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It was after midnight when Wilbur caught sight of Red. The vigilante was tripping over his own feet in an alleyway, one hand braced flat against the brick wall in a futile attempt to steady himself. For a moment, Wilbur just observed him. It was funny, really. All these months of cat-and-mouse, and Wilbur just happened to stumble upon him here.
With his hands spread in pleasure, the perfect picture of a villain, Wilbur stepped into the alley. “Fancy meeting you here.”
To his satisfaction, Red startled hard enough to send himself flailing backwards. He ended up on his ass on the concrete, peering up at the villain through his lopsided cowl.
Wilbur snickered. He was still advancing, slowly, enjoying the uncertainty he could see in Red’s posture, how it bordered on fear. The vigilante was still on the ground, his hands braced behind him, mouth open as he stared up at Wilbur.
“You…” Red’s head wobbled as he tilted it. He still hadn’t gotten up. “I… know you?”
Wilbur stopped in his tracks.
It was then that he noticed the blood staining the vigilante’s well-used uniform maroon. It was still flowing, trickling slowly down his neck, the source hidden somewhere beneath his cowl.
Something wasn’t right here. In all their months of cat-and-mouse, Wilbur had never seen the vigilante so docile before. Red was a firecracker, all curses and sharp teeth. (Literally. Wilbur had a scar on his forearm from where the kid had sunk his teeth into his flesh in an effort to escape.) He was brittle and rude and the most annoying vigilante Wilbur had ever faced. But even with all of his shortcomings, Wilbur wasn’t sure he liked this placid version any better. It just wasn’t his Red.
Unfortunately though, Red wasn’t finished setting off alarm bells in Wilbur’s brain.
“Friends?” The word came out thick and slurred, like Red’s tongue was as weighted down with blood as his half-lidded eyes were. “We’re friends, right? I— I remember you…”
To say that Wilbur was taken aback would have been the understatement of the century.
“Yeah,” Red said, more confident this time. He shifted forward onto his hands and knees, pushing himself to his feet with all the grace of a newborn fawn. He failed spectacularly, tumbling forward as his weight shifted all at once and landing unceremoniously against Wilbur’s chest.
“Whoa,” Wilbur said, catching him instinctively by the shoulders and steadying him as he swayed dangerously. “Red, what the fuck are you talking about?”
He should have subdued him. He should have shoved him back to the ground. He should have done anything but help. But he seemed so small like this. Wilbur couldn’t help it.
Red blinked, peering up at him through glassy eyes. “Red? No, I’m Tommy, remember?”
Wilbur’s blood ran cold and he went very still. Tommy. Well, that certainly complicated things. There were more important things at stake than identity now though, so Wilbur pushed past it to ask, “What the fuck happened to you?”
“I—” Tommy looked lost, his eyes darting sluggishly. “I can’t remember. He was chasing me and I fell and…” He squinted, reaching up to press a hand to his temple. “My head hurts.”
Yeah, the blood matting in his once-blonde hair had clued Wilbur into that fact already. But right now, even the steady drip of blood from his head mattered less than the current danger.
“Who was chasing you?” Wilbur demanded.
Tommy’s brow wrinkled with distaste, his tongue thick as he answered. “Dream.”
Fuck.
“Is he still after you?”
Tommy didn’t answer. His eyes were starting to lose what little focus they still possessed, sliding aimlessly away from Wilbur even as he patted Tommy’s face roughly to try and get his attention.
“Oh, Re-d!”
Instinct had Wilbur tensing at the mere sound of Dream’s sing-songy voice. Well, that answered Wilbur’s question. The number one hero was close— too close— and the sudden panic in Tommy’s eyes told Wilbur everything he needed to know. The vigilante’s bloody fingers grappled with the front of Wilbur’s shirt, trying and failing to get a grip.
“Please,” Tommy said, his sluggish eyes slipping to the side as he tried to glance back and failed. Even that simple movement stole his balance, and he wobbled, remaining upright only with the help of Wilbur’s hands on his shoulders. “He’s looking for me— I don’t know what to do. Just— hide me, please. I’m scared.”
Shit.
