Chapter 4: fried chicken sandwiches

Although Tommy had regular customers, none were like Wilbur. Some of his regulars would ask how he was doing when they came up to order their drink, but none would joke around with him like Wilbur. None would laugh at his taunts or smile at him the way Wilbur did. Not to mention, Wilbur left a tip in the tip jar every time he came by, which also made him excited for Wilbur’s visits.

A full two weeks passed of this. His life had seemingly returned to the peace it had before he healed Siren—he hadn’t seen any glimpses of the villain during his walks home after that McDonald’s trip. Tubbo and Ranboo continued to share strange whispers with one another, but made an effort to stop more if Tommy was in the room with them. Tommy tried very hard not to care, but it was an effort to stamp down the jealousy that stirred in his gut anytime he noticed Tubbo and Ranboo sharing a knowing look.

They were supposed to be a team. The three of them against the world. Why was he being excluded now?

It was this situation that made his work shifts all the more enjoyable. Not only did he get to escape the apartment that was practically smothering him with the weight of Tubbo and Ranboo’s secrets, but he also got to annoy the shit out of Wilbur. It was a win win.

Once again, Tommy was working yet another shift where Wilbur was keeping him on his toes. This time, Wilbur had waltzed in less than an hour from closing time, giving Tommy a shit-eating grin that told him the bastard had done it on purpose. While usually customers coming in to hang out so close to closing time drove Tommy nuts, Wilbur was a different case because Tommy could tell him to fuck off without getting fired.

After getting his drink (a flat white, which had led to Wilbur insisting he would be fine with the caffeine this late at night), Wilbur had settled himself at his favorite table and was once again consumed by his work. The last hour of Tommy’s shift ticked by, all the remaining customers slowly dripping out like pour over coffee until it was just him and Wilbur left in the cafe.

“Y’know we’re closing soon, dickhead,” Tommy called out from behind the counter, no longer needing to pretend to be polite since everyone else had left.

Wilbur glanced up from his computer, blinking a few times as he rubbed at his eyes. “Oh shit, that went by fast, didn’t it?”

“That’s what happens when you show up less than an hour before we close,” Tommy said, rinsing out the rest of the cups and shakers in water.

“I suppose that’s true,” Wilbur agreed. He closed his laptop and put his glasses back in his coat pocket. After sliding the laptop back in his bag he stood up from his seat, taking one last sip of his coffee before he dumped it in the trash bin. Then, he sauntered over to the counter and rested his elbows next to the register. “So how long does it usually take you to close?”

Tommy shrugged, wringing out a wet rag to wipe down the counters. “Depending on how busy it was, usually twenty to thirty minutes?”

Wilbur nodded. “Well then I have a proposal for you,” he said, smirking at the teenager.

Tommy narrowed his eyes, waiting for Wilbur to go on.

“You see, I’m very hungry right now. I’m also hopped up on caffeine. You’ve been working for quite a few hours now, which means you’re probably hungry too. So I was thinking you and me go out to this fried chicken place that my dad never wants to go to with me, and we just gorge ourselves on some real big fried chicken sandwiches. How’s that sound?”

…huh?

Staring at Wilbur blankly for a moment, Tommy tried to figure out what was going on. Because sure, it was one thing for the two of them to bicker constantly every time Wilbur showed up to order a latte, but it was another thing for Wilbur to actually invite Tommy to hang out. Which is exactly what it sounded like he was doing.

After struggling to come up with a response for a beat too long, Tommy said the first thing that came to his mind.

“I just paid my rent so I don’t know if I could afford that right now.”

Unfortunately for Tommy, that was completely true. While the trio of him, Ranboo, and Tubbo were usually able to pull in enough income with their respective jobs to pay the rent without issue, anything outside of that… got a bit tricky. They usually had enough cash to buy groceries for the week (although god knows they had gone a bit hungry for a week or two before), but going out to eat was almost always out of the question. It was a rare luxury the three of them only let themselves indulge in on birthdays and never at any other time.

So yeah. Even if Wilbur actually wanted to go out to get food with Tommy for some reason, it didn’t matter, because Tommy couldn’t afford it.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I was gonna pay,” Wilbur said, waving the concern aside with his hand.

