Chapter Text
“Y’know that scene in Avatar: The Last Airbender? ”
“You have to be more specific. There’s, like, a thousand scenes in Avatar .”
“The one at the beginning of season...two?” Tubbo rolls his spare quarter across the table. “When the Gaang are at the Earth Kingdom place, and that general puts Katara in danger so that Aang goes into the Avatar state?”
Tommy catches the quarter and spins it. He did remember—he and Tubbo had watched all of Avatar: The Last Airbender three times over the course of a summer, and Tubbo knew almost every episode by heart. Avatar analogies are just part of his vocabulary.
“I think that’s how your powers work.” Tubbo stares down at the quarter. “You have to be, like, hyped on adrenaline for them to activate.”
“Well, that’s some bullshit.” Tommy scowls and glances around at the cafeteria. They’re hunched over their small lunch table in the back corner, away from the loud chatter of everyone else. A half-eaten turkey sandwich sits in front of Tommy, and Tubbo is snapping baby carrots between his teeth. “How will I be able to use my fuckin’ shit if I have to be all hyped up?”
“I mean, I’m sure you’ll be full of adrenaline whenever you’re out saving the city.” Tubbo blinks owlishly at him. “ You’ve used them. You know how to do it, sort of.”
“I don’t know how!” Tommy exclaims indignantly. He tips his chair back, front legs lifting off the tile floor. “All I did was try to grab that Monster can from across the room. I can’t explain it. It’s not like I was in a high-stress, high-adrenaline situation.”
Tubbo rolls a baby carrot under his hand. “It must have something to do with your emotions,” he persists. “Maybe—well, why don’t we watch some videos on Spidercrow and Arachne?”
“You think that Spidercrow and Arachne just turned to the camera one day and said, ‘Oh, yeah, I get my powers from eating broccoli three times a day and taking dopamine so I can feel all happy.’” Tommy rolls his eyes, poking a hole through his turkey sandwich. “It’s not gonna be that cut and dry. Plus, Spidercrow and Arachne never did any interviews.”
The action figures and stacks of dusty articles in Tommy and Tubbo’s room are testament to the boys’ obsession with the superheroes. Ever since Tommy saw a news report on the duo stopping a bank robbery when he was six, he’s been their number one fan. He’s bought every poster, every comic book, every limited edition figurine. He’d gotten Tubbo hooked on the superheroes whenever he was adopted, and now Tubbo has posters of Arachne up on his wall, while Tommy’s side is plastered with Spidercrow in various heroic poses.
They were the ultimate superhero duo; L’manburg wouldn’t have been the thriving utopia it is today if not for them. Spidercrow, with his wings made out of spiderwebs, could zip through the skies faster than any bird. He could attack from the skies, catching enemies off guard, and some news reports recorded him using a sword made out of webs. The figurines Tommy had were outdated after that news came out, so he crafted his own little sword for his Spidercrow figure, gluing it to its hand forever. Spidercrow was the picture of grace and badassery in the world of superheroes.
Arachne was a bulk of a hero, who could shift from a normal-looking human to a monstrous beast with spider legs thick with muscle protruding from his back. He would double in size, and in his enhanced form, could tear 18-wheelers in half. He was the brawn to Spidercrow’s brains, and could smash his way through anything. Arachne was Tubbo’s favorite. I want to smash stuff like him when I grow up, Tubbo told Tommy when they were younger. I want to be big and strong like Arachne.
Tommy hadn’t known Tubbo for very long before Spidercrow and Arachne announced their retirement. One of their only official interviews was the press conference held with the mayor of L’manburg, who asked them why they were retiring.
Tommy could recite Spidercrow’s response by heart. “We’ve done all we can for the city,” the blond had said. He had looked so sad and frustrated, under the scrutiny of all of those microphones and cameras. “It’s time for the local law enforcement and other protectors to take our place. The era of heroes is over.”