“I will,” Wilbur promised, before he could consider the implications of it. “But you need to calm down.”
“I’m scared,” Tommy said, and the open wobble of his voice tugged at something unfamiliar in Wilbur’s heart. “Siren, I’m scared.”
“It’s okay,” Wilbur crooned, letting just a touch of his siren call slip into his voice. “I got you.”
“You’re my friend,” Tommy said, unsure but insistent, like it was something he was trying to convince himself of.
“I’m your friend,” Wilbur echoed. It was the worst lie he’d ever told, but right now, there was no time to hash out the details. With every second, Dream grew closer and even now, Tommy was leaving a bloody trail on the concrete. “So you need to listen to me.”
Tommy swallowed and his throat bobbed visibly. For the first time, Wilbur caught sight of reddened skin on his neck, bruises forming in the shape of fingerprints. A fury he didn’t understand rose like fire in him. For all their fights and flashing of knives, Wilbur had never left such a mark on the kid. It felt personal.
“You’re safe with me,” Wilbur said firmly, and for the first time, it wasn’t a trick. Tommy nodded, his eyes wide and trusting. Wilbur couldn’t decide if he liked it or hated it. Wilbur had always had a soft spot for the young vigilante, but all that usually meant was that on the rare occasion he had Tommy in his grip, he didn’t slit his throat immediately. Rather, he would let him go, to continue their amusing game of chase.
But the moment Tommy— bloody and terrified— fell into his arms and called him his friend, something changed. The game was off. Wilbur was calling a truce.
“I know you’re close, Red!”
Despite all his years of successful villainy, the number one hero’s voice still sent a chill down Wilbur’s spine. It was known widely through the villains’ and heroes’ circle that Dream was cruel. With no witnesses around, he was capable of unspeakable acts, and with Tommy practically clinging to him, Wilbur didn’t stand a chance in a fight.
Wilbur needed to get them out of there now.
“Sorry about this,” Wilbur said, before he slid his hand through Tommy’s hair and coated his fingers roughly in blood. Tommy flinched violently, his head jerking to escape Wilbur’s touch but all he found was Wilbur’s chest blocking his way. With Tommy’s blood now dripping from his hand, Wilbur splattered a new trail on the concrete for Dream to follow, one that led to the edge of the alley.
“Okay,” Wilbur said, wiping the remaining blood on his jacket. “Come on.” Unceremoniously, he scooped Tommy up and carried him to the back door of the little store that opened into the alley. Picking the lock was tricky with Tommy hitched in his arms, but Wilbur wasn’t about to put him down and give Dream a bloody map to their location
Tommy’s hands were sticky with blood as they clutched Wilbur around the neck. “Siren—”
“Sh,” Wilbur said sharply. Finally, the lock clicked. He shouldered his way in, shutting the door behind him and deadbolting it. He set Tommy down, though he kept a hand at his waist, steadying him where he was slumped back against the wall.
Wilbur turned to survey their surroundings and found himself face-to-face with a terrified employee. He resisted the urge to sigh loudly.
“Oh God.” The man flinched back, stumbling over his own feet as he attempted to run from the villain. “Oh shit. Siren—”
“Calm down,” Wilbur crooned, all thick and sweet like syrup. He watched in satisfaction as a familiar glaze slid over the stranger’s eyes. “You’re going to turn around, lock all the doors, and go home. You’ll remember nothing strange about locking up tonight.”
Like clockwork, the man turned on his heel to obey. Tommy’s eyes followed him, his brow wrinkled.
“Tommy.” Wilbur snapped his fingers and the kid’s eyes flitted back to him. His head bobbed, unsteady. “Focus. I need you with me, yeah?”
Outside, something clattered through the alley. “Red! Still hiding from me?” Though muffled through the wall, Dream’s sing-songy voice was unmistakable. He was in the alley now, no doubt about it.
Tommy seized, his hand flying up to grip at the front of Wilbur’s jacket. His face was crumpled with fear. “Siren—”
“Sh.” Wilbur pressed Tommy more insistently into the wall, caging him in with one arm and pressing the flat of his palm over the vigilante’s bloody mouth. Tommy obeyed. His body trembled between Wilbur’s and the wall.
