get it! Don’t upset the dog.” Scott shook his head slightly. “My Aeor, you’re worse than Shrub.”
“...Who?”
“Not important. Now, let’s go. We’ve got places to be!”
With more than a little reluctance, Tommy returned the sword to his inventory and retrieved the precious pup waiting patiently by his ankles. Satisfied he’d made his stance clear, he re-entered the car and shot a quick prayer to Prime that Scott would take his words to heart.
And he did! Take notes, children. Threatening people with deadly weapons works and there is absolutely nothing wrong with it. Want to achieve something? Try threats! Subscribe for more life hacks.
He wasn’t even full of primal dread when they reached their destination this time, a marked improvement. Rather than making a mad dash to free himself from the giant hunk of iron and (probably) redstone that had almost become his tomb, Tommy took a couple moments to analyze the building.
It was made of brown bricks, with giant glass pane windows that made up nearly the entire front of the building. Even the door had somehow been made from glass! (Though the handle and frame of it were still iron, which was probably a good decision for its structural integrity.) Inside were quite a few people, which he wasn’t too much a fan of.
But, this world was way more populated than the DSMP. Hell, it was more populated than even Hypixel, probably! If Tommy was going to be here for an indeterminate amount of time, that was just something he’d have to get used to.
Maybe that was why Scott brought him here in the first place! Exposure therapy, or whatever.
“So, uh.” Tommy started awkwardly, realizing they’d been sitting in the parked car in total silence for longer than would be considered normal. “What is this place?”
“This” -Scott gestured grandly- “is Starbucks! Trust me, it’s very important to your training. We are definitely not just here because I wanted an iced coffee.”
Tommy squinted. “You are lying to me right now. That is not poggers.”
Scott feigned a gasp. “What? Me? Nooo, I’d never!”
Rolling his eyes, Tommy shut the car door with far more force than necessary to express his frustration. He hoped it got fucked up and Scott got berated for a very long time by Jack Manifold. Would serve him right, lying bastard.
Anger bubbled within his veins, squirming beneath his skin like dozens of restless snakes. He knew it was rational. This was something harmless. Plus, even if it weren’t the direct goal, Tommy could probably learn something just by having an opportunity to openly observe someone who knew how to do normal shit in this world.
But. He’d been lied to. He was sick of always being fucking lied to. Lied to, and then treated in such a dismissive manner. Like he was just a dumb irrational little child. Just a baby throwing a temper tantrum.
God, Tommy wanted to punch somebody right now. Wanted to utilize what little he’d retained from Wilbur’s lessons on using words as weapons, to spit insults that would hit someone right to their core. Find those little festering wounds in their heart, their nagging insecurity, and pry them open bit by bit.
It was stupid. He was being fucking stupid. This really wasn’t a big deal. He shouldn’t be this angry.
He shouldn’t.
He shouldn’t.
But his feelings didn’t care about logic. The instincts honed by countless betrayals both great and small told him that this was a breach of trust, and deserved to be treated in kind. There was a bright white fire blazing in his chest, lapping at his ribcage. His head screamed to break something, to hurt somebody, just so the feeling would go away.
He knew it wasn’t right. He knew he needed to calm down. His anger had always been one of his greatest flaws (as Dream so dearly loved to remind him, always with that smug condescension buried beneath a layer of faux-sympathy.)
Fuck. That really wasn’t helping. Thinking of that fucking monster only gave more fuel to the raging inferno that scorched his bones, trying to consume him from the inside out. Just begging to be released in a bout of senseless and destructive fury.
Tommy squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, petting Jeremy with delicate and carefully-measured strokes. He pictured the anger as a ball of noxious black smoke confined in his chest, and imagined it slowly pouring out through his nose with every exhale.
The tiny animal in his arms also aided in the calming of his irrational rage. He would never hurt his beloved Jeremy, and holding the pup prevented him from trying to harm anything -or anyone- else. The hard-wired instincts telling him that anyone he pissed off would use his beloved pet against him kept the wild and destructive thing clawing at his insides contained, unwilling to risk losing another pet even when lost to the turbulent seas of his own emotion.
