The Silence of a Somber Day

Floods

Some days, Tommy was fine. He was never more than exceptional, but some days he could lose himself in his work without care. He could do his job without giving a snarky retort, glancing at Jack and glaring at Drunkard. Tommy didn't think about Tempest, his powers, or the life he once lived that was rudely taken from him.

Rarely, Tommy was levels above angry. When he didn't have the distraction of work, Tommy was left to simmer in the what-ifs and the feeling of betrayal that washed over his soul. He would curse every name that came to his head, especially XD, that villainess, and the two vigilantes. Never Clay. The other Muffinteers, sure, but Tommy never could spite Clay, even if his head.

Days like this, however, were the ones that drained Tommy. The hopelessness of the situation and the desperation to do anything to have back his mantle by Clay's side. The twisting guilt that came from realizing he was leaving Clay alone to do hero work. That people could be dying that he could have saved.

Tommy stared at his hand. The black metal cuff radiated with energy as dark colored spirals floating above the surface was attached to his arm. Right below it, a knife was sticking out of Tommy's wrist. Sticky red blood slid down his arms, pooling at his elbow while drops slid onto the kitchen counter. Tommy morbidly stared at the knife instead of removing it or trying to alleviate the bleeding. The stupid cuff buzzed with more power suppressants.

Tommy sighed. He took the knife out while washing his hand under the tap water, cleaning off the blood and the wound. Tommy grasped a first aid kit, wrapping medical gauze around his wrist after applying disinfectant. Tommy bit his lip at the mild pain he felt, flexing his hand when he was done to make sure it worked properly.

Tommy gagged as the smell of blood finally hit him. Instead of dealing with the mess, Tommy opened a window. He gripped the edges of the windowsill, pulling himself out. Tommy gripped his upstair neighbors window, hoisting his body up with enough force to send him to the roof. Tommy immediately reached his hands out, fingers clutching the lining  around the roof. Tommy flinched as his wrist wound ached, but he didn't let himself drop. Instead, Tommy pulled himself all the way up until he was sitting on the roof. Tommy didn't know how long he had been up there for.

One day. All it took was one day for his entire world to be taken from him. It took one day for his world to be made, one day for his dreams to come true, and one day for the Mistress of Fate to take it away. Tommy sighed, pushing his hands into his hoodie pockets, his numb digits slowly gaining feeling painfully. He trembled as the night wind slammed against his body, his jacket giving little protection despite it being zipped up tight.

Tommy ran a hand through his hair, his curls brushing against his skin leaving residue of something oily. Tommy frowned, pulling his hand to his lap. When was the last time he showered? Tommy's face scrunched up in displeasure as he sniffed the air. When was the last time he ate or slept? Tommy frowned, pulling his head to his arms in an attempt to feel warmer and to be so small that his feelings couldn't find him.

The reason why he hadn't been taking care of himself like a decent human being? Let's review the details:

He wasn't just fired. He was put on probation, far away from his friends and family. It was an exile from the life he once had, and Tommy was feeling more and more lost as the days passed by. Because of his stupid actions, protecting the two vigilantes Bee Baby and Ender Boy- or whatever their names were- the Heroes Association deemed him volatile. He was suspended from hero activities until he could 'get his act together'.

He didn't have many escapes from the painful reality. Wilbur's company was definitely a bonus, and that guy Sam's dog, Fran, had boosted Tommy's morale yesterday, but other than that, Tommy's job is what held him steady. The busywork in the sometimes disgusting minefields of drunk party goers or business meeting members rooms was enough to keep him preoccupied and distracted. When he worked, Tommy wasn't a hero or a kid, he was a cleaner doing his life's work. That made him feel nothing, and right now, Tommy preferred the nothingness to the honest feelings stirring in his heart.

Tommy sighed for what felt like the millionth time, and probably was, looking up at the stars that he desperately wanted to answer back to him. He kept wishing for his old life back. He wanted to be a hero, and he wanted the Dream Team to be his family again. He missed Clay more than anything. Tommy didn't know what to do with himself when he was all by himself.

