Chapter Text
There’s a lot more paperwork in the hero business than one might expect. When all the news shows are flashy fights or brave acts of justice, being a hero looks like the most fun profession in the world. Every kid wants to be a hero.
Tommy is different from most other sorry saps who want to be a hero, because he already is one. At the age of sixteen, he’s already started making a name for himself as an uprising star. He has a badass uniform, a strong power, and the attention of the biggest heroes out there trying to recruit him. It’s a dream come true in almost all aspects.
Except for the paperwork.
There’s nothing like the adrenaline drop of coming back from a long, successful battle against a group of villains to find your desk covered in a mountain of paperwork. Which is the situation Tommy has on his hands now.
Most of the time, his superiors are pretty lax with him. He can lazily write up vague summaries or mission reports, skip a few meetings, and get by without reprimand. That’s what being talented means- they can’t afford to lose him. He’s got a dozen other hero agencies willing to sign a contract with him, but he obviously picked to be at the same place Dream works.
It was genuinely fun working beside the man. Out on the field, it was incredible watching him dart around like a green lightning bolt, always outmaneuvering his opponent. Plus he was funny, he had a good sense of humor. And while a lot of heroes hesitated to give Tommy any credibility for his young age, Dream didn't hesitate to view him as an equal. It was very poggers of him. But it’s also a pain when Dream is strict about proper conduct. He doesn’t allow Tommy to be lazy, leave blank files, or skip meetings. He demands perfection, which is probably how he scored the number one hero spot in the first place.
So, Tommy's evening could be summarized as living the perfect action movie dream of defeating a group of giant hostile moths alongside his childhood idol, and then being told to write up a summary about damage costs from those giant hostile moths. Fuck giant hostile moths.
“I want that report finished and on my desk by six am.” Dream shouts to Tommy, already finished with his work.
Tommy groans, “Holy shit, my guy, I don't think anybody is conscious enough at six am to want anything.”
“Less complaining and more writing.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Tommy says, slumping down in his chair.
He’s got a horrible feeling he’s got a long night ahead of him. He pops the lid off a pen and starts scribbling in the date and time.
❧❧❧
Tommy wakes up with a splitting headache.
For a second, he revels in how he can’t feel much of anything besides cold cold cold. He wriggles his toes and they’re too numb to feel his socks, shoes, or the floor under them. But then he shifts his head over, trying to somehow alleviate the growing pressure behind his right eye, and his whole world spins as his body jerks forward.
Next, he realizes the room he’s in is pitch black. And he is definitely tied up to a chair, not sleeping in his bed.
The air is frigid and scraps at his throat and dry mouth. Now that he’s more aware, he can feel himself violently shivering. He gives an experimental kick of his legs and the loud clang of metal hits the ground. The sound of chains. He can’t move more than a few inches, and his wrists are similarly chained to the chair’s armrests. His body is sluggish from the cold.
Fuck.
Tommy may be an extraordinary, above-average, biggest man of all time, but he doesn’t know where he is or how to get out.
His first instinct is to start screaming, but the attempts are quickly quelled when he breaks down into a coughing fit. Each sharp inhale hurts from the cold air. He’s so cold he wants to cry. He hurts from how tense his muscles are and he’s very worried about how he can’t feel most of his legs and hands. He has no energy. The cold and wintertime have always exhausted him, but this feels so different. Tommy feels like if he shuts his eyes again he’ll pass out for a week.
Shit, how long has he been here? Whatever wrongun who’s decided to kidnap him is going to give him hypothermia at this rate.
His eyes have adjusted slightly to the dark, but not enough to give him any useful details. There’s no light source, not even a sliver coming from a doorway. The room is smaller than he wants to acknowledge, but it’s not like he’s going to get up and do laps anytime soon. Tommy can stay cool, people don’t call him Tommy Cool Innit for nothing.
Cool. Yeah. Because he’s freezing alright.