Tommy was grateful Scott hadn’t been attempting to speak to him, as it certainly wouldn’t help the process.
After what felt like hours of petting his dog and repeating the breathing patterns he used for his panic attacks, Tommy felt somewhat normal again. He was still a bit angry, but it wasn’t blinding and all-consuming like it had been moments before.
Honestly, the thoughts Tommy had while in that state made him sick. It reminded him of Wilbur. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the ache that thought prompted.
He was sure his brother had experienced this same feeling.
The anger that tears you apart brutally piece-by-piece with a thousand clawed hands, screeching and howling until it gets too big to keep locked up inside your head and manifests in terrible ways. Breaking things, hurting someone for no reason, blowing up a nation.
It had gotten worse over time. As if every new scar, every broken promise, every devastating loss was just fuel to that furious, destructive thing lying dormant inside him. It always made its presence known when it mattered, giving extra strength to his blows in the midst of combat.
But it also sometimes awoke when it shouldn’t. Stirring at a minor inconvenience, or when another person made a small misstep. Sometimes it just decided to come to life for no reason at all.
Tommy had been trying to get better at controlling it. Trying to tune out the way his muscles would ache to jump into action, how his fingers would twitch for a flint and steel or else yearn for the weight of a well-sharpened axe. Trying not to let the feeling consume him the way it had so many times before.
That, Tommy thought, must be the difference between himself and Wilbur. Because even if the anger was the same, even if Wilbur felt that same guilt and disgust towards his own thoughts and actions, it seemed like he never fought to control it. To chain up those urges until they could be subdued and laid back to rest.
Maybe he had.
Maybe he just failed.
It didn’t really matter, at least not anymore.
Tommy finally reopened his eyes, taking a couple moments to re-familiarize himself with his surroundings. He was leaning against Jack’s beaten-up car, stood on the sidewalk in front of “Starbuck.” Jeremy was safe in his arms. There were no immediate dangers.
His face felt hot, no doubt flushed from embarrassment along with the fading remnants of his irrational anger. At least his breathing had returned to normal, and his irritation had been reduced to a level that was actually appropriate for the situation.
Scott was standing a few feet away, lips pressed in a thin line. His feathers were fluffed to maximum size, but the large snowy wings were pressed tightly to his back despite having presumably exited the vehicle some time ago. He caught Tommy’s eye and winced.
“I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to…” The elf trailed off, looking incredibly awkward.
Tommy inhaled deeply. “S’not your fault, not really. I was just- It’s fuckin’ stupid. Stupid thing to get mad about.” He glanced away, mumbling a quiet “Sorry.”
Scott forced a laugh, likely trying to brighten the mood. “Well I guess this means I’m paying for drinks, huh?”
“Oh absolutely. That’s what you get, bitch.”
“Oh, woe is me. Facing consequences for my actions.”
Tommy let out a snort at the man’s dramatics, and the two of them made a silent agreement to move on as though this had never happened.
He was glad Scott was willing to be chill about this shit, instead of berating or even just teasing him for overreacting. He knew it was dumb to freak out over small shit like that, having it pointed out again and again was just fucking annoying.
Aside from the crowds, (which weren’t too overwhelming when he had someone to talk to and a magnificent dog in his arms to ground him) Starbuck was actually not bad.
It definitely didn’t have the same homely or personal feel of Niki’s bakery, but it was still pretty alright. The polished and practical interior of the place reminded Tommy of the Tubburger in Las Nevadas. It wasn’t quite as gaudy, (nobody could be as extra as big Q) but the same sort of vibe.
Tommy’s biggest gripe with the place would be the fact that it took far too long for Scott to translate the gibberish on their menu. He was incredibly glad the elf chose to make him pick a drink before they got in line, because he would’ve hated to make some poor employee deal with a line of angry and impatient customers just because Tommy didn’t know the weird secret code words they used for “big” “medium” and “small.”