  "What are you doing here, kiddo?" A voice asked. Instantly, Tommy's hands pulled out his gun from its holster on his belt. Thankfully, Tommy had taken all of his equipment with him when he ran from XD's office two weeks prior. Tommy raised it to the person with both hands, eyes narrowed and finger hovering beside the trigger. The man who spoke raised his hands as a term to surrender, wings flapping before stilling as he landed on the roof. The villain Angel of Death, often shortened to Angel because Tommy was lazy when it came to language, was staring at Tommy through the eye holes of his bird-like mask. Tommy let a scowl twist his face. This man was a part of the Syndicate, the same people who aided those vigilantes in ruining Tommy's life. He was going to shoot the guy regardless of how the situation went, if he died or survived or was kidnapped. To be completely honest with himself, a part of him hoped it was the first option to happen. "Woah! You can put the gun away. I'm not going to hurt you."

"If I had a nickel for every time someone told me that but hurt me anyways, I'd have enough copper to melt it down into another round for my shotgun," Tommy said, tilting his head to the side as a wry grin spread across his face, eyes dangerously calm for someone holding a super villain with a body count at gunpoint. Angel knew this, too, because his face was filled with more worry than self preservation.

"I'm honest to my word. It is the one line I never cross," Angel said. He was standing with his arms raised in the surrendering position, his eyes never leaving Tommy's. They were blue, the younger blonde noticed, like the late evening sky in the tropics or the ocean on a calm day. Tommy's eyes were also blue, but more like the early morning sky of the arctic, opposite in so many ways but held together by the same threads. "I mean it when I asked what business you have up here."

"I live in this apartment, so I'm not trespassing, if that's what you meant. Otherwise, enjoying the view, I guess. What's it to you?" Tommy asked, lowering the gun, yet keeping a firm grasp on it as his hands held the device in his lap. Tommy quirked an eyebrow at the villain, waiting for the trick. This was a legitimate super villain before him whose ranking far surpassed his own. Whatever the man did was meant to be taken as a potential threat, no matter how light hearted he would make it look. Tommy needed to be on his guard. If Tommy ever wanted to be Tempest again, he couldn't lose to a villain for the third time.

"I don't like seeing people so close to the edge when they are alone. On somber nights like these, it is difficult not to let yourself fall," Angel whispered softly, sitting on the ground against the edging that Tommy was perched on. Tommy shuffled back, maintaining a safe distance. His best bet was to fight mid ranged combat. Up close, Tommy would be getting cut by those wings as if they were thousands of blades. Too far away and the feathers became like bullets that would pierce his body before he could think. He needed a balancing act of dodging and shooting.

"If I fall, right here and now, it wouldn't change a goddamn thing in your life," Tommy said. Surprisingly, that was true. Tommy wasn't Tempest. Only Tempest could have posed a threat to Angel. If Tempest died, that was one less enemy of the Syndicate. Luckily for them, Tempest was dead.

"I have more empathy than you give me credit for." He laughed. A quiet, low trill of a noise that made Tommy freeze up. Why was he laughing about this? Angel settled down when he realized he was laughing alone. "Maybe it won't change my life, but it certainly will change someone's. Everyone is important. We all serve a purpose."

"Please don't give me that speech. I'm not here to jump. Just enjoying the nice breeze. The a/c broke in my apartment," Tommy stopped the man before it got worse. Tommy really only wanted one person to care if he died. Everyone else could go to Hell. If Clay didn't cry or laugh or acknowledge that Tommy was gone, Tommy didn't know what he would do with himself. Did Dream care now?

"I didn't- I wasn't- I- sorry. I told you before, I don't like seeing people this close to the edge," Angel said. Tommy was never bothered by heights or edges. His powers usually saved him before he made impact. Tommy looked at the cuff and bandage. He really should have been afraid of heights now but he wasn't.

"You live your life, I'll live mine," Tommy finished, standing up to walk away. While he used the windows to get out, Tommy used the doors and stairs to get in. Tommy waited at the door to the roof, waiting to see if Angel would say anything. He heard the beating of wings instead, and the villain was gone by the time Tommy was back in his apartment.