“I don’t need your pity. I’m not a starving street kid,” Tommy snapped without thinking. He’d met those types before. The ‘good samaritans’ who thought of street kids as charity projects they could take on. Tommy had met quite a few of those after he first left the foster system, when he and his friends had an apartment that could barely qualify as real shelter, and went hungry on more days of the week than not.

The ‘good samaritans’ would film him while giving him food to post to their stupid social medias. They wanted the world to see just how good and selfless they were to give a hungry teenager a sandwich. Tommy fucking hated those people, and he hated how he had to take the food anyway because it was all he could get.

So yeah, he didn’t appreciate pity.

“This isn’t pity,” Wilbur quickly replied, not seeming phased by Tommy’s harsh tone. “I’m inviting you out, I should be the one to pay.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes at Wilbur. It was one thing to let a supervillain whose life he saved buy him McDonald’s—it was a lowkey way of letting Siren repay the favor without actually fucking Tommy’s life up—but it was another thing to let a customer of his that he insulted on a near daily basis buy him dinner.

“Why do you want me to come get food with you?”

Wilbur blinked. “Because… we have a fun time talking every time I’m in here so I just thought it would be nice to hang out when you’re not working?” He seemed confused by Tommy’s reaction. “Look, Tommy, if you don’t want to you can just say no-”

“I’ll go,” Tommy cut him off, making the decision in a split second.

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to agree, but if Wilbur was being honest and he only wanted to hang out with Tommy because he actually liked talking to him, well, Tommy wasn’t going to say no to free food.

A bright smile spread across Wilbur’s face. “Alright then! Hurry up and close this place so we can go.”

Tommy huffed as he returned to wiping down the counters like he had been before Wilbur interrupted.

As he went through the closing routine, Wilbur hung out by the door of the cafe, scrolling through his phone with his glasses perched on his nose. A part of Tommy felt guilty for making him wait, but Wilbur didn’t seem impatient, and was just humming to himself as he scrolled through whatever social media he was looking at.

Like he had predicted, it took Tommy twenty minutes to finish up the closing routine. He chucked his apron into the back, grabbed his backpack to sling over his shoulder, and headed towards the front door where Wilbur was waiting.

“All done,” Tommy announced, swinging the keys to the cafe in his hand.

Wilbur pocketed his phone and straightened up. “Sweet, let’s head out then.”

A few minutes later, they were walking down the street, Wilbur’s hands in his pockets and Tommy swinging his arms from side to side. The night air was cool, a chilly breeze ruffling Tommy’s hair and making him grateful that he’d worn his thick hoodie. Under the orange streetlights that lined the sidewalks, Tommy couldn’t make out any stars. Stupid streetlights.

“So where are we heading?” Tommy asked, glancing around as they made their way down a street opposite the direction to Tommy’s apartment building.

“The fried chicken place is right down the street, so it shouldn’t be too far of a walk,” Wilbur explained, his bag thumping against his hip as he walked.

“You don’t have a car?” Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow at Wilbur.

“Thought kids were taught not to get into cars with strangers,” Wilbur retorted.

“Is that your way of telling me you’re going to kidnap me? Because you’re doing a kind of shit job at it,” Tommy told him.

“I don’t think anyone would ever kidnap you, Tommy. And if you were, they’d let you go in less than an hour because they wouldn’t want to deal with you,” Wilbur shot back.

“Well what can I say? Most people find me annoying at first,” Tommy said with a shit-eating grin.

“Only at first?” Wilbur gave him a disbelieving look, and Tommy elbowed him in the side.

“Don’t be a bitch boy, Wilbur,” Tommy scoffed. “Anyway, you’re dodging the question. Why don’t you have a car?”

“We live in a city. Do you see any available parking around here?” Wilbur asked, gesturing around the street with his stupidly long arms.

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “You can’t drive.” It wasn’t a question.

Wilbur glared at him for a beat before sighing. “No, I can’t drive.”

“If you can’t drive, how the hell do you get around?” Tommy asked as he skipped over a crack in the sidewalk.

“We have a subway system,” Wilbur shrugged, kicking a rock off the concrete. “So I usually take that, or my brother will drive me around.”

“Must be nice to just have someone to drive you around all the time like that.”

“It’s not that easy,” Wilbur snorted. “I usually have to convince my brother if I want to get him to take me somewhere.”

“Is that why you get him tea sometimes before you leave the cafe?”