He ended up getting an iced caramel ribbon crunch frappuccino, which was a monstrosity of sugar with a small amount of caffeine in it. He fucking loved it. Plus, he’d gotten to watch Scott pay for the drinks and subsequently interrogate him on how this world’s currency worked. This little trip had turned out to be a great learning experience after all!
Finishing the rest of his drink with a loud and obnoxious slurping sound, he tossed the cup into the garbage and looked back up at Scott.
“So what now, big man?”
The elf tapped his chin a couple times, appearing thoughtful. Tommy thought it was kind of funny how his elven ears twitched while he was thinking. Kind of like a rabbit, or a deer.
Glancing from the ears to the large owl wings fidgeting along the man’s back, Tommy couldn’t help but feel a bit curious. He couldn’t be a half elf, his ears were far too long for that. Plus, his facial structure just screamed “elven.” At the same time, though, he knew it was incredibly rare for someone without majority avian blood to have wings, let alone ones large enough to function.
Was he an angel, then? He was from Tommy’s world, which was one that several gods liked to play around in, including the elder ones. If he was some god’s little chosen boy, though, why was he here? In a world it seemed deities couldn’t give a fuck about?
He didn’t get a chance to voice these questions, as Scott cleared his throat. It seemed he’d reached a consensus. Scanning Tommy up and down with his eyes, a grin overtook the man’s face.
“Alright, are you ready for something actually important?”
Papers littered the desk, sitting in messy piles without rhyme or reason. There were only a couple of slivers of the well-polished mahogany visible beneath the mess, to say nothing of the pens and other similar items obscured beneath the mountain of white. Countless reports, files, and notices, all equally urgent and demanding of attention.
Occasionally the papers would slide off their haphazard stacks, tumbling ungracefully to litter the floor. Several of the file cabinets were left open, their interior similarly disorganized. Four mugs sat empty on various surfaces, deep brown coffee stains painting their insides. A vase on the shelf at the back of the room held a half-dozen yellow roses, all dry and brittle. The wilted blooms were overdue to be replaced.
The office’s current state of disarray was a sharp contrast to the precise tidiness she usually maintained. He believed that having a clean workspace boosted productivity, and there was always plenty of work to be done. Not that any level of cleanliness would provide the solution to their current problems.
The room’s sole occupant was currently slumped forwards face down onto their desk, a perfect image of defeat. It was hard not to crumple under the pressures of a job like this. Knowing that countless people were dependent on them to make the right decisions, create the perfect solutions. Even a simple mistake could potentially harm thousands of people.
It was exhausting.
So, Eret would allow himself a few more moments to wallow before returning to work.
She’d never been under the false impression that being mayor would be an easy job, but it was an important one. They’d dedicated their life to trying to improve the quality of life for people in this city, and many of their efforts had paid off.
Some of their changes were small and superficial, minor boosts to general morale. For example, changing the city’s name from “Not a Very Good City” to “Good City.” (What had the founder been thinking, naming it that? Why had nobody bothered to change it until them?)
Others were actually more significant, more impactful. She had to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground on the argument, but Eret had slowly been able to get more hero presence in the city’s outer ring. The corruption within the city’s politics ran deep, but he had an unwavering devotion to his people and wouldn’t rest until they’d done everything they could to make things better.
Up until recently, the only part of their job that had provided any real trouble was trying to get things done despite the pushback from city council members who had a vested interest in ensuring prosperity only ever graced the already wealthy. While there had been one or two more immediate issues during Eret’s time in office, she’d mainly only ever had to worry about reforming flawed systems.
Over the past month, that had changed. Suddenly they were being swamped with more and more reports about spikes in the violent crime rate, missing persons, and even assasination attempts targeting politicians and heroes alike. It was clear that something was brewing, but they still didn’t have the faintest clue of what.
