[This chapter takes place roughly two weeks after 'Your Average Run-In With A Hero And A Mercenary']

Lumenaria was a beautiful city.

Well, it was, when you weren't being attacked by heroes. 

The only times he could come out were at night, since he would surely be noticed during the day. 

He was famous, to an extent.

Oh, his friends were pretty recognizable, too.

He's missed this.

Vigilante-ism had been too fun to give up.

He's back.

Wilbur sighed to himself, opening the green office door. Phil was sitting in his fancy-schmancy chair, writing something on a piece of paper.

"Dad?"

Phil looked up at the word. "Oh, hey, Wil. What are you doing here? It's late."

Wilbur stared him down. "You know, I could ask you the same thing."

Phil shrugged. "You first. I'm sure you have a reason."

Wilbur sighed and lifted his jacket to reveal a large bloody scratch. "Got it on patrol. New vigilantes."

Phil cocked his head. "Do y'mean Hollywood? She hasn't been known to use knives..." He cut himself off.

Wilbur was shaking his head rapidly, a hint of irritation in his eyes. "No. New-new vigilantes. Like, more of them."

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Fuck. How many?" Wilbur had said new vigilantes. Plural. More than one. One was alright. Multiple was less alright.

"Three." Wilbur scowled. "Get this- More flying guys!"

Phil looked up. "More Avians? All of them?" This was bittersweet news. Barely a hundred years ago, Avians were practically extinct, only a few hundred existing. They made excellent vigilantes, however. Or heroes. Or villains(Sadly).

But Wilbur was shaking his head again. "One of them, yes. The other guy, he just- He levitates, and the last guy... I don't know what the hell his deal is."

Phil groaned in annoyance. "Three vigilantes... We've got enough on our hands with Dream and Sapnap and the Benchtrio and the Jade Trio..."

Wilbur's head snapped up. "Speaking of the Jade Trio... Have you seen Inferno around lately?"

Phil paused to think.

"...No. Now that you mention it, he hasn't been around." He rubbed his forehead. Another thing to look into...

Wilbur sighed and Phil suddenly sat upright, as if having an epiphany. "Wil! Why the fuck are you in my office?? Get down to the infirmary, now! That's an order from your commander!"

Wilbur grinned. "O-kay then, Dadza!"

He left the office with a wave, leaving Phil to sit and debate everything he'd just learned in silence.

•~•~•~•

Wilbur was walking with Tommy down the street. It happened to them often; just walking and talking together. Tommy had a certain charm to him; an appeal that hardly anyone else saw.

Partly because he was nothing like he seemed.

Behind the tired, muted barista who swore too much was an energetic, firecracker of a person... who swore too much.

But he was funny and he was annoying and it was the kind of annoying that Wilbur didn't think he could live without anymore.

"-you know I actually wrote the Lumenaria national anthem," Wilbur was saying to Tommy who rolled his eyes and grabbed Wilbur's sleeve before the taller walked right into oncoming traffic.

Wilbur yelped. "Shit! I didn't see that coming."

"The driver almost didn't either," Tommy supplied, releasing Wilbur's sleeve with a slight shove. Wilbur chuckled.

"Hey, did you hear about the new vigilantes?" He asked the blond boy, waiting for the crosswalk sign to light up.

"Of course I didn't, what, you think we have enough money for a TV?" Tommy said with a chuckle, crossing his arms. His expression was tense, though. "...What new vigilantes? Are you talking about Hollywood? Because she's old news by now."

Wilbur rolled his eyes with a slight smile. "Nope. New vigilantes."

Tommy looked interested at this. "Really? Seems like they're popping up all over these days." 

Wilbur nodded. The new vigilante's names, that had been revealed the previous night, were Gambit, Slimeball, and Plasma; and they all seemed to have powers. Emphasis on seemed. Slimeball apparently didn't, but there wasn't a reason to keep him around if he didn't; so he must, right?

"Their names are Gambit, Plasma, and Slimeball," He reiterated to Tommy. "Gambit's got wings – like you."

Tommy flinched but nodded. Maybe his wings were a sore spot?

The crosswalk sign lit up and they walked across the street in semi-comfortable silence.

"So..." Wilbur said. "You live alone?"

Tommy living alone would be a valid excuse to steal him away from wherever dingy place he was living and plop him in a spare bedroom at his own house.

Tommy shook his head though. "I've got two roommates." He said. He'd never brought them up before... Maybe they were a sore spot too? or maybe Tommy just didn't like talking about his personal life?

Well, Wilbur was a bit nosy, so he prodded for more. "What are their names? Are they nice?"

What if they were abusive?

The thought struck him like a ton of bricks. What if Tommy had been getting all his scars from them?

Ah, that was another thing. Tommy always seemed to have new scars or bandages whenever Wilbur saw him. He always seemed to come up with a convenient excuse like walking into a door or tripping on the sidewaks, but Wilbur knew by now that he was too clever and cautious for that.

It had to be domestic abuse. So he grabbed Tommy's arm, a steely look in his eyes.

"Where is your apartment?" He asked in a slightly demanding tone. Tommy glared at him slightly. 

"Why do you need to know, tall one?" The blond asked, crossing his arms.