“Sometimes. Bribery is a pretty good tool to get what you want, but also I’m just a very persuasive person in general,” Wilbur explained, a knowing smirk growing on his face.

Tommy was about to respond asking Wilbur what he meant by that, when they turned a corner and were blinded by bright lights. There, sitting at the corner of an intersection, was a food truck that had floodlights sitting on top. The floodlights illuminated the parking lot in front of it, where a few foldout tables had been set up to eat at.

They crossed the street, Tommy noticing that only one of the foldout tables was occupied. Wilbur walked past the tables, heading straight for the window of the food truck with a grin on his face that was almost as bright as the floodlights above.

“Fundy!” Wilbur exclaimed as he stopped in front of the order window.

Settled behind the order window was a red-headed man that looked only a year or two younger than Wilbur himself. He had sharp features that reminded Tommy of a fox, and a few streaks of white in his hair that stood out in the harsh fluorescent lighting. He matched Wilbur’s smile as they came close, half-leaning out the window with his hands perched on the metal counter.

“Hey Wil, I see you still haven’t convinced Phil to come here,” Fundy said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Nope, not yet. Old man still doesn’t like eating chicken,” Wilbur told him, before glancing at Tommy. “But I managed to convince my new friend Tommy here to come join me for dinner.”

“Nice to meet you, Tommy!” Fundy quipped. “I’m Fundy, Wilbur’s son.”

Tommy frowned. “Wait, your son?” What the fuck? Wilbur had said he was only twenty-four, and Fundy looked like he couldn’t be anything less than twenty years old. Tommy may have sucked at math, but he knew that was impossible.

Wilbur chuckled. “He’s not actually my son. I’m only a few years older than him. It’s just kind of a running bit between us that I’m his dad,” he explained.

“Can’t believe my own father denies I’m his kid,” Fundy fake-pouted, shaking his head while flipping Wilbur off.

“I’m not denying it! My darling son, please, tell me how work is going tonight. Pops wants to know,” Wilbur replied, smiling innocently at the red-head.

Tommy shuddered. He never wanted to hear Wilbur refer to himself as ‘Pops’ ever again.

“Work’s been alright. The dinner rush was kinda crazy but things are pretty slow now,” Fundy told him, leaning back in the window to rest his elbows on the counter.

“Glad to know business is still going strong. Any more interesting faces pass through?” Wilbur asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“Oh yeah! Today Flame and 404 stopped by to get lunch while they were on patrol.”

Holy shit. Flame and 404 were here? They were two of the top ten heroes in the city. And they came to a random fried chicken truck for lunch?

Huh. Maybe this place was better than Tommy thought it was going to be.

“Oh, that’s a good sign for business I’d say. Did they tip well?” Wilbur continued.

Fundy snorted. “Flame tipped, 404 didn’t.”

“What an asshole,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head. With the kind of salary heroes got, he would’ve expected both of them to tip extremely well. Then again, he’d never had a hero show up at the cafe, so it was probably normal for them not to tip. Stuck up bastards.

“I like this guy,” Fundy said, looking over at Tommy. “So kid, what’ll you have?”

Tommy blinked, having been too distracted by the whole ‘father son’ bit that he forgot to look at the menu. “Uh… Wil, what do you recommend?” He was paying after all. It was probably better to let Wilbur pick out something cheap for him.

“Their signature fried chicken sandwiches are the best thing they have here,” Wilbur told him, pointing at a picture next to the ordering window of a large piece of fried chicken stuck in between two fluffy buns.

“Then I’ll take that.”

Nodding, Wilbur gave Fundy the order, getting both himself and Tommy the same sandwich. He also ordered Tommy a coke and himself a water, and Tommy wondered how Wilbur knew he’d like coke. Then again, coke was a pretty popular soda, so it wasn’t a stretch to say he just assumed Tommy would drink it if he got it for him.

After their food was ordered, they stood by the truck to wait for Fundy to cook it up. It only took a few minutes, and once they had their meals, Wilbur led Tommy to one of the empty foldout tables near the truck to sit down at.

Wilbur waited for Tommy to take a bite first. He was confused as to why, until he took a bite of the sandwich and realized that oh, this was fucking good.

Admittedly, Tommy hadn’t had the opportunity to go to a lot of good restaurants in his life. But even still, he would argue that this was probably one of the best places to get food in the city. Not only was the fried chicken perfectly crispy, the buns were soft and had just a hint of sweetness, and there was some kind of delicious sauce on the sandwich as well that Wilbur called aioli. Whatever the hell that was.