The hero duo had sat on opposite sides of the conference. Whenever Tommy rewatched the clip, he could practically feel the icy tension between the two through the screen. No one knew why they retired so abruptly—they had had a successful mission only a few days before, with very minimal civilian injuries. Tommy had heard rumors on internet forums that one of them was gravely injured in the fight and couldn’t fight crime anymore, so they decided to both retire. Yet Tommy knew that press conference like the back of his hand; neither Spidercrow nor Arachne looked hurt. He had always yearned to know what drove the heroes apart, but he had been just ten years old at the time of the split and already dealing with the sudden death of his parents. He had bigger things to worry about than his childhood idols splitting up and going their separate ways for their own good.
“There’s theory videos and shit,” Tubbo reasons. He glances towards his binder, which is chock-full of crumpled physics and pre-cal worksheets. “We could at least get a lead.”
“Remember how those toy companies had to fight tooth and nail to get action figures made of them?” Tommy protests, gesturing wildly with his hands the way he did when he was passionate. “Spidercrow and Arachne were super secretive. They wouldn’t just go around handing out the secrets to their powers willy-nilly.”
Tommy glares at the Coca-Cola can sitting innocently between the two. Raising his hand slowly, he suddenly thrusts it forward, willing with all his might that a thread of white web would shoot out of his wrist and attach to the half-empty can.
Nothing happens. The Coke can sits silently between them. Tubbo sighs.
“I definitely think we should go practice somewhere,” the brunette says. “Practice makes perfect, as they say. And maybe I’ll figure out how my powers work.” Tubbo rubs his wrists, avoiding eye contact with Tommy.
Tommy feels guilt twist his stomach. It wasn’t fair that he was the one who activated his powers first—he had done nothing to prove himself worthy of these spider-powers. Tubbo was so much more deserving of that responsibility. He was much more suitable for a hero job. He would have fun with it. Tommy would be worried about if what he was doing was the right thing the whole time.
He imagines Tubbo up on TV—doing interviews after stopping a bank robbery, hugging babies, opening city halls and food pantries. Tubbo would be a media darling in the world of superheroes. He had the charisma, the looks, the impressive acrobatics...he could be more popular than Spidercrow and Arachne ever were if he tried.
“Hey,” Tommy says softly, and Tubbo glances up. “We can go practice today. And I promise I’ll help you activate your powers before we figure out mine, ‘kay?”
Tubbo smiles, and his cheeks flush the way they do when he’s happy. “Thanks, bossman. Where on earth are we gonna practice without people thinking we’re freaks, though?”
The image of dust bunnies floating through old sunlight and broken glass on the floor flickers to life in Tommy’s mind. “That old department store where I got bit,” he reasons. “We can clear out a big part of the floor and set up some cans, like a BB gun range.”
Tubbo’s smile grows. “That sounds smashing! And no one will see us. That’s great.” He bounces up and down in his seat, suddenly full of energy. “Ah, I wanna go now! I wanna figure out my cool spider powers!”
The bell rang above their heads, making them jump. Kids slowly began to shuffle out towards the doors in pairs and trios, returning back to class. Tommy sighs. He’ll be going to algebra, and Tubbo will make his way across campus to AP physics. No matter how Tommy tries, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be on Tubbo’s level in booksmarts; he’s always a level below him in math and science, while Tubbo gets straight A’s and honors diplomas and dreams of majoring in astrophysics. If you only looked at his science grades, you’d think he was some kind of miracle child—until you glanced over and saw the C’s and D’s in history and English. He’s a smart kid, Schlatt would argue to his dismayed teachers. He just doesn’t learn this stuff as easily as numbers.
(Frankly, Tubbo was the smartest person Tommy knew, no matter what grades he got in English class.)
Tubbo gathers his things, giving Tommy a big smile. The kind that shows off his buck teeth and the dimples in his cheeks. “See you after school, big man!” he says, and then he’s gone, dissolving into the frothing sea of people to the horror of AP physics.
The small bell over the door jingles incessantly, announcing Tommy and Tubbo’s arrival into the bodega. The familiar smell of tamales, flour and soda hits Tommy’s nose, and he sighs contentedly, making his way up the small steps towards the counter. Tubbo peels away to go scour the aisles for pre-superpower workout snacks.
Tommy slaps the small bell on the counter. “Order up!” he shouts back into the store.
“¡Oye, hermanito!” a voice calls from the back, and there’s the clatter of plates and dishes before the black-haired bodega owner is rushing out of the back, a wide grin on his face.