If there was no discernible exit, didn’t that mean the room he was in had limited oxygen? Is Tommy going to suffocate in some dark cell unaware of what even happened? Is he-
Focus.
Last night, he had stayed late at the agency filling out paperwork. The bane of his existence, paperwork . There’s a gap in his memory, where he was dozing off at four am trying to fill out some random infrastructure report, and the next it’s him waking up here. Wherever here was. He hadn’t even been in his hero uniform, so he just looked like an ordinary scrappy intern. Fuck, fuck what had happened? Puffy had been at the front desk and Sapnap had been one of the last heroes to leave, but there had to be something more to it. The night shifts had already all left for duty and besides him, only a few people had been in the building. It was the middle of the night, of course hardly anyone was there. So, why put in so much effort for some random teen in a hero office?
Maybe they knew who he was-
No.
He doesn’t even know who’s taken him, it’s unlikely they knew.
His breathing picks up, blood rushing past his ears.
Stop panicking.
Stop panicking, really, breathing hurts too much right now.
... Maybe it had been someone’s power that innocuously knocked him out. He- he had thought it was weird he was so exhausted, but he assumed pulling a lot of late nights wore him out and that the boring work was lulling him. It should’ve weirded him out more- most nights Tommy goes to bed at six am. It had to be the work of someone, it had to be some drug or superpower. So that meant there was someone- or a group- who planned this.
This wasn’t some impulsive grab for any random person, they aimed for him. Because they knew who he was- no. That's the worst-case scenario.
Maybe he wasn’t dressed as his hero persona Basilisk at the time, but Tommy did work closely with the number one hero. Perhaps he wasn’t the most diligent in separating his hero-civilian life divide, but he dedicated most of his life to heroism, so it didn’t feel necessary. But even if someone found out who he was, there’s no easy way to figure out more about him with the security measures the Heroes Association takes for their heroes. It could be guessed that Tommy knew some incriminating information maybe, but that’s useless. It still doesn’t explain how anyone would be able to take his unconscious self out of the secured building- or get him unconscious in the first place.
His head spins. Tommy’s in no shape right now to be sleuthing out his situation when his brain keeps repeating sleep sleep sleep it’s cold.
… So, in conclusion: He didn’t know where he was, how he was taken, or who took him.
His heartbeat feels slow in his chest, terrifyingly slow. Fuck. Whoever did this was being purposeful, because his biggest known weakness is the cold. He’s a fucking sake hybrid, of course the cold slows him down. And if he’s in some giant freezer like he fears, they wanted him incapacitated, weak, out of it.
What if they know who he is? They- they had to know his civilian identity to have this whole thing planned out so meticulously. The gap in his memory is too fishy to spell out anything but foul play.
Maybe he’s reading too much into it... It’s common knowledge that the heroes’ headquarters are emptier in the middle of the night, and that cold-blooded things do badly in the cold. That’s basic level biology. Maybe he’s fine?
Fine, except for the fact he has no idea how long he’s been trapped here.
He tries yelling again, clearing his throat and screaming anything from threats to long strings of curses. Nothing even hints that there are people outside. No sounds of footsteps or chatter, not even the distant hum of cars driving.
Maybe he panics a little and starts begging to be let out, but he’s pretty certain he’s somewhere soundproof.
Tommy has never been somewhere so quiet before.
Then he tries breaking the chains. He tries flailing and tugging, praying for something to snap in the intense cold. The chains rattle and echo with the sounds of metal on metal, but don’t give. His motions are too sluggish and he can feel his skin tearing under the shackles. He even tries biting at the metal, trying to snag a fang into the chain links. It’s all useless. He just needs something! He tries shifting and squirming around to try and figure out anything about his surroundings. Frustratingly, he’s already growing tired, losing energy fast. Tommy is tough, he’s stronger than the average person, but his body won’t cooperate with him.