For a long time, it was all Wilbur could do to count the rapid beats of Tommy’s heart as he waited with bated breath. Even when the alley went silent, Wilbur remained frozen in place out of an abundance of caution. He had no intention of tripping a trap set by Dream.
Only when Wilbur was sure they were alone did he carefully peel his hand from Tommy’s mouth and step away.
“Is he gone?” Tommy’s eyes were wide. His question came out in a false whisper, too loud to truly be cautious. It was clear his concussion had caught up to him now.
“I think so,” Wilbur said lowly. “But we should stay here for another few minutes, just in case.”
Tommy relaxed visibly. “‘Kay.”
With some space between them now, Tommy reached up to adjust his bloody cowl. He made a face, clearly uncomfortable with the restrictive fabric, and curled his fingers around the edge of it.
Wilbur panicked. “No, wait!”
It was too late. With a clumsy motion, Tommy pulled off his cowl and dropped it to the floor. Wilbur froze, his hand outstretched to stop him. His pulse was the only thing he could hear as stared into the face of a child.
They’d always known Red was young— that much was obvious just from the way he spoke— but Wilbur had never dreamed…
“Tommy…” he began, but there was nothing he could say that would fix this. The kid was hurt. For all their games and threats, Wilbur had never wanted it to go this way. Tommy wasn’t supposed to reveal himself, hurt and confused and not fully understanding what he was doing.
“You’re my friend.” This time, Tommy sounded confident. “I trust you.”
Wilbur couldn’t explain the sour feeling in his chest; he wondered if it was guilt.
His mouth was dry, but he swallowed hard enough to force out, “My name is Wilbur.” It seemed only fair.
“Oh.” Tommy tilted his head. “Did I know that? I can’t…” He lifted his hand to press a fingerprint into his bloody temple. “I can’t remember.”
“You didn’t,” Wilbur confirmed. “But that doesn’t matter. I just need you to trust me for a little longer.”
“I do.” Tommy said it without hesitation. His blue eyes blinked up at him, glassy. Wilbur bit back a curse. He wasn’t cut out for this babysitting shit.
“Come on then. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”
“Wait.” Tommy caught Wilbur by the wrist, and on instinct, Wilbur nearly sent him through the wall. But he restrained himself just in time and looked down to find Tommy peering up at him, vulnerable. “What if Dream’s still out there?”
Wilbur’s shoulders lost some of their tension. “He’s not,” he promised. “And if he is, then I’ll kill him.”
“Oh.” Tommy didn’t look like he quite knew how he felt about that, but he wasn’t having any luck trying to parse through it. “Okay.”
“Come on,” Wilbur said, slipping his wrist from Tommy’s grasp and catching the kid’s hand instead.
“Wait,” Tommy repeated, unmoving even as Wilbur tugged at him.
Wilbur stopped again with an impatient sigh. “What?”
“I feel dizzy.” The kid’s voice was open, his words simple and honest. The concussion had clearly rattled his brain in more ways than one. “I think I’m gonna pass out.”
Though the message wasn’t exactly welcome, Wilbur couldn’t deny that he was grateful for the warning. It gave him half a heartbeat to plant his feet before Tommy slumped fully into him, his deadweight giving in to gravity. Wilbur only barely managed to catch him, sinking to the ground with the kid half-stretched out in his lap.
“Shit,” Wilbur muttered, steadying Tommy’s body with one hand while prying open his fluttering eyelids with the other. The kid’s pupils seemed fine enough, but the combination of the blood, memory loss, and loss of consciousness was more than enough to cause concern. Wilbur needed to get him home, quickly. Speaking of home, he was not looking forward to the reckoning he faced when he walked through the front door with a bloody teenager in his arms, let alone the vigilante that had been terrorizing them for months.
Slowly, with his knees protesting beneath him, Wilbur stood with Tommy in his arms.
At least the kid was light, he thought, as he hefted him a little closer to his chest. Tommy certainly wasn’t going to be happy when he woke up, but he would be alive. The rest they could figure out later.