Chapter Text
Tommy wore gloves. His friends had all accepted it as some strange quirk of his, maybe just an odd fashion choice.
He took them off in his house, but if he was anywhere near people, they were always tugged snugly over his fingers.
He had a few pairs, but usually stuck to a thin silky black pair he wore when he wanted as much mobility as possible in his hands.
Today he wore these as he walked home from work. He worked in a bakery, not out front serving people but in the back with Niki, helping her with the treats.
All the better for him— Tommy winced whenever he thought about his customer service days.
As he walked, the neatly paved road turned cracked and thin, and the buildings lost their neat, middle-class look and reverted back to the short, crumbling apartment buildings and shops that sold things Tommy thought it best not to think about.
He got mugged all the time walking home, and usually carried a single dollar bill on him just in case. More often than not the mugger just gave him a glare and stormed off.
That was the only kind of crime he was expecting, as he made his way home. Maybe a drug deal or two, or a D-class villain heading toward the city.
He was looking up at the sky, pausing to admire the mood, when a giant mass of darkness blocked out the moon.
Tommy barely processed the sound of metal on metal and labored breaths as a form— something huge fell to the ground in front of him.
“Shit,” he whispered, stumbling back, his eyes fixed in front of him.
That wasn’t a fucking D-class villain.
It was a villain, all right, just not a D-class one.
He was fucking seeing things.
He should run away. He should mind his own business.
Of course the universe had to dump a member of the Syndicate , bleeding and half-unconscious, in front of him.
He was just trying to enjoy the moon.
“Hey.” Tommy took a hesitant step forward, and freezing when the injured villain whipped out a blade, pointing it with a trembling hand at his throat, and turning to face him.
And Tommy’s suspicions were confirmed.
The Blade, with his mask covering his face and a giant, deadly looking slash across his chest.
“Woah there.” Tommy surprised himself with his calm, steady voice. “I’m here to help.”
Shit, this was definitely a bad idea.
Luckily, the Blade was too weak to fight, and the sword clattered to the ground, the villain following suit. Tommy caught him, grunting, and may him down.
He glanced around the alley, then at his gloved hand, and took a deep breath.
He tugged the glove gently off his hand, and placing it on the Blade’s wound.
Instantly light filled the alley, bright and sudden like a screen lighting up a dark room. Tommy kept his eyes open, focused intently on the wound.
The skin was stretching over the exposed bloody wound, weaving around itself to formatted after layer until there was no evidence that the Blade had ever been hurt except the blood staining his white shirt.
Tommy waited for the inevitable, keeping his eyes open and fixed on the semi-conscious Blade.
Then he felt in, a stabbing ripping feeling of agony, and he let out a strangled croak. He kneeled there for almost a minute, his mouth twisted in pain. The Blade did have uncannily fast healing abilities, so the wound must have been bad to leave him in a state like this, Tommy thought bitterly.
It had been so long since he’d absorbed someone’s pain and healed them. He forgot how torturous it felt.
He grabbed his glove and stood,turning to leave, when he felt a hand grip his ankle.
He glanced down to see the Blade squinting at him.
“You... healed me.” The voice spoke, deep and groggy.
“Yup.” Tommy nodded, then kicked his foot free and ran for his life.
-
His apartment had never felt so warm.
Both his roommates were out, as per usual, so he had the couch all to himself, and he flopped down, sinking into the cousins which felt like they were attempting to eat him alive.
He flicked on the tv.
“—Reports say that the Blade was able to escape, however Pro-Hero Dream,” Tommy felt his eyes narrow at the mention of Dream— “Tells is that he was fatally wounded. He was allegedly seen last entering the slums. We encourage any sightings to be called in— you might not be wearing a cape, but one phone call could make you a hero—“
He switches the channel to a game show.
-
“Techno! Oh my fucking— get over here so I can strangle you for scaring me half to death! I thought you’d bled out in an alley somewhere or been taken by heroes! Fucking— wait , are you hurt? Oh shit, come here, I’ll uh—“
“I’m fine, Wil.” Techno assured his brother weakly, tossing his mask onto the counter. He showed the healed wound. “See?”
Wilbur gaped. “I know you have freakish healing powers, but you aren’t that good.”
“No,” Techno agreed. “Someone healed me.”
At that moment, Phil came crashing onto the balcony, and Techno and Wilbur rushed to him.
“Tech, thank god you’re okay,” Philza panted, also dropping his mask and taking a seat on one of the couches in their living room.
“Yes, yes, everyone’s alive and that’s great and all but uh, Techno? You were healed? By who?” Wilbur asked, all thoughts of his brothers health taking a backseat.
“A random kid.” Techno stated, loosening his long pink braid and instead tying the loose hair up on his head. “His hand went all... glowy, and I blinked and I was completely healed, doesn’t even hurt anymore, I actually feel refreshed.”
Phil looked intrigued, Wilbur was gaping.
“A healer that powerful exists?” Phil wondered aloud. Then, “Techno, did he seem to have any drawbacks? Did his power appear to take maybe... a physical toll on him?”
Techno though. “Yeah, actually. He looked really hurt for like a minute, but then he just stood up and walked off.”
“Huh.” Phil smiled. “Let’s find this kid.”