The little adrenaline he’s working off of fades away, leaving him heaving and collapsed in the chair he’s stuck to. The metal is so cold it burns against his skin. Tommy didn’t know you could shiver so much you were sore, but he feels like he just ran a marathon from the way he aches. He feels exhausted, hungry, and so fucking cold.
Prime, he hates the cold.
This is a nightmare.
What did he do wrong? Tommy was just some teen trying to make the world a less shitty place. Sure, heroes didn’t have great reps but he wasn’t trying to be Captain America. He couldn’t be idealistic or perfect, but he could do his part to stop crime, help victims. He wasn’t even a big shot hero! So, why him?
His eyes start to water.
It’s not fair.
-And then the door in front of him clicks and shifts with a heavy whoosh of air. It’s warm, like someone just opened a preheating oven. Logically, he knows it’s probably room temperature air, but to his icy skin it’s like feeling the sunrise. Tommy shuffles in his seat, desperate to get closer to the warmth.
The door opens slowly, and whoever is behind it is holding a flashlight. They point it right at him, searing his eyes after however long he’s spent in the dark. He curses, hissing and looking away.
“Tommy Innit. Or, should I call you Basilisk?” A deep voice rings out.
Yeah. Shit. They knew.
“Fuck you!” Tommy snarls.
“I’ll stick with Tommy. It’s always weird to call you heroes by your fancy titles out of mask.” The man saunters in, the door shutting behind him. The room instantly goes back to freezing cold, and a light flickers on.
The sound of fluorescence rings loud in his ears as icy blue light burns at his eyes. He shuts them quickly, the light bright even through his eyelids.
When he can finally manage to keep his eyes squinted open, he takes in a group of six people. They’re all dressed in thick coats, hats, and gloves to protect them from the chill, but one man sticks out in the front being dressed in all black. He’s got a dumb-looking mustache and his shoes look like they’re worth more than Tommy’s rent. Less dumb-looking are all the pistols the man’s guards have on them. Not good. Yeah, not good at all.
None of it matters, because now that people are here, he has a chance of escape.
“Let me go you fucking bastards. ” He demands, his power thrumming through his veins.
He watches expectantly for somebody to unlock his chains, let him out, anything, but they don’t. They don’t do anything.
Tommy blinks heavily, clearing away the water in his eyes.
“Oh, that is so funny. You look so shocked. But you see my buddy here,” The man pats one of his guards on the back, “he has a nifty nullification shield. Your little mind control tricks won’t work, hero.”
Tommy grinds teeth in frustration. These people somehow know everything about him- his weaknesses, his power, his name, his hours, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Let me out of here. Unchain me.” He tries again.
He doesn’t have one of the most feared manipulation powers for no reason, things like power blockers aren’t as effective on him. His blood hums and sings with enchanted words.
“It’s not gonna work a second time just because you want it to, kid.”
He bears his teeth, snarling, “What do you want with me?”
“It’s simple, really. Just tell us everything you know about the villains Crowfather, Prometheus, and Magician. Then we can let you go on your merry way.”
His jaw drops. Seriously?
“Why would I know anything about The Syndicate? Is this- is this about my power?” He asks, completely genuine. Tommy is painfully used to being compared to and shoved into the same league as Magician for their similarities.
Somehow, it never failed to shock people that a good guy could have the same ability as a supervillain. But, in a world full of people developing more superpowers day by day, of course there’d be repeats. Most of the popular heroes had unique powers that helped them stand out, but plenty of them had the old reliable super strength or super speed.
And then Tommy came into the scene with a power rivaling Magician's mind control abilities. With a power that was stronger than his.
In a one-on-one battle, Tommy could out-control Magician any day. Their differences came from how they each wielded their powers. Tommy, gifted with a rare and potent ability to command others, always preferred physical fighting. Oftentimes he forgot to utilize his power and that had cost him some fights. Meanwhile, Magician fully embraced his nature and learned the art of deception and flattery.