They were receiving reports from the hero agency with increasing frequency about oddly coordinated attacks, with the variety and persistence of the perpetrators implying that something much larger was at play. To call it concerning would be an understatement. She had so little information, and it seemed like the mounting pressure put onto the heroes’ shoulders might soon become too much for them to handle.
While it wasn’t technically their job to worry herself with the actual investigation, Eret still poured much of her free time into reviewing tapes and statements regarding the attacks. He was desperate for a solution, one to alleviate the constant strain on city resources.
Because being mayor required making hard decisions, especially at times like this. Was it morally right to divert funding from vital areas like infrastructure or education into the hero program, even if it seemed that something major and potentially catastrophic was in the works? What was really more important, quality of life or protection from the impending threat?
If they had more information, maybe he’d be able to make a more effective plan of action. How do you defend against an invisible enemy? The list of unknowns about the situation could fill a river.
When captured and interrogated, the people involved in these attacks always offered nothing but a single response. It didn’t matter what question they were asked. Every single one of them said the exact same phrase, spoken in the exact same tone. A cryptic seven-word message that provided nothing but a feeling of unease.
“By its grace, we will be saved.”
There was only a single connection between the people who’d been apprehended, and Eret was unsure of what to do with the information. A very statistically unlikely number of perpetrators were enderian hybrids. This was only noticeable because enderians were incredibly rare, and the fact that several of them were apparently involved in… whatever this was.
It didn’t feel like a coincidence.
But at the same time, it wasn’t like they could act on this information. What would they even do, round up and interrogate every enderian they could find in the city? To do so would be discriminatory and generally unethical.
Despite how they wracked their brain for any other information they might be missing, any dots waiting to be connected, she found nothing. It terrified him, the rate at which things were progressing and how powerless they were to prevent it.
The heroes had no clue either. Alchemist had reported some suspicions regarding involvement from the Winged Alliance, but these sorts of targeted attacks by highly-trained individuals just didn’t fit their MO.
The trio were notorious for never working with other villains, and their presence was far flashier. Their attacks were as much for show as for achieving their goals, and Eret just doubted they’d one day suddenly decided to switch to assassinations and gangs of trained attackers.
Midas along with a couple others had theorized the possibility that villains were starting to organize and unify in a way similar to the heroes. Not only was it a terrifying thought, but it seemed plausible. That was probably the main reason the mere thoughts sent icy chills down Eret’s spine.
While some (such as the Winged Alliance) were adamant about keeping to their own little groups, it wasn’t exactly unheard of for unassociated villains and criminals to lend one another aid if they happened upon a fight in progress. These occurrences were largely random and unpredictable, but incredibly frustrating as they more often than not led to the villain slipping away. If they were to become a regular occurrence…
It would be terrible news for the city as a whole. The main reason the heroes were able to protect people so effectively was their ability to call on each other for aid, and the way they trained to move together as a cohesive unit during a fight. Being able to rely on each other granted them strength, making the villains and criminals far more manageable.
Whether this theory held merit or not, one thing was certain.
She had to get back to work.
Eret sat up, running a hand down his face and taking a deep breath. She sifted through the clutter on her desk, picking out a report on Mycelium’s latest encounter with one of these attacks. They scanned it carefully, searching for anything new or useful. Anything at all.
Maybe if she just kept working, they’d eventually find something.
He certainly hoped so.
The familiar click of his shoes against well-polished black tile flooring brought a smile to Scott’s face. There were racks adorned with quality clothing as far as the eye could see, as well as a multitude of mirrors and a couple kiosks housing stylish accessories. The yellow light and dark wooden walls gave the sophisticated establishment an almost homey feel.
It certainly felt like home to him.
While it may sound shallow, clothes were important to him. They reminded him of his life before.
As an empire that specialized in textile exports, it was unsurprising that Rivendell had developed such a thriving fashion industry. You’d be hard pressed to find an elf in the kingdom who couldn’t sew with the proficiency of a professional tailor. The clothing made in Rivendell was the finest of any empire, something they prided themselves on.