“So Tommy,” Wilbur started when they were about halfway through their sandwiches. “Who’s your favorite hero?”

“My favorite hero?” Tommy repeated, furrowing his brows. Wilbur nodded. “I don’t like any of them. I think heroes are fucking assholes.” He paused for a beat. “Well, the Captain was pretty cool when she was still active. But after she retired it just went downhill from there.”

Wilbur seemed surprised. “What don’t you like about the heroes?”

Scoffing, Tommy rolled his eyes. “They claim they protect the city from all the villains, but they only protect the rich bitches over in the Hero district. They couldn’t give less of a shit about the poorer areas like Eastside.”

Nodding, Wilbur took a sip of his water. “I gotta agree with you there. They don’t even try to hide it considering they patrol the Hero district way more than any other part of town. Well, except for West End of course, since that’s where all the rich fuckers are.”

“Exactly!” Thank god Wilbur had some sense in his head. “You get it! Fucking Dream, 404, Flame, none of them care about most of this city. There’s literally so much crime all the time in the poorer areas. The only reason it’s even remotely safe to walk alone in Eastside is thanks to vigilantes.”

“You like vigilantes then?” Wilbur questioned.

“I do. I mean, it depends on the vigilante in particular, since they all can kinda do their own thing and have their own priorities. Like that Slimecicle guy was a bit lame, but Dryad was really cool. I haven’t heard much from her in a while though,” Tommy said, thinking of the vigilante who could control plants and was always seen wrapped in thorny roses.

“I heard Dryad became a villain. She goes by Rosethorn now,” Wilbur told Tommy in a hushed voice.

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” That made sense, he supposed. It was rare for a vigilante to stick around for longer than a few years. If they weren’t thrown in jail, they were either brought into the hero training program, or they were recruited by the villains and rebranded. “What about Monarch? They’re still a vigilante, right?”

For some reason, the mention of Monarch made Wilbur grimace. “Yeah, Monarch’s still a vigilante. The villains can’t seem to kill them, heroes can’t arrest them, and they don’t seem interested in working for either side.”

“They’re cool. They saved me from getting mugged once, actually,” Tommy said, remembering how the vigilante’s pure white eyes glowed in the orange street lights as they knocked the guys mugging Tommy unconscious.

“Oh really?” The grimace on Wilbur’s face faded. “Huh. Good to know I suppose.” He took another bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Have you had any other run-ins? With heroes, villains, or vigilantes?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched as he thought back to eating McDonald’s on the roof with Siren only a few weeks before. Obviously he couldn’t tell Wilbur about that. It would just raise too many questions.

“Nah. I once saw Rewind across the street, but I didn’t interact with him. Heroes are bastards after all,” Tommy answered, taking a careful sip of his coke.

“Huh, makes sense.” Wilbur said, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “Y’know though, I met Siren once.”

Stomach dropping, Tommy took a huge bite of his sandwich to hide his expression.

“Oh really?” He asked, his voice muffled by food.

“Yeah, I did. I mean, it’s not like I sat and had a full conversation with the guy, but he wasn’t all that terrible. For a supervillain of course,” Wilbur shrugged, taking another swig of water.

“Yeah, of course,” Tommy repeated, staring intently at the table. When the hell did Wilbur meet Siren? Was he trying to get Tommy to say his opinion on the supervillain? Was he going to get pissed if Tommy defended him? It didn’t sound like Wilbur hated Siren, but there was something odd going on in this conversation, like Tommy was being led into a trap.

“What do you think of him? I guess all the Syndicate really. You think they’re the horrible scary bad guys the news keeps telling us they are?”

Tommy tried to look as nonchalant as possible as he thought over what to say. “I think the news can exaggerate some things for sure. But they’re self-proclaimed villains, so I’m not gonna say I think they’re all innocent either.” He took the last bite of his sandwich, wiping his face with his own napkin. “Either way, it’s not like we know them personally or anything.”

“Well, technically you could. They have secret identities after all,” Wilbur pointed out.

The tension leaked out of Tommy’s shoulders a bit as he scoffed. “Trust me, I think I’d know if someone I knew was fucking Siren whether he had that stupid blindfold mask on or not.”