Quackity has owned this tiny bodega on the corner of a busy intersection for as long as Tommy can remember. He was here working the counter alongside his father when Tommy would visit in his childhood years with his parents, gazing up at the aisles and aisles of bright candy ripe for a grubby toddler’s hands. After his parents died and the case for Tommy’s adoption began, Tommy would visit whenever he escaped his social worker, simply to burrow away behind the counter and gorge himself on the delicious homemade tamales and tortas, crying to the man that he didn’t want to leave his childhood home. Later, he would bring Tubbo along with him, and Quackity would fall to be yet another victim of Tubbo’s big puppy-dog eyes and sweet charm. Through every stage of Tommy’s turbulent life, this little bodega has stood strong through the busy L’manburg traffic, and Quackity was always there to give him a smile.
The man dusts his hands off on the front of his apron as he walks over. “What’s up, man?” Quackity asks, leaning on the counter. “Just gettin’ out of school?”
“Yep,” Tommy sighs as Tubbo totters over to the counter, arms piled high with junk food. Quackity raises an eyebrow, but begins to ring up each item.
“You want any tamales for the road, pequeños travieso?”
Tommy wrinkles his nose at the unfamiliar word. “What’d you just call us?”
Quackity laughs; a high, giggly kind of laugh that always makes Tommy smile. “Nothin’ you need to worry about, man. You want a tamale or no?”
“I’ll take one!” Tubbo chimes in, hopping up and down on his toes. Quackity snickers, and disappears into the back, returning a moment later with a steaming tamale wrapped in paper. Tubbo takes it eagerly, immediately biting down before crying out in pain. “Gah! Hot! Hot!”
“Thought you could get that from the steam, man,” Quackity laughs. He punches in the last few items, glancing back over them to make sure he got everything. “Y’all look like you’re going to camp out somewhere with all this. What are you two up to?”
Tommy and Tubbo share a totally inconspicuous glance, Tubbo’s mouth still full of tamale. Quackity raises an eyebrow.
“You better not be doing anything illegal, hermanitos,” he says, gesturing for them to swipe their card. Tubbo fishes his card out of his pocket, smearing grease all over it, but the card reader beeps in affirmation of their purchase.
Quackity’s face is a bit more serious than usual as he pulls a bag out from under the counter and begins to shovel their food into it. “I’m serious, you guys,” he says solemnly. “I was a teenager once. I know how much y’all wanna get in trouble. Just be careful, m’kay?”
“We’re not doing anything illegal!” Tommy protests. “We’re just gettin’ snacks for our movie night.”
“And I’m a monkey’s uncle,” Quackity retorts, jabbing a finger at him. He rips the receipt from the machine and shoves it into their plastic bag. “I’ve known you long enough that I can tell when you’re lying, Tomás. You start itching all over.”
Tommy pauses his incessant scratching at the back of his neck, frowning as he ignores Tubbo’s snickering into his tamale. “I—I don’t itch! What the fuck!”
“Then get your dandruff checked out,” Quackity quips as he hands him his bag. “Get going, you two. And I better not see you on the news for any atrocious crimes!”
“Adiós, Big Q!” Tommy calls as he and Tubbo rush out of the bodega. Quackity waves, and then they’re back out into the smoggy afternoon air, Tubbo finishing off his tamale.
“Remind me never to let you talk if we get interrogated by the police,” Tubbo comments as they walk, cheeks stuffed with beans and meat. “You’re a rotten liar, man.”
“I’m a fine liar,” Tommy huffs. He kicks a pebble into the road. “Q’s just known me since I was, like, six.”
They split a bag of Takis as they make their way towards the old department store. Tommy carefully steps over the cracks in the sidewalk as they walk, mind adrift. The whole day, he had been trying to figure out any other way to activate his power; he tried to make himself web stuff out of anger, tried to scare himself into using his powers. Nothing had worked. He had felt a bit silly, staring at himself in the mirror of the rancid boy’s restroom, trying desperately to spook himself in the rusty mirror.