What you wore was important on both a social and personal level. When attending an important event, it was customary to wear something made by yourself or a loved one. Gifting fine clothing was an important ritualistic part of any relationship, the time spent on the article signaling their closeness. For a new friend, it was customary to purchase clothes that you felt suited them.
Scott clung to every memory he had about Rivendell culture with desperation, terrified to forget who he’d been before that lengthy stay in the afterlife. He upheld every ritual and celebrated every single holiday he could remember, even those less important ones that had often fallen to the wayside in favor of his duties back when he was still emperor.
Because even if Rivendell was gone, the memory of it wasn’t. It brought comfort to know that he could still keep their culture alive, that Exor’s corruption couldn’t truly take this from him. The empire and the god they worshiped may both have fallen, but their spirit lived on through Scott.
He still fondly remembered Jack’s confusion and bashfulness the first time Scott had gifted him with a hand-tailored garment. It had been both a symbol of their connection, as well as the gratefulness the elf felt when his friend had helped him to decorate the apartment for winterfest despite the holiday not existing in this world. That jacket was still part of his roommate’s villain costume to this day, something that never failed to make Scott smile.
All sentimentalism and cultural significance aside, clothes were just fun. How a couple pieces of fabric allowed you to drastically alter the way you were perceived in the eyes of others. The feeling of joy from knowing you looked fabulous as hell. Looking in the mirror and being happy with what you see. What’s not to love?
It was some combination of these things that had led to Scott bringing the child here. Probably one of his favorite locations in this world.
The human fidgeted uncomfortably, shifting on his feet “What are we meant to be doing here, exactly?”
“You’re a teenager.” Scott started, a large smile on his face.
“...And?”
“And, it’s finally time for the moment every teenager in this world dreams of: Your makeover montage!”
The child blinked for a few moments, processing. His eyes darted around the multitude of colorful garments surrounding them, before returning to Scott. It was honestly hilarious how confused he looked. Really, how hard was it to grasp the concept?
…Admittedly, the fact Tommy had never watched a movie in his life and was therefore oblivious of this wonderful trope didn’t help. Still, Scott was determined to give him his indie coming-of-age film moment.
He was such a great mentor.
“Hmm. Only one question. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Rather than explaining, the elf simply offered a non-committal hum and began browsing the racks of clothing in search of something he felt would suit his new student. The clothes Tommy had now fit poorly, and were designed for comfort over looks. While there was nothing wrong with comfortable clothing, Scott felt the teens confidence might benefit from a wardrobe change.
“So this is just- we’re just fuckin’ shopping?”
Scott examined the top he’d pulled from the rack for a few seconds before returning it with a small shake of his head. “We are not just shopping. We’re finding you a new style.”
He glanced back up at Tommy, who still looked incredibly confused. “But… why?”
The elf adjusted his wings, trying to decide how to answer. He could provide any multitude of complex justifications. Share details about the cultural significance that buying someone a new outfit held for him. Admit that it was meant to symbolize the start of a friendship. They may not be on the hand-made custom clothing level yet, but Scott still felt they could be close one day.
He didn’t say any of this, though.
Instead, he replied with the simplest explanation. “Why not? It’s fun, and it can make you happy.”
Tommy seemed to accept this, even beginning to reluctantly cooperate as Scott flitted from rack to rack in search of a new look for the little human. It should be something that matched Tommy’s personality, bright and bold and loud. Attention-grabbing.
He discovered almost immediately that anything green was a definite no-go. That wasn’t much of an issue, as Scott didn’t think the color really suited his mentee anyways. Tommy seemed more like someone for warm colors with high saturation.
They tried out a few outfits, and as time passed the teen was quickly growing more and more enthusiastic. He went from glaring at mirrors and offering half-hearted “sure, whatever”s to actually showing off and giving detailed criticism about the ones he didn’t like. Even when loudly complaining, the light in his eyes made it clear he was having fun.
By the time they finally landed on an outfit he really liked, Tommy was grinning brightly. The clothes definitely suited him. They were bold and eye-catching, without sacrificing comfort. He seemed genuinely happy, something that Scott was proud of.