Wilbur chuckled at that. “Considering all the villains have got voice changers it might not be as easy as you think to recognize them. But why don’t you think his mask is cool?”

“It’s stupid. How the hell does he even see in that thing anyway?” Tommy shook his head, crumpling his sandwich wrapper in his hands. “The Blade’s mask is pretty cool though. The boar skull looks super fucking intimidating, I’ll give him that.”

“Well, Blade always has had a flair for the dramatic,” Wilbur agreed, crushing his own sandwich paper in his hand as well. “But anyway, are you ready to head out?”

“Sure thing, bitch,” Tommy nodded, pushing out of the chair and to his feet.

They threw their trash out near the food truck, gave their goodbyes to Fundy, and headed back the way they came. Although Tommy insisted he could walk home by himself, Wilbur said it didn’t feel right to let a kid walk home alone at this hour, which led to Tommy screaming at Wilbur about how he wasn’t a child for most of the walk to his apartment anyway.

By the time Tommy realized they were in front of his building, he was out of breath from all the cursing. Wilbur didn’t seemed phased, as per usual, and Tommy had the urge to punch his stupid smug face.

But he didn’t. Because Wilbur bought him a really good sandwich and he had to admit he was grateful for that.

Reaching the front door to his building, Tommy sighed and glanced back over to Wilbur.

“Y’know, despite being an old bitch, you weren’t all that bad to hang out with tonight,” Tommy muttered, eyes quickly falling to the ground.

“Awwwww, Tommy, are you saying you had fun hanging out with me?” Wilbur teased, his voice turning into a croon as he beamed.

“Pfft. I didn’t have ‘fun’, I just said you weren’t terrible to be around,” Tommy rolled his eyes, trying to keep himself from looking at Wilbur. “Plus, you bought me a sandwich, so I do appreciate that.”

“Look, I’ve been trying to find someone who will go with me to the fried chicken truck for ages now because I always hate eating alone. My brother never wants to leave the house, and my dad doesn’t eat chicken, so honestly you were doing me a favor by going tonight,” Wilbur explained, still giving Tommy that easy grin.

“Well, of course I did. I’m such a kind and gracious Big Man that I could tell you needed me to come with you, so I took pity on you, you know?” Tommy bullshitted, leaning against the wall.

Wilbur snorted. “Jesus christ, you’re such a little shit,” he muttered, shaking his head fondly. A beat passed and he glanced back up to the apartment building itself. “So this is where you live?”

“Yup. It’s like the fucking Ritz up in here,” Tommy told him, gesturing to the sagging brick and rickety fire escapes that lined the sides of the building.

Tommy could tell that Wilbur wanted to say it was a dump, because it was. But not everyone could be well-off like that bastard seemed to be. Not everyone could live in nice apartments without strange smells coming through the vents and walls stained with dark substances that may or may not be dried blood.

Thankfully though, Wilbur held his tongue and didn’t comment on the apartment building itself.

“I should be heading out,” Wilbur said instead, nodding at Tommy. “I’ll see you at the cafe tomorrow though, right?”

“Sure will.”

Wilbur grinned again, and waved as he walked off. Tommy waved in return, and waited until Wilbur rounded the corner to head inside his building.

As strange as that whole situation with Wilbur inviting him out to eat was, Tommy had to admit, he had a good time. The sandwich was delicious, and talking to Wilbur was usually pretty fun.

Still, Tommy was suspicious of his motivations. Wilbur clearly knew Tommy was poor, and even though he wasn’t living on the streets, he was pretty damn close to it with his shitty apartment. The last thing he wanted was for Wilbur to be taking him on as a pity case. While he would like to think Wilbur wouldn’t do that, it was still something he was worried about.

One thing Tommy learned through his time in the foster system: you couldn’t trust adults. Not completely. Even when they were only in their early twenties, like Wilbur was. The only adult he remotely trusted was Puffy, and that was just because she genuinely needed another barista at the cafe. Tommy didn’t have his job out of pity.

There was something strange about Wilbur though. Tommy liked talking to him, but he was going to have to be careful. The minute he got too comfortable, the niceties would fall and Wilbur would end up fucking him over like almost every other adult in his life. (Well, young adult in Wilbur’s case.)

But for now, Tommy had a full stomach and roommates waiting for him to get back home.

So Tommy turned on his heel and headed into his building.