There have been plenty of instances where his power was picked and tested to figure out any similarities with Magician. It’s annoying because their powers, while similar on the surface, functioned completely different.
The man scoffs, “I don’t care about your power- you’re obviously close with The Syndicate. It’s not discrete how you’re the only hero who ever leaves scuffles with them alive. The Syndicate eviscerates their enemies, literally leave people bloody stains on the wall, and yet you get out with some scratches? A bruised eye? Don't mock me, I'm not dense.”
This can’t be real. Tommy is just some novice hero, and they expect him to know info on the most powerful villain trio in the city?
He hisses, “I’m a strong guy. They know I could fuckin’ mind control them and shit if they tried anything on me. Maybe the other heroes should get good before they challenge The Syndicate.”
He’s telling the truth, from what Tommy can understand of the situation. After Basilisk had beaten Magician in a battle of minds, the villain and his allies seemed to back down from attacking Tommy. They understood he was tough, tougher than their best.
Basilisk was spared by the most dangerous villains in the city, and nobody knew if it was because he was favored or feared. No matter what it was, people knew it meant he was off-limits. Which is why it’s fucking dumb he’s been kidnapped.
“If you won’t answer, kid, I’m gonna make you answer. And you won’t like that very much.” The man grins, cruel and excited.
Tommy’s eyes filter over to the wall of the freezer. In the darkness, he could barely tell right from left, but now he can see the array of weapons hung up. There were knives of varying sizes and sharpness, mallets, bats, needles, and all other fun things.
Ah.
“Listen, uh, my guy, my dude, I don’t know anything useful. I know shit like- like Prometheus’s favorite food is potatoes! Magician has a pretty pog sense of music. Crowfather likes painting his nails black. This shit isn’t useful.”
“But you’re close enough with them to know those things. There’s a diamond in the rough somewhere in your head, and I’m willing to pick through it until I find it.” His kidnapper moves to the wall, running his hand lightly over the blunt weapons.
“There’s really not.”
They didn’t tell him their secrets, even if the villains tended to favor him. Tommy had felt closer to Magician after that day they fought, despite their opposing sides. But it wasn’t because he wanted to befriend his enemy, the circumstances were… weird. Complicated.
Strange things happen when two people with mind manipulation powers try using them on each other at the same time. It happened only once, because Tommy never wants a repeat of the event. While his will wrestled against the villain’s own, he saw things, personal things. Tommy heard a train station, guitar strings, deep laughter, and he felt a deep fondness for a family he didn’t know, felt his vicious anger, felt his passion and despair. It was a whirlwind of emotions, feelings, experiences that muddled too close together to tell apart, but he understood Magician better that day.
Tommy doesn’t know if the villain felt the same thing, saw the same glimpse into his mind, but something undoubtedly shifted. It’s true that the three villains weren’t the type to leave survivors. They were violent, cruel, and unforgiving. Yet, they always spared him. Prometheus still kicked his ass and Magician taunted him, but they also laughed at his jokes and chatted with him. It was weird, but he couldn’t push himself to hate it. Hate them.
He knew Magician viewed Crowfather as, well, a father. He knew Magician admired Prometheus greatly. He knew a possessiveness ran deep in his heart to protect the things and people around him. The line blurred as to what was Tommy’s emotions and what had been added- but he’s not cruel like the villain. He values human life where Magician doesn’t, and that is why they can never truly be allies.
Tommy pleads, "I'm not allied with them, I swear."
“... I’m not too disappointed you won’t answer. I’m sure sending you back to the heroes bloodied and beaten will send a strong message.” The man grabs a hammer-like tool.
“I promise, please, I don’t know anything.”
There is no mercy, just jeering laughter ringing out around him.
As his eyes adjust to the light, he grows aware the single bulb above them is too dim to fully illuminate the guards' faces. They are expressionless statues of apathy to his situation.