The baggy (and slightly stained) yellow sweater had been traded for a hot pink cropped t-shirt and a quarter sleeve black varsity jacket that he wore pulled down so the cuffs hugged his wrists and the body of the garment hung loosely off his back. The baggy sweatpants were replaced by a pair of black shorts that stopped at his mid thigh, made of a stretchy material that wouldn’t hinder his mobility.
While the shoes weren’t exactly the most practical, Tommy seemed to accept that because of how “badass” they looked. A pair black platform boots, with bright cyan laces that matched the accents on his jacket. (And yes, maybe Scott had picked out the cyan for sentimental reasons.) The pink knee-socks added to his color coordination, helping the outfit feel cohesive and carefully-constructed.
With the clothes themselves picked out, they moved on to accessories. While the outfit would still look good without them, cute accessories added a lot to a look. Plus, these accessories (probably) wouldn’t have any demon-brother souls trapped inside them. Always a good quality in a piece of jewelry.
Tommy’s right ear was pierced, so Scott let him pick out an earring for himself while he went to look at necklaces. They both spent more time than was probably necessary to make their decisions, eventually re-convening near the sunglasses display to share their finds.
The earring selected was dangly, made of a matte black metal and forged in the shape of a heart. Scott definitely approved. As for the necklace, he presented Tommy with a simple golden chain that had a stylized stag head pendant. While he didn’t explain the significance, there must have been something telling in his eyes judging by the way the teen’s smile softened slightly.
“Y’know I thought this would be stupid, but it’s actually really fun.”
“See? I told you!” The elf teased playfully.
Tommy crossed his arms and scowled, though the way the corners of his mouth kept twitching upwards rendered it pretty unconvincing. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t make a big fuckin’ deal out of it.”
“No, actually, I think I will. I was ri-ight~!” Scott sing-songed cheerfully.
“You are a right bitch.”
“Mhm!”
Tommy gasped suddenly, attention flying to something on the rack next to them. He reached out quickly, grasping a pair of sunglasses and fitting them on his face. Turning to admire himself in the mirror, a huge smile overtook the teen’s face.
“Look how fucking cool these are!”
The “these” in question were a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses with rose-tinted lenses and thin golden wire frames. They matched the rest of the human’s outfit nicely, and the combination of gold accents with the cyan he wore sparked some fond memories. Scott completely approved of the choice, and felt that he was becoming a great influence on Tommy’s fashion sense.
“You want to get them?”
“I- really!?” Tommy’s grin was infectious. “I mean- that’s right, bitch! You’re buying me these poggers sunglasses whether you want to or not!”
“Oh no, I’ve lost my free will. Whatever will I do?” Scott lamented, earning himself an eye roll that was barely visible from behind the colored lenses.
The shopping trip was definitely a rousing success. Not only had the teen unlocked a new and infinitely better style, they’d also found time to discuss things like customs and world mechanics for this universe. Like peoples’ lack of inventory, and how they couldn’t pick up or place blocks. Scott struggled to suppress his laughter when he found out that in his several weeks here, the teen had yet to notice that nobody else was operating on the same logic as him.
It was hilarious, honestly. Scott was an ancient elven king who also happened to be an angel with divine magic. A combination of several things that just didn’t exist in this world. Yet, he’d somehow done a significantly better job blending in than this human teenager.
Just goes to show the importance of observational skills, he supposed.
Scott glanced around briefly, but didn’t really see anything he wanted at the moment. Plus, his mission to get Tommy better clothes was already fulfilled. He’d accomplished his goal, and very well at that. He turned back to where the human was busy cooing at the tiny dog in his arms.
“Is there anything else you want before we leave?” He asked, mentally summoning up a view of his inventory to retrieve Jack’s credit card.
To Scott’s surprise, Tommy nodded aggressively. “We need to get something for Jeremy.”