Tubbo had mentioned something earlier—how Spidercrow and Arachne figured out their powers. It must have been painfully obvious; Spidercrow could sprout wings made of web from his back, and Arachne could morph into a super-strong spider creature, able to hurl cars down avenues. Tommy’s little web shooting seemed silly compared to their awesome powers. What could he do? Grab stuff from across the room? He was a glorified superhero secretary at that point.
Maybe Tubbo had something mindblowing up his sleeve with his powers. Tommy glanced to the side, sizing him up; maybe some sort of spider super-strength, like Arachne? Or spider senses that could make him even better at math? The possibilities were endless with Tubbo; Tommy felt like a clumsy hippo next to him.
Tubbo has finished his tamale by the time they reach the old department store. Ducking into the alleyway, Tommy leads Tubbo up the old fire escape and into the small room where he was bit.
“This is where it happened,” Tommy says, gesturing towards the closet where he hid from the cops. “In that closet. Was hiding from the cops after I, um, permanently borrowed that Monster Energy. Spider crawled on me and bam. ”
Tubbo fearlessly steps over to the closet, pulling the door open. Tommy pokes his head over Tubbo’s shoulder, holding his breath; among the dust and broken bits and pieces on the floor, it’s near impossible to try and single out a tiny bug.
“There,” Tubbo says suddenly, pointing. He grabs an old broken hanger and squats, poking at something. Tommy takes a precarious step forward, fishing his phone out of his pocket to click on his flashlight. Tubbo’s keen eyes were right—lying on its back, legs curled up into its abdomen, lay the glowing spider that had bit Tommy.
“It’s obviously dead,” Tubbo murmurs, poking it experimentally. The spider doesn’t move. “Are spiders still poisonous after they’re dead?”
“I dunno,” Tommy mutters. “Surely it’s still got shit, like, inside it, though?”
“Not unless it used it all on you,” Tubbo giggles, standing and poking Tommy in the stomach with the hanger. “Maybe it had to use all of its poison reserves to get to all of your gangly limbs.”
“Hey!” Tommy crows as Tubbo skips out into the main area, laughing. Tommy tosses the hanger at Tubbo’s back, and Tubbo manages to dodge at the last moment, grinning.
“How’d you know I was throwing it, dickhead?”
“I-” Tubbo begins with a smile, but it morphs into a frown as he considers the question. “I…sensed it, I guess? Heard it? I dunno, I could just tell you were throwing it.”
Tommy’s eyebrows disappear into his fringe. “Hey, maybe that’s, like, your spidery-senses! You got enhanced senses or some shit!”
Tubbo’s stormy eyes widen, and he glances down at his hands. “Enhanced senses? That’s fuckin’ cool, if it’s true.”
“Come on, come on, let’s set up our shit.” Tommy was excited now; he drops his bags by the wall and scampers around the room, dragging a dusty table to the middle of the room, the horrible screeching of the legs against the old floor echoing through the building. Tubbo seemingly reads his mind, and begins collecting old tin cans scattered around the floor, lining them up in little pyramids on the table. Once they’re done, they back up a few feet, admiring their work.
Tubbo glances towards Tommy with a toothy grin. “You first, man! Get that adrenaline flowing!”
Tommy jumps up and down a few times, shaking out his arms and cracking his neck like he’s about to run a race. He focuses on the tin cans, sitting patiently on the table. Just ripe to knock down. He imagines a string of web flying out of his wrist like it had the night before, scattering the cans all over the floor with a loud crash.
Tommy takes a deep breath—and thrusts his arm forward.
A white line blurs across his vision, and Tommy’s heart jumps into his throat in excitement. But the excitement plummeted as the string of web fell about five feet short of the table, flopping bonelessly to the dusty floor. It had barely reached the halfway mark between the boys and their target.
“Aw, come on!” Tommy growls, shaking out his hand. “I almost had it, man!”
“But you did it!” Tubbo exclaims. He had cried out in surprise when the web had shot out, and his eyes are now bright with excitement. “You shot a web, at least! This is progress!”
Tommy glances down at the web, and can’t help but feel disappointment. “But—But I was so sure I had it! I was so close, Tubbo!”
“Practice makes perfect, bossman,” Tubbo assures him, patting his arm. “This is leagues better than how you were this morning. What did you do to get the web out?”
