The Silence of a Somber Day

When It Rains, It Pours

Tempest tugged off his hero uniform, dropping each article on the ground without much care. He was a messy person, but since he barely had anything to his name, his room never looked like a pigsty. The others had tried getting him gifts, decorations, and offering to take him to the store, but Tempest promptly refused them all. He didn't mind the bare room. Preferred it, honestly. He didn't like getting attached to places.

As Tempest pulled his mask off, he was free from that title. He was Tommy, now. The blonde haired, blue eyed sidekick of Dream and ally of the Muffinteers (unofficial name but the civilians loved it) was left in his bunched up clothing. He was still blonde haired and blue eyed, but he was now some random kid who lived with Clay, George, SapNap, and Bad, three young adults and an older gentleman.

"Tommy?" Someone knocked on his door. The blonde looked in the mirror. He was wearing shorts and an undershirt, his hair a wild mess and neck covered in bandages. Tommy was tempted to pretend to be asleep, but he recognized that voice as George.

"Yeah, yeah, come on in," Tommy whisper yelled as he kicked his clothes near the bin in the corner. The bin was on one side, next to the closet with mirror sliding doors. Opposite to that was the small, twin sized bed and further down a large mirror. Other than that, it was empty. Not a desk, or picture, or indication that the space was used for something.

"Hey, buddy," George said as he came in. Per usual, George was in his pajamas, a plaid blue and white shirt and pants combo with fuzzy slippers. His movements weren't sluggish, so Tommy knew he had been up for 10 minutes at least. 7, if he had coffee before he came into the room. Tommy sniffed the air. The scent of peanut butter was there, but not coffee, so George had a snack and didn't drink. "Clay told me what happened."

"That fucking bastard. What the hell was I supposed to do?" Tommy spat at the mention of the day's events. Or, as Tommy saw his phone light up with a notification, yesterday's events.

George didn't reply, making his way across the room to sit on Tommy's bed. George remained at the edge, keeping support by pushing his legs against the ground instead of having the bed keep his weight up. Tommy didn't blame him. How could he? George's powers were a curse. "Clay is worried about you, Tommy. After what happened last week-"

"Right, fucking right. I'm in trouble for that bullshit?! I saved a woman from being shot! I didn't even use my powers! I was more like a helpful civilian," Tommy cut George off.

"Yes. We're proud of you for doing that. The only problem is that people don't know who you are. To all the people in that store, you were like a vigilante. We can't promote vigilantes," George reasoned with a raised eyebrow.

"So, I should have let that woman die. I should have let all those people in that store die. I should have stayed completely still, knowing that I could help. I should have faced the families of the people I had let get killed, all because the association is concerned with the prevention of vigilantes," Tommy argued harshly. George didn't flinch even though Tommy wanted him to. Tommy wanted his words to resonate with George. He wanted to be taken seriously, wanted someone to see what he saw.

"You were always emotional, Tommy," George pointed out softly. Tommy didn't hesitate to slam his fist into the wall. George sighed, rising to his feet. "Tommy, I know you're upset. You did the best you could in both situations. I don't fault your actions. I wish circumstances were better, but I wouldn't go back in time and tell you not to do what you did. You understand why they're so harsh on you, right?"

Tommy glared at him. No, he didn't know. All he knew was what they told him. The lies he was told by everyone in his life, from XD to Clay to George right at that moment.

George continued. "You're young. You have potential. They want you to be a fine hero some day. When Clay took you in, he told me that you would be someone. I didn't believe Clay. Now, I do. One day, you'll bring the crime rates spiraling down. People will be in awe and shock of you."

"I don't want that. I want to save people. I want to repay the kindness shown to me," Tommy whispered softly, half hoping George wouldn't hear him. The other man did, his sigh echoing in the room.

"It will all work, you know that, don't you? Lay low for now. The media will calm down, and you won't need to be ashamed for helping people," George reassured Tommy.

"Are you fucking listening to me, George?! I'm not ashamed of helping people, and the media has nothing to do with this!" Tommy snapped. When he turned around, Tommy saw it clear as day. George was running out of time. His mind was getting duller and his eyes fluttered. "George, I- lay down, okay? I'll deal with this."

George nodded, sinking into the bed. Seconds later, sleep had claimed his soul. Tommy sighed as he darted out of the room, quiet as to not wake up anyone. Tommy flopped onto the couch, pulling the blanket down on him. He shivered, subconsciously raising a hand to his throat. His hands felt the bandage. Tommy wondered how bad it had gotten this time.

Tommy fell asleep, wondering what the Syndicate was doing now.

—//—

Fundy wouldn't say he felt bad. A little guilt here and there, but mostly he was a proper double agent for the Syndicate that wouldn't let emotions cloud his judgment. Except now, of course. Before, he was convinced that all of the Heroes Association were bad people. He was proven wrong. Some were, but there was at least two people that seemed like they were victims of the system. Scott Major and Tempest.

"Tempest? Why do you care about him?" Wilbur asked him. Fundy was an informant tonight. He had met the man at a cafe. Fundy was nibbling on some strawberries as they discussed plans and what Fundy had gathered. Fundy decided to ask Wilbur about Tempest, in case he had missed something.

"Today, I was minding my business when Dream told me to watch over Tempest because he had some phone calls to make. Tempest and I went to the infirmary where we sat there for a little while. He told me he didn't need help but I was there to guilt trip him into staying. Scott came in, worried, and when they took- get this- a collar off Tempest. The skin there..." Fundy dropped his strawberry as he thought about it. "They're burning him, and Tempest barely cares. Scott made it sound like they barely took it off Tempest to heal the wounds."

"That... is alarming. I saw firsthand the effects of the collar. My question is why they have it on him?" Wilbur said, filing that information away to tell Philza since Wilbur's Dad had been worried about Tempest since the end of the mission.

"I did some snooping. There is not a single hero who has that collar but Tempest. I thought this meant he was problematic. But every time I mentioned Tempest, I was met with glowing reviews. Always completes his missions efficiently and timely, rarely needs to use the infirmary because of the Spawn healing system, and his extremely loyal to Dream. Seriously, this guy is known more for his loyalty to Dream than any of his own accomplishments," Fundy continued. "The public knows of him, but he's as mysterious- if not more- than Dream. I can't tell what his threat level is."

"The most dangerous enemies are the ones you never see coming," Wilbur said softly.

"No, the most dangerous enemies are the ones that have been there the whole time," Fundy pointed out with a sly smile. "That's what you taught me, wasn't it?"

"Look at you," Wilbur said with his own smile. Wilbur ruffled Fundy's hair before getting up to walk away, through some cash on the table, more than enough to pay for the strawberries. "Get some ice cream or something."