Oh Aeor, he’d nearly forgotten what a nightmare children were. However could Scott have made such an incredible error? The follies of man may be great, but even immortal beings were flawed and susceptible to the whims of their own brains. The mind of any being, mortal or otherwise, was inherently an imperfect storage device for memory.
“Tommy. This isn’t a pet store. They don’t have stuff for dogs.”
The teen pouted, holding his dog higher in the air. The creature gave a quiet bark, tail wagging enthusiastically. It wiggled a bit in Tommy’s hands, licking the air and blinking with big, shining eyes. The thing was unfairly cute.
“Look at him! He deserves it! You wouldn’t want to disappoint this poor innocent baby boy, would you?”
“...This is manipulation.”
Tommy snickered. “Did I ask?”
He let out a long-suffering groan, but still cast his eyes around in search of something to appease the child. Playing along would be significantly easier than attempting to argue. There was a reason Scott normally avoided dealing with people’s children. Oh, well. At least it was Jack’s money.
His eyes fell briefly onto the bracelets, but the thought was quickly dismissed. The dog already had a collar, and a bracelet around its neck would probably be a choking hazard or something. The boutique didn’t have infant clothes either, only catering to teens and young adults.
Finally, he had an idea. Motioning for Tommy to follow him, he led the teen over to a large table covered by an assortment of handbags of all shapes and sizes. Hopefully this would be deemed satisfactory.
Confusion was evident on Tommy’s face, so Scott decided to be gracious and provide an explanation. “You wanted something for the dog, so… You can get a handbag to carry it in. Like a little ride, or whatever. It’ll be super cute.”
“Excuse me, he has a name and you will respect him.”
Scott raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t want to get a bag for him?”
“No no no- Well, wait- hey- hold a second big man. I never said that.” Tommy rushed out his words as quickly as humanly possible.
“That’s what I thought.”
The teen looked like he really wanted to spit more insults, but instead gave a half-hearted scowl and devoted his attention to finding a perfect carrying case for his pet. Scott was glad he’d managed to produce a solution so quickly. Scott wasn’t exactly an expert on human aging, and he didn’t want to risk the kid having a temper tantrum or something.
Do humans this age still do that?
Eh, it didn’t matter. Better safe than sorry.
Tommy eventually reached a decision, picking a black leather handbag with golden straps and buckles. It was a bit on the larger side, and plush enough the dog would probably be comfortable inside. Scott appreciated how well it matched the rest of the look.
Taking a moment to appreciate the fantastic outfit he’d helped create, Scott was struck by a thought.
“You look like you could belong in Mean Girls right now.”
Tommy tilted his head to the side. “In what?”
“It’s a movie.” Scott explained. “I’m saying you look like the pretty popular girls who would, like, spread nasty rumors about people and stuff.”
He grinned at that, turning to admire himself in a mirror again. “Hell yeah. I am on my toxic girlboss arc. Just because I’m the biggest man in the world doesn’t mean I can’t be #girl.”
“So true, king!”
Tommy’s smile faded a bit as he continued to study his reflection. There was a subtle shift in the air, and Scott couldn’t pinpoint what had caused it. It seemed important though, so he kept quiet and allowed the teen time to think.
When Tommy finally spoke, his voice was softer than usual. “I used to really hate looking in mirrors, y’know?”
Scott gave a wordless hum, prompting the teen to continue.
“It’s like- I’d look at my reflection but after a while it stopped feeling like myself. It just felt like looking at a fuckin’- a compilation of all the shitty stuff that’s happened to me. Especially this fucking thing-” He reached up to tug at the streak of stark white nestled among his golden curls, fist tightly clenched as though he were fighting the urge to rip it out.
Tommy sighed.
“And- and all of that- it’s still there. Some of the scars and shit are actually more visible now. But that’s- It’s not the part I immediately focus on, right?”
He finally tore his gaze from the reflection, turning around to look Scott in the eye. There was something almost desperate in his expression, like he needed to know that this was real. That the things he was saying and feeling actually made sense.