“I…” Tommy wracks his brain. In the heat of the moment, he had almost lost all recollection of what he had done. “I imagined it shooting out, and knocking over the cans. I imagined what it would sound like, the cans on the floor.”
Tubbo taps his chin in deep contemplation. “So…you imagined what it looked like, what it sounded like-”
“You use your senses!” Tommy shouts before Tubbo can say it, and he slaps his hands over his mouth as Tubbo fixes him with a dirty look. “Sorry, sorry! Sorry, I figured it out.”
“I noticed,” Tubbo deadpanned. He turned back towards the cans. “M’kay. So imagine what it looks like, what it sounds like, and then what it, uh…what it’ll feel like, what it’ll—taste like? Smell like?” He glances at Tommy, frowning.
Tommy shrugs. “Maybe not all five senses? But smell is easy. Dust and shit.”
Tubbo rubs his wrists. “What does it feel like when the web comes out?”
Tommy glances down at his own arm. The web is still hanging there limply. “Uh…I dunno. It’s kinda, well, uh…I guess, the best way I can describe it, is like when you’re in the hospital and you think you can feel the medicine movin’ in your veins from the IV-?”
“Alright, alright, I’ve heard enough.” Tubbo flaps his hands, scrunching up his face as he shakes his head. “Got it. So something moving under your skin?”
“Sort of?” Tommy lifts his hands helplessly. “It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for. It just kind of…creates itself on its way out.”
Tubbo nods, furrowing his brow. He turns back towards the table, taking a deep breath. He closes his eyes, and Tommy inspects his movements closely. He watches as Tubbo flexes his fingers, and takes another deep breath through his nose, as if getting a grasp on the musty scent of the air. His lips part, tasting the air like a reptile, and his forehead is creased as he thinks.
Tubbo’s moving before Tommy can register it. His eyes snap open as his hand flashes forward, and there’s a blur of movement.
A stack of cans clatter to the ground. Tommy puffs out a breath.
Tubbo shrieks, hands shooting up above his head. “I did it!” he shouts. “Holy shit! Tommy, holy fuck! I did it! I webbed it!”
Tommy dashes over to the cans, eyes wide. Three cans are wrapped up in a web cluster, stuck together with the sticky residue. Tommy picks up the hanger he threw at Tubbo earlier, and presses it to the web. It immediately sticks, and he lifts it up, shaking the hanger lightly. The cans don’t detach.
“Do you have, like, fucking web bombs or some shit?” Tommy sputters. He glances towards Tubbo, who is grinning from ear to ear like a maniac. Glancing down at his own web, Tommy confirms his thoughts—his web is just a single thread. Tubbo’s is a whole fucking projectile.
“Web bombs! ” Tubbo cries. “So I’m, like, ranged compared to a melee spider hero? That’s sick! That’s so fucking sick!”
Tommy can’t help the twinge of frustration that twists at his gut. He got his powers first, why couldn’t he be the one to figure them out first too? He pursed his lips, staring at the cans still lined up on the table. He was falling just short of Tubbo, yet again. First his grades, now superpowers ? Tommy once again felt slow and clumsy next to his stepbrother.
A sizzling sound fills the air, and the cans clatter to the floor. Tommy glances down at the cans, eyebrows raised, and his mouth falls open at the sight of thin tendrils of smoke wafting up from the hanger, whose end was now melting and bubbling from where it had been touching the web. The cans, likewise, were smoking, slowly melting into a shiny silver glob. A burning, metallic smell makes Tommy wrinkle his nose.
“Tubbo?” He stammers, turning back towards him. “Are your webs—”
Tommy stops. There’s another man standing there, just behind Tubbo, and his hands are outstretched towards him, ready to grab him.
“Tubbo!” Tommy shrieks, lunging forward. A web zips from his wrist, attaching to the man’s arm, and Tommy twists the web into his hand and tugs, overbalancing him. His other hand flashes forward, sending another stream of web out to grab the man by the other arm. Twisting and pulling, Tommy yanks the webs as hard as he can, sending the man to his knees.