❧❧❧
It starts off simple. They ask a question, Tommy says he doesn’t know, he gets hurt. The men start out simple, sticking with punches and kicks. Even when he could reveal something, Tommy doesn’t. He’s not a moral-less piece of shit. He’s not going to sell out anybody, even villains, just to save his own skin.
He knows they’re a family. As much as the three most powerful villains try to appear as coworkers, Tommy knows they are each other’s biggest weakness. He vows not to tell this bastard torturing him anything.
“Do you know their names?”
Tommy laughs, “Why the fuck would I know that? They don’t trust anybody with that information.”
“You’re sure?” He holds up the hammer in his hands.
He gulps. “Yeah dickhead, get your hearing checked. I said I don’t know.”
That’s the truth. Most of it is the truth. He knows Magician plays the guitar and probably has calloused fingers. He knows the villain views the world like some giant chessboard that’s a game to be conquered. Tommy knows he doesn’t view other humans as equal to him, but as puppets.
The hammer swings down, and he bits back a yelp. Tommy doesn't feel anything snap in his hand, but his bones grind together from the roughness.
“But do you know where any of their safehouses are? Possibly even their main base?”
He spits at the man’s cheek, “Eat shit, prick.”
“You’re so stubborn- I already told you your power is useless against me.” The hammer is discarded for a bigger one with sharp edges.
“Ready for another question?”
He holds onto the fact that they don’t want him dead. The next time the hammer lands, his blood splatters around them.
❧❧❧
Tommy always thought he’d be one of those people who didn’t crack under pressure. He has a strong sense of pride, and he thought he’d be the type to say ‘I’d rather die than help you!’ But there’s a big difference between imagining getting tortured and actually being tortured. It hurts, obviously. It hurts so fucking bad.
He’s already cold, tired, and achy. Being chained up in a freezer is torturous on its own. Pain is different when you’re cold. Tommy can feel his own chilled blood run down his arms and legs. Hey, he kind of, uh, needs that shit to stay warm and alive.
The chilly air pulls at his skin, leaving it cracking easier. The blunt weapons hurt more in the cold. He’s sensitive and weak, and while he could handle taking a punch or two out on the field, one swing of a frozen mallet makes him scream out. Maybe it's his hybrid blood screaming out in protest, maybe he's just weak. He can feel the initial starburst from the moment the sharp hammer hits his skin, to the subsequent fiery explosion of pain as blood vessels burst.
At least the cold is soothing on his newly forming bruises. Maybe the swelling won’t get too bad?
Prime, he’s so screwed.
“Are there any loopholes to their powers? Certainly, you know something about Magician, since you two are so similar.” The man grabs another weapon, the other small knife he was using too slick with blood to use.
Tommy thought the cold was numbing, at first. At least the cold meant he couldn’t feel. But that’s not true. The frigid air sears at him, and does little to alleviate his creaking joints and bleeding skin. In the cool light, the ground around him shines with maroon droplets of blood. No, now he is burning.
And Tommy isn't someone he thought would break, but he doesn't know if he's going to make it out of this alive and all he needs to do is give them the answers they want. He's only human, it turns out.
He sighs, voice croaking as he asks, “If- if I say, will you stop? Please.”
“Of course! Just tell us what we want to know.” The man smiles, far too jovial with the blood splatters on his clothes and hands.
Tommy’s head rolls to the side, “... Why do you want dirt on The Syndicate? They are gonna kill you when they find out you did this.”
Not that Tommy thinks they care so much they’ll defend his honor- but any information risk is best silenced. Even if Tommy swore to them he didn’t say a word, they’d kill these men. Just to be safe.
Human life means so little to the three of them, cruel gods in a lawless city.
The heroes can act like they’re the law, but L’Manberg would be rubble if the supervillains wanted it to be. With rumors about Crowfather being ancient, chants about Prometheus being unable to die, and whispers about Magician being something not even human, people feared them. They lived in their own league above everyone else and nobody dared raise a finger against them.