Wilbur realized he may have come off as too strong and shrugged. "Curious. I've had you over to my place a few times and I guess I'm just now realizing you live somewhere too."

The lie was believable enough, he hoped.

Tommy shrugged. "Alright, I guess. Just a warning... It's not as nice as where you live."

"That's alright," Wilbur said hastily, following Tommy down the street.

"So..." Wilbur said to Tommy. "Do you have a curfew or anything? Like, a time you need to get home by?"

Tommy glanced back at him questioningly. "Well, Tubbo prefers it if I'm back by 11, but no, not really."

Tubbo. So that was one of his roommates. The name sounded familiar... 

"Who's your other roommate?"

Tommy shot him a look like 'you're asking a lot of questions, buddy'(Or probably bitch; this was Tommy after all) but Wilbur didn't care. Tommy was definitely not safe and needed his help.

"His name's Ranboo." Tommy said. Wilbur looked for hesitation or fear in his voice, but there was none. He just genuinely sounded like someone discussing their roommates.

Wilbur nodded. 

Soon enough, they reached an apartment building and entered, moving to the stairwell. The building was in a poorer part of town, and Tommy was hunched down, like he was ashamed. They kept climbing the stairs and Wilbur's breath grew more ragged.

Tommy glanced back at him with amusement. "Jeez, how out of shape are you?"

Wilbur managed a "Fuck off" before disgruntedly realizing that Tommy wasn't even breathing hard. He pouted.

Soon, they reached a slightly beat-up door. Tommy turned to look at him, shifting nervously.

"I'm going to go in and clean up a bit... just for a minute." He said. "Wait here." He entered the apartment, closing the door most of the way behind him.

The conversation Wilbur heard through the door sounded like this:

"Hey, give that to me, I'm putting it in the closet-"

Another voice sounded back, slightly higher-pitched and also accented.

"Hey! Give that back, I'm working on that!"

"OW! Shit, you didn't tell me the metal was hot!!"

"I'm fucking welding it, of course it's hot!"

"Whatever! Just put it in the closet!"

"No, it's going to burn the fucking apartment down!"

There was a sound like clattering and sparking, and the sound of several heavy objects clattering to the floor.

"Pick those up!"

"No, you pick them up! They're yours!"

"You fucking spilled them on the floor!"

"So?"

"SO, I want you to pick them up!"

"Too bad."

"Tommy!"

"Whaaaat?"

There was more metal clattering and a door was opened, Wilbur couldn't hold back anymore, he pushed the door open gently and stepped in.

"Why do you want me to clean up anyway? I'm preparing for-"

Wilbur didn't get to hear what the short brunet was preparing for because he noticed him.

"...Evening," Wilbur said with an awkward wave. Tommy sighed in exasperation.

"I have someone over, T."

The guy – Presumably Tubbo – squinted at Wilbur. "Oh, you must be the guy Tommy's been talking about."

Wilbur nodded. "Are, uh, are you his roommate?" Surprisingly, the shorter didn't seem deterred by his height.

Tubbo nodded. "Yes, I am. and, as his roommate, I'm obligated to ask you what the hell you want with him." He stepped closer to Wilbur.

Tommy groaned. "Tubbo, not this again-" 

Tubbo ignored him. "What. Do you want with him? Be truthful... or else." His gaze was fized solely on Wilbur.

Wilbur, emboldened by the other's smaller stature, crossed his arms. "What are you doing with him?" He demanded. "He's covered in scars- old and new. Are you laying your hands on him?" WIlbur's eyes narrowed as he made the accusation.

Tubbo looked at him like he was delusional. "Absolutely not. But you didn't answer me. What do you want with him? because if I find out he's been hurt by you, there will be hell to pay."

Wilbur looked a little uncomfortable. "We're friends. He'd my friend. I'm his friend."

Tubbo jabbed him in the chest. "And it better fucking stay that way, got it?" He brandished the screwdriver in his left hand like a weapon. "Because I swear, if you hurt him..."

"Not at all!" Wilbur exclaimed. "I, uh, actually came here because I thought his roommates might be abusing him."

Tubbo and Tommy shared a glance and immediately burst out into laughter. Wilbur frowned indignantly.

"It adds up!" He defended. "He always comes around with these new injuries and flimsy excuses as to where he got them."

Tubbo chuckled a bit more before responding. "Nope. Tommy here is a bit more clumsy than he seems." 

"No he isn't," Wilbur said in confusion.

Tubbo stopped laughing. "Well maybe there's a reason he's nervous around you, eh?"

Wilbur stopped to think about that with a frown.

It was then that he noticed Tubbo's scars as well. A burn mark on his eye, a long scar on his bicep, and several more.

"Where'd you get those?" He asked suddenly, pointing. The smaller shrugged.

"Mugging, mostly. Damned heroes don't keep the city safe enough." He spat out the word 'heroes' like it was a curse.

Wilbur frowned slightly. "They're doing the best they can," He said defensively."

Tubbo rolled his eyes. "No, they're targeting the vigilantes, who, by the way, are the only ones who do any fucking good in this society."

Wilbur hesitated.

That conversation kept him up very late the same night.

A bit of a rushed ending, but I needed to end it somewhere; lol.

I hope y'all enjoyed!

Words: 1,766

Bye; have a great day!

-ITCFWI