Tubbo spins in the time it takes for Tommy to shoot his webs, putting his hands out defensively. His eyes are wide. “What the fuck!” He cries. “I didn’t even hear him!”
The man attempts to throw his hands over his head in surrender. “I’m sorry!” he blurts. “I’m not trying to hurt you! I just—I wanna ask—”
“Ask what?” Tommy demands, tugging harshly on the webs. The man cries out, arms twisted awkwardly across his chest.
“About your powers!” The man cries. “I–I saw you practicing, I want to ask—”
“Who’s asking?” Tubbo’s hands curl into fists.
The man pauses, and then he’s moving faster than Tommy can blink. Tommy’s suddenly on the floor, pulled forward by his own webs, a fresh patch of webs pinning his hands to the floor. Tubbo yelps as his arms are pinned to his sides by webs as well, and they watch, mouths agape, as the man slowly stands, hands held out towards both of them.
There’s web residue on his wrists. He gives a shaky smile.
“Another confused spider hero, that’s who,” says the guy. “Name’s Ranboo. And I’m guessing you two were both bit by radioactive spiders?"
Ranboo, it turns out, is much more adept at “webslinging,” as he calls it, than Tommy and Tubbo.
First, he can shoot webs at will. He doesn’t have to do all the emotional prep that Tommy and Tubbo try to do; he simply points his hand at the wall and shoots.
He can also shoot a string, or a web-bomb, like Tubbo’s. “Web-grenades,” he calls them. Tommy’s a bit pissed off he didn’t think of that one before the taller boy did.
“You figured out all of this overnight?” Tubbo breathes. They’re sitting on the floor now, waiting for the web to dissolve. Ranboo promises that it’ll be completely gone within thirty minutes.
Ranboo gives a small smile. He has stormy eyes, like Tubbo, and a mullet that brushes his shoulders in the back. “Um…sort of. I still don’t have a full grasp on my powers. All I can do right now is shoot normal webs and grenades. But—Tommy, you say that Tubbo’s webs have acid in them?”
Tommy pouts as he brings forward the melted hanger. “They melted this plastic. And those aluminum cans.”
Ranboo holds out a hand, and Tommy begrudgingly hands over the hanger. Ranboo brings the hanger close, frowning. He sniffs it curiously.
“It sure smells like acid,” he reasons. “Very chemical-y.”
“That’s how you’re gonna determine if it’s acid?”
Ranboo fixes Tommy with a frustrated stare. “Do you have a better hypothesis?”
“I think it’s the best solution we have right now,” Tubbo says. Tommy glances at him, surprised; Tubbo always takes Tommy’s side in an argument. No matter what it was. But the way Tubbo was looking at Ranboo…Tommy didn’t like it at all. Some sort of idolization that made Tommy’s stomach hurt.
Ranboo smiles at Tubbo sweetly. “Thanks. I do have a friend that could possibly help us figure this out, though.”
Crossing his arms, Tommy frowns. “But we don’t need anyone else finding out about our powers.” He gives Tubbo a hard stare, as if he can send him a telepathic message, but Tubbo is too busy making googly-eyes at Ranboo.
Ranboo waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t sweat it. My friend knows about my powers; he already helped me with my webs and grenades. If anyone can help with your powers, it’s him.”
“I’m down!” Tubbo chirps enthusiastically. He flexes his fingers. “I want to learn how to melt more shit.”
Tommy doesn’t like how easily these two are getting along already. “I don’t know, Tubbo,” he says. “I don’t want anyone else knowing about our powers until we have, like, alter egos.”
In all honesty: Tommy wants to keep Tubbo far away from this Ranboo guy. Tubbo is Tommy’s friend and stepbrother, not Ranboo’s. Tommy’s had to build up trust between him and Tubbo for years, ever since they first met at Tommy’s court hearing. Tommy had to work to let Tubbo allow him to sleep in the same room as him. Sure, Tubbo is sweet and charming and can make friends with anyone, but that doesn’t mean he can just get a new best friend.