“I’m going to be the new big shot in the city, kid. I’m no pansy, I’m not afraid to challenge the old dogs. It’s about time there was some new blood.”
He giggles, hoarse and manic, “Really? The only- the only new blood will be your guts being cut from your fucking body.”
The man slaps him. It’s a love tap compared to the violence he’s been put through, but it’s the final straw.
Tommy starts to cry.
He’s been put through hours of non-stop pain and the freezing fucking cold. He’s lost so much blood and for all the panic he feels, his heartbeat is quiet and lethargic in his chest. He got only a couple of hours of sleep between passing out and being kidnapped, and he’s battling his dumb hindbrain instinct to curl up and sleep.
If he passes out they might just leave him in there. And that would be quite bad.
“Oh, just shut up! Do you know how pathetic you sound?” His kidnapper grabs him by the color of his shirt as he screams at him.
He sniffles, staring straight into brown irises.
“Bite your tongue.” He hisses out through his teeth.
Without a second thought, the man does. Blood seeps past his lips and then he’s the one screaming.
All powers have a limit. The time it can be used, the area of effect, and how many people it can cover. Tommy doesn’t know if the nullification guy has gotten weaker holding up his shield for hours, or if his idiot torturer just got too close to him, but Tommy’s power finally broke through. He noticed, at the very least, that the man tried to keep a foot or so away from Tommy when he could. Or, within roughly six feet of Mr. Nullification.
There is pure rage in the man’s eyes as he wipes away at his bleeding mouth. He garbles something like “I’ll kill you” but it is hard to tell. Maybe he said “I’ll let you go now.” Ha. Yeah. That’d be nice.
Despite everything, Tommy grins, “I see, there’s the new blood you were talking about.”
The five guards in the room tense up, holding their guns at Tommy. That is less funny than watching the shithead in front of his choke on his own blood.
“What a sight! There are five grown-ass men afraid of one chained-up kid! You’re all quaking in your boots.” He sits up, wincing from the movement. But Basilisk has always been about fake bravado.
A silence fills the room. The guy in the too-fancy shoes is seething, pulling out his phone to contact someone- a healer, perhaps- as the guards are too stunned to do anything.
The loudest sound is the quiet clangs of the chains shaking over his shivering form.
And then, the door shakes. Someone is locked outside.
It’s somehow locked from the inside, or maybe it needs a code, but whoever is out there can’t get in. The shaking grows louder and louder before it abruptly stops.
“Boss... were we expecting guests?”
Their boss shakes his head.
“Then who-”
With a deafening crack, the metal body of the door crumbles in on itself, the momentum of it taking down the two guards closest to it. Dumbasses.
With the entrance to the giant freezer caved in, bright light streams in. Not weak, dim, fluorescent light but something brighter and warmer. It would be freedom if he weren’t chained up.
A hulking figure ducks in through the door frame. Tommy recognizes him in an instant.
“It’s Prometheus! ” The lackeys shout in terror, scrambling deeper into the room like rats in a cage.
The piglin enters, trailed by his two just-as-infamous buddies- and the exact people these goons wanted dirt on- Crowfather and Magician.
“Well, well, what do we have going on here?” Crowfather asks.
The guards look to their leader, but his lack of a functional tongue holds him back a little. They start scrambling over their words, pleading for mercy or denying accusations that haven’t even been made yet.
Tommy wiggles in his seat, looks over to the closest guy next to him, and whispers, “Unchain me.”
The guy startles but still shakes his head. Fuck. Great. Was the nullification guy still doing his thing? Or… or was Tommy too drained to successfully use his power?
“Don’t these fools know they’re on our territory?” Magician smiles, leaning on the doorframe.
The three villains don’t glance at Tommy, they don’t even acknowledge his existence, and that’s when he realizes he’s Tommy, not Basilisk, right now... They think he’s some random kid.