“Yeah?” Scott replied gently, an acknowledgement and encouragement all at once.
“Cause like- It- The-” Tommy tripped over his words, struggling to voice his thoughts. “Whenever I’d get new clothes- Or, not every time, but when I’d get actually nice ones. Like ones that looked good, it always had to be for a reason.”
Tommy’s gaze slid to the floor, the hand not holding Jeremy’s bag reaching up to tug at his sleeve.
“There was the special outfit Wilbur bought me for my thirteenth birthday, but that was basically just- It was mostly to prove to Phil that he was more responsible of a caretaker to me than the old man was to him. It was all spite. And then there was the L’manberg uniform, but that was for the country. For Wil.” He took a deep breath. “I have- I still have the suit I made myself. I hate suits, but I liked that one. And that was just for the stupid fuckin’ casino…”
He turned back towards the mirror.
“It’s always- Well, it was never just about me, you know? It was always for something- someone else.”
Scott noticed the boy’s gaze flit over to him in the mirror, and gave a reassuring nod.
“I guess it isn’t really about the clothes.” Tommy bit the inside of his cheek. “It’s- it’s me, innit? I’ve always been- I’m always following someone. Even when I try to pretend I’m not. I’m always like- I’m like an accessory to whatever other person bothers keeping me around and telling me what to do. Because it’s just fucking easier.”
He inhaled shakily, pulling at his sleeve with a bit more force.
“But this-” Tommy uncurled his fist from the black fabric, gesturing jerkily towards his outfit. “This is- The shirt, right? I chose that one. I chose the color because it was fun, and then looked until I found one I liked. And I also picked the shorts and the boots and the earring and the glasses and the bag-”
Tommy took a moment to catch his breath. His eyebrows, which had been tightly knit together with emotion, relaxed slightly. He gave a fragile breathy laugh. Scott noticed a tiny, shaking smile worming its way onto the teen’s face.
“And the best part-! The best part is it doesn’t fucking mean anything! It doesn’t prove something, it’s not a fucking symbol, it’s just- It’s just fun! It’s just for me.” The last sentence was spoken reverently, his voice sounding almost near tears.
Tommy placed a hand on Jeremy’s head, stroking the dog with only the utmost care and affection.
“I think… I always thought that it was easier to take orders from somebody. To let somebody else make all the- All the fucking choices. Tell me what to do, where to go, who to fight. Because then I wouldn’t have to think about it, I could just let someone else do the thinking. But…”
He scratched behind the puppy’s ears, earning an appreciative yap.
“But maybe it wasn’t easy. Maybe living for other people instead of for me was always just- It was always just really fucking hard but I never realized it before because that was all I knew.” A bitter laugh. “Prime, I’m so stupid.”
“Sometimes…” Scott finally spoke up. “Sometimes you end up doing the wrong thing because you didn’t realize you had any other options.”
The teen scoffed. “I- It’s not like I didn’t know I could think for myself. I was just so-”
“But did you feel like it?” Scott interrupted.
“What?”
“Did you feel like you had any other choice?”
Tommy was silent.
Scott stepped forwards slowly, placing a hand on the teen’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort. Tommy flinched slightly, but quickly relaxed into the touch before Scott could rethink his decision.
“Thanks for… y'know…” Tommy trailed off with a vague gesture, face colored by an embarrassed flush.
The elf smiled warmly. “Of course!”
A pause.
Scott gasped, a sudden smile overtaking his face. “Oh my Aeor. We just did a shopping trip makeover montage. Do you know what this means?”
“N- no? Should I?” Tommy looked vaguely concerned, glancing around quickly.
“We’re officially besties now!”
The teen’s shoulders dropped slightly, apparently realizing there was no immediate danger. His lips quirked upwards. The laugh that escaped him was slightly strained, but genuine nonetheless.
“Besties, hmm?” Tommy questioned.
“Uh-huh! Now we can go bully and judge people!”
The grin returned to Tommy’s face. “Lead the way then, king.”