But then there’s that temptation of power. Learning how to harness his powers better than both Tubbo and Ranboo could be just the push in the right direction he needs; Tubbo would see how amazing and cool and better he was than Ranboo, and he could knock the tall fucker down a few pegs while he's at it. Tommy can feel the entitlement rolling off of him in waves already. He probably thought he was so much better than the duo, just because he had a better handle on his powers than them. Bullshit. Tommy was going to prove him dead wrong.
“We can work on that,” Tubbo offers. “With Ranboo’s mentor. He’ll keep our secret, right?”
Ranboo smiles with all his teeth. “He’s the best person to keep a secret like this.”
Tubbo turns towards Tommy with big puppy-dog eyes. Tommy groans.
“Fine, ” Tommy grumbles. Tubbo cheers, and hops to his feet, pulling Ranboo up with him. The webs have dissolved.
Tommy fixes Ranboo with a hard stare as Tubbo drags him towards the exit. He flexes his fingers, resisting the urge to web him to the floor and leave him there forever. I’ll show you what messing with my best friend entails, prick.
Twenty-five minutes later, the trio stand on the concrete stairstep of an unassuming townhouse, nestled between two of exact make and shape, different only in color. The window boxes are overflowing with heather and white zinnias, and there’s little windchimes hanging from the awning, tinkling in the breeze.
Ranboo raps on the door, bouncing nervously on his toes. There’s a few moments of pause, before the doorknob twists and the dark green door opens with a high-pitched squeak.
A young man stands in the doorway, glasses slightly askew on his nose. Moles dot a fair complexion, and curly brown hair falls into green-blue eyes. He’s wearing a Badlands University sweatshirt, sweats, and socks, and there’s a cup of something steaming in his hand.
His face splits into a wide grin at the sight of Ranboo. “Hey, Ranboo!” he greets him. He glances behind the boy at Tommy and Tubbo. “Hey, you brought friends!”
Ranboo plasters a smile to his face. “Hey, Wilbur. Um, this is Tommy and Tubbo. They said they were interested in piano lessons.”
Tommy and Tubbo exchange a glance. Piano lessons? Was that some sort of code?
Wilbur hums into his sip of his drink. “Mm! Oh, yeah! I’m assuming they wanna talk to my dad, then? He’s upstairs, in his office, like usual. Hey, Pa!” Wilbur shouts back into the house, making the three boys wince. “Ranboo brought friends for piano!”
A muffled response drifts down the stairs. Wilbur turns back towards them, grinning. “Go on up. I’m leaving in a bit, so I shouldn’t be a bother.”
“Thanks,” Ranboo says as Wilbur retreats back into the house. Tommy creeps inside after Ranboo, glancing around. It smells a bit like an old person’s house. The furniture is all seemingly outdated; lots of ugly florals, stained rugs, and dusty shelves. There’s porcelain plates stacked neatly in a cupboard, and rustic landscapes of farmlands and cottages line the walls.
“Is your teacher some old lady?” Tommy hisses. Ranboo swats back at him and misses, but continues up the stairs without a word. Tommy rolls his eyes and follows. He’s in a bad mood already; the way Tubbo is following behind Ranboo like a lost puppy isn’t helping.
Ranboo leads them up to the second floor and across the landing. One of the doors is cracked open, and he pushes it open, calling out a greeting.
Tommy glances around. The office is similarly decorated to the downstairs of the house—ugly floral wallpaper, tall cupboards. However, it’s completely wrecked with papers, flyers, and binders. It looks like Tubbo’s desk on steroids. The only high tech thing Tommy’s seen in the whole house is the computer, which is currently open on some sort of article. There’s not a piano in sight.
The man at the desk hums, turning in his swivel chair. He has one leg tucked up underneath him, and he gives the group a polite smile. “Hey, Ranboo,” he says. He has a thick Northern accent. “Who are your friends?”
Tommy has to grab for Tubbo’s hand to keep from falling over. Tubbo’s mouth, likewise, drops open, and Tommy can feel both of their souls leave their body at the same time.
Tommy could recognize this man anywhere. He’s rewatched every clip, every interview, and read every article at least a dozen times each. He knows how this man breathes, how he smiles, how he moves. Even through a mask, Tommy knew he could recognize him anywhere.
“You’re—You’re him,” Tommy gasps. His heart is in his throat. “You…You’re the Spidercrow. ”