Prometheus doesn't hesitate to reach out and grab the man dressed in all black, and throws him across the room, soaring right past Magician’s head and out the doorway. Then, all hell breaks loose. A couple of the guards successfully run out of the freezer, but Tommy can hear as the piglin follow after them and a fight breaks out. The one who is left stuck in the room with Tommy cowers. It’s Nullification guy, and he seems to think he'll be safe with his shield. And sure, Crowfather’s attempts to stab him through with a barrage of sharpened feathers fails, but he still has claws.
Magician watches on in glee. One man vs Crowfather is an easy fight, and Prometheus is already back by his side from his fight. Behind Tommy, a body drops gurgling from a slit throat.
Crowfather joins his two partners in crime, hands painted crimson.
Then it’s all eyes on Tommy. His breath comes in quick and shallow. He’s stopped shivering, at least. That was getting annoying.
“You seem to have found yourself in quite the situation, Basilisk.”
Crowfather knew-
They already-
Tommy laughs weakly, “Of course you guys know what I look like. You guys somehow know everything. You could at least let me out, now. I’m freezing my fucking ass off here.”
“I dunno, it’d be kinda funny to just leave you here. Wait and see how long until the heroes find ya. They’ll have a snake popsicle on their hands with how slowly they work.” Prometheus shrugs.
“Shut the fuck up. C’mon, guys, I’ve had just the worst day.” He pleads.
Finally, Crowfather rifles through the wall of weapons until he snatches a ring of keys.
Tommy blinks away his drowsiness and excitedly holds up the padlock. With a click, the chains fall away and hit the ground. Crowfather is the best man ever.
“Thanks, poggers my guy.” He pats the villain on the arm before standing up.
Tommy spends a total of five seconds standing on his feet before his knees buckle, and he’s tipping over. Prometheus darts forward, catching him before he can hit the ground.
In one swift movement, Tommy is swept off his feet. The world spins, making his head hurt and his stomach lurk. He's too tired for this shit.
“Wait- wait, stop.” He reaches out, one hand curling into the fabric of the piglin’s cape.
“He’s lost a lot of blood.” Prometheus oh so helpfully observes.
He snaps, “No shit.”
They chat around him, once again ignoring his existence. His head droops down, and he’s almost tempted to pass out then and there.
Prometheus’s warmth is like a campfire with how much it soothes the deep cold that has settled into him. Each point of contact- the arm under his knees, the hand pressed into his back, his cheek pressed up against the villain’s chest- brings sparks of warmth. It’s not nearly enough to wake him up, though.
“I need to get out of here…” He murmurs, jerking an arm to point to the door.
He’s never experienced this much cold for so long. He doesn’t know how it’ll mess with him, but he really doesn’t want to induce some weird snake-hybrid hibernation.
Prometheus… doesn’t move.
“I think,” Magician sings, “you should fall asleep and let us handle everything.”
Even moments away from passing out, his mental borders push back against the villain’s ability. He’s not weak, he’s not! He can’t be.
He struggles in Prometheus’s grasp, but he can’t do more than flinch his arms and legs. Even in his top shape, he couldn’t out-power the piglin. “What the fuck are you…” He gasps, already winded.
It’s hopeless.
“Please don’t…” He tears up against his will.
Tommy doesn’t want to die. These villains saved him and- what, now they’re going to kill him while he’s too defenseless to even raise a finger? He thought- he thought they liked him. Most people found Tommy annoying at first, but at least these three were always nice to him. Was it all a lie? Some elaborate trick on him?
He hiccups, despair filling his heart.
“Oh no,” Crowfather coos, “you’ll be okay. Just rest now.”
All his instincts agree with him, he needs to rest now rest now rest now you’ll be okay.
Despite his emotional turmoil and his efforts to stay awake, his eyes slip shut, and the oblivion that’s been calling for him finally consumes him. He’s not conscious to see the pleased looks on the villains